Page 73 of High Frequency

Five minutes later, I’m back in Will’s saddle, Dan behind me. I’m upset. I’m in pain, and I’m not in the mood for conversation. Luckily, he seems fine with the silence. Despite being annoyed with him, I lean back against his chest and close my eyes, lulled by the horse’s steady gait.

When we get to the ranch, Dan directs his horse to where he has parked his truck right beside his cabin. As he lifts me down, I notice my mother is watching from the porch of my cabin, two doors down. She immediately gets up and walks over, while Dan helps me into the passenger seat of his pickup.

“What happened to you?”

I grab Dan’s arm and dig in my fingers, silently warning him not to respond the way he did to Junior Ewing. My mom doesn’t need to know I was shot at.

“I slipped and twisted my ankle. My boss insists I get it checked out. Where is Aspen?” I change the subject.

“Sleeping. I just put her down twenty minutes ago.”

“Hey,” Dan interrupts, “I’m quickly going to hand Will off at the barn.”

“You looked cozy,” Mom suggests as both of us watch Dan’s fine ass lead the horse away.

“Hmmm.”

“Nice of him to look after you.”

I roll my eyes at her. “Nice? He’s overbearing. Controlling. Oh, and stubborn.”

Mom seems to find that funny.

“Are we talking about Dan? Because it sure sounded like you were describing yourself there for a minute,” she scoffs. “What you describe as overbearing and controlling, looks to me to be protective. And you only call him stubborn because I’m guessingyoudidn’t get your way. The pain is making you cranky.”

I open my mouth, but my mother’s pointedly challenging raised eyebrow stops me from speaking.

Dammit. I hate when I’m wrong.

The truth is, Iamcranky from the pain, and from dehydration, and my stomach is trying to eat itself at this point. It’s probably close to dinnertime by now.

“I need some water, and a snack.”

It isn’t exactly a concession, but I know Mom will understand it as one.

“It may not be a good idea to eat before you go to the hospital.”

“I’m not going in for surgery, Mom,” I counter.

“Let’s hope you’re right.”

When Dan returns and gets behind the wheel, there are two bottles of water in the cupholders and a couple of freshly baked banana muffins in a Ziploc bag on my lap, courtesy of my mother.

Feeling a little ungrateful—thanks to Mom for that as well—and perhaps a tad remorseful, I put my hand on his arm.

“Thank you, by the way, for riding to my rescue. I don’t think I could’ve made it up that ledge on my own.”

“No problem.”

I catch him glancing over with a grin on his face I choose to ignore. Instead, I give one of the muffins my full attention.

“Is the other one for me?” he asks.

I hold the Ziploc bag open for him. He’s probably hungry by now too.

“Why don’t you just drop me off and get yourself some dinner?”

He shoots me a look as he shoves half a muffin in his face.

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