Texas! Chase Page 2

  “That way.” He pointed, then muttered, “Crazy broad.”

  She plowed her way through the milling crowd buying souvenirs and concessions. Over the public address system she heard the announcer say, “We’ll let y’all know Chase Tyler’s condition as soon as we hear something, folks.”

  Disregarding the authorized personnel only sign on a wide, metal, industrial-size door, she barged through it. The scent of hay and manure was strong as she moved down a row of cattle pens. Breathing heavily through her mouth, she almost choked on the dust, but spotting the rotating lights of an ambulance across the barn, she ran even faster through the maze of stalls.

  Reaching the central aisle, she elbowed her way through the curious onlookers until she pushed her way free and saw Chase lying unconscious on a stretcher. Two paramedics were working over him. One was slipping a needle into the vein in the crook of his elbow.

  Chase’s face was still and white.

  “No!” She dropped to her knees beside the stretcher and reached for his limp hand.

  “Chase? Chase!”

  “Get back, lady!” one of the paramedics ordered.

  “But—”

  “He’ll be fine if you’ll get out of our way.”

  Her arms were grabbed from behind and she was pulled to her feet. Turning, she confronted the grotesque face of one of the rodeo clowns, the one whom she’d last seen bending over Chase.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “A friend. How is he? Have they said what’s wrong with him?”

  He eyed her suspiciously; she obviously wasn’t in her element. “He’s prob’ly got a few broken ribs, is all. Had the wind knocked out of him.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  He spat tobacco juice on the hay-strewn concrete floor. “Prob’ly. I reckon he won’t feel too good for a day or so.”

  Marcie was only moderately relieved to hear the clown’s diagnosis. It wasn’t a professional opinion. How did he know that Chase hadn’t sustained internal injuries?

  “Shouldn’t’ve been ridin’ tonight,” the clown was saying as the stretcher was hoisted into the back of the ambulance. “Told him he shouldn’t get on a bull in his condition. Course I guess it wouldn’t matter. That bull El Dorado is one mean sum’bitch. Last week over in—”

  “What condition?” Frustrated when he only gazed at her in puzzlement through his white-rimmed eyes, she clarified her question. “You said ‘in his condition.’ What condition was Chase in?”

  “He was half-lit.”

  “You mean drunk?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We had us a pretty wild party last night. Chase hadn’t quite recovered.”

  Marcie didn’t wait to hear any more. She climbed into the back of the ambulance just as the paramedic was about to close the doors.

  He reacted with surprise and an air of authority.

  “Sorry, ma’am. You can’t—”

  “I am. Now we can stand here and argue about it or you can get this man to the hospital.”

  “Hey, what’s the holdup?” the other paramedic shouted back. He was already in the driver’s seat with the motor running.

  His assistant gauged Marcie’s determination and apparently decided that an argument would only waste valuable time.

  “Nothing,” he called to his cohort. “Let’s go.” He slammed the doors and the ambulance peeled out of the coliseum barn.

  “Well, I’m glad you made it back to your hotel safely.”

  Marcie, cradling the receiver of the pay telephone against her ear, massaged her temples while apologizing to the gentleman from Massachusetts.

  She had probably lost a sale, but when she saw Chase lying unconscious in the dirt, her guests had been the farthest thing from her mind. Indeed, she hadn’t even remembered them until a few minutes ago while pacing the corridor of the hospital.

  “Mr. Tyler is an old friend of mine,” she explained. “I didn’t know he was appearing in this rodeo until his name was announced.

  Since his family isn’t here, I felt like I should accompany him to the hospital. I hope you understand.”

  She didn’t give a damn whether they understood or not. If she had been entertaining the President and First Lady tonight, she would have done exactly the same thing.

  After hanging up, she returned to the nurses’

  station and inquired for the umpteenth time if there had been an update on Chase’s condition.

  The nurse frowned with irritation. “As soon as the doctor— Oh, here he is now.” Glancing beyond Marcie’s shoulder, she said, “This lady is waiting for word on Mr. Taylor.”

