Page 30 of Take Me Please, Cowboy
In the end, after much silent agonizing, they made it back to the ranch, and after lots of slow, teetering steps, into the house, and down the hall to her uncle’s bedroom and bathroom.He needed to use the bathroom, and she waited outside the door until he called for her.After he’d washed his hands, she put her arm around his waist and walked him to his bed.He wanted out of his clothes, and she helped him undress to his boxers, and he slowly, painfully climbed into bed.
It was obvious he shouldn’t be home yet.
It was obvious he wasn’t close to being independent.
But it was also obvious he wanted his own bed in his own home, and she couldn’t blame him for that.
*
Rye sent Ansleya text just before his first event.Are you here?he asked.
She didn’t answer.
He suspected she hadn’t come today, and he was disappointed, but at the same time, pragmatic.She had commitments.He had commitments.Fortunately, he felt good, strong, ready to ride.He was going into today’s competition in good shape, with him at the top of the leaderboard in steer wrestling, second in saddle bronc behind Huck, and fourth in bare back.Now he just needed to clinch a couple wins.
Rye adjusted his gloves, resettled his chaps on his hips.He was calm.He knew what he had to do.Briefly his thoughts turned to Ansley before he forced his attention back to the upcoming ride.He had this.
The roar of the crowd and then the immediate collective groan told him the last saddle bronc rider hadn’t stuck his ride.It was proving to be a challenging afternoon.Huck Jones had set the bar high yesterday, and had another outstanding ride today, but there was room for Rye to take second.He wanted second—or better.
He climbed up on the chute, waited for the signal and then lowered himself on the bronc.The gate flew open.Rye’s vision narrowed and time slowed, allowing him to feel the bronc beneath him, matching every leap and kick, exploiting the bucking of the horse to earn maximum points.
The bell sounded at eight seconds and the stands roared their approval.On the ground, he beat his hat once against his thigh and looked up at the scoreboard.It had been a good ride.He wouldn’t call it his best.But would his score be enough for him to take second?
His score flashed.Elation filled him.Yes.It would be enough.Second place behind Huck Jones was good enough for him.He’d be taking home some seriously good money.
*
Ansley was inthe kitchen considering her options for dinner as Uncle Clyde said he wanted real food tonight as he’d barely been able to eat anything in the hospital, but Ansley didn’t know what to make him.She wasn’t a great cook.She hadn’t yet learned how to cook properly yet, and while reheating was in her skill set, making and baking from scratch wasn’t.
Ansley closed the refrigerator door and opened the freezer, pulling out a package of ground beef, hoping sloppy Joes or tacos could be considered real food.But as she set the frozen beef on the stove to defrost, she heard a truck approach the house.For a split second she wondered if it was possibly Rye coming to see her, and then she chastised herself, knowing it would be impossible for Rye to be here and at the fairgrounds at the same time.
It turned out to be Melvin Wyatt pulling up in his truck.She liked the Wyatts, and had an extra soft spot for Melvin Wyatt, the family patriarch, a man who’d raised his grandsons when their dad died in an accident that also took Melvin’s only other son’s life.But you’d never know Melvin had worries or pain.He was always looking out after his neighbors, in particular curmudgeonly Clyde Campbell.
Ansley met Melvin on the front porch.He was carrying a huge soup pot.“Dinner,” he said.“Sophie and Summer said they’ll also send something over for dinner tomorrow, too.”
“That’s not necessary,” Ansley said, before quickly adding, “but so appreciated.They must have heard I’m not that good in the kitchen.”
“Practice makes perfect,” Melvin said, as she opened the front door for him.“And in my case, it was a lot of practice.”He nodded to the kitchen.“I’ll put this on the stove, shall I?”
“Yes, please.Thank you.”
In the kitchen, he washed his hands and then faced her.“So, how is our patient?”
“Uncle Clyde seems to be in a lot of pain.”Ansley hesitated.“But he’s also had all the pain medicine he can take until later.Should I let him have more?”
“I’ll sit with him for a bit.If he needs more medicine, I can give it to him.”
“Thank you, Mr.Wyatt.I’ve had a hard time this afternoon.”She heard her voice crack and she exhaled hard.“I warn you though, he’s in a mood.”
Melvin smiled.“But of course he is.Even before the strokes.That’s just our Clyde.”He patted her on the shoulder.“Since I’m here for the next little bit, put your feet up and relax if you can.I’ll let you know when I head out.”
But Ansley couldn’t put her feet up.She was too wound up to relax, and so she began making lists of all that she needed to do, and things she needed to purchase to make Clyde’s life easier, and hers, too.She’d love a camera system, like a baby monitor, that she could put in his room.They needed more grab bars in her uncle’s room, or some kind of frame near his bed to allow him to get up more easily.Would a hospital bed be better?She didn’t know.
She was in the laundry room in the back of the house when Rye’s voice echoed down the hall.“Ansley?Anyone home?”
Ansley froze, heart thumping.He had come.She’d hoped, how she’d hoped, she’d see him, and then she thought it wouldn’t happen, and yet now he was here.She rushed from the laundry room toward the front door where Rye stood on the threshold, late afternoon sunlight streaming behind him.He was holding his hat, wearing a T-shirt and jeans and what looked like comfortable old boots.
He was heading home, and yet he had driven a half an hour out of his way away from his destination to be here.To see her.
