Roping the Wind (2 page)

He stared at the scalpel, his mouth dry as she gestured at his jeans. He tried to think of a joke, any joke. ‘I don’t think I can take them off fast enough to satisfy you.’

‘I’ll cut them then.’ With a quick precise slash of her scalpel she sliced away the fabric from ankle to thigh to reveal his right leg. Jay almost threw up. His kneecap was a bloody swollen mess. He tried not to howl as she gently examined him. With a sigh, she turned to her assistant.

‘Can you notify the local hospital? We’ll need to take him in for X-rays and possible surgery.’

Jay grabbed her elbow. ‘Can’t you do something here? Patch me up, let me go back to my hotel and do the big stuff at the end of the season.’

She removed his hand from her arm and held his gaze. He hated the sympathy he saw in her eyes even more than her previous disdain.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Turner. This is too serious. If you don’t get this fixed now, you might never regain full use of your leg.’

Chapter One

‘Shit.’

Jay muttered another obscenity as he sliced his finger with the lethal blade of his penknife. He tensed as his half-brother came up behind him.

‘Do you need a hand with that?’ Grayson studied the mangled remains of the bagel Jay was attempting to slice.

‘I’m fine,’ Jay snarled as he gathered up the crumbs and rammed the four-day-old bagel in the toaster. ‘I hurt my knee, not my fingers.’

Grayson raised both hands and stepped back. He resumed his position at the end of the countertop. His fingers drummed on the granite until Jay longed to take a stab at them as well. Grayson wore an Armani suit, custom-made shoes and a Rolex. Although it was lunch time, Jay had just managed to pull on a filthy T-shirt and boxers before his brother’s unexpected arrival.

Hell, he had no right to complain. It was Grayson’s kitchen and he had every right to be in it. Even though Grayson owned several apartments around the country, his hectic work schedule meant he barely had time to visit any of them. Grayson had offered Jay the new apartment rent free, but he probably would be pissed if he ended up with chipped and bloodstained countertops courtesy of his loser brother.

Jay jerked his head at Grayson. ‘There’s beer in the refrigerator, go help yourself.’ He pretended to watch the bagel as Grayson strolled across to the opposite wall and opened the huge stainless steel door.

‘You’re right, there is beer. But I don’t see anything else.’

Jay drew in a steadying breath. ‘I haven’t had much time to shop. I only got out a week ago. I’m used to people bringing me food on trays.’ His older brother had an annoying habit of trying to treat him like, well, like a younger brother. He didn’t need this crap at the moment. He needed a bed to sleep in, beer to drink and the ability to lick his wounds in private.

Grayson returned with two frosted bottles and put one on the counter in front of Jay. ‘I’m not going to ask whether you should be drinking, what with all those pills you still have to take.’

Jay glared at him. ‘Good, because it’s none of your fucking business.’

He wondered if that would be enough to make Grayson walk out. He didn’t want to deal with his wealthy, successful, oh-so-perfect brother at the moment. It would be nice to wallow in his own failure. True, if it wasn’t for Grayson he wouldn’t have a place to live or any ability to pay his huge hospital bills. The PBR fund had taken care of most of the costs of the surgery but he still had to pay the rest.

Two months of intense physical therapy at the rehab center hadn’t come cheap either. He still had a long way to go before his knee was fully functional. If it ever was . . .

He chased that thought away with a long swig of beer.

Grayson continued to stare at him.

‘I know this is tough for you, Jay. But if you don’t stop taking cheap shots at me I’m going to rearrange your pretty-boy face, permanently.’

Jay gave him a reluctant smile. ‘I’m not a very good patient, am I?’

‘You’re a pain in the ass.’ Grayson finished off his beer and went to get another. Jay poked the toaster and extracted the two bagel halves. He held one up to Grayson who wrinkled his fastidious nose.

‘I’m not eating that, and neither are you.’ He picked up the phone. ‘The great thing about having this apartment in the hotel is that they have room service. If you don’t want to cook, just get them to send something up and charge it.’