  “Tyler,” Marcie corrected, turning to meet the young resident. “I’m Marcie Johns.”

  “Phil Montoya.” They shook hands. “Are you a relative?”

  “Only a good friend. Mr. Tyler doesn’t have any family in Fort Worth. They all live in Milton Point.”

  “Hmm. Well, he’s finally come around. Got swatted in the head pretty good, but thankfully no serious damage was done.”

  “I saw the bull land on his chest.”

  “Yeah, he’s got several broken ribs.”

  “That can be dangerous, can’t it?”

  “Only if a jagged rib punctures an internal organ.”

  Marcie’s face went so pale that even the freckles she carefully camouflaged with cosmetics stood out in stark contrast. The doctor hastily reassured her.

  “Fortunately that didn’t happen either. No bleeding organs. I’ve taped him up. He’ll be all right in a few days, but he’s not going to feel very chipper. I certainly don’t recommend that he do any bull riding for a while.”

  “Did you tell him that?”

  “Sure did. He cussed me out.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged and said affably, “I’m used to it. This is a county hospital. We get the psychos, the derelicts, and the victims of drug deals gone awry. We’re used to verbal abuse.”

  ‘May I see him?”

  “For a few minutes. He doesn’t need to be talking.”

  “I won’t talk long.”

  “He’s just been given a strong painkiller, so he’ll likely be drifting off Soon anyway.”

  “Then if it’s all the same to you,” Marcie said smoothly, “I’d like to stay the night in his room.”

  “He’ll be well taken care of,” the nurse said stiffly from behind her.

  Marcie stood firm. “Do I have your permission, Dr. Montoya?”

  He tugged on his earlobe. Marcie gave him the direct look that said she wasn’t going to budge from her position. Buyers, sellers, and lending agents had had to confront that steady blue stare. Nine times out of ten they yielded to it. Earlier that night, the paramedic had found it hard to argue with.

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” the resident said at last.

  “Thank you.”

  “Keep the conversation to a minimum.”

  “I promise. Which room is he in?”

  Chase had been placed in a semiprivate room, but the other bed was empty. Marcie advanced into the room on tiptoe until she reached his bedside.

  For the first time in two years, she gazed into Chase Tyler’s face. The last time she had looked into it, their positions had been reversed.

  She’d been lying semiconscious in a hospital bed and he had been standing beside it, weeping over his wife’s accidental death.

  By the time Marcie’s injuries had healed and she was well enough to leave the hospital, Tanya Tyler had been interred. A few months after that, Chase had left Milton Point for parts unknown. Word around town was that he was running the rodeo circuit, much to the distress of his family.

  Not too long ago, Marcie had bumped into Devon, Lucky’s bride, in the supermarket. After Marcie had introduced herself, Devon had confirmed the rumors circulating about Chase.

  Family loyalty had prevented her from openly discussing his personal problems with an outsider, but Marcie had read between the lines of what she actually said. The
re were hints about his delicate emotional state and a developing drinking problem.

  “Laurie is beside herself with worry about him,” Devon had said, referring to Chase’s mother. “Sage, Chase’s sister—”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “She’s away at school, so that leaves only Lucky and me at the house with Laurie. She feels that Chase is running away from his grief over Tanya instead of facing it and trying to deal with it.”

  Chase had also left the foundering family business in the hands of his younger brother, who, if rumors were to be believed, was having a hard time keeping it solvent. The oil business wasn’t improving. Since Tyler Drilling depended on a healthy oil economy, the company had been teetering on the brink of bankruptcy for several years.

  Marcie put to Devon the question that was never far from her mind. “Does he blame me for the accident?”

  Devon had pressed her arm reassuringly.

  “Never. Don’t lay that kind of guilt on yourself.

  Chase’s quarrel is with fate, not you.”

  But now, as Marcie gazed into his face, which looked tormented even in repose, she wondered if he did in fact hold her responsible for his beloved Tanya’s death.

