Sixteen and Dying Page 7

  “You’ll have to wait in line—his family’s in with him now. They looked plenty scared—and hopping mad!”

  “Are you positive he’s all right?”

  The nurse reached out, took her hand, and said, “Don’t take it so hard, honey. These cowboys are a pretty tough bunch. I’ve seen men stomped on by bulls weighing a ton, and they still get up to ride another day.”

  The tent flap opened, and a man in a lab coat stepped outside. “The boy doing okay?” the nurse asked.

  “Miraculously, yes. The X rays showed no breaks other than his ribs, but that ride wrenched several muscles. He’s going to be sore for a while.”

  “See, I told you not to worry,” the nurse said to Anne.

  Anne still wanted to see Morgan. “Go on, honey. Go see for yourself,” the nurse said.

  Smiling gratefully, Anne entered the tent carefully. Morgan was shirtless, sitting up on an examining table, a thick swath of adhesive bandage wound around his torso. Standing directly in front of him were his aunt and uncle.

  She heard his uncle’s angry voice, “… can’t believe the chance you took!”

  “I’ve ridden in plenty of rodeos. I just had some back luck today.”

  “Bad luck! You almost got killed!”

  “I like to ride,” Morgan replied stubbornly.

  “No one cares if you ride in rodeo events,” Aunt Maggie interjected. “But what’s wrong with the barrel races? Or the calf roping?”

  Morgan snorted. “They’re not my style.”

  “Almost getting yourself killed is more your style?” Uncle Don shook his finger in Morgan’s face. “You know what your problem is? You’ve got a death wish, boy! You won’t be happy until you die out there.”

  “Stop it,” Aunt Maggie commanded, grabbing her husband’s arm. “Carrying on here and now isn’t helping anything.” She stepped closer to Morgan and took his face between her hands. “Oh, Morgan, you scared us to death.”

  Morgan looked into her eyes. “Sorry, Aunt Maggie,” he mumbled.

  “You’re all the family I have left, Morgan. I don’t want to lose you. Please, please stop this crazy, reckless way of living. Why do you do it?”

  Anne saw Morgan reach up and wipe a tear from his aunt’s cheek. “You, of all people, understand why, Aunt Maggie. You know more than anyone what might lie ahead for either one—or both—of us. You and me … we’re different from the others.”

  “That may be true, but I’m living with it without risking my life. Somehow, you’ve got to make your peace about it.”

  “I can’t.”

  Anne felt like an eavesdropper. What in the world were they talking about? What was “different” about Morgan and his aunt? They looked normal. So do you, she reminded herself. Could anyone tell by simply looking at another person what lay in the darkness of his or her life?

  Uncle Don cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to be so hard on you,” he said gruffly. “Maggie and I are really glad they could patch you up.” He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’ll load your horse up in the trailer and take him back to the ranch for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Come with us,” Aunt Maggie said.

  “I’ll catch a ride with Skip. I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.”

  His aunt and uncle both hugged him, turned, and walked toward the tent’s exit. Passing Anne, they gave her a brief nod of recognition. She felt out of place. Morgan saw her. “Why are you here?” he asked, registering surprise.

  “I saw you get thrown. I was concerned.” She came toward him.

  He edged off the table, wincing with the movement. “No need to be. Besides, I look pretty awful—and I know how the sight of blood gets to you.”

  “Only my own,” she said humorlessly.

  He picked up his torn shirt and attempted to put it on.

  “Let me help,” Anne offered, taking it from him and easing it along his arms. She stepped in front of him and began to button it. His face was inches from hers, and he was looking down at hers. Her breath caught, and her heart began to hammer crazily. “All finished,” she said, slightly breathless.

  He caught both her hands with one of his and settled them at the base of his throat. She felt the warmth of his pulse. “Are you?” he asked.

  Torn with a desire she could barely suppress, Anne gently tugged her hands loose and stepped backward. “We should be going.”

  Morgan eyed her patiently, then reached for his hat. “I should have accepted a ride home with Uncle Don,” he admitted. “I really am pretty sore.”

