OLIVIA TRIED NOT to eavesdrop. In the living room, Nick was talking to Logan on the phone. Each night for the past three nights, her ex had called to check on him. The first day, Nick had reported after the call that his dad and Blossom had stayed near Denver, the second in Wyoming—or was it the other way around?
She was glad they were enjoying their wedding trip, just as she was happy to be home, not at the Circle H. Olivia had gradually settled back in to her daily routine except for one thing.
Nick, who was still under what her brother Grey called “house arrest,” wasn’t any happier with her now that he was feeling better than he’d been right before he fell from the hayloft. Several times Olivia had tried to talk to him about their possible move from Barren, but Nick had retreated to his room or gone back to work at the dining room table—which he and Olivia never used for eating—on the Lego set her father and Liza had given him.
As she finished their supper dishes at the sink, she heard his voice, sounding so excited at first about the progress he was making, and Olivia had to smile. The elaborate Minecraft display was coming to life with every piece Nick fit into the whole.
Olivia liked to think his dedication to the project helped him to heal, and that his view of their move might soon improve, too. He’d just groused to Logan about the light chore list Olivia had made for him to help pay for the Tiffany vase. But then, a few seconds ago, his tone had changed.
Nick scampered into the kitchen, holding out the phone.
“Daddy wants to talk to you.”
Her heart sinking, Olivia dried her hands on a dish towel. Logan hadn’t asked to speak to her since he and Blossom had set out on their honeymoon for the second time. Olivia wondered if Blossom was okay. “Everything all right, Logan?”
“You tell me.” His tone didn’t reassure her.
She shooed Nick back into the dining room, noting that he ducked out from under her hand when she tried to ruffle his hair. Then she changed her mind, not wanting him to overhear her conversation. “Nick, would you pick up those Lincoln Logs in your bedroom? And put them away? We made quite a mess this afternoon. I’ll count that as one of your chores.” She waited until he was gone. “Where are you?” she asked Logan.
“Lake Tahoe.” He paused. “Blossom wanted to see the area, which is beautiful, and I’d never been here, either. We’re zigzagging a bit, meandering our way to the coast,” he said. “Probably to San Francisco first. What’s this I hear about you moving?”
Olivia sighed. “Nick told you.” Which explained the change she’d heard in his tone. She’d been afraid of this, but maybe she deserved to be put on the spot. Last spring she’d told Logan that Nick gave her a full report after each visit with his father. Now the tables were turned. “I haven’t made a firm decision yet, but you know my house is too small for us. You know I’ve been planning to expand my antiques business.”
“In Barren, yes.”
She told him about Ted Anderson, who hadn’t yet countered her offer. To be fair, she hadn’t called him, either; she was still trying to find money in the budget to pay for the vase Nick had broken. Concerned for Nick, she hadn’t broached the subject of a move before with Logan. Maybe she should have, but she’d also been enjoying their new truce and she’d suspected he wouldn’t take this well. “If I can’t come up with more money,” she finished, “I may have to wait for a different opportunity.”
Logan’s voice hardened. “And that leaves me waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He sounded so cool just when she’d hoped all the unpleasantness between them was over. “When Nicky told me, he didn’t seem happy. Is this what caused his accident in the first place?”
Her spirits plummeted even further. The night he’d fallen, she’d told Logan that he’d run away from her. “I think so, probably, yes.” Olivia had felt guilty ever since. In her zeal to be the best single mom she could be for Nick, to provide not only financial security but emotional stability as well, she’d only made things worse with Logan. And her son had been seriously injured in the process.
“Libby. Do I have to remind you? Our divorce agreement has a clause that prevents you or me—”
“From taking Nick out of the county to live. Yes. I know.” That had been a sticking point about their settlement, but Olivia had finally given in, not planning to relocate any time soon. But that had been three years ago.
“Yet you’ve gone ahead with this anyway.”
Olivia thought of her offer and Ted’s refusal, then of Nick and the broken vase. “Logan, nothing has ‘gone ahead.’ Or changed. And I’m grateful for Nick’s child support. I know I can count on you to make those payments every month, and I know how much you care about him—”
“I don’t think you do.”
“—but if I can earn more, do more, to secure our future, I will. I’ve opened a college savings account for him—”
“Nicky won’t have to worry about that,” Logan said. She could almost see the taut line of his mouth, the hard look in his eyes that had become too familiar during their battles after she left him. “I’ve told you before. The Circle H will see to his education.” He heaved an obviously frustrated sigh. “Why do you worry about things you don’t need to?”
She sighed. “I know you mean well, and I do trust you, Logan. I’ll try to worry less about finances, but what about my ambitions? And look at Grey. He almost lost all his cattle, which would have ruined him. There are no guarantees in life. I need to make sure things are good for Nick.”
