The Harder They Fall (9 page)

“Pretty good,” Maria said judiciously. “Chris is going to have a hard time defending his title.”

Several other men competed and then Helene heard “champion” and “Murdock” in the midst of the caller’s babble, before his voice was swallowed up in a burst of thunderous screaming and clapping.

“There he is,” Maria yelled triumphantly over the noise.

Helene watched as he tipped his hat at his reception, then replaced it on his head, settling back onto his horse and gathering the reins into his left hand. His rope was already looped over his shoulder and Helene felt the anticipation gathering around her as the crowd fell into an expectant hush.

Chris nodded and the calf burst from its stall onto the floor of the arena. Chris followed at lightning speed and the whole thing was over almost before Helene could comprehend it. She blinked and Chris was standing, the trussed calf at his feet, his arms thrust victoriously into the air. The people in the stands rose in one body and screamed their approval. She dimly heard the announcer caroling “winner and still champion” before the rest was drowned in a roar.

“Is this why you brought me here?” Helene yelled archly to Maria, who was chuckling wickedly.

“Aren’t you impressed?” she yelled back.

Helene grinned and nodded.

They both watched as Chris walked to the center of the ring and swept his hat off his head, bowing deeply to the crowd.

“What a ham,” Maria mouthed to Helene and they both laughed.

Chris’ horse was led over to him and he mounted it easily, trotting slowly around the arena, his hat held aloft, his smile wide enough to be spotted from where Helene sat.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Victory lap,” Maria replied.

“I’ve never seen him look happier,” Helene said wistfully as the crowd noise abated.

“That’s why I brought you here,” Maria replied, shooting her a sidelong glance.

Chris was just heading back to the stall when a sudden series of loud popping noises erupted outside the corral fence, almost at his horse’s feet. The horse reared and plunged and Chris, who had been holding the reins loosely with one hand, flew off the horse’s back and landed at an awkward angle, face down in the dirt.

There was a piercing scream and then a stunned silence as the clown and several of the wranglers rushed over to the sprawled figure on the ground.

“What is it?” Helene cried frantically.

“Some stupid kid with firecrackers,” Maria replied angrily. “He scared the horse.”

The caller tried to calm the crowd, which was switching gears from delighted approval to growing alarm as Chris didn’t move. Finally there was sporadic clapping as he was carried off, a limp bundle supported by two cowboys, but Helene was close enough to see his lolling head and realize that he was still unconscious.

“Maria, we have to go down there,” she said.

“Chris won’t like it,” Maria warned.

“I don’t care. We have to see that he’s all right.” She was out of her seat and making her way down the aisle before Maria rose. The older woman shrugged and got up, following reluctantly.

The area around the changing tent was chaotic, but Helene pushed her way through the milling people until she located a man who was wearing a badge labeled Official pinned to his lapel.

“I have to see Chris Murdock,” she said to him, as Maria stood uneasily at her side.

“You can’t, miss. He’s with the doctor.”

“I’m his wife,” Helene announced, as Maria closed her eyes.

“What?” the man said dumbly.

“You heard me.”

“I didn’t know he was married.”

“Well, I’m telling you he is. Now are you going to let me in there to see him or not?”

The man took off his fedora and scratched his head.

“You got any identification?” he said doubtfully.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Helene said in frustration, fumbling in her purse for her health insurance card, which had been made out in the Murdock name. She thrust it under his nose. “How about this?”

He took it and examined it suspiciously, like an IRS agent perusing fraudulent tax forms. He shrugged and handed it back to her.

Helene sat down on an overturned packing crate and folded her arms. “I’m waiting right here until you go inside and check with the doctor. Will you please do that immediately?”

He looked from one woman to the other and decided that taking on such a formidable duo was not worth it. He made a disagreeable face and left. Helene saw him elbowing his way through the crowd and prayed silently that he was doing what she’d asked.

It seemed a very long time before he returned.

“Doc says you can go back there now,” he said gruffly.

“I’ll wait here,” Maria said, stepping back.

Helene followed the man’s broad back to the rear of the vast circus tent, which had been cordoned off to create a makeshift dressing area. She pushed aside a curtain and found herself standing ten feet away from Chris, who was sitting on the edge of a portable examination table, white surgical tape bisecting his brown midsection. He was sipping a beer as Ginny Porter applied an ice pack to the back of his neck.

“What are you doing here?” he greeted her.

“I was in the stands and saw you fall,” she replied.

“I didn’t know you were coming here today.”

“Maria brought me.”

“Well, you can go home,” he said.

“Where’s the doctor?” Helene inquired, looking around for him anxiously.

“He taped me up and left, said I was fine,” Chris answered, not looking at her.

“Did he say you could drink that?” she inquired, nodding at the beer can.

“I don’t need a mother,” he said shortly.

“What about X rays? Didn’t you hit your head? You were unconscious, weren’t you?”

“You’re a doctor too, now?” he said disgustedly.

“I’m taking him by the emergency room for some pictures on the way home,” Ginny said. “He’s not supposed to drive.”

“That means you could have a concussion and you shouldn’t be drinking liquor,” Helene said.

“Go preach in church,” he said darkly and took another big slug of his brew.

Suddenly out of patience with him, Helene rushed forward and knocked the can from his hand. He and Ginny stared at her in astonishment as the beer splattered all three of them.

