Present Day
Harris watched the saddle bronc riders ahead of him complete their rides and tried to stay focused, but he kept wondering what the heck was going on between Eli and Angel. They were obviously avoiding each other and wouldn't even converse unless it was necessary. At first, he hadn't noticed because his mind had been on his parents after Eli's report of their argument. That had been three days ago.
He got the signal to enter the chute and mount Devil for Hire. The gelding was a mean one that had thrown many a cowboy. Harris puffed a few short bursts of air and focused on his current task—ride a devil for eight seconds. Devil for Hire was in rare form and snorted his indignation after being mounted inside the confines of the chute. Harris nodded his okay and the chute opened up. With boots above the horse's shoulders and his free hand held high, Harris did what he was so capable of—remaining in the saddle of a bucking bronc. The seconds ticked as he focused on staying with the animal. He was twisted sideways but not tossed.
Almost there.
The devil horse kicked up so forcefully that he was again slung sideways. Only this time he lost the battle and hit the ground hard, knocking out his breath. Stunned, he tried to roll away, but the raging beast came down on him with his hooves. Unbearable pain radiated to every cell in Harris' body as he clutched his ribs, screaming in agony. After that, everything turned foggy and faded into the distance. He barely heard the cries of the crowd or saw the shapes of bodies rushing toward him as he struggled to breathe. The last thing he was aware of was someone bending over him saying, "Hang in there, Harris! Help's on the way!"
Lucinda had been sitting in the bleachers amidst the crowd and taking notes when Harris went down. Her heart stopped and she jumped to her feet, just like everyone else. Next to her, she heard a woman exclaim, "Oh, my word! Not Harris Brightman!"
Placing her hand over her mouth, Lucinda held her breath in the silence that ensued, while everyone waited to see if Harris would get up.
He didn't. He lay motionless on the packed earth.
She saw the rodeo clown bending over him and then the medics rushing to the scene. Eli and Angel were allowed into the ring as his neck was being put into a brace in preparation for the gurney. Tears clouded Lucinda's vision. Swiping at them, she pushed past the row of spectators until she could rush down the stairs for a closer view of what was happening. With so many people crowding the outside of the arena she was no better off than being in the bleachers, and she wanted to scream in frustration. She caught a glimpse of one of the workers standing beside the arena fence and pushed her way toward him. "Do you know how bad he's hurt?" she called when she was close enough to be heard. The expression in his eyes confirmed her worst fear.
"It was bad," he said. "The horse came down on his chest."
Lucinda gulped back a sob. "Where are they taking him?"
"To Christus St. Vincent Hospital."
"Can you take me there?"
"No, ma'am. I can't leave my post."
Lucinda scanned the crowd and saw Sidewinder, the ticket taker. Pushing through the people to reach him, she said, "Sidewinder, I need you to take me to the hospital."
The old cowboy didn't need any convincing. "Let's go, li'l lady."
As they made their way toward the back exit they heard the announcer assure the crowd that Harris was in excellent hands, and then divert everyone's attention by calling out the name of the next rider. Sidewinder pointed to an old Chevy truck with rounded fenders and faded red paint. "There's my truck, Miz Lucy."
Lucinda had always abhorred being called Lucy, but at the moment she could care less how the weather-beaten cowboy addressed her. The truck backfired when he turned the ignition and she jumped.
Sidewinder said, "I know how ya feel. I'm as spooked as a hen facing down a coyote myself. That boy has the kindest heart of anyone I ever met."
Sidewinder's words made Lucinda want to bawl. Twenty minutes later, he parked in the emergency lot of the hospital and Lucinda had her door open before he'd completely stopped the vehicle. Together, they rushed toward the automatic doors of the emergency room. Inside, there were a couple of faces that Lucinda recognized, but she didn't see Eli or Angel. The room had other adults and children in it, and a couple of elderly women.
Sidewinder walked to a cowboy about his own age and asked, "Ringo, you heard anything yet?"
"Nope. One of the nurses said it could be some time before they know the extent of his injuries. They did allow Eli and Angel inside, though. All we can do, my friend, is wait and pray."
Over the next two hours more people, including Larry looking ashen from worry, showed up to await word about Harris. Finally, Eli and Angel entered the waiting room, both of them looking grave. Eli spotted the group and headed toward them. To no one in particular he said, "Two ribs and his left forearm are broken and his left lung was punctured." He ran a hand through his hair. "Considering the beating he took, he's lucky to be alive. The doctors think he'll fully recover, but it will take some months. They're keeping him in the hospital for a few days."
"Is he awake?" asked Lucinda.
Eli moved his gaze to her and smiled slightly. "Groggy, but awake, and he's asking to see you."
"Me?" She was taken aback.