Jay waited as, without consulting him, Grayson ordered cheeseburgers, fries and soda for two. At least he hadn’t ordered him milk. Grayson put down the phone with a satisfied expression and turned to Jay. ‘Now what?’

Jay poked his charred bagel. ‘I can’t afford room service.’ Jeez, now he sounded like a whining ungrateful teenager.

Grayson rubbed a hand over his unshaven cheek. He sounded tired. ‘Let’s not get into this again. I’m not hurting for money. Just charge it. We can sort out the details when you’re on your feet again.’

Jay wanted to laugh at the apt cliché. ‘And when do you think that will be?’

His brother met his gaze dead on. ‘I don’t know. Do you?’

Jay was the first to look away. His chances of being a world-class bull rider were gone. Realistically, he knew that, but it was hard to imagine a world not shaped around the rodeo. The traveling, the brief sexual encounters, the loyalty of the other riders. It was all he’d known, all he’d ever wanted since he’d left school at sixteen.

‘What the hell am I supposed to do?’

The question escaped him before he realized it.

‘You’ll find something. And if you need my help, you know where to find me.’ Grayson’s cell rang and he checked the number. ‘I’ve got to take this.’ He punched a button and made his way across the kitchen and back into the entrance hall. ‘Yeah.’

Jay abandoned the still smoldering bagel and carefully lowered himself off the high stool. He grabbed the walking stick propped up against the counter and made his way over to the black leather couch in the den. Grayson’s decorator had used muted tones of gray and brown in the starkly furnished apartment. The décor suited Jay’s mood.

He settled himself on the couch and turned on the big-screen TV, muting the sound for Grayson’s convenience. The view beyond the TV across San Francisco was foggy as usual and even though he had one of the most expensive views of the city he couldn’t see much. The new Ritz-Carlton Club apartments in the old Chronicle building on Market were highly sought after and way out of Jay’s financial reach. Perhaps he should ask Grayson if he owned an apartment somewhere flat, in the Midwest, instead of amongst all these hills.

Restlessly, he flicked through the channels. If he had to move, he wouldn’t have to go back and see Dr Helen Kinsale again. He glanced at his watch, checked the date. His next appointment was at the end of the month. He was expecting her to give him the bad news. News he already knew in his head but was trying to ignore.

He realized he’d left his beer on the counter and weighed getting up and fetching it against remaining on the couch. No more bull riding or rodeo ever. At thirty, he’d have to find a new career.

Grayson’s terse replies on the phone got louder. Jay wondered if he was talking to their father. Beau Turner was on his fifth wife now, having gotten rid of the rest when they failed to meet his exacting standards. That is, when they reached 25 or had a kid.

Jay gazed longingly over at his beer. Asking Grayson for help was hard enough; crawling back to his daddy and asking for a job was too horrific to contemplate. Grayson might be earning a fortune as their father’s right-hand man but he looked stressed and unhappy. Jay couldn’t see himself in a suit or working in an office. He’d have to find something to do that allowed him to be outside or he’d shoot himself.

Grayson returned, his expression grim. ‘That was dear old Beau. He’s wondering why I’m not in the office.’

‘Did you tell him you were doing charity work? He’d probably like that. Good for the company image.’

Grayson swung around and pointed his finger straight at Jay. ‘Don’t you start. Sometimes . . .’ He let the sentence hang in the air as he walked across to stare out the window.

Jay watched him carefully. He’d never seen his confident brother so rattled. ‘What?’

The buzzer sounded and Grayson replaced his phone in his pocket and took out his wallet. ‘Great, here’s our lunch. Stay there. I’ll get it.’

Jay breathed in the heavenly scent of fried onions and ketchup and realized how hungry he was. Grayson sat opposite him on a matching leather recliner and passed him the hamburger. Silence fell as they both dug in.

Eventually, even though he knew his brother was waiting, Jay had to look up. Grayson set down his glass of soda on the coffee table with a decisive thump.

