The Cowboy's Second Chance. Christyne ButlerЧитать онлайн книгу.
alone!”
The two creeps looked at her, breathing hard. Stetsons shadowed their faces. They released the beaten man and took off into the dark. The man crumpled.
She rushed to where he lay face down in the dirt. “Are you all right?”
He groaned and pressed large hands against the ground. The muscles across the wide expanse of his shoulders tightened beneath his shirt as he attempted to get up.
“That was a dumb question. Of course you’re not all right.” Maggie’s fingers hovered between his shoulder blades, inches from long strands of hair covering his collar. “Don’t move. I’ll get help.”
“No,” he said, low and determined.
Maggie dropped to her knees. She wrapped a hand around his upper arm to steady him, her fingers small in comparison to his muscular bicep. Heat radiated from his body into the humid summer evening.
“You’re hurt. Please, let me—”
“No.” His refusal left no room for argument. “That’s the last thing I need.”
A zing of awareness raced through her.
The cowboy twisted and rolled onto his back. A cloud of dust rose as his head lolled to the side, away from her. A string of curses followed another moan. Dark hair fell across his forehead and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
She grabbed her purse and pulled out a handkerchief. “Look, I don’t know why you and your buddies got into a fight—”
“They’re not my buddies,” he muttered.
“Then we need to call the sheriff.” Forced to lean over him to press her hankie to his mouth, her fingers scraped the whiskers on his jaw. It reminded her of the dry stacks of summer grass in her barn. “Did they steal something from you?”
“No. I did a good deed and got my ass kicked for it,” he growled through clenched teeth as he pushed himself up on one elbow. “Typical, always doing the right kind of…”
His voice faded as he turned toward her to shove her hand away. Two black eyes, one swollen shut, collided with hers. Steely fingers clamped around her wrist.
“You.”
Chapter Two
“You!” Maggie echoed, her heart pounding in her throat.
His fingers seared her skin and she tugged free. He grabbed at her handkerchief, held it against his mouth. His denim shirt, ripped open to his waist, was covered in dirt and spatters of blood. A black Stetson sat on the ground nearby.
“Ohmigod, this wasn’t—” She hadn’t recognized the other men as they scuffled in the dirt, but now…Greeley’s foremen. “They jumped you because of me.”
“No.” Looking away, he wiped at the blood on his mouth.
“I don’t believe you.”
He rolled onto his hip, one leg bent at the knee, and gave his head a quick shake as if trying to clear it. “I don’t care what you believe,” he rasped, pushing unsteadily to his feet. “Where’s my hat?”
Maggie rose, ready to catch him if he fell. She grabbed the dusty Stetson, and held it out to him. “The fight was because you helped me.”
“Let it go, lady.”
He grabbed the hat, slapped it on the back of his head, and grimaced. The horse whinnied. The man swayed, but managed to steady himself before staggering to the animal. “Easy, boy…it’s all right.”
Maggie grabbed her purse and followed. “Did they hurt your horse?”
“G.W. is fine. Go away.”
His harsh words stung, but she didn’t give up. “The horse may be fine, but you’re not. We should get some help—”
Maggie stopped talking as he untied his horse and led it inside the trailer. She leaned against the cool metal surface, tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. The smell of stale hay teased her nose.
Poor baby, the stallion must have been so frightened. Inside, the cowboy’s muted cadence soothed the skittish horse. Soothed her, too. Gradually his words faded away. She pressed an ear to the trailer. Nothing.
Was he okay? Had Greeley’s men hurt him so bad he’d passed out?
“Damn you, Kyle,” she whispered. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“You still here?”
Maggie whirled around to find him standing behind her, so close the brim of his Stetson brushed against her hair. His height blocked the overhead glow from the parking-lot lights, casting his face into shadow. His presence overpowered her, but somehow made her feel safe, too.
Safe? Where in the world had that come from?
“The medical clinic is down the street,” she said. “You should have someone take a look at your injuries.”
He took a swig from a bottle, grimaced and spat bloody water on the ground. Then he splashed a palm full of water over his face and wiped it away with his shirt sleeve. “Why?”
Maggie planted her hands on her hips. “Look, you need to—”
“I don’t need to do any…”
The cowboy swayed again. She laid a hand against his chest to stop him from crashing into her. “I can’t leave until I know you’re okay.”
His gaze dropped to her hand, then returned to her face. “We’re fine.”
His whispered words belied the uneven beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She jerked her hand away. “Your lip’s stopped bleeding, but one eye is swollen shut, and you’ve got a nasty bruise at your temple.”
“What? You wanna play doctor?”
His deep whisper sent a flush of heat fanning over Maggie’s cheeks. She swallowed hard against the lump lodged in her throat. “I’ll play operator and dial 9-1-1.”
“No thanks.” He moved past her, shuffling toward the truck cab.
She followed. “I don’t think you should drive. You could pass out and kill yourself and your horse. Never mind what you might do to someone else.”
He tugged on the door, cursing when it wouldn’t open. Finally he got it free and crawled into the cab. “Been in enough fights—not hurt bad—not going far, anyway.”
Maggie put her hand on the door before he could close it. She stepped up on the truck’s running board, and watched him aim for the ignition.
He missed twice before he paused to squint at the keys. “Was planning to look for…a place to sleep.”
The low tone of his voice, mixed with a hint of southern twang, grabbed at her in a place she thought long dead. “This is my fault. Please let me help.”
He shook his head then his eyes rolled closed, his hands fell to his lap and he slumped against the seat.
“Are you—hello?”
Silence.
Maggie hesitated then gently removed his hat to get a closer look at his face. She braced one hand on his thigh to keep from falling into his lap. Soft denim and powerful muscles lay beneath her fingertips. Her pale-blue handkerchief sat clutched in his hand, the lace trim out of place next to his large, tanned fingers and the coarse texture of his skin. A deep shudder rumbled through his chest, the warm rush of his breath falling against her cheek. His eyes remained closed.
“I’m going to get help.” She’d seen enough injuries on the ranch to know he needed medical attention. “I’ll be back.”
“Don’t.” She jumped when his fingers tangled with hers. He held tight for a moment then his grip