Logan knew her well enough to know how her family’s breakup had affected her and Grey—how she’d come to mistrust her father’s promises and too often felt as if she were alone in the world with only herself to rely on. Or her mother, and they still rarely agreed on any best course of action. Last summer, Olivia had gone with her to Thailand, and delightful as the country was, they’d almost killed each other.
Feeling cornered, she said, “I worry about my son.” Then Olivia suppressed a groan. She shouldn’t have said that. “Our son, I mean.”
It was as if all the progress she and Logan had made this spring and summer vanished with those few words. Was she turning into her mother? Always ready to do battle with her ex?
In the background, Olivia could hear Blossom’s soft voice encouraging Logan to take a deep breath. From the bedroom down the hall, Olivia heard Nick drop another bunch of Lincoln Logs into his toy box with a clatter.
The last thing she’d wanted was to antagonize Logan. He had every right to want their child near, especially when he’d given up so much of his flying career to be with him now, with Blossom, with Sam at the Circle H. Secure in Blossom’s love, Logan wasn’t the same man Olivia had left three years ago. But had she changed?
“Logan. We wouldn’t be moving that far. I don’t want to argue,” she said, her voice shaking. “Please. Try to understand my side of things.”
“I’ve bent over backward to do just that. I thought we’d managed to make peace with each other. I’m on my honeymoon,” he said. “You think I want to fight about this?” He took that breath Blossom had suggested. “I don’t. I also won’t stand by and watch Nicky move to…wherever it is you plan to go.”
“The next county,” she admitted. “If the deal with Ted goes through, I’d be back and forth, in Barren quite often. You could still easily see Nick. And if it doesn’t, then I’ll be right here for at least a little while longer.”
“Great.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “That’s reassuring. Nicky has friends here, Libby. He and Ava are inseparable—or they were before he got hurt. When I talked to Grey yesterday, Shadow told me Ava misses Nicky. You should get them together. He’s finally settled after our divorce and you’d uproot him again?” He paused for a brief moment. “That’s not going to happen. Hear me?”
“How could I not?” She said, “I wish Nick hadn’t told you like that.”
“So do I. He was practically in tears. You should have given me a heads-up.”
She glanced toward the hall. She heard no further sound from Nick’s room. Either he’d finished putting his toys away and was distracted by the new pile of books they’d checked out earlier from the library, or he was trying to listen in. She could imagine his ears pricked up at their conversation. “I’m sorry, Logan. I’ll talk to him.”
“To tell him what? That you’re going to take him from his father again?”
Olivia had no answer for that. Maybe she hadn’t thought this through clearly.
“Logan,” she heard Blossom say, but he disconnected the call.
Olivia stood there, the cordless phone in her hand. She would have to smooth things over again, somehow. Yet she had to think of her future—and Nick’s.
Soon, Logan and Blossom would have their new baby to care for. She wouldn’t let Nick become an afterthought, as Olivia had years ago. She knew Logan wouldn’t want that to happen, but it could happen all the same.
She had to find another solution.
* * *
WITH A SIGH, Sawyer answered the phone in the ranch house kitchen. He was alone in the house and hoped Doc Baxter would get back to town soon. Who had given what seemed like most of the population of Barren, many of whom he didn’t know, the phone number for the Circle H?
Well, of course they’d know the number, he thought. Sam and Logan were popular in town, a big part of the close-knit community. And since Doc had left for Vegas and Sawyer’s impromptu lunch with Finn Donovan, the phone hadn’t stopped ringing, or so it seemed to him.
Usually, he let Sam answer or those people left a message: someone’s toddler had a cold; a woman thought she might be pregnant; another’s rash hadn’t gone away despite the steroid cream Doc had prescribed before he left town.
None of the calls, thank heaven, had been emergencies, and Sawyer had returned them, but now—
“There’s blood all over the place,” the caller said after he’d identified himself. “Can you come out to my ranch? Stupid accident, a lapse on my part—”
Sawyer tensed. “I’d suggest you head for the ER at Farrier General.”
“We went there the other day when my wife ruptured her Achilles tendon,” Fred Miller said. “She can’t drive. Plus, we had to wait five hours before anyone saw her.”
Sawyer searched for another option that didn’t include him. He had no idea where the Bar B&J Ranch was located, except that it was near Farrier. He had horses yet to feed tonight and he was bone weary. All afternoon, he’d chased bison cows around the Circle H, corralled late calves for branding and had even spent half an hour working Cyclone on a lunge line for the first time. That hadn’t gone well and every muscle in his body hurt.
He rubbed the nape of his neck. “Can you call a neighbor?”
“Already did. None of them answered.”