  “Chase,” she whispered sorrowfully.

  He didn’t stir, and his breathing was deep and even, indicating that the drug he had been given intravenously was working. Giving in to the desire she’d felt while lying in pain in her own hospital bed, Marcie gingerly ran her fingers through his dark hair, brushing back wavy strands that had fallen over his clammy forehead.

  Even though he looked markedly older, he was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She had thought so the first day of kindergarten.

  She distinctly remembered Miss Kincannon’s calling on him to introduce himself to the rest of the class and how proudly he had stood up and spoken his name. Marcie had been smitten. In all the years since, nothing had changed.

  The mischievous, dark-haired little boy with the light-gray eyes, who had possessed outstanding leadership qualities and athletic prowess, had turned into quite a man. There was strength in his face and a stubborn pride in his square chin that bordered on belligerence, inherent, it seemed, to the Tyler men.

  They were noted for their quick tempers and willingness to stand up for themselves. Chase’s lower jaw bore a dark-purple bruise now.

  Marcie shuddered to think how close he had come to having his skull crushed.

  When he was standing, Chase Tyler topped most men by several inches, even those considered tall by normal standards. His shoulders were broad. Marcie marveled over their breadth now. They were bare, as was his chest. The upper portion of it had been left unshaven, and she was amazed by the abundance of dark, softly curling hair that covered it.

  The tape that bound his cracked ribs stopped just shy of his nipples. Marcie caught herself staring at them, entranced because they were distended.

  Thinking he must be cold, she reached for the sheet and pulled it up to just beneath his chin.

  “Jeez, did he die?”

  The screech so startled Marcie that she dropped the sheet and spun around. A young woman was standing just inside the threshold of the door. Her hand, weighted down with costume jewelry and outlandishly long artificial fingernails, was splayed across breasts struggling to be free of a tight, low-cut sweater.

  A cheap, fake-fur coat was draped over her shoulders. The coat was longer than her skirt, which came only to mid thigh Chase moaned in his sleep and shifted his legs beneath the sheet. “Be quiet!” Marcie hissed. “You’ll disturb him. Who are you?

  What do you want?”

  “He’s not dead?” the girl asked. In a manner Marcie thought looked incredibly stupid, the woman rapidly blinked her wide, round eyes several times. That was no small feat considering her eyelashes were gummy with mascara as thick and black as road tar.

  “No, he’s not dead. Just very badly hurt.”

  She assessed the girl from the top of her teased, silver hair to the toes of her bejeweled, silver boots. “Are you a friend of Chase’s?”

  “Sort of.” She shrugged off the fake fur. “I was supposed to meet him at this bar where everybody goes after the rodeo. I was getting pissed because he didn’t show, but then Pete—

  you know, the clown—said that Chase got trampled by a bull. So I thought I ought to come check on him, see if he’s okay, you know.”

  “I see.”

  “Did they say what’s wrong with him?”

  “Several of his ribs are broken, but he’ll be all right.”

  “Oh, gee, that’s good.” Her eyes moved from the supine figure on the bed to Marcie. “Who’ve you?”

  “I’m his … his … wife.”

  Marcie wasn’t sure what prompted her to tell such a bold-faced lie. Probably because it was convenient and would swiftly scare off this woman. She was certain that in his more sane and sober days, Chase would have had nothing to do with a tramp like this. His marital status certainly didn’t break the girl’s heart. It merely provoked her.

  She propped a fist on one hip. “That son of a bitch. Look, he never told me he was married, okay? I was out for kicks, that’s all.

  Nothing serious. Even though he is kinda moody, he’s good-looking, you know?

  “When I first met him, I thought he was a drag. I mean, he never wanted to talk or anything.

  But then, I figured, ‘Hey, what the hell?

  So he’s not a barrel of laughs, at least he’s handsome.’

  “Swear to God, we only slept together three times, and it was always straight sex. Nothing kinky, you know? I mean, missionary position all the way.

