“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She pulled my hand out of the water and dumped whiskey on it.
“What are you doing?” I yelled. She cowered immediately. “I mean, why would you do that?”
“Oh, I . . . well, it’s just that there was a wild animal in that cage. Who knows what kind of diseases it was carrying. The alcohol will sterilize it.” Her voice was small.
“I’m sorry I raised my voice at you, it’s just that, isn’t there . . . some antibacterial ointment lying around somewhere?”
At that point she was applying pressure to my hand with a paper towel. “No, I don’t have any, but Dale probably does . . . something he uses on the horses.”
My eyes shot open even wider. “No, that’s okay.”
She looked at the cut, which was still bleeding. “I can fix this.”
She held my hand but rummaged through a drawer to her left with her other hand and found a little tube.
“What is that?”
“Super glue.”
“No.” I shook my head.
She looked up at me with determination on her face. There was more than a distant memory of a fiery woman in her. “I have a needle and thread if you think that would be more enjoyable.”
I held my hand out as she squirted the sticky liquid right into my wound and forced the skin together. It burned for several moments and then she released it and the cut was sealed.
“See, good as new.”
“I will probably die of some kind of toxic poisoning from this stuff.”
“There’s a hospital about fifty miles away. I can take you there so they can put some ointment on that itty-bit cut, but I’ve been drinking so your chances of living are higher if you just stay here and settle for the glue.” She smirked.
“Ha ha,” I mock-laughed but thought about her words for a moment—stay here—and wondered if it was an invitation. “Maybe I should stay here tonight in your cabin so you can nurse me back to health.”
She laughed lightheartedly until, like storm clouds quickly gathering in the sky, her expression turned dark. Something in my words hit a nerve. It looked like she was trying to talk herself out of the feeling.
“I’m kidding,” I said. “I think my hand will be fine, barring some strange Montana-specific infection.”
She smiled again finally then walked me to the door.
CHAPTER 7
These Boots
Avelina
Nothing is more adorable than a man trying to mask the pain of a tiny cut. Nate’s hand had bled a lot because of the nature of his injury, not the depth. It was like a large papercut and definitely didn’t need stitches, but he looked horrified by my methods nonetheless. He walked toward the front door to the cabin while he inspected the cut further. Turning, he said, “Thank you, Ava. I appreciate this. It seems the glue is holding.”
“Of course, no problem. Oh, I have something for you.” I ran into my room and grabbed a box that housed a new pair of boots, size ten and a half. I had bought them for Jake but he was never able to wear them.
When I handed the box to Nate, he searched my face for some indication of my meaning. “What are these for?”
“Well, you needed boots and these are your size—the same as Jake, but he never wore these so don’t worry.”
“Thank you. I mean it. This is really thoughtful of you.”
“It’s no biggie. You’ll have to break them in a bit.”
He peeked under the lid. “Wow, I like them.” They were dark brown in a very understated design, something I knew Nate could pull off even with Levi’s after he left the ranch.
“I think they’ll look really good on you.” The whiskey was making me feel braver than usual. I studied Nate’s lips. They were full but not puffy. When he finished a sentence he would purse them a tiny bit and then smirk on one side. It was a subtle but charming habit.
“We should hang out again like this.” I nodded and smiled. “You fixed me all up with a new pair of boots and a super-glued hand.”
I got lost in thought for a moment once again, wondering what it would have taken to fix Jake up. Why couldn’t I fix Jake? My eyes started to water. “I have to get to bed,” I said.
“I’m sorry. Did I say something wrong?”
“No, I’m just . . . I had a lot to drink tonight and I think I need to get to bed.”
He swallowed. “It wasn’t your fault.”
How could he read my mind? It was my fault. Just as I didn’t believe him when he said it wasn’t, I could tell he didn’t believe me when I said, “It wasn’t yours either . . . with your patient.”
“Good night.” His hands were full with the box so he leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I felt the stubble from a day or two of growth covering his sharp jawline. He still emanated that rich smell but it was mixed with an earthy spice from being outside among the trees.
“Good night,” I managed to get out just above a whisper.
After a long night of drinking, I fell into a deep slumber. There were no dreams of Jake lying in a pool of blood when I slept that deeply. I awoke to the sound of sharp knocks on the door. The clock read five a.m. I rushed to put on sweats and then hurried to the door. Swinging it open, I found Dale on the other side, smiling from ear to ear.
“Hey kid, it’s time. Rosey’s in labor.” She was a gray mare we’d had for a few years and everyone was anticipating the birth of her foal. It was always a little brighter on the ranch with a baby horse trotting about.