Jeannie Watt - Her Montana Cowboy

“Thank you.” The words came out stiffly, but she took hold of the plastic handle.

“Not a problem.” His words were equally clipped.

The rest of the boundary fence in this pasture was intact, which would keep Carson off his back for a day or two. The man understood next to nothing about ranching, but that didn’t keep him from giving directives. Gus had felt sorry for the guy Carson hired to manage his place a few months ago, but the man quickly came to his senses and quit two weeks in. Now Carson ran the place himself and let everyone know it when they met at various public events.

“Do you own an interest in the ranch?”

Gus shot Lillie Jean a frowning look. He’d been so deep in his head that she’d startled him by speaking.

“I manage the place.”

“Are you Thad’s heir?”

He didn’t want to answer that question, but couldn’t come up with a reason not to. “The last I heard.”

“Does he have a will?”

“He does.”

“So this isn’t only about you watching out for your uncle. You’re watching out for you, too.”

He shot her a cool look. “Something wrong with that?”

“No.” She spoke lightly. “But maybe being in that position will help you to understand that I’m in the same boat.”

He didn’t have a lot to say to that. Did he resent her showing up out of nowhere? Oh yeah. But facts were facts, and if she was the silent partner’s heir, then he had to adapt. In twenty-four short hours his life had essentially been turned upside down by something that Thad had been aware of all along. Who would have thought quiet Thad would have been embroiled in such a soap opera?

But it did explain why he wouldn’t live on the ranch. It might even explain why he’d clung to his bachelorhood so tightly. He was afraid not to. And that kind of broke Gus’s heart. Decades of loneliness and now Lillie Jean shows up as a flesh-and-blood reminder of everything that had gone down. He hated that his uncle had to deal with this.

“Did it occur to you before you arrived that showing up as you did would upset Thad?” He tried not to sound judgmental, but failed.

“I wanted answers.” There was a tightness to her voice. “I wanted to see the ranch.”

“So, no.” Gus glanced sideways at his passenger, then let out a curse as the truck lurched sideways, yanking the steering wheel out of his hands. The frame of the truck hit rock as the front wheel slipped deep into a rut. Lillie Jean’s head snapped forward on impact, her forehead making solid contact with the dash.

“Lillie Jean—”

She pulled herself upright, one hand pressed against her forehead just over her right eyebrow, her eyes wide with shock. He gave another silent curse as he saw blood oozing from between her fingers.

“Keep your hand there.”

She instantly pulled it away, took a look at her bloody fingers, gasped, then quickly put her fingers back where they’d been, smearing blood across her forehead. Gus had caught a quick look at the wound, which was bleeding freely as head wounds tended to do. It was short and gaping. Deep, dark red.

“Hold on.” He fished around under the seat and pulled out a first aid kit sealed in a zipper bag. It contained only rudimentary supplies, but had saved his butt a time or two when he’d injured himself while working alone. He pulled out a box of gauze pads and peeled one off the top and handed it to her, she pressed it to the wound for a few seconds, then turned and pulled down the visor.

“No mirror,” she muttered.

“Old truck.” If it had been newer, she probably wouldn’t have an injury, but the dash was sunbaked and hard as a rock.

She peeled the gauze off and tilted her head toward him, obviously wanting an opinion.

Gus shook his head and handed her another gauze pad. “Quick, before it drips.”

Lillie Jean slapped the new gauze in place, and Gus said, “We can go to the urgent care clinic and they can put a butterfly on it and close it up.”

“Or...?”

Or? What did she mean “or”?

“I can do the same?”

She reached for another gauze pad. “Take me to the ranch. We can do it there.”

“You’re sure?” Because he didn’t want her coming back at him later.

“Yes.” She gave him a conflicted look. “I don’t want to pay for urgent care at this point in my life.”

That gave him something to chew on as he very carefully drove back to the house. He stopped at the first gate and Lillie Jean started to open the door, as if she was going to open the stubborn gate latch with one hand, and hold the gauze to her forehead with the other. Gus stopped her with a quick, “I’ll do it.”

“Afraid of getting blood on your coat?”

Gus almost smiled. Almost. “Yeah.”

“Whatever.” She reached for the first aid bag as he got out of the truck. When he got back in she had another pad in place. The bleeding had slowed and he hoped by the time they got back to the ranch they’d be able to work on the cut.

Thad was still at the kitchen table, talking into the landline when Lillie Jean walked into the kitchen ahead of Gus. He nearly dropped the phone when he caught sight of bloody Lillie Jean. “Excuse me,” he said into the receiver. “What happened?” His gaze went straight to Gus.

“I hit a rock, slid into a rut. Lillie Jean’s forehead slammed into the dash. I’m going to render first aid.”

Thad bounced a frowning look between the two of them. “You want to go to the clinic?”

“No,” Lillie Jean and Gus said in unison.

She glanced up at Gus. “I’ll clean it up and then call you when I need help with the butterfly.”

He nodded and then shrugged out of his coat as Thad went back to his phone call. Henry followed Lillie Jean down the hall, the bathroom door closed, and Gus went to pour a cup of coffee. What a morning.

As near as he could tell, Thad was talking to his attorney, so he wandered into the mudroom and threw a bunch of dirty jeans into the wash to give his uncle some privacy. When he heard the bathroom door open again, he poked his head into the kitchen and Lille Jean beckoned him from the hallway.

“Prognosis?” she asked. She removed the folded tissue she had over the wound to show him a half-inch-long cut that would be a cinch to butterfly closed.

“I think we can do this without leaving a scar.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you some kind of an EMT or something?”

“Bull rider.” One corner of her mouth quirked up as he corrected himself. “Former bull rider. I know about scars.” And regardless of how he felt about her being there, he’d hate to leave one on her beautiful brow.

“In that case, carry on.”

He was kind of surprised that she placed herself so totally in his hands, but if she didn’t have money for urgent care, then that could be a big influencer in her decision. He stepped closer and opened the medicine cabinet and pulled a box of adhesive stitches off the shelf. Lillie Jean swung the mirror closed again and he dug in the box for the size he wanted.

“Why don’t you take a seat.” He gestured at the commode and she sat, lifting her chin. Gus brushed the hair away from her forehead as he surveyed the cut, trying not to notice how the silky strands teased his fingertips. He opened the suture package. “Dab the blood away. Press hard, then lift the tissue.”

Lillie Jean pushed hard against her forehead and when she lifted the tissue, he quickly applied the butterfly, expertly pulling the edges of the cut together so they touched. He dropped his hands and sat back on his heels. It looked good. She looked good. He was losing it.

Lillie Jean got to her feet and moved past him to look in the mirror, tilting her chin sideways to get a better angle. “You did well.”