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HIS VOICE CRACKED ON those last words.
Mari’s heart leaped into her throat. She swooped forward to give him the bottle and glass. She watched him fill the glass to the brim, his hands trembling a little.
He held the bottle towards her, his long eyelashes lowered. “Here. Put this back in the cupboard. Or pour it down the sink if you’re so concerned.”
“No... No. I won’t do that. Sorry I judged. It’s just...”
His eyes sharpened. After giving her several seconds to complete her words, he said, “It’s okay. I don’t need an explanation.” He nodded at the chair again. “Sit down.”
“I should go.”
He frowned. “You’re right. It’s getting late.” He sighed before taking another sip of whiskey. With a trace of diffidence, he said, “But I’d like it if you stayed a while longer. My head’s too full of everything that’s happened. If I have to lie here being sorry for myself, I want some company.”
A curious elation filled her. “Okay. I’ll stay for a while. Be right back.”
After returning the whiskey to the cupboard, she made a quick detour to the bathroom. She studied her face in the oval mirror above the sink. Her cheeks were glowing, her eyes bright.
Travis wanted her to stay. He needed her.
The shot glass sat empty on the nightstand when she came back to the bedroom.
“Is it okay with you if I turn off the light?” he asked. “It’s not helping my headache. We’ll have enough light from the front room.”
She nodded. Once she made herself comfortable in the armchair, he switched off the lamp. Aside from the rectangle of light from the open doorway, the room was dark.
“Figured it might help me fall asleep sooner,” Travis said. “I don’t want to impose...”
“No. I can stay as long as you need me.”
He didn’t reply to that.
A sudden, brisk wind gust stirred the trees outside. Branches scraped against the bedroom windows.
“The winds started later than usual this year,” he said in the darkness. “Most years, they kick up in January and blow through April. Old-timers joke the wind blows in Sweet Grass twenty-seven hours out of twenty-four. That’s what makes this good cow country.”
“What does that mean?”
“In the wintertime, the wind sweeps the ranges clear of snow and lets the cows graze. Grass-fed Montana beef is some of the best in the world. Especially Bar H beef.”
She smiled at the hint of pride in his last remark. “What happens if the wind doesn’t clear the snow?”
“The ranchers drive out to the cows on a tractor pulling a trailer loaded with bales of hay. I knew how to drive a tractor at nine. But the wind brings the cold too. Ponds and lakes and water tanks freeze over. As a kid—around seven or eight—one of my first jobs was to ride Tash to the winter pastures where we kept the cows. I had a pickaxe roped to my saddle. I’d go around breaking the ice in all the water troughs.”
She had a sudden picture of him, swinging an axe that weighed more than he did, his little chin set with determination. “Do you do that for your horses?”
“I water and hay my horses in the winter. But they’re smart enough to eat snow if the water’s frozen.”
He fell quiet for a while. She wondered if he’d fallen asleep when he said, his voice almost too low to hear, “That’s what Tash was doing. Eating snow. There wasn’t much foliage along the bottom of that canyon. I figure he’d been down there for three days. That’s the last time anyone checked the winter pastures where we keep the retired horses.”
She hesitated to speak, worried she’d say the wrong thing. But he seemed to want to talk. It was better for him, she decided, getting this off his chest. Had he told Squeak the full details of what happened yesterday? Or Spence? She sensed he hadn’t; his words sounded too raw, stemming from a place she imagined he’d kept locked tight until now. “How did he get into the canyon?”
“Tash was always a curious fellow. We grew up together. He was a three-year-old when my dad gave him to me. I was five. Sometimes—most of the time—when I was a kid, I’d sit on his back and let him lead the way. We explored the ranch together.”
He scrubbed one restless hand across his creased brow. “Last night at the hospital, my brother told me to stop berating myself for retiring Tash at the Bar H last year instead of bringing him here. Tash spent most of his life at the Bar H. I know he loved being with the horses he’d grown up with... He was happy there.” He shook his head. “But I can’t bury that regret...”
His voice became scratchier as he continued. “He would be the only horse to jump over that broken fence. Something must’ve caught his eye. Maybe a rabbit? A bird? Whatever it was, I’m guessing he followed it down into that canyon. I think he slipped on the ice and fell... Just like I did... His front left fetlock snapped in two.”