Here he was, thousands of miles from Kedar, determined not to make yet another mistake, as he had more recently with Olivia’s son, incurring her wrath, but… “How bad is the arm?”
“I’ve gone through two towels already.”
“Mr. Miller, you or your wife need to call an ambulance.”
“Didn’t you get the message? I can’t afford another visit. Doc never charges me what the ER did.”
Sawyer rethought the issue. Cash flow, health insurance, the cost of medicine could be a big problem for ranchers, especially smaller outfits. It sounded like Fred Miller was one of them. Sawyer softened his tone. “Then you need to get to the clinic here in Barren. That’ll be cheaper than the ER. I know it’s farther from you than the hospital, but it’s your best altern—”
“I told you. I can’t drive, either.” The man’s voice faded. “I feel kinda faint.”
That alarmed Sawyer. Similar to kids, who sometimes masked their symptoms, ranchers were well-known for downplaying any injury. Years ago Sawyer had seen his father do a day’s work with one arm in a makeshift sling, paying no mind to the powerful animal that had nearly broken his arm. Years later, at his clinic in Kedar, Sawyer had seen more of the same, local people who kept going when they should have been in a hospital.
This guy sounded no different. Sawyer hoped he didn’t have an artery spurting. At least he’d called for help…
He asked a few questions, then said, “Listen to me. Sit down. Put your head between your knees and keep pressure on the wound. Your wife there with you?”
“Yeah, but frankly, I think she’s closer to passing out than I am. What’s wrong with you? Are you a doctor or ain’t you?”
“Look, I—”
No excuses. None left. It was one thing to turn Nick’s care over to Doc and the other physicians at the hospital then make his retreat as quickly as he could. Nick had been in better hands, but this man could be bleeding out while he spoke to Sawyer, and he seemed too stubborn to do what he was told.
Hanging up after he got directions to the Bar B&J, Sawyer snatched a few basic medical supplies from the bathroom, left Sam a hasty note saying he’d be back in a while and to eat without him—then borrowed the newest ranch pickup, which had a built-in GPS device.
On his way to town, he phoned Willy to ask him to feed horses in his place. Apparently, Sawyer was going to make a house call.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up at the ranch. The gate stood open.
Fred Miller met him at the door to the house, his arm wrapped in a towel. Blood had seeped through the white terry cloth and his face looked deathly gray. “Thanks for comin’,” he said, pushing the door open and leaning against the frame to prop himself up. “I kind of wondered if you would. After that mess with Grey Wilson’s cattle, and all.”
Sawyer gave him a blank look. “I wasn’t here,” he said. Grey had told him about the theft but few details. Had Miller been involved?
“My nephew Calvin and his friend Derek…rustled part of that herd. Hid them here at my place. I know you and the Wilsons are longtime friends.”
Sawyer didn’t need to hear what part Miller had played in the theft. All he needed was to inspect the man’s wound. If he was lucky, he’d only need some gauze and a good-sized bandage.
Fred Miller wasn’t that lucky.
“This needs stitches,” Sawyer told him, bent over Miller’s wounded arm at the kitchen table. His wife was nowhere in sight.
“You can sew, can’t you? You’re a doctor.”
“I can, but—” I won’t, he wanted to say. This wasn’t a simple slice but jagged and rimmed with dirt. The repair would take skill, and he couldn’t fix the arm, not here. “How did this happen, Fred?”
“Bull pushed me into the fence. Pinned me. The arm caught in the barbed wire. When he dragged me off—this arm just kept tearing.”
In spite of himself, Sawyer’s stomach rolled. He’d seen the worst wounds after the landslide in Kedar, tried to fix most of them, and he didn’t mind the sight of blood, even saw it as a challenge to stop the flow. But his short time at the Circle H had helped to blunt his former enthusiasm, and for sure he didn’t trust himself. “When was your last tetanus shot?” Without one, Miller could die.
He looked perplexed. “Don’t rightly know. Some years ago, I suspect.”
Which could mean never, Sawyer thought. Who knew if this man ever went to a doctor? He might be more likely to call the vet for a sick cow or calf and ignore his own health like Sam did.
“I can’t do this,” Sawyer said. “We need to get that cut properly cleaned and stitched under sterile conditions.” It wasn’t his medical judgment he doubted now—it was clear what Miller needed—but his technical skills. What if the rancher got an infection, or suffered complications from blood loss or shock while Sawyer sewed him up? He’d worked in conditions worse than this in Kedar, but the ordeal with Khalil, and then Nick, had apparently eroded too much of Sawyer’s confidence for him to go on.
He helped Fred Miller up from his chair. “I’m taking you to the clinic. The wait will be shorter there. Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll cover it.”