"Yep. They've transported him to intensive care." He glanced at Angel. "Can you take her there to see if they'll let her in?"
"Yes. Of course."
Lucinda didn't know what had transpired between Eli and Angel, but they'd had sparks—and not good ones—darting between them since their return from Paxtonville. For the moment, however, they appeared to have put their differences aside.
Angel motioned to the attendant behind a glass separator and the woman punched a button. The interior emergency double doors began swinging inward and Lucinda followed Angel. A commotion made them pause and turn around. Entering the room was a reporter with a camerawoman. Lucinda watched Eli step to intercept them. The reporter asked, "Is there any news on Mr. Brightman's condition?"
Eli replied, "Yes. I'll give you an update."
The doors closed behind Lucinda and she followed Angel down the corridor to an elevator. On the second floor they stopped before more double doors and Angel pressed an intercom button. A female voice said, "Intensive Care. What can I do for you?"
Angel replied, "I'm Angel Martinez. I was with Harris Brightman when he was brought in and then transported to intensive care. Dr. Caruthers said I could bring Lucinda Bergamot to his room because Mr. Brightman's been adamant about seeing her. She's with me now."
The woman answered, "Just a minute. The doctor's here and I'll check with him."
About a minute later she said, "Dr. Caruthers gave his approval." The door buzzed and began to swing inward.
Lucinda's heart thumped furiously as she walked past windows of cubicles, some with the curtains drawn and others open, showing patients hooked to machines that blinked and beeped. The thought of Harris, so young, lean, and healthy, being in such a place broke her heart, and she almost sobbed aloud. A nurse met them in the hallway and said, "He's in room eleven."
When Angel and Lucinda paused in the doorway to the room, a young doctor turned to face them, blocking their view of Harris. The doctor smiled. "My patient is making progress because he's already planning his discharge." The friendly doctor returned his attention to Harris. "We'll continue this discussion tomorrow." He stepped aside and Lucinda got her first look at Harris. Unfortunately, she couldn't stop a sob this time. He was hooked to multiple machines, his arm was in a cast, and his complexion was as pasty as death. The virile cowboy was gone.
Harris stared at Lucinda and rasped, "Not…as bad…as… it…looks."
The doctor grinned, nodded at Angel, and then introduced himself to Lucinda. "I'm Dr. Caruthers." He shook her hand. "If my patient follows his doctor's orders, he'll recover just fine. Unfortunately, he'll look like hell for a few days." The doctor then bade them goodbye and left the room.
Lucinda pulled a chair next to Harris' bed and gulped back more sobs as she sat down. On the other side of the bed Angel bent to kiss his forehead and say softly, "Hang in there, hon." She then said to Lucinda, "I need to make a few phone calls. I'll be back later. If you need to leave before I return just text me."
Lucinda nodded and returned her attention to Harris. His eyes were closed, so she wasn't sure if he was asleep, but then he opened them and stared at her. "Take…your glasses…off," he whispered.
Lucinda frowned but did as he asked.
"Love…your…eyes."
Lucinda's heart was already pounding wildly, but now it took off like a sprinter for the finish line.
"Love your voice…too," he added.
She was at a loss for words, but Harris wasn't. Next, he said, "Been wanting…to tell you that…for a long…time."
Lucinda blinked back tears. Harris' words touched her emotions in a way she hadn't felt in years. Softly, she said, "Would you like me to read to you?"
He barely breathed the word, "Yes."
She reached into her purse and pulled out the small book of poetry by Elizabeth Barrett Browning that she always carried with her. Opening the worn leather binding to the first page, she read:
If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only…
When she turned the page to her favorite poem Harris was asleep, and although his breathing sounded raspy, it seemed to be okay. She quoted from memory:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace…
After a few more poems she closed the book and stayed beside him, gently touching his hand and speaking words of encouragement. She had just decided to text Angel when a man and woman quietly entered the room. It was Harris' mother, Tooty Brightman, and the man in a wheelchair had to be Miles Brightman, the person known to the world as the famous author, Maxwell Henry. Mr. Brightman was several years older than his wife, and Lucinda knew from her research that he was in his mid sixties. His face looked drawn from worry. Mrs. Brightman had obviously been crying.
Lucinda stood and stepped away from the bed. "I'm Lucinda Bergamot, the reporter whose been traveling with Harris for a few weeks." She could see their confusion as to why she was with Harris, and hastily added. "He asked to see me. Um, I've been reading to him, but I was just about to leave."
Mrs. Brightman's attention had already shifted from Lucinda to Harris as she rushed to his bedside. His father barely nodded an acknowledgement before wheeling to the other side of the bed. As Lucinda left the room she heard him say, "We're here, son."