Tears swelled in her throat; she swallowed them. “Was there...no way to save him?”
“No. Damage was too severe. He’d been hobbling around on it, making it worse. And he was getting up in years. Twenty-eight... A decent life for a horse.” He choked on those last words.
A tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.
His remorse permeated the room. “The worst thing... The worst thing was I didn’t have the sugar cubes with me, nothing for Tash to nibble on. I packed some in my saddlebag, but I forgot to put them in my coat pocket. Guess I was in shock, finding him down there...imagining how scared he must have been all alone for so long. I knew what I had to do. I put two bullets in my pocket, but not the sugar. Damn it all!”
She wiped her eyes on her shirt sleeve, wishing she had the words to console him; everything that came to mind sounded trite.
“Tash understood what I had to do,” Travis said, voice shaking. “I saw it in his eyes. It was a look of relief and...gladness, I think. That I’d be the one. I rubbed his neck and ears and crooned nonsense words, just like I always did with him. I told him how sorry I was I hadn’t brought him anything to nibble on, one last sweet treat. By then, I’d broken my leg. I had to crawl over to him. He lowered his head, and I wrapped my arms around his neck and hoisted myself to my knees. To the end, he was giving and loving. I knew I was giving him relief...putting him out of his misery, but I can’t... I can’t get those sweet, forgiving brown eyes out of my head.”
He said something else, but the words sounded muffled. Mari’s eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see him hunched over, his face buried in his hands. Tortured sobs racked his frame.
She’d never seen a man cry, not in person and up close. Others might consider it a sign of weakness, but she didn’t. She thought it brave. For him to reveal himself like this to her, the girl who’d bitten his hand and scratched his face...
Before she could second-guess her instincts, she lurched from the chair and rushed to his side. She perched on the side of the bed, hands twisting in her lap as she gazed at his bowed head.
A different fear assailed her. Would he cringe from her touch? Push her away? She drew a deep breath, reached out and rested her hand, feather-light, on the back of his head.
He stilled.
She made to pull her hand away when his head shifted, pushing upwards into her palm, just as he’d done earlier that day when he was asleep. And then he reached up with one hand and held it over hers and pressed her hand closer, his clasp gentle.
She wasn’t certain how much time passed. Minutes. A half hour. It didn’t matter. He was drawing solace from her, and she willingly gave it, and would continue to give it as long as needed.
His trembling lessened; his harsh, rapid breathing slowed.
A peaceful silence blanketed the room.
She wasn’t aware of her fingers tunneling through his hair and massaging his nape and scalp until his relaxed murmur penetrated the quiet. “That feels good.”
She froze.
His hand squeezed hers once more before letting go. As she dropped her hand to her lap, he lifted his head. In the muted light from the doorway, his eyes glistened. “Thanks for listening,” he said in a soft, calm voice.
She let out a shaky sigh and rose awkwardly to her feet. “You’re welcome.”
He hesitated before saying, “It’s late. Will you be okay driving back to town? You can sleep on the couch if you like.”
Surprise overcame her shyness. “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure Jonathan would like it.”
“Call him. In fact, I insist you stay. The road’s too muddy. You might get stuck.”
That made sense. She’d dreaded driving that muddy, rough road since night settled in. Still, she dithered.
“You’ll find extra bedding in the wardrobe,” he said, taking her silence for consent.
She walked to the wardrobe near the door.
“Want me to turn on the light?” he asked.
“No. I’m fine.”
She found two blankets and a pillow. At the doorway, she pivoted to glance at him. “I forgot. We need to put fresh ice packs around the cast. Be right back.”
When she returned, he said, “Hand them to me. I’ll do it.”
He grunted a little as he replaced the bags.
“How’s the pain? Is the ice helping?”
“Can’t say. My leg hurts like h—. It hurts.” He put the thawed bags into her waiting hands. “Talking helped take my mind off it.”
“You sure you don’t want another pain killer? Sleep is the best healer.”
In the dim light, she saw him reach for the bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand. He gave it a shake. “I’ll take these instead.”
“Do you need more water?”
“Nope. There’s plenty here. Keep the door open a notch so the heat comes in.”
She moved away, pausing at the door to leave it ajar as requested.
“Mari.”
His low, husky voice caught at a place deep within her. “Yes?”
“Thank you again. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”