Randall Riches

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Samantha Jeffers looked up as a rowdy bunch of cowboys piled out of the big booth. She’d waited on them, ignoring their flirting and serving them quickly and efficiently. She hoped they left a good tip, but probably not. The Hot Skillet wasn’t exactly a high-class restaurant. But it did good business, especially when the rodeo was in town. She’d heard the winter traffic was good in this part of Arizona during ski season, but she’d gotten here right at the end of February, as the lifts were just shutting down.

As soon as the men were out the door, she went over to clear the big booth…and discovered the cowboys had left one of their friends behind. The man was slumped down, his face pale.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Slowly, as if his lids were too heavy, he opened his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered and closed his eyes again.

“Mister, the boss won’t let you tie up this booth to sleep off your hangover.” She wasn’t trying to be mean, just stating the facts.

He opened his eyes again and sat straighter. The movement caused him to wince.

“Are you hurt?”

“Uh, maybe.”

“Sam?” her boss called from behind the counter. “You gettin’ that booth ready? There’s a large party comin’ in.”

“I still have a customer,” she turned and called over her shoulder.

“He orderin’ anything?”

“Mister, you’ll have to order something,” she whispered, “or he’ll throw you out for sure.”

“I can’t,” he growled.

“Look, I’ll cover the cost, but—”

“No. I think I have to go to the hospital.”

Samantha frowned. “Mister, our food’s not that bad.” Her poor joke got a half smile out of him, which impressed Sam. He was obviously in pain. “Want me to call an ambulance?”

“No! I don’t want anyone to know. My truck’s here. I don’t suppose you could drive me?”

Checking her watch, Sam realized she had fifteen more minutes of her regular shift, but she’d come in four hours early, at 6:00 a.m. this morning, as a favor for Brad, her boss. He should be able to spare her for fifteen minutes. “Wait a minute. I’ll see.”

She put down the big tray she’d carried to the table and crossed to the counter. “Brad, I need to leave fifteen minutes early.”

He didn’t look at her, a sure sign he was unhappy.
She’d been here a little over a month and had learned to read his moods early. “Not ’til your shift’s over.”

“Brad, I started at six this morning as a favor. Seems to me you could reciprocate.”

“Don’t use them big words on me!”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, it’s not for me. That cowboy’s sick. I’m going to drive him to the hospital.”

“You mean you’re gonna get in his bed. Don’t lie to me!”

“Brad, that’s none of your business. I do my job and I’ve done more than my share today. I’m going.”

She turned away and he yelled, “If you leave, don’t come back!”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and made a quick decision. She didn’t like working here even if the tips were decent. And Brad had been trying to get a little too familiar lately. “Fine,” she said calmly. “I’ll clear out my locker.”

R
ICH
R
ANDALL FROWNED
as he realized what had just happened. The waitress had just been fired because he’d asked for her help.

Now he regretted his ridiculous pride for not asking his friends, well, his semifriends, for help. He hadn’t thought about the waitress’s situation. She’d ignored all the horsing around of the guys while she’d waited on them. Hal had won the bronc riding at the rodeo. Rich had come in second to Jay in the bull riding competition. The whole group had been celebrating most of the day.

Before he could consider his choices, the waitress, pretty in a quiet way, came out from behind the counter, carrying a big pouch purse over one shoulder and a sweater over her arm. “Ready?” she asked cheerfully.

“Look, I don’t want to cost you your job. We can call an ambulance.”

“No need. Is your truck automatic or stick?”

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to ignore the pain in his ankle and read her expression.

“I’m sure. Can you walk out of here?”

He’d make it up to her somehow he thought—when the pain eased. “Yeah, I think so.”

She slid the table back, giving him room and then, as he stood, slid an arm around his waist. “Is it your leg?”

“My ankle. I—I must’ve sprained it.”

“Which leg?”

“The right one. That’s why I can’t drive my truck,” he said, still standing on his left leg, knowing when he shifted weight to the right one, he was going to be in even more pain.

“Let me get on the other side. Lean on me.”

She had a slender build. Even at five foot six, which was what he guessed her height to be, she couldn’t weight more than 110 pounds.

