Jesse #2
Static, then—“Hey, boss. You okay?” Colt.
“Can you get someone to retrieve a truck up near Redstone Ridge,” I said.
A beat. “You okay, boss?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m good. Just get the truck.”
Lucas swallowed. “Wait! We need the truck,” he mumbled, trying hard to orient himself in the world again, his voice changing as his nose filled with blood.
“You can’t drive,” I snapped.
“Den doo dribe,” he managed.
“I’m not leaving Boone up here alone.”
He stared at me as if I’d spoken another language. “How dar de detting back?”
I stepped closer, temper flaring. “I should make you walk.” I gripped his shoulder and tugged him toward Boone. I expected him to fuss, to argue, to snap back with that mouth of his, but he’d gone ominously silent.
I yanked the cloth from my pocket—less a fancy handkerchief and more something I used to cover my face in the cold. At least it was clean.
“Press that to your cut,” I said.
“Huh?” He tried to peer back at me, confusion stacking on top of shock.
I gestured at his face. “Your nose.”
It didn’t look broken, but it had already started to swell, the skin angry and flushed, blood still tracking down over his mouth. He was going to have some impressive bruising tomorrow.
“Get on Boone.”
“Huh?” He was so dazed and frozen in shock.
“The horse.”
“I doh dat,” he managed and blew his nose. “Boone, Buddy, Pancho, Snowball.” He named all the ranch horses, his nose unblocked for a moment, and then stopped, and looked so damn sad. “I’ve never been on a horse.”
I swung up first and hauled him close, settling him in front of me.
He was stiff, uncertain, clearly not used to being handled this way, then he struggled, almost panicked, and Boone shifted but stayed solid, patient as ever.
It wouldn’t help anyone for Lucas to panic, so I held him tighter, firm and unyielding, my arm a solid band around his middle, feeling his heartbeat jackhammering against my forearm.
“Hey,” I said, low and close to his ear. “Breathe.”
He sucked in a quick, useless breath.
“Not like that,” I said. “In. Slow. Out.” I breathed with him, exaggerated it so he could follow. “Again. In. Out. Boone’s got us.” I’ve got you.
He shook once, then again, but he listened. His breathing hitched, then evened out, his weight settling back as if he’d finally realized he didn’t have a choice, and Boone wasn’t going anywhere.
“That’s it,” I murmured. “You’re fine. Boone’s solid. He won’t let you fall.” He relaxed a bit further, one shaky hand holding the cloth to his nose. “Hold the saddle horn,” I told him. When he hesitated, I set his other hand where it needed to be.
He sucked in a breath, shock giving way to something like disbelief as Boone stepped off, and I guided us back toward the road, one hand on the reins, the other keeping Lucas steady in the saddle.
Colt crossed our path on the ATV, so I guessed it was Miguel who was driving the truck.
As we neared the ranch and slowed, Colt’s gaze flicked from Lucas’s bloodied face to my grip on him before meeting my eyes.
He hesitated, just long enough to clock that I had it under control, then nodded once.
“You need paramedics?”
The urgency that had driven me to get him off the ridge as fast as possible had bled away.
We could have waited by the truck, handled it more slowly, but adrenaline made idiots of even the most level-headed men.
“Better than it looks,” I muttered. “Colt, I want this ridge fenced off, from the road.”
“Got it, boss.”
“And other signs. Bigger.”
Colt was confused—after all, the sign we had was huge. Way big. But as per usual, he didn’t question me.
“On it, boss,” he said, and then they left.
Lucas shifted against me, wincing. “My dose dis boden,” he said thickly, the words pushed out through blood and swelling.
I huffed. “Your nose is fine,” I lied, needing him upright, breathing, and not spiraling.
He subsided into silence again, leaning back into me as the fight drained out of him.
We headed the short distance left to the barn at a steady walk. Boone knew the way and didn’t rush it, ears flicking back once as he checked on us. When we reached the barn, I headed straight in and dismounted first, boots hitting the ground hard, before I turned and lifted Lucas down.
I didn’t think about his small, lithe body sliding along mine as I set him on his feet.
I didn’t let myself register how light he was, or how he clung to me for balance, or remember his expression when he was coming in my arms. I didn’t want to smooth the errant curls that framed his face in case they got bloody.
Nope.
Not at all.
“Fuck,” he muttered and weaved on his feet.
“You’re okay,” I told him, steady and sure, because someone had to be, even if I hated the man. “We’ll sort the rest in a minute.”
I turned back to Boone, ran a hand down his neck. “I’ll be right back,” I promised him, before guiding Lucas toward the barn doors. He stumbled once, but all too soon we were back in the house, and I led him into the kitchen and made him sit down.
“You broke my dose!” he accused me when I stepped away, and for a split second I couldn’t decide if that was unfair—or exactly the point. “Sh-cared de shit outta me! Assh-hole!”
I grabbed the medical box and set it on the table, then pulled out my phone and scrolled back to photos from last spring. I held it out so he could see.
“Here,” I said, flat. “We lost fifty feet right there.” I zoomed in, traced the curve of the land with my thumb. “See how it bows underneath? That’s new erosion.” I looked at him then. “All that was holding you up was sheer fucking luck.”