An Accidental Hero (21 page)

“Suit yourself,” he said, still looking at the window.

“You never answered my question.”

He closed his eyes and said a sleepy “What question?”

“How’re you feeling? Does anything hurt? I can call your doctor.”

Another sigh. “Still have one good hand,” he told her, moving the fingers of his left hand. “If I need anything, I’ll buzz a nurse.”

He had a right to be angry with her. If it hadn’t been for her self-centered remarks that night in the car, if she hadn’t distracted him before he went into the arena this afternoon… It was Cammi’s turn to sigh, because what had happened to him had been her fault.

The doctor said the fall had caused a concussion, a fractured shoulder blade, a broken thigh and shattered ankle, and a bad wrist sprain. And Malicious’s hooves cracked three ribs—one of which had punctured a lung. “We’ll keep him here for two or three days,” the surgeon had said. “After that, he’ll need bed rest for a couple of weeks.”

And after that, Cammi knew, a wheelchair, followed by crutches, then a cane.

And she intended to nurse him right up until he felt like his old self again.

“Can’t let you do that,” Reid said when she announced her decision.

Using his good hand, he shoved himself upright in the bed. “Let me rephrase it, then.” One brow high on his forehead, he said, “I don’t
want
you to do
that.” He made a thin, taut line of his lips, as if to show her he meant business.

“Might as well get used to the idea.” She plopped a stack of clean, fresh clothes on the foot of the bed.

“I won’t get used to it!” He’d made the mistake of drumming his point home by punching his injured hand into the mattress. Wincing, he clenched his teeth. “Only way I’d move into Lamont London’s house is in a pine box,” he said once the pain dulled a bit. “I mean it, Cammi. I’m going home. To the Rockin’ C. Got it?”

She folded both arms over her chest. “All right, then, I’ll move a few of my things into
your
house, take care of you there until—”

“No.”

He had every right to be angry with her, but had no right to abuse himself. “Hate me if you must,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “but if Mohammad won’t come to ‘the London,’ ‘the London’ will come to him!”

“Very funny.”

He wasn’t smiling, she noted. “Only way you can keep me outta there is by calling the sheriff.” Grinning smugly, she shrugged. “Besides, it’s all arranged. I’ve hired a man to drive your pickup back to the Rockin’ C. He’ll tow my car behind it. I tried to get a hold of Martina and Billy, but—”

“Leave them out of this. They’ve been through enough.”

He’d been angry the night she ran the red light, and when Amanda foisted herself on him across from Georgia’s Diner, and in her car, after she’d asked for time. But that had been a different kind of anger than
what she was seeing now—a blend of resentment and frustration that turned his otherwise DJ-like voice cold, that changed his expression from welcoming to distant.

“I don’t need your help,” he tacked on, as if what he’d already said hadn’t made his feelings clear enough.

His remark stung like a cold slap, but she hid it well, pretending to fuss with the clothes she’d laundered for him while waiting for his operation to end. How else
could
he react, when she knew as well as he did that it was her fault Reid lay flat on his back, broken and bruised in body and spirit!

It came to Cammi in a blinding, painful flash…

Every time Reid saw her face from this day forward, he’d be reminded of what his surgeon had said earlier: “I’m afraid your rodeo days are over, this time for good, son. One more fall like that and you’ll spend the rest of your days in a wheelchair—if you have any days to spend.”

The bitter irony throbbed and ached inside her, raising a sob in her throat, bringing tears to her eyes.

Cammi hoped and prayed she’d be able to make it up to him—and prayed Reid would give her the time to do it.

R
eid was beginning to feel guilty about his grumpy attitude. True, he hurt in places he didn’t even know he had, but that was no reason to take it out on Cammi. She’d worked tirelessly and cheerfully these past few weeks and he hadn’t exactly been appreciative.

Just as she’d vowed on the day his surgeon signed the release forms, Cammi hadn’t budged from his side. She had hired an ambulance to drive him from New Mexico to Amarillo, and when the driver had explained civilians weren’t allowed in the back with patients, she had huffed and climbed inside anyway. “What’re you gonna do,” she spat when he repeated the rules, “call the cops?” Reid had sympathized with the driver, who gave up without a fight, shrugging as he closed the doors.

Every time they had hit a bump in the road, she’d patted his hand. “I’ll bet that hurt!” she’d said, or “They need to do something about these roads!”

From the moment she set foot into the house, she’d taken charge, instructing Hank and the hands to rearrange the living room furniture so the hospital bed she’d rented would fit. “Put it beside the windows,” she told the hands, “so he can watch what’s going on outside.” She made it up with velvet-soft flannel sheets “so bed sores won’t develop,” and smoothed out every wrinkle with her tiny, hardworking hands.

