Randall Riches

“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.”

RICH RANDALL 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?”