McKettrick's Choice - Linda Lael Miller [49]
“Guess I’d better see if this Raul fella is all right,” Rafe said, swinging down from his horse.
Holt whistled to the Appaloosa, which was keeping its distance from the mule, now calmly nibbling grass under the oak tree. He checked the gelding over closely, and was relieved to find it sound. The blood was still roaring in his ears, and his heart was in a sprint, though he couldn’t rightly have said whether it was the one-woman rodeo event or the kiss that had put him in this pitiful state.
“If you make friends with that mule,” Melina said to Lorelei, stringing together more words than Holt had heard her say at one time since he’d known her, “he’ll let you ride him.”
“You’re not helping the situation, Melina,” Holt told her.
She merely smiled and got down awkwardly from the pony’s back to survey the property. “Is this yours?” she asked.
Lorelei looked proud, which went to show how damned little she knew about ranching. It was hard, heartbreaking work, and a good man was as likely to go bust as break even, never mind a town-bred woman who didn’t have the good sense to know when she was betting on the wrong hand of cards.
“Yes,” she said.
“It’s a fine spread,” Melina replied. “Lots of grass. Plenty of water.” Lorelei nodded.
Holt muttered something he wouldn’t have said in the presence of ladies if he hadn’t been pushed to the last heel-digging inch of his patience, and they both ignored him.
“You need any hired help?” Melina asked.
Holt gaped at her.
Lorelei pressed her lips together and shook her head with what looked like genuine regret.
“I know a little about buying cattle,” Melina persisted.
About that time, Rafe came out of the house, if that shack could be called a house.
“Raul’s in need of a doctor,” he told the general company. “I think he’s fractured a couple of ribs. Angelina’s fit to be tied, she’s so worried.”
Lorelei reacted as though she’d been struck, hard. The high color drained out of her face, and for a moment Holt thought she was going to swoon. Hell of a thing if he had to rescue her again, he reflected, even as he braced himself to catch her before she went down.
She pushed past Rafe and headed for the house at a lope.
“Better get that man to town,” Rafe said, with a thrust of one thumb to indicate the cabin and Raul. “If one of his ribs comes loose, it could stab right through his lung. I’ve seen it happen.”
Holt had plans for that day, and taking an injured man to town for medical care wasn’t on the list, but the situation didn’t leave much leeway. He noticed the buckboard under a stand of oak trees and looked around for the team. In the distance, he saw two bay horses, drinking from the creek.
“Hell,” he growled, and mounted Traveler to bring them in. “See if the rigging is in the wagon bed,” he told Rafe.
Half an hour later, the buckboard was hitched up and ready to roll, and Holt and Rafe had managed to get Raul settled on the floorboards, cushioned by a pile of blankets. No matter what they did, though, the Mexican was in for a long, rough ride to town.
“Go along with him,” Lorelei told Angelina, giving her a gentle push toward the wagon.
“I’ll stay here and look after the lady,” Melina told the older woman quietly in Spanish.
Holt frowned. He’d been planning on taking Lorelei back to her father’s place, where she belonged, figuring she’d have seen reason at last and learned her lesson, with Raul getting hurt and all.
“I thought you were dead set on finding work in town so you could be close to Gabe,” he said.
Melina lined up alongside Lorelei—an unlikely pair of ranchers if Holt had ever seen one. “This is close enough,” she said, switching to English. “I’m staying.” She hooked her arm through Lorelei’s. “Isn’t that right, señorita?”
Lorelei, her gaze fixed on the wagon, and Angelina, now being helped into the back by Rafe, nodded. Holt thought he saw a shimmer