Gil couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Hands grabbed at him, but he couldn’t respond to their shouted questions. If he stayed still long enough, kept his eyes shut, maybe it would turn out to be one more of the nightmares that had stalked him for so long.
Then a panicked voice cut through the pain. “Dad! Are you okay?”
Gil opened his eyes. Quint’s terrified face peered at him through the fence between Gil and the stripping chute, his usual calm shattered. Then he was blocked by what seemed like a hundred bodies until another voice snapped out a command to give him some space. A pair of EMTs dropped to crouch beside Gil, with Tori right behind them.
“Don’t move.” Firm hands gripped his shoulder and thigh to immobilize him as he’d fallen, sprawled on his right side.
He hissed air between clenched teeth. “I know the drill.”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Everywhere.”
Fingers poked and prodded along his spine, his neck, and over his scalp. Gil automatically responded to their questions, wiggled his toes and fingers, told them his name, the date, where he was and what happened, but he was focused on measuring the depth and quality of the pain in his hip.
“No sign of spinal cord or head injury,” the lead EMT declared. “Where does it hurt the most?”
“My right hip.”
Tori swore softly, then introduced herself as his sister-in-law and his physical therapist. “He has had a pelvic reconstruction and a total arthroplasty of that joint. Since I’m familiar with his previous injuries and normal functional capacity, if you don’t mind, I’d like to do the evaluation.”
Up in the chutes, the next bareback rider was climbing onto his horse. The EMTs stood. “If it’s okay with him, we’ll get back to the action.”
Gil nodded. They cleared out along with most of the onlookers, leaving Tori crouched beside him and Carma standing back a pace, eyes dark with worry. Beni tugged Quint away from the fence. “We gotta get back to work. Unless you want me to get someone else to help?”
Quint hesitated, shooting a fearful glance at Tori. “Is he…”
“I’m fine,” Gil said, waving his arm to demonstrate. “Nothing life-threatening.”
Carma moved over and squeezed Quint’s hand where it gripped the fence. “I can help Beni if you want to stay with your dad.”
“Dressed like that?” A measure of Quint’s composure slid back into place, and he squared his shoulders. “There’s only a couple more bareback riders. Then I’ll come see what Tori has to say.”
“Good call,” Carma said, and squeezed his hand again.
Quint let her, then straightened and went back to work with only a single, worried glance over his shoulder.
Tori waited until he’d turned away, then asked, “Can you roll onto your back?”
“Yeah.” Pain shot up to Gil’s armpit and down to his knee when he moved, and the new position left him staring straight up into the midday sun. He squeezed his eyes shut against both forms of torture.
Tori laid her hand on his rigid thigh. “You’re gonna have to relax.”
“Hah.” Not his strong point—which Tori knew well from the dozens of times she’d tried to get him to loosen up so she could test his joint integrity.
“Can I help?” Carma asked from somewhere above his head.
He opened his eyes, squinting against the glare that haloed her.
“How?” Tori asked.
“It’s a relaxation technique, sort of like meditation.”
“I’ve tried that,” Gil said.
Carma bit her lip, but persisted. “This is different. It’s hard to explain.”
Yeah. That’s what she’d said about Jayden. But he also remembered how good it had felt when she’d put her hands on him after Quint’s near-wreck. “Can’t hurt,” he said gruffly.
Tori waved a hand. “Go ahead and give it a try.”
Carma kneeled to cradle his head on her bare thighs, then leaned forward so her hair fell around his face, a thick, dark curtain against the heat and commotion. Her fingertips rested in a line along either side of his face, barely perceptible points of pressure from temple to jaw. “Close your eyes and try to focus on my voice and my touch.”
He did, and she began to murmur something between a chant and a song. The cadence rose and fell, and his breathing shifted to match as he struggled to make out what seemed to be verses and a chorus. With each repetition his eyelids grew heavier. He felt the knot between his brows release, and the relaxation spread from his forehead to his jaw, down his neck and into his shoulders. Once again he had the impression that she was pulling the tension out of his body.
He lost track of the minutes that passed, until finally Tori said, “Are we ready?”
“I think so,” Carma said softly.
Gil stiffened when Tori lifted his thigh, but relaxed again as Carma increased the pressure of her fingers, as if she’d pushed a series of buttons linked directly to the muscle fibers.
“Good,” Tori said, with a hint of amazement. Ever so slowly, she moved his hip—flexing, straightening, rotating—as they both waited to feel the all-too-familiar grind of broken or dislocated bone.
It didn’t come. There was pain, but not the sickening sense of wrongness. Hope trickled into his chest. Maybe—
Tori set his leg down, and he opened his eyes to meet her gaze as she rocked back on her heels. “There’s no obvious fracture or displacement.”
And now that the pain wasn’t being magnified by panic, it had decreased by half.
“So that’s good?” Quint was climbing over the fence with Beni right behind him, their job done for the moment.
“Looking okay so far,” Tori said, always cautious. “We need X-rays to be sure.”
Overhead, the announcer was bragging up the first steer wrestler due to compete. Sliding gates banged as saddle broncs were loaded into the chutes. Beni handed a bareback rigging to the rookie Gil had been helping, who appeared to be no worse for wear. Gil breathed a sigh of relief. The kid could’ve been seriously hurt if he’d been caught inside the chute, crushed by the mare’s weight.
He peered down at Gil, worry and guilt etched on his face. “I’m so sorry. Cole chewed my ass for almost getting us both killed, jumping the gun like that.”
“Rookie mistake.” Gil pushed onto his elbows, then almost collapsed again as Carma sat back and all the noise and the heat rushed over him. “I’m guessing you won’t get trigger-happy again.”
The kid grinned. “No, sir. And they gave me a reride. Juniper Flats.”