As if she read his mind, she said, “I’m stronger than I look. Come on. I want to get out of here before Brad loses his temper.”

“He hasn’t lost it yet?” Rich asked, thinking her sangfroid impressive.

She didn’t say anything, but she started him moving.

The first time he put his weight on the right foot, he almost sank to the floor.

She straightened him up again and said, “I suggest you hop. Won’t look too impressive, but that way we can get you out of here without you fainting.”

Awkwardly, he complied with her suggestion. Each hop jarred the injury, but it was better than trying to walk on his right foot.

Outside, she paused for him to rest. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he managed to reply. “The black truck over there,” he added, nodding at the line of vehicles to the right.

“Thank God you didn’t park down the hill,” she said, still smiling.

Rich was amazed at her good nature, but then she wasn’t in pain like him. Her life wasn’t in disarray like his. Her future couldn’t possibly be as bleak as his.

“Here we go,” she announced, her grip around his waist tightening.

Just a few more steps and he could rest. He gritted his teeth and hopped.

Five minutes later, he slumped against the side of his truck, exhausted.

“Your keys?”

“In my pocket,” he said, panting but not moving.

“You mean you want me to get them out?” she asked. No more good nature. She sounded cold and unfeeling. “Look, cowboy, if this is just a come-on, you’d better find a better approach.”

Rich stood there, his mouth hanging open, as she started walking away.

“Wait! I’m not—I didn’t—” He reached out and lost his balance, falling, his cry hoarse with pain.

She came back to stare down at him.

“Damn it, do you think I could fake this? I’ll find the damn keys,” he assured her. She waited, saying nothing. He rammed his hand into the tight jeans pocket and found the keys, dragging them out. “Here. Satisfied?”

An agonizing moment passed before she bent over and helped him up. Then, without a word, she unlocked the passenger door of his truck. “Are you going to be able to get in there?”

He nodded. Even that movement brought pain. But he pulled himself up and in with his arm muscles. As he slid onto the seat, he was surprised when she lifted his right foot and gently placed it on the floorboard.

She disappeared around the truck, unlocked that door and climbed in. With ease, she slid the key in the ignition and shifted into reverse.

“You okay?” he muttered, fighting to stay conscious. The pain had gotten worse. He feared he would break into tears at any moment, and he’d be horribly embarrassed.

“How did you hurt yourself?” the lady asked after she had them on the road.

“A bull.”

“You’re a bull rider?” she asked. After he nodded, she said, “You’re crazier than I thought. You landed wrong?”

“You could say that,” he muttered wryly.

She pulled into the hospital parking lot and around
the side to the door marked Emergency Room. Instead of parking, she stopped at the door. “Stay put. I’ll get a wheelchair.”

He thought about it, but finally he nodded. There wouldn’t be anyone here he was afraid would see him being wheeled into the hospital.

In almost no time, Samantha reappeared with a big, burly orderly and a wheelchair. The man pulled him out of the cab of his truck and eased him into the chair. Rich missed the waitress’s feminine touch.

“I’ll go park the truck,” she said and got behind the wheel.

It occurred to Rich that the woman could drive off with his truck and he’d never see it again. “You’ll come back, right?”

She chuckled. “Right.”

S
AM HAD PLENTY
of time to think about her future. When she returned from parking the truck, she’d discovered the nurses had taken the cowboy, her cowboy, to X ray. Forced laughter came out. She didn’t even know the name of the man who’d cost her her job.

No, that wasn’t true. Well, it was true she didn’t know his name. But she wasn’t going to remain in that job much longer anyway. Brad, her boss, had been married four times, his most recent wife had died only a month ago. Suspiciously.

The sheriff had been hanging around. He’d warned her to stay away from Brad. She’d already figured that out. Brad, however, had been making noises about her stepping into the role of wife number five.

So now she had to decide where to go next. Flagstaff was a nice place, but she didn’t want to be that close to Brad. It would be her luck that he’d turn out to be a stalker.

Motion nearby caught her attention. Two nurses were wheeling her cowboy down the hall.

“Hey! Is that you, cowboy?” she called.

He didn’t answer, but one of the nurses did. “This is the man brought in a few minutes ago with a broken ankle.”