“You are the most childish, immature individual it has ever been my misfortune to meet,” Helene said flatly. “You should thank God that someone is concerned about you, instead of behaving like a spoiled four-year-old with a serious case of bad manners. I will go home, thank you very much, and if you start seeing double or throwing up or developing a headache I hope your little friend here has the good sense to admit you to the hospital once you get there. Goodbye.”

She whirled on her heel and stalked out of the dressing room, signaling to Maria when she passed her.

“What on earth happened to you?” Maria asked, hurrying to fall into step beside Helene. “You smell like the brew that made Milwaukee famous.”

“We had another fight—what do you think happened? I found him back there with his floozy, chugging beer and claiming that he was first in line for the President’s physical fitness award.”

“So what upset you more, the beer or the floozy?” Maria inquired mildly.

“Oh, shut up,” Helene muttered, much too annoyed to rise meekly to the bait.

“Did you pour the beer on his head?”

“Almost.”

“What does that mean?”

“I knocked the can out of his hand and the contents sort of... splashed.”

“You?”

“All three of us.”

“You, Chris and the floozy?”

“Right.” They had reached Maria’s car and Helene yanked on the door handle impatiently as Maria unlocked her side.

“Which floozy was it?”

“Ginny Porter,” Helene responded, flinging her purse into the back of the car with such force that it bounced wildly off the rear seat and onto the floor.

“She’s been around a lot lately,” Maria observed.

“I’d think she hadn’t heard he was married, but I was there myself when she received the news,” Helene said sarcastically, sliding onto the front seat next to Maria.

“It doesn’t seem to have made much of an impression.”

“Apparently not.”

“Maybe he explained the situation to her,” Maria said.

“I wish he would explain it to me,” Helene muttered, and then added in an undertone, “Oh, I could kill him.”

“Twenty minutes ago you were terrified that he was dead,” Maria reminded her, starting the car.

“That was twenty minutes ago,” Helene responded nonsensically, folding her arms in irritation.

Perceiving that rational conversation was not possible, Maria drove the car out of the lot, merging with the stream of departing traffic, and headed back to the ranch.

* * * *

“Maybe I should come in and make sure you’re all right,” Ginny said, as they turned onto the winding drive that led up to the house.

“Just drop me off, Ginny, I’ll be fine,” Chris replied wearily, closing his eyes.

“But you shouldn’t be alone,” Ginny protested.

“I’m sure Helene is home by now.”

Ginny fell silent. The subject of his quasi-wife was touchy and not one she wished to probe at the moment.

Chris stared grimly out at the night landscape. The moon cast an eerie spell on familiar objects; the paddocks and horse stalls and barns all seemed to glow with eldritch light. It was really very pretty, but he was in no mood to appreciate it; his ribs hurt and his head felt fragile and he couldn’t dismiss Helene’s impassioned lecture at the rodeo from his mind.

Helene had been genuinely worried about him; her expression when she burst in on him had been anxious, almost distracted. She was like a terrified parent who screams with relief at a formerly lost child; her fear had been replaced by anger once she saw that he was all right. And he had behaved badly, he knew that. He had been so stunned to see her that he covered his reaction with sarcasm, a coping mechanism that remained from his unhappy adolescence. Where she was concerned, he always said and did the wrong thing.

“What are going to do about your car?” Ginny asked, breaking the silence.

“I’ll send Sam back for it tomorrow,” Chris replied.

Ginny pulled up to the front door and got out, running around to take Chris’ arm as he emerged from his door.

“I’m not an invalid,” he snapped, snatching it back.

“I’m sorry,” she said, chastened.

Chris sighed. She was only trying to help and it wasn’t fair to take out his bad humor on her.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “It was nice of you to bring me back and I do appreciate it. It’s just that I’m tired and all I want is to get inside and go to bed. I’ll call you.”

Ginny had clearly hoped for more, but she would have to be satisfied with this farewell.

“Good night, Ginny, and thanks,” Chris said with finality and headed for the door.

“Good night,” she echoed and turned back to her car. He heard the motor fading down the drive as he entered the house.

He went into the kitchen to get a glass of water and found Helene at the table making out a list. She rose when she saw him and tried to walk past him, but he grabbed her wrist.

“Wait,” he said.

She didn’t move.

“What are you writing?” he asked.

“Things I’ll need for the baby.”

“A little early, aren’t you?”

She shrugged. “It gives me something to do. Maria takes care of the housework and I’m not teaching , so...”

“So you’re bored.”

She tugged, but he held her fast. “I didn’t say that,” she replied uncomfortably.

“But you meant it,” he persisted.

Helene gave up struggling, going limp in his grasp. “I’m not going to be drawn into another argument with you,” she said simply. “Think what you want.”

He let her go.

She tried to leave again, rubbing the wrist he had held with the fingers of her other hand.

“Please stay,” he said.

She turned back to him. Had he actually said “please?”

“I want to apologize for what I said this afternoon,” he began, his voice subdued.

Helene was riveted. A tornado would not have dislodged her from the spot.

“I didn’t think you were coming to the rodeo, so I was surprised to see you,” he continued.

She waited.

He shrugged. “I don’t know why I said what I did, you just seem to bring out the worst in me. I’ve felt bad about it all night.”

Helene felt her throat closing with emotion at the sincerity in his tone. His customary defenses were down, gone as if they had never existed.

“I’m just no damn good at this,” he said huskily, making a helpless gesture.