“Definitely a lot more user-friendly.” Gil accepted the hand Tori offered to help him into a seated position and looked over the cowboy’s shoulder. “You’d better go get your rigging set or you’ll be hearing from Cole again.”
The rookie shot a fearful glance over his shoulder. “Right. Thanks. Sorry again. Hope everything’s okay.”
You and me both, kid.
“I’ll go get Cole’s pickup and pull it around.” Tori aimed a commanding look at Quint and Beni. “You two bring him out there and make sure he doesn’t put any weight on that leg.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they chorused.
“I’ll come along,” Carma said. “If you don’t mind.”
Gil met her uncertain gaze, but their earlier spat seemed trivial now. “I’d appreciate it.”
She smiled, and a dollop of that odd calm filtered into his system.
Beni handed him a slightly worse-for-wear cowboy hat. While Gil dusted it off and put it on, Quint shifted from one foot to the other. “I could come, too.”
“If you want to,” Gil said. “But I’ve visited my share of emergency rooms, and I’m betting the rodeo will be over by the time they take X-rays and get us the results.”
And the waiting would be hard enough without having to put on a brave face for his son.
“We’ll text you if we learn anything sooner,” Carma said.
Quint considered, then nodded. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
But only if it was good news. Gil did not intend to share anything else via a damn message.
He held out his hands to the boys. “Help me up.”
* * *
As Gil had predicted, it was over an hour before he was checked in, another thirty minutes for the X-rays to be taken, and then he was parked in a curtained cubicle to rot. He refused to sit around in a hospital gown, so he changed back into his dusty jeans and shirt before stretching out on the bed. He’d been instructed not to eat or drink until the radiologist reviewed the films, but Tori brought him a Coke anyway.
“I would’ve noticed anything that might require emergency surgery,” she declared, handing over the blessedly cold can and another for Carma before settling into a chair with her Dr Pepper. “And nothing against Huntsville, but if it does need fixing, we can have you back in Boston in a few hours on Daddy’s jet.”
The mention of surgery made his gut twist. Starting over with all the rehab, hobbling around for who knew how long. The potential that it might not ever be back to his current version of normal.
Carma scooted her chair closer and laid her hand over the fist he’d unconsciously made. His fingers relaxed, as if his body remembered whatever it was she’d done to him earlier.
“What is that?” Tori asked, her sharp eyes catching his reaction. “And why does it work on him, unlike everything else I’ve tried?”
Carma started to pull away, but Gil caught her fingers. “I’d like to know, too.”
She shrugged, her gaze tracking to some random point in the corner. “You would probably call it chi, or prana if you’re into yoga. It’s about channeling energy by applying pressure over specific points or along certain lines.”
“And the humming or singing or whatever?” Tori asked. “What was that?”
Carma looked even more uncomfortable. “It just gives the mind something to focus on, like the music in those meditation apps.”
She was lying. Or not telling the whole truth. Gil could see from the way Tori’s eyes narrowed that she knew it, too. Why? Was it some kind of tribal ritual? Gil considered what little he knew about Navajo healers and their complicated ceremonies. Weren’t there taboos against discussing certain details with outsiders?
He slid a meaningful glance at Tori. “I don’t need to know the specifics. It worked.”
“Amazingly well.” She smiled, and a fool might think she was letting it go. Then she said, “You’re only working four days a week, right?”
Carma tensed, looking equal parts alarmed and hopeful. “I have Tuesdays off.”
“Hmm.” Tori pulled out her phone, thumbed quickly through a few screens, and frowned. “That doesn’t work for me. What about Wednesday after next?”
Alarm won out. Carma looked hunted when she asked, “For what?”
“You wanted to come to the ranch clinic. I’d like to go with you the first time.”
“I…um, maybe?” Carma cast a Help me! glance at Gil.
“That’ll be great.” He gave her back a This is what you wanted look. “Right?”
“Um…right.” She gathered herself and nodded. “Thank you. I can’t wait to see it.”
The orthopedic surgeon pushed through the curtain, and the conversation was forgotten in the sudden swell of apprehension.
“Everything looks great,” he said, and the tension whooshed out of the room in one collective exhale, leaving Gil as limp as a spent balloon.
The doctor flipped on the wall-mounted flat screen and pulled up a series of X-rays. The ceramic and titanium parts of Gil’s hip glowed brilliant, opaque white, with the bones in varying shades of translucence. The doctor used a pen as a pointer. “It’s incredible, actually. The prosthesis doesn’t show any signs of damage or displacement. The pelvis looks remarkably normal other than some thickening of the ischium and pubis around here, where they buttressed it with bone grafts. Our radiologist doesn’t see any microfracturing around the shaft of the prosthesis, but I recommend an MRI to be sure.”
There was more, but Gil’s ears were filled with the rush of relief. It was okay. He was okay. And geezus. He was shaking. He tightened his grip on Carma’s hand, and she squeezed back.
A white slip of paper appeared in front of him. “This will make you more comfortable for the next day or so,” the doctor said.
Hydrocodone. Gil’s addict brain deciphered it instantly, upside down and in a physician’s scrawl, and his heart gave a single joyous thump before he forced a shake of his head. “No narcotics. I’ll be fine with ibuprofen and ice.”
The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “If you say so.”
Gil’s traitorous eyes tracked the paper all the way into the pocket of the man’s scrubs.
“If you can take a fall like this and walk away, you’re tougher than most—and so is your hip.” The doctor gave him a broad wink. “Maybe you should be riding those bucking horses instead of working the chutes.”
The jolt was instant and electric, a current that jerked Gil, Tori, and Carma all to attention. Was he suggesting…
Holy shit. Gil fists clenched, trying to maintain his grip in the tsunami of excitement.
Did the man just say he could ride again?