  Anne felt the air still humming between them. “Maybe Skip’s ready to go on back by now.”

  “Let’s go find out.”

  They rode to the ranch in Skip’s old pickup truck with Marti fussing over Morgan, half scolding him in Spanish, half rejoicing that he hadn’t been killed. Anne rode in silence, cramped for space, trying not to lean against Morgan’s taped ribs. In the darkness, her hands trembled. She was unable to forget how much she’d wanted to put her arms around him.

  At the men’s quarters, Skip helped Morgan from the truck. “I’ll drive the girls around,” Skip said.

  “Drive Marti,” Morgan told him, taking hold of Anne’s hand. “Let Anne stay with me for a while.”

  “I shouldn’t,” Anne said, knowing she should climb up into the truck and get out of there quickly.

  “I’ll need some help,” Morgan countered.

  The row of housing looked empty and deserted, and Anne realized that everyone was probably still in Platte City. She gulped and, against her better judgment, agreed to help him to his room.

  Morgan’s room was small, sparsely furnished, but tidy. It contained a table and two chairs, a bureau, a single bed, a TV, and a stereo system. A small refrigerator, a microwave, and a sink for washing dishes lined one wall. She wondered why he chose to live alone with the hired hands rather than in the comfort of the main lodge with his aunt and uncle. She knew without question that they would have allowed him such a privilege.

  “I like living here,” he explained, as if reading her mind.

  Anne’s hands fluttered nervously. “You’ve done a nice job with the room.”

  “Probably not anything like what you’re used to.”

  Puzzled, she didn’t know how to answer. “Maybe I should get you settled before Skip comes back for me.”

  “He’ll be a while.”

  “He does seem to like Marti, doesn’t he? I think they make a cute couple. Don’t you?” Anne felt as if she were babbling.

  Morgan eased onto his bed, propping the pillow against the headboard, and snapped on the bedside lamp. “Turn off the overhead, will you? It’s hurting my eyes.” She flipped off the main light switch with shaking fingers. “Come here,” he said.

  She came, and he urged her to sit on the side of the bed. She felt like a moth drawn to a flame. “Don’t your ribs hurt?” she asked.

  “Like crazy.” He reached up and ran his fingers through her long, dark hair.

  She quivered. He turned off the lamp, and suddenly moonlight streamed through the window over his bed. Squares of white light stretched across the spread and dripped onto the floor. By now, Anne’s heart was thudding so fast that she was certain her body couldn’t contain it. Her bones felt like warm liquid.

  He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead, her temple, her closed eyelids. “Stay with me, Anne,” she heard Morgan whisper. “Please stay the night.”

  Thirteen

  STAY WITH ME. Anne heard the words echoing in her brain, felt the yearning they carved inside her heart. To stay with Morgan, to spend a night in his arms, to taste a world she’d only read about in books and poetry.… “Skip will be coming back for me soon,” she said.

  “Skip will pull up outside and honk. If you don’t go out, he’ll drive away.” Morgan cupped her chin and stroked her hair. “You must know how much I want to be with you, Anne. I’ve tried to stay away from you, tried to pretend that I wasn�
��t attracted to you, but for the life of me, I can’t pretend anymore. You’re very beautiful, and I want you very much.”

  For the life of me. The words fell like hammer blows into a core of cool logic inside her mind. What he was asking of her could cost him his life. She’d read about, heard about, and knew how to practice safe sex, but in one heartrending moment, she realized that such safety could be illusionary. And one chance, even one in a million, was one too many for her to risk his life, no matter how much she wanted to stay with him. “I can’t stay.” Dragging out the words was difficult.

  “Why?”

  “I just can’t.” She pulled away from his arms and stood, struggling to keep her voice steady.

  “Anne—”

  “I think I should wait outside for Skip. I think you should get some rest.” She was trembling all over.

  He looked up at her, and in the swath of moonlight, he looked wounded. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

  Anne felt tears jamming up behind her eyes. She fumbled for the doorknob. It felt cold and hard in her grip. Once she stepped out of the room, this part of her life would dissipate like smoke. She wanted to run back to him, throw herself in his arms, and beg him to hold her, kiss her. She knew in that moment that she loved him, but could never tell him.