‘Look, Jay,’ he said abruptly, ‘the apartment is yours for as long as you need it. If I’m in town, I’ll call and see if you want me to visit. Otherwise I’ll stay away.’

Jay didn’t bother to correct him. He knew he should tell his brother he was welcome anytime but it wasn’t true. There was too much rivalry, too much history between them for their relationship to ever run smoothly.

‘And don’t worry about money either. I’ve arranged for an allowance to be deposited in your bank for as long as you want it.’

‘You don’t have to do that. I’ll be OK.’

Grayson shook his head. ‘I don’t want you to be just OK. I want you to use the time and the money to decide what you want to do with your life. If you decide to go to college, do it. If you want to spend a year traveling the world, do it.’

Jay fixed his gaze on Grayson. ‘More to the point, why are you doing this?’

‘Maybe because I never got the chance.’

Jay frowned. There it was again, that crack in the perfect veneer of Grayson’s life. The sense that everything wasn’t going as well as it seemed. It was so much easier to hate his brother when he was in full-fledged successful businessman mode rather than when he was like this. For a second he was tempted to ask what was wrong.

‘Whatever you do, make sure you keep up with the physical therapy and your hospital appointments,’ Grayson added. ‘You’re still seeing Helen Kinsale, aren’t you?’

Ah, that was better. Jay relaxed. Grayson was back into his usual big brother lecturing style.

‘I’m not stupid, Grayson. I’m not going to blow it.’

He’d even brave the chilly smiles of Dr Kinsale if it meant he’d recover more quickly. To give the woman her due, she had performed the surgery that had saved his kneecap so he should be grateful.

She was easy on the eye as well. Tall and slim. Just the type of woman he loved, except she’d treated him like dirt since the first time they’d met. He was never exactly sure what he’d done to annoy her but she definitely wasn’t his biggest fan.

As Grayson gathered the dirty plates, his cell rang again. This time he ignored it.

‘Just concentrate on getting better, Jay. The rest of it will fall into place.’ He dumped the dishes in the sink. ‘And leave a list of groceries out for the cleaning service. I’ll make sure they pick up what you need.’

The phone rang again. This time Grayson turned it off and headed for the door.

Jay struggled to his feet and limped after him. ‘Hey, Grayson, I do appreciate what you’ve done for me.’

His brother grinned, transforming his normally stern face. ‘See? That wasn’t so hard to spit out, was it?’

Jay reluctantly smiled back. ‘I’ll call you.’

‘You won’t, but I’ll call you.’ He punched Jay’s arm. ‘Take care of yourself, little brother.’

Jay waited until he heard the hum of the elevator taking his brother down to street level before he went back into the apartment. He stared at the soundless images of the Flagstaff rodeo on the big screen. Of course, he’d automatically selected the channel that showed all the PBR and NRCA events.

He gripped the back of the couch until his fingers hurt. He was a thirty-year-old has-been, a washed-up cowboy with nothing to show for twelve years of effort except a few gold belt buckles and a closet full of sponsored clothing he no longer had the right to wear.

After finishing his beer he stared at the refrigerator. He had two choices: drink the rest of the beers or do his physical therapy exercises. He stumbled over to the fridge and flung open the door. Eight bottles sat in lonely splendor on the shelf. Enough to get him wasted.

He grabbed the whole lot and pictured Dr Kinsale sneering at his lack of will power. Hell, she’d expect him to drink the beer so why should he disappoint her?

As he opened the first bottle he gave the good doctor a salute. No doubt she was sitting in some fancy restaurant with a rich guy fawning over her. No beer for her. Only the finest of champagne. He pictured her small mouth sipping daintily at the bubbles. Pictured her lips around his cock . . .

He choked on his beer and half of it dribbled down the front of his T-shirt. Where the hell had that image come from? He glared at the bottle. Perhaps Grayson had a point about not mixing alcohol with painkillers. If Dr Doom ever got her mouth around his most prized possession, she’d probably bite it off.