Rancher's Redemption

“Can you walk or should I carry you inside?”

Just getting to her car had hurt like hell. She was tempted to let him carry her, but she hated to seem needy. “I can walk.”

“Hobo, get back,” he told the beagle, who stuck his nose inside the car to greet the ranch’s visitor.

Tamara smiled through her pain at the sight of the mutt, her old friend. She held her fingers out for him to sniff and scratched his head. “Hi, boy.”

Clay placed a hand under her elbow to steady her as she rose slowly, stiffly from the car. New aches from the tumble into the pit assaulted her. Muscles cramped, joints ached, scrapes throbbed.

She hobbled a few steps and couldn’t stop the groan that escaped her dry lips.

“That’s it,” Clay said and carefully lifted her into his arms.

She clutched the shirt at his shoulder when pain ripped though her chest. “No, Clay, I—I’m okay.” She stopped to suck air in through her teeth. “Really. L-let me down.”

He scoffed. “You can barely stand, much less walk.”

“But if I move slowly, I can—”

“Don’t argue.” His penetrating espresso gaze silenced her.

Cradling her ribs, she rested her cheek on the soft cotton of his shirt. Being this close to him again stole her breath. Feeling the power of his arms around her, hearing the thud of his heart left her a bit dizzy. With Hobo barking excitedly at his feet, he strode with smooth quick steps, mindful not to jostle her, and soon had her in the blissful air-conditioning of his house.

He bypassed the living and dining rooms, heading straight down the long hall, through the kitchen and into the family room at the back of the house.

“Marie!” Clay called as he settled her on a cool leather couch.

A Mexican woman came out of the laundry room and appeared in the kitchen. “Sí, Mr. Clay?”

“I need the hydrogen peroxide and a damp cloth.”

Tamara met the woman’s startled expression and gave her a strained smile.

The woman pressed a hand to her cheek and hurried closer. “Oh, my! What happened?”

“I fell in some kind of sinkhole…out in the south pasture.” She opted to leave out the detail about the dead body until the sheriff had a chance to investigate.

Clay made quick introductions between Tamara and his housekeeper. If the woman found it odd that Clay’s ex-wife had been hanging around one of his pastures, she hid it well.

Tamara winced as she tried to find a more comfortable position.

Marie waved a hand toward her. “Mr. Clay, she needs to see a doctor. She’s hurting.”

Clay unclipped his cell phone and started dialing. “I know. I’m calling Doc Mason right now.”

The older woman shook her head. “But Doc Mason is not here. He went on vacation, I heard.”

Clay scowled and closed his phone. “Vacation? Doc never takes vacation. It’s hard enough to get him to take off a day to go fishing.”

Marie shrugged then hurried toward the hall bathroom.

“Clay, we have to call Jericho…about the body I found,” she whispered so Marie wouldn’t overhear.

“I will. First I need to make sure you’re okay. If Doc is out of town, I’ll have to call an ambulance, but the nearest one could still take almost an hour to get you to a hospital.”

He stroked his stubbled cheeks, and the scrape of his callused palms on the bristles slid over her like a lover’s caress. She knew so well the sandpapery scratch of his unshaven chin against her skin, gently abrading her during lovemaking. The sensation was tantalizing, thrilling.

Tamara took a deep breath to clear the erotic memories from her head and was rewarded with a sharp stab from her battered ribs.

Her grunt of discomfort darkened Clay’s concerned stare to the shade of midnight. “Try not to move.”

She quirked a grin. “Ya think?”

Her attempt at levity bounced off his tense jaw and stress-tightened muscles. He began to pace.

When Marie returned with the cloth and antiseptic, she sat on the edge of the couch and began dabbing the scrapes on Tamara’s face. “Call the clinic,” she said. “There is a doctor filling in for Doc Mason, I think.”

Clay’s eyebrows lifted, and hope lit his eyes.

His housekeeper nodded. “That’s what I heard at Miss Sue’s. Everyone was as surprised as you.”

The mention of the local diner brought a smile to Tamara’s face. “Gossip central. Is the pecan pie there still as good as it used to be?”

Clay gave Tamara a worried frown, as if her interest in the best pie in Texas were a sign of head injury. Flipping open his cell, he punched redial. His concern for her both touched her and chafed her independence. In their marriage, Clay’s take-charge, assume-all-responsibility mode of operation had always been a mixed blessing.

Once arrangements had been made to meet the doctor on call at the Esperanza clinic and Clay had her settled in his pickup, Tamara shifted her attention once more to what she felt was a more pressing issue.

The dead man on Clay’s property.

She borrowed Clay’s phone as he drove her to town and called Sheriff Yates.

After Jericho assured her he’d start an immediate recovery and investigation of the body, she inquired what he’d learned about the money.

“Nothing yet. The serial numbers didn’t turn anything up,” Jericho said. “None of the banks in the area have a record of a withdrawal of that size or any other unusual activity. I’m checking the rest of the state now, but so far that money’s proving a dead end.”

The truck hit a bump, and she inhaled sharply.

Clay winced. “Sorry. No way to miss ’em all on this road.”

“Tamara, is something wrong?” Jericho asked.

“Did I mention how I found the body?” She explained about her fall and that Clay was taking her to the medical clinic in town.

“Ouch. Broken ribs are a bear. Sorry ’bout that.” She heard another voice in the background, heard Jericho reply. “Well, we’re headed out to the Bar None now. I’ll keep you posted.”

“For the time being, you’ll have to reach me on Clay’s cell.” She gritted her teeth as they lurched over another pothole. “But if you find my cell at the scene, I’d appreciate getting it back.”

“Sure thing. Take care, Tamara.”