She stood there, wincing as the men moved Reid from the ambulance gurney to the bed. “Careful,” she kept saying. “Be gentle with him!” And when she dismissed them, Cammi shoved the big old console TV across the room—grunting quietly, her face a knot of stubborn determination as she struggled with it—so he wouldn’t even have to turn his head to see the screen.

Each morning, when he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Cammi, dozing in the big easy chair beside his bed. And she was there, pretending to be engrossed in a novel, when he settled in for the night.

She’d left him from time to time, but only long enough to cook a meal or get a fresh glass of water to wash down his pain medication. She was in the kitchen now, fixing his supper. The delicious scents of something Italian wafted through the house, and Reid’s stomach grumbled with anticipation.

The front door opened, then closed with a
bang.
“Evenin’,” Lamont said. He took off his hat, laid it atop the floor lamp’s shade. “Feelin’ better?”

Reid nodded. “She lets me up a couple of times a day now, puts me in that contraption for an hour or two at a spell.” He pointed at the wheelchair that stood near the entry.

“I should’ve warned you it wouldn’t be a picnic. Not with my Cammi in charge.”

Another nod. Reid’s feelings toward the older man had changed, from grudging acceptance to quiet admiration. Though he had said it in plain English, Lamont was now trying to show Reid how sorry he was for the way he’d behaved in the E.R. all those years ago. For his own part, Reid had said in a roundabout way, months earlier when they’d met at the diner, that all was forgiven.

“Hi, Dad,” Cammi sang as she entered the room. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Just got here,” he admitted, grinning. “Whatever you’re cookin’ invited me all the way from River Valley.” He nodded at Reid. “What’s the boy’s incentive to get back on his feet when you’re treatin’ him like a king every minute of the day!”

Cammi blushed so deeply that Reid could see it from across the room, despite the low lighting. “Just doing my job,” she said, tidying Lamont’s collar. “Will you join us for supper?”

Chuckling, her father said, “You’d have to hogtie me to keep me away from the table.”

“Everything is ready. I’ll set a place for you as soon as I help Reid into his…into the…” Shaking her head, she sighed.

Reid hated how uncomfortable she seemed, just saying the word
wheelchair.
He’d pretty much stopped taking the big white pain capsules prescribed by his surgeon, and as the drug-induced fog lifted, he saw a lot of things more clearly.

Those first days home from the hospital, he’d secretly blamed Cammi for the accident—and that was
wrong, just plain wrong. Because down deep, he knew full well that what happened had been his own fault. He never should have entered the Bareback event in the first place, let alone after a long, hard day of competing in every contest offered. And the way she’d been behaving—fussing over him, doting on him, even when he barked at her, even when he behaved like a low-down ingrate—proved that she held herself far more accountable for his condition than he could in a month of Sundays.

It was high time the two of them laid their cards on the table. He’d decided, just this afternoon, to put it to her plain at supper tonight: He had nobody to blame but himself for the shape he was in. But since Lamont had agreed to share the meal, his announcement would have to wait.

Cammi rolled the wheelchair alongside the bed, exactly as she’d been doing for more than a week now. “I read up on this online,” she’d announced that first day. “There’s a system to getting this done with the least amount of strain on the patient.” Then she proceeded to teach him “the system,” step by step. First, Cammi cranked the bed’s backrest to its full upright position and instructed him to sit up as straight as he could. Next, she helped him swing his legs over the edge of the mattress, and sat beside him, waiting till he draped an arm over her shoulders. Last, she stood slowly and easily, until his feet hit the floor. Cammi let him set the pace, acting as his support and his guide, until he could lower himself into the wheelchair’s seat.

“Looks like the pair of you have that down to a fine science,” Lamont said, grinning.

Reid chuckled. “Took some getting used to.”

“Isn’t that the truth!” Cammi draped a blanket over his lap. “He hates being waited on. Hates feeling helpless even more.”

He’d never said that. Had tried not to complain about anything, as a matter of fact. So how had she known?

Dinner conversation was quietly pleasant, and Cammi sent Lamont home with the leftover half of a home-baked apple pie. He kissed her cheek, then shook Reid’s good hand.

“When you get outta that contraption,” he said, grinning, “you and I are gonna have a talk about your intentions toward my daughter—”

Cammi blushed again, even deeper than before. “Drive safely, Dad,” she interrupted. Taking his hand, she led him to the door. “Sorry you had to eat and run, but…”

“…but here’s your hat, what’s your hurry,” Lamont finished, laughing.

She stood there several seconds after closing the door, simply staring at the floor, as if trying to summon the courage to face Reid after what Lamont had said. Finally, she said, “I’m so sorry about that.” She turned toward him. “I don’t know what gets into him sometimes.”

Reid only smiled.

“Want some help getting back into bed?”

He shook his head. “No.” Pointing at the easy chair, he said, “Set a spell with me.”