  “Between you and me,” she added, lowering her voice, “it wasn’t very good. He was drunk all three times. As you well know, the equipment is impressive, but—”

  Marcie’s mouth was dry. She drew upon reserves of composure she didn’t know she had. “I think you’d better go now. Chase needs his rest.”

  “Sure, I understand,” she said pleasantly, pulling her coat back on.

  “Please tell his friends that he’s going to be okay, though his rodeo days might be over. At least for a while.”

  “That reminds me,” the girl said. “Pete said to tell him that he’s leaving in the trailer for Calgary tomorrow. That’s where he’s from, you know? I think it’s somewhere in Canada, but I always thought Calgary had something to do with the Bible.” She shrugged, almost lifting her breasts out of the sweater’s low neckline. “Anyway, Pete wants to know what to do with Chase’s stuff.”

  Marcie shook her head, trying to make sense of the woman’s nonsensical chatter. “I suppose you could mail it to him at home.”

  “Okay. What’s the address? I’ll give it to Pete.”

  “I’m not—” Marcie broke off before she trapped herself in her lie. “On second thought, please ask Pete to leave everything with the officials at the coliseum. I’ll pick up Chase’s things there tomorrow.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell him. Well, see ya. Oh, wait!”

  She dug into her purse. “Here’s Chase’s keys.

  His pickup is still parked in the lot at the coliseum.” She tossed the key ring to Marcie.

  “Thank you.” Marcie made a diving catch before the keys could land in Chase’s vulnerable lap.

  “I’m really sorry about, you know, balling your husband. He never told me he was married.

  Men! They’re all bastards, you know?”

  Marcie couldn’t quite believe the woman had been real and stood staring at the door for several moments after it closed behind her. Was Chase reduced to seeing women like that to ward off his loneliness and despair brought on by Tanya’s death? Was he punishing himself for her death by sinking as low as he could go?

  Marcie moved to the narrow closet and placed the key ring on the shelf beside the chamois gloves he’d been wearing when he was thrown from the bull. His battered hat was there, too. She noticed a pair of scuffed cowboy boots standing on the closet flo
or.

  His clothes had been hung on the few hangers provided. The light-blue shirt was streaked with dirt. His entry number was still pinned to it. His faded jeans were dusty. So was the cloth bandanna that had been tied around his neck. She touched the leather chaps and remembered their flapping against his legs as they sawed up and down against the bull’s heaving sides.

  The recollection caused her to shiver. She shut the closet door against the memory of Chase’s lying unconscious in the dirt.

  Returning to the bed, she noticed his hand moving restlessly over the tight bandage around his rib cage. Afraid he might hurt himself, she captured his hand and drew it down to his side, patting it into place beside his hip and holding it there.

  His eyes fluttered open. Obviously disoriented, he blinked several times in an attempt to get his bearings and remember where he was.

  Then he seemed to recognize her. Reassuringly, she closed her fingers tightly around his. He tried to speak, but the single word came out as nothing more than a faint croak.

  Still, she recognized his pet name for her.

  Right before drifting back into oblivion he had said, “Goosey?”

  He was giving a nurse hell when Marcie walked into the hospital room the following morning. He suspended the invective long enough to do a double take on Marcie, then resumed his complaining.

  “You’ll feel so much better after a bath and a shave,” the nurse said cajolingly.

  “Get your hands off me. Leave that cover where it is. I told you I don’t want a bath.

  When I feel good and ready, I’ll shave myself.

  Now, for the last time, get the hell out of here and leave me alone so I can get dressed.”

  “Dressed? Mr. Tyler, you can’t leave!”

  “Oh, yeah? Watch me.”

  It was time to intervene. Marcie said, “Perhaps after Mr. Tyler has had a cup of coffee he’ll feel more like shaving.”

  The nurse welcomed the subtle suggestion that she leave. With a swish of white polyester and the squeak of rubber soles, she was gone. Marcie was left alone with Chase. His face was as dark as a thundercloud. It had little to do with his stubble or the bruise on his jaw.