RaeAnne Thayne - The Wrangler And The Runaway Mom

If she were the sort of woman who went weak-kneed over the rugged Marlboro Man type, she would have collapsed into a boneless heap on the floor by now.

Lucky for her, she wasn’t that sort of woman.

Peg winked at the cowboy. “You ever get lonely,” she said on her way out of the trailer, “mine’s the green-andwhite rig with Rawlings Stock written on it in big pink letters.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He managed a grin but Maggie recognized the lines of pain slashing the edges of the stranger’s mouth.

“If you’ll climb up here, I can take a look at that shoulder.” She gestured to the examination table.

“It’s just dislocated. You only need to pop it in and then I can be on my way.”

“Why don’t you let me make my own diagnosis?”

He shrugged and slid a Wrangler-covered hip to the table. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

She carefully unbuttoned his colorful cotton shirt then slid his arm out of the sleeve. “I’m afraid I haven’t been paying attention to the announcer. What event were you riding? It’s too early in the evening for the bull riders, which is where I get most of my business. Does that make you a bronc buster, then?”

He gave a gruff laugh. “Bronc buster? Do I look crazy to you?”

She glanced at him under her eyelashes, then instantly wished she hadn’t. He looked tough as hardened steel, with that tanned skin stretching taut over hard muscle.

She had patched up dozens of cowboys since she’d been hired. Broken wrists, pulled muscles, cuts and bruises mostly. None of the wounded glory boys had made her feel as odd as this one did—jittery, as if she really had overdosed on caffeine.

Nerves, she tried to tell herself. That’s all it was. She was on edge, anyway, and he was just so...big. She didn’t like big men. Never had. Was it any wonder he made her uncomfortable?

The completely inappropriate—and unwanted—tingle of awareness that slid over her out of nowhere made her speak more curtly than she normally would with a patient. “You’re here, aren’t you? I haven’t treated too many physicists on the rodeo circuit.”

He laughed again, then winced as the movement jarred his injury. “Well, I guess I’m no physicist, but at least I’m smart enough to stick with the little guys, the ones that don’t fight back. I’m a calf roper. Wrenched my shoulder with a bad throw.”

“Any rodeo event can be dangerous, Mr....” she stopped at the realization she’d just insulted a man whose name she didn’t even know.

“McKendrick. Colt McKendnck. Call me mister and I don’t figure I’ll answer.”

“McKendrick. As I was saying, any event can be dangerous. Even deadly, as I’m sure you know.”

“That’s what keeps the crowds coming back,” he replied. “What does the M stand for?”

The abrupt change of subject left her floundering. “Excuse me?”

He glanced pointedly at her chest and she felt heat soak her cheeks. It took her several beats to realize he was referring to the silver name tag emblazoned with M. Rawlings, M.D.

“Medical. As in medical doctor,” she replied, knowing perfectly well that wasn’t what he meant.

He rolled his eyes. “The other one.”

“Maggie,” she said shortly.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Maggie Rawlings.”

She finished her examination in silence, aware of him watching her movements with interest. “You’re right,” she finally said. “It’s dislocated, Mr. McKendrick.”

“Colt.”

“Right. Colt.” She glanced at the shoulder. “I can readjust it, pop it back into the joint, but I’m afraid it’s going to be painful”

“I know,” he said glumly. “Go ahead.”

With true cowboy machismo, he barely winced when she stood to his side and extended his arm out. It took several attempts before the joint worked back into place but he didn’t complain.

When she was done, he immediately rotated the shoulder. “Much better.”

“It’s going to be inflamed and painful for a day or two. I’d advise you to take it easy.”

“Does that mean I can’t ride tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not.”

He didn’t appear devastated by the news as he shrugged into his shirt and began to work the buttons one-handed. “Well, thanks, Doc. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Sponsors and the rodeo association take care of my salary. It pays to keep the cowboys healthy.”

“Makes sense to—”

Before he could complete the sentence, the door crashed open and bounced against the wall with a bang as loud as a shotgun blast. Maggie had barely yanked her heart from her throat when a voice boomed through the trailer. “This is a stick-up, lady. Put your hands where I can see ’em and nobody gets hurt.”

Instead of obeying, she took a deep, calming breath and frowned at the little dynamo standing in the doorway in sheepskin chaps, a denim vest and a cowboy hat two sizes too big for his blond head. Her big, bad hombre of a five-year-old had a wooden pistol aimed right at her stomach.

“Nicholas. You know you’re not supposed to come in here when I’m working.”

“I’m Nicky the Kid, the meanest bandito in the land.”

“Where’s Cheyenne? And where did you get that gun?”

He grinned, showing off the tooth he’d lost just the day before. “Grandma Peg gave it to me. She says a bandito ain’t no good to nobody unless he’s packin’ heat.”

“Isn’t any good.” How had his grammar managed to completely degenerate in the three weeks since they had been on the circuit? He was picking up all sorts of bad habits. The next thing she knew, he’d start chewing tobacco.

“Where’s Cheyenne?” she repeated.

“Right here.” Peg’s fifteen-year-old granddaughter poked her head through the doorway. “Sorry, Maggie. He got away from me.”

“I’m sure it’s not your fault. Nicky, stick with Cheyenne. No more running off. I mean it, young man.”

“Okeydokey, Mom.” He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek, then hopped out the door. With another apologetic smile, Cheyenne set off in hot pursuit.

“My son,” Maggie said, when the dust cleared.

The injured cowboy grinned. “So the doctor has a criminal hiding out on the family tree.”

She stiffened and thought of Michael embezzling millions from his criminal clients. The cowboy was more right than he knew. After a few uncomfortable beats, she forced a smile. “That’s right. So watch your step.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he said.

Only after he had left and she was alone once again did she realize that for the first time in nearly a month she had forgotten to be afraid.

Chapter 2

The sunrise edged the mountains east of Cody, Wyoming, with lavender and pale coral and just a sliver of gold. From his perch on the top step of the broken-down camper the Bureau had somehow managed to round up for him, Colt sipped at his coffee and savored the cool, clean morning air as the gold began to swallow the other colors.

Maybe this whole rodeo thing wouldn’t be such a bad gig after all. There was definitely something to be said for enjoying the morning, content with the knowledge that he would be catching the sunrise from a different place in just a few days.

He hadn’t even minded competing the night before, right up until the moment he dislocated his shoulder.

Last time he had been inside a rodeo arena, he’d been twenty-two years old, cocky as hell, and sure he could rope and ride anything that moved. In the intervening fourteen years, he had forgotten that hefty jolt of adrenaline that always hit right before the gate opened. He’d forgotten everything—the confusion in the chutes, the smells of leather and manure thick in the air, the heady cheers of the crowd.