Sam jumped up and stepped to the side of the wheel-chair, walking with it. “Broken?”

“Yes. His walking on it didn’t help the situation.”

Slowly those brown eyes she’d seen earlier opened. “Too much noise,” he muttered, obviously on pain medication.

Sam smiled faintly. He was most autocratic. She looked at the nurse. “What happens now?”

“That’s for the doctor to say,” the nurse said, suddenly prim and proper.

“Yes, it is,” a man behind Sam said mildly as they pushed the wheelchair into a curtained-off area and moved the heavily sedated cowboy into a bed.

“Are you the doctor?” Sam asked the handsome man who looked about forty.

“Yes, ma’am. And you are…?”

“Samantha Jeffers.”

He smiled. “Welcome to our hospital, Miss Jeffers. You did say Jeffers, not Randall?”

Sam shot a quick look at the cowboy. “Um, no, not Randall.” Okay, at least she knew his last name. “Um,
I’m his fiancée,” she hurriedly added, afraid she would be thrown out if she wasn’t related to him.

“I see. Does he have any family here?”

Sam hoped she was doing the right thing. “No, none. We were here with the rodeo. He’s a bull rider.”

“Not a great career choice,” the doctor said, sounding like he thought the man was an idiot.

She hadn’t thought the cowboy was brilliant, either, but for some reason, she felt compelled to defend him. “He’s very good!”

“Well, it will be a while before he gets up on another bull.”

“How long?” She knew Mr. Randall would want that question answered.

“Just a minute and I can tell you.” The doctor turned his back on her and took a large envelope from the foot of the bed. He removed the negatives and put them on a lighted background. “Hmm, he got lucky. It’s a clean break.”

“So he can leave right away?”

“No. Because he walked on the ankle, the swelling is particularly bad. We’re not going to put a cast on until the swelling goes down.”

“How long?” Sam asked, feeling more concerned than she should have.

“A day or two. He’ll need to keep the cast on for six weeks, probably. Then he’ll be good as new. You worried?” the doctor asked.

“A little.”

The patient groaned. Sam bent over him, brushing
back the dark hair that had fallen across his forehead. “You okay, cowboy?”

“It hurts,” he whispered.

Sam looked up at the doctor. “Can’t you give him something more for the pain?”

The doctor gave an order to the nurse and she hurried out of the room. “She’ll be back in a minute with something to put him to sleep. He should stay asleep until morning.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning back to the patient. This was an unusual situation for Samantha. She had no family, no close friends. She’d never accompanied anyone to the hospital before. She hoped she never had to do so again.

“Do you need a ride home? Or a place to stay?” the doctor asked.

“No, but thank you for asking.”

When the nurse returned, the cowboy barely opened his eyes to take the medication. Sam patted his arm and said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Then she slipped out of his room.

I
T WAS ALMOST
ten when Sam left the hospital. She drove by a fast-food place and got a hamburger to take home for dinner. “Home” was a room she rented from an elderly lady one block from the diner. However, before pulling up to her building, she drove past slowly, looking at the vehicles parked on the street.

As she’d feared, Brad’s truck was parked right in front of Mrs. Walley’s old house. Damn! He was waiting for her.

At least he didn’t know she was driving the cowboy’s truck. Tomorrow he’d go to the diner and she’d be able to slip into her room and gather her belongings. Thankfully, she traveled light.

She didn’t have enough money with her to get a hotel room. Her savings were hidden in her room.

For tonight, she’d have to make do in the cab of the truck. She’d slept in worse places.

She drove to a nearby shopping center and stopped in the back of the parking lot. She made sure the doors were locked, put on her sweater and curled up on the truck bench seat. Thank goodness the cowboy didn’t have bucket seats.

She awoke when the sun came up the next morning, a little sore from her constricted bed. There was a doughnut shop in the strip mall and she bought herself some breakfast.

She returned to the truck and started it up, praying Brad had left. But his car, a beat-up Chevrolet, was still guarding her room. She knew he was thinking she spent the night with the cowboy, which meant his anger was growing. She shielded her face with her hand and drove on by, then returned to her earlier parking space at the shopping center.