  “Good-bye,” she whispered. And with more bravery than she ever dreamed she possessed, Anne stepped quickly into the night.

  She arose early the next morning and went straight to the lodge. The aroma of fresh coffee, sizzling bacon, and baking biscuits filled the air, and a radio played country music in the background.

  When she entered, Morgan struggled up from one of the sofas and came toward her. “Morning,” he said. His eyes looked guarded.

  “You feeling all right?” she asked, her heart thudding.

  “I ache all over. Uncle Don’s relieved me of my duties for the next week; the doctor told us it’ll take at least six weeks for the ribs to completely heal. Anyway, I’m supposed to be taking it easy.”

  “Then you should still be in bed, resting.”

  “I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to apologize for last night.”

  Anne nervously glanced down at the floor. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”

  “I was out of line. I never should have asked you what I did.”

  She didn’t want him taking it back. She wanted to think, even now, that he’d meant what he’d said. “It’s okay. Forget it.”

  “I guess that bronco rattled my brain,” Morgan said with a sincere smile. “I’m sorry if I insulted you.”

  “You didn’t insult me.”

  “Then you’re not angry at me?”

  “I’m not.”

  Morgan tipped the brim of his hat to her, then limped painfully away.

  Anne thought the matter was settled and that she and Morgan were finished, so when Maggie asked her to go see Morgan down in the barn, she was surprised and mystified. She hurried to the barn, eager to spend any time she could near him. When she came in out of the hot, bright sun, she saw Morgan leaning against the gate of a stall, the fancy leather-and-silver saddle thrown over it.

  “It came!” Anne cried, hurrying over. She’d forgotten all about it. “Do you like it?”

  “I thought my apology was enough.” His voice sounded cool.

  Anne felt her smile fade. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Did you think you had to soothe my feelings with this?”

  She was confused by his hostility. “I thought you’d like it. That you would use it on the bay, during parades. I thought you’d be pleased.”

  He shook his head and pushed stiffly away from the stall. “You little rich girls are all alike. You think that you can buy anybody’s favor, purchase anything you want with Daddy’s money.”

  “Rich?” She couldn’t believe his assumption. “What makes you think I’m rich?”

  “I know what that saddle cost. I’ve looked at it many times. Don’t tell me you didn’t spend a fortune on it.”

  Anne was speechless. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t wealthy, hadn’t been born into the lap of luxury. Yet, how could she explain? She clamped her lips tightly. There was no way, of course. It was far better to allow Morgan to cling to his false assumptions about her than for her to explain reality. “It’s a gift, Morgan, with no strings, no hidden motives.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  She held her head high. “It’s yours anyway. If you really don’t want it, you can throw it in the garbage, for all I care. Rich girls like me can buy others.” She spun, kicking up dust and hay with her boots, and jogged quickly away from the barn and the gleaming saddle.

  The next week dragged for Anne. She didn’t feel well, either. Her glands were swollen, and a persistent cough plagued her. Sometimes she awoke in the night sweating profusely. Her appetite decreased, but she attributed that to the unhappiness she felt over her estrangement from Morgan.

  One afternoon, a steady rain forced all activity on the ranch to a standstill. Anne confined herself to a game of solitaire in the main lodge, hardly noticing the guests who grouped around the TV set and board games. From the corner of her eye, she saw Morgan sitting on the hearth of the great stone fireplace. He was entertaining a group of kids with a length of rope, showing them how to tie different kinds of knots.

  A violent clap of thunder shook the rafters. Anne started, and kids squealed, scampering toward their mothers like frightened kittens. “It’s only a big boomer,” Anne heard Maggie explain to everyone. “My mama used to say thunder was only the angels bowling up in heaven.”

  Laughter rippled through the room. “Fall’s coming,” Maggie added. “Summer rain means autumn’s on its way.”