“I should really get busy on those dishes. That mozzarella cheese is like concrete once it hardens.”

“The dishes are fine, soaking in the sink.” He pointed at the chair again.

Cammi eased onto the seat and folded her hands on the knees of her jeans. “So,” she began, “you okay? Need anything for pain?”

Chuckling, he took her hand. “I’m fine. Well, I will be once I get this off my chest.”

She bit her lip, blinking and staring at him as if she expected him to light into her. Had he been
that
difficult to take care of?

“I owe you an apology,” he said, reminding himself of the night they’d met, when he’d found himself saying he was sorry for bellowing. The accident had reminded him so much of the night that had changed the course of his life.

“An apology!” Cammi giggled nervously. “If anyone owes anyone an apology, it’s—”

“Cammi, hush.”

“But you don’t have a thing to—”

“Humor me, will ya?” He’d said that before, too, the night that he’d carried her from the barn path to the house.

Her shoulders sagged slightly, and the expression on her pretty face said, “Okay, shoot.”

“You’ve been great, Cammi. Everything you’ve done these past weeks…I wouldn’t have gotten care like this from a full-time nurse. And don’t think I don’t know it!”

“It’s the least I could do” was her quiet response, “since it’s my—”

“Cammi, hush, remember?”

She clamped her lips together and raised her eyebrows. He could’ve kissed her for sitting there, look
ing for all the world like a penitent teenage girl. Maybe later, he thought; right now what he had to say was far more important.

He told her the fall from Malicious had been his own stupid fault, that he’d pushed himself too hard for too long, that his tired old body had simply seen hitting the dirt that day as the last and final straw. He admitted that, because he’d been mad at himself for making so many foolish choices—including the one that put him back on the rodeo circuit—he’d taken things out on her. “I should’ve done this a long time ago,” he concluded, “because it isn’t fair, letting you believe you’re responsible.”

“You wouldn’t have left the Rockin’ C in the first place if I hadn’t said what I did to you.”

“Hush,” he said yet again. “You can’t take the blame for that, either, pretty lady. I’ve had a lot of time to think on things, holed up in here the way I’ve been since my fall. Truth is, I’d been chompin’ at the bit, lookin’ for any excuse to get back to rodeoing. Something in me said if I’d just give it one more try, I’d find out the shoulder was strong enough, after all, that I could win a few more gold buckles before I hung up my spurs.” He rolled the wheelchair closer to where she sat and gently chucked her chin. “Your li’l ‘time’ speech gave me just the excuse I needed.”

Her dark eyes filled with tears and her lower lip began to quiver.

“Aww, Cammi,” he said, palm to her cheek. “What is it? Why’re you cryin’?”

She pressed into his touch, like a feral cat that, starved for affection, leans into the first person to show it some kindness.

“You’re such a big-hearted guy,” she said, sniffing. “What a nice thing to do—taking the blame on your own shoulders to spare me carrying the burden.” She turned her face slightly, kissed his palm. “I love you for that.”

Had he heard right? Heart pounding, Reid smiled. He hadn’t felt as pleased or relieved in… He couldn’t remember feeling happier! It started a chain reaction of words, and unable to stop himself, he said, “This is gonna sound like a line from a B-grade movie, but I’ve loved you from the minute I first set eyes on you. Every second we’re together, the more sure I am that you’re the girl God wants me to spend the rest of my days with.”

Using the corner of the blanket that covered his legs, she wiped her eyes. “God? I must be hearing things.”

“Like I said, I’ve had a lot of time to think these past couple of weeks. Figured a few things out, one of ’em being that God’s been pretty good to me.” He tugged on her hand, pulled her closer still. “He put us together. I’ll be thankful for that the rest of my days.”

Cammi snuggled as close as the wheelchair would allow. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and sighed.

He took her face in his hands, forced her to look at him. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.”

“Can’t do that,” she said, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “They wrote some pretty good lines into those old B-movies, and I loved you at first sight, too.”

Relief surged through him, thumping in his chest, at every pulse point. The future would be as rosy as her cheeks, brighter than the love-light gleaming in her eyes. “I think after we’re married, I’ll get me a dog like Obnoxious.”

She kissed him long and hard.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

“Was that a proposal?”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning, “I reckon it was.”

“You ‘reckon’?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Cammi got to her feet and pushed the wheelchair into the kitchen. After parking it beside the table, she stripped the tablecloth and walked toward him, twisting it into a rope, and tied one end to her belt loop, the other to his wrist.

“You tryin’ to tell me something?” Reid said, chuckling.

“That’s as far out of my sight as you’ll ever get again.” She winked. “Think you can stand it?”

He broke a piece of crust from the pie she’d baked and popped it into his mouth. “Somethin’ tells me I’ll muddle through…as long as the vittles are this tasty.”