Randall Riches

He gave a nod but said nothing, still watching Sam.

The doctor turned to Sam, too, and handed her a small bottle of pills. “These are pain pills. He’s going to suffer some before things get better. Be careful with these, they’re pretty strong. Don’t overdo them.”

“No, I won’t.”

“I should be in charge of those,” Rich protested, holding out his hand.

Sam slipped the bottle into her purse. “Is there anything else, Doctor?” she asked, ignoring Rich.

“Yeah. He’ll be more comfortable if his leg is elevated. And he should see his own doctor when he gets home.”

“Of course. I’ll remind him,” she said and gave the doctor a smile that lit up her face. Rich hadn’t gotten that kind of smile.

“That’s it, then,” the doctor said. He held out a hand to Sam and, in Rich’s mind, held it too long. Then he shook Rich’s hand. “Good luck.”

Sam didn’t move until the doctor had gone. “Ready? I’ll get your jacket.”

A nurse came in with a wheelchair. “Here we are, Mr. Randall.”

“I have a walking cast,” he pointed out.

“Good for you. Get in.”

“But I—”

“Hospital rules,” the nurse said, her manner firm.

He ignored the smile Sam was giving him and sat down in the chair.

She said, “I’ll go ahead and pull the truck around to the door.”

As she hurried ahead of them, the nurse said, “Pretty girl. When are you getting married?”

“We’re not!” Rich snapped.

“The doctor said she was your fiancée.”

“No, she’s a friend.” He needed to ask Sam about how the doctor had gotten the idea that they were engaged. But first he needed to get out of the hospital.

The nurse wheeled him outside and up to the truck. Once he was inside, Sam drove to the back of the parking lot and stopped. “Do you want to check on Bella?”

“Yeah.” Had he been that obvious? Or did she understand about cowboys and their horses? He didn’t know, but he was glad she’d stopped. He hobbled out of the cab and checked the connection between the truck and the trailer. Then he opened the trailer and tested the halter Bella was wearing.

“Everything is fine,” he pronounced to Sam. “I should have known since Gabe took care of it.”

Sam said nothing.

Once he was back inside, Sam pulled out a map. “I assume we’ll be going east on—”

He stopped her. “No, we’re going north, through Utah, into western Wyoming.” He pointed out the route he wanted to take. “Okay?”

“Whatever you say. I’d like to stop and buy you a couple of pillows. It will make the ride easier.”

“I don’t need them,” he replied.

Showing no emotion, she said, “Whatever you say,” repeating a phrase that should’ve pleased him. They settled into the truck and she started the motor.

“Where were you going to stop for pillows?”

“There’s a shopping center on the next block.”

She didn’t urge him again to consider pillows. Finally, he said, “We might as well get a couple of pillows. Thanks for thinking of it.”

“No problem.”

She pulled into the economy store’s parking lot. “Do you need anything else?” she asked, as she reached for the door handle.

“Did you get drinks?”

“Yes, they’re in the back. I’ll get a couple out when I get back.”

He watched her trot across the parking lot, wondering why she was irritating him. What she said had been perfectly polite, accommodating.

She returned with two pillows and cases to cover them. She removed the plastic and slid them into the cases and handed them in to him. Then she grabbed a six-pack of sodas and put them on the floorboard.

After she got in the truck, she told him to undo his seat belt and move to the middle of the seat.

“Why?”

“Well, since your right leg is the one hurting, we need to put it on the seat.”

He insisted on putting the pillow against the door and putting both his feet on the seat next to her. She didn’t argue. She took the other pillow and put it under his foot. Then she got a soda and opened it, passing it to him. He assumed they were ready to go, but then she pulled the pills the doctor had given her out of her purse. “Take this,” she ordered, handing the small pill to him.

“I don’t need it,” he said.

“You’re already hurting. There’s no need to suffer.”

With a sigh he took the pill, then sipped some soda. “Fine.”

She didn’t reply.

Once she started the truck, he relaxed against the door. The pillows had been a good idea. He began to feel bad about his difficult behavior. He noticed The Hot Skillet ahead. Thinking to make up for his boorishness, he said, “We can stop at the restaurant so you can tell your friends goodbye.”

“No!” she replied sharply. “No, thanks, that’s not necessary.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want them to know where I’m going.”