  Anne didn’t want to think about autumn, because it meant she’d be back home, and if her health held, she’d be back in school. She’d miss the outdoors, Golden Star, Maggie, Marti, Skip, Morgan—most of all, Morgan.

  Suddenly, the door of the lodge banged and Skip stood framed in the open doorway. His yellow slicker streamed with water that puddled on the floor around his boots. “Morgan!” Skip shouted. “You’d better come quick. Your bay bolted, tried to jump the fence. He’s hurt. Bad.”

  Fourteen

  MORGAN GOT UP too fast, and a stabbing pain shot through his side. He clamped his hand over his taped, bruised ribs and limped toward Skip. “What happened?” he asked.

  “The thunder must have spooked him. I was in the barn and looked out in time to see him try to jump the corral fence. There wasn’t enough room for a running start, of course, and he went crashing through the poles.”

  Morgan felt a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Is he up?”

  “Last I saw, he was thrashing on the ground. I came to find you, quick as I could.”

  Morgan didn’t wait for further explanations. He shoved past Skip and hurried outside into the driving rain faster than his aching side wanted him to move. If his horse was still down, it meant only one thing—he was too hurt to get up. Horses instinctively sought to stay upright.

  The rain was driving so hard, Morgan could barely navigate his way to the corral. He was drenched to the skin and trying to maneuver through the mud. He arrived at the corral, but the rain was so heavy, he couldn’t see from one side to the other. Skip caught up with him. “This way,” Skip yelled.

  Gasping for breath, Morgan hobbled after him; his lungs felt on fire. The horse was lying on the ground, one of its legs twisted at an angle. The animal continued to thrash, but its movements looked weak. Morgan crouched by the bay’s head. Its eyes were wide with fright. “Take it easy, fella,” Morgan said, stroking the animal’s neck.

  Skip knelt beside him. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” He had to shout to be heard above the rain.

  “The worst. Uncle Don always said the horse was spooky. I should have listened to him, should never have tried to make him my own.”

  “Don’t blame yourself.”

  The horse was one more thing he
’d loved and lost. Morgan rose painfully and steeled himself for what he knew he had to do. The horse would have to be put down. The ranch couldn’t afford to nurse a horse that had value only to him and that would probably never be right even if he did heal. Feed and veterinarians cost money. “Dumb, hardheaded beast,” Morgan said to himself, trying to distance himself emotionally.

  “You want me to take over?” Skip asked.

  “I can handle it.” Morgan felt a coldness inside himself, similar to the one he’d felt when he’d learned about his father.

  “You sure?”

  Morgan nodded.

  Skip went into the barn and emerged with Morgan’s rifle. He handed it to him.

  “What are you doing?” Anne’s frantic question above the roar of the rain took Morgan and Skip by surprise.

  Morgan turned, ignoring the pain in his side from too quick a movement. “Get out of here,” he said.

  “I won’t! What are you going to do?” Her eyes looked wide and frightened. The rain had plastered her clothing to her body, and her hair hung in soaked ringlets.

  She tried to march past Morgan and Skip, but Morgan caught her around the waist and pushed her toward Skip. “Take her back to the lodge,” he ordered.

  Anne struggled. “I won’t go! You’re going to shoot him, aren’t you? You’re going to kill your horse!”

  “His leg is broken, and he’s suffering. It’s the humane thing to do.”

  “But there are doctors—vets … you could call someone …”

  “Get her out of here, Skip.”

  Skip tried to pull her gently away. “Come on, Anne.”

  She broke from Skip and hurled herself at Morgan. “How can you do such a thing? I don’t understand how you can be so heartless.”

  Morgan raised the rifle, cocked the firing mechanism. “Don’t you know, Anne? Life’s cruel.”

  She drew herself up tall and glared straight into his icy blue eyes. “Not life,” she said. “People are cruel.”

  Anne shook off Skip’s hold on her elbow, spun, and ran as hard and fast as she could. She shivered. She was so wet and cold that her teeth chattered. She didn’t care. Nothing mattered, nothing except putting distance between Morgan and his shattered horse, and herself.