Page 17 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

“Knew I could count on you,” Jesse said with a hearty clap to my shoulder. I didn’t flinch or move away, though I disliked his casual touch. Any casual touch.

“Come to me if you have concerns,” Lucas said. “Directly to me, you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” I repeated. I had a place on Snow Creek Ranch, and I was going to keep it.

Chapter 7

Jake

Iwas waiting and watching from the round pen near the main barn when I saw a flurry of dust, the first sign of the trail ride coming back. Then an array of manes, fluttering up. Horses’ heads. The eager toss now that the main barn was in sight. All of this cut against a sky so clear it looked like it had been drawn by a very sharp pencil and colored with the brightest blue ink.

One of the horses jumped to the front of the line and came cantering down the trail along the hill at a very fast pace. Too fast. Dust came up from its hooves.

It was Buddy. He wasn’t a headstrong horse by any means, but it looked like he’d seen the barn and was calling the trail ride over. Why wasn’t Dalton pulling back on the reins?

He wasn’t. He was curled over the saddle horn, and one of Buddy’s reins was flapping.

It was a quick quarter mile from the hill to the barn, and in a heartbeat Buddy was going to be on top of me, circling around to the barn doors in only a few seconds. Then Buddy stumbled, or actually bucked, and Dalton flew off, landed, and rolled onto his back in the dusty grass.

I let Buddy race past me. He could get to the barn doors and go in; nothing would hurt him there. Colt and the otherswere coming down the hill at a trot that I would normally have considered too fast, but something had upset the horses and their riders.

My heart pounded as I came up to Dalton and knelt next to him. He was so still. The straw cowboy hat that I’d loaned him was a mashed mess, but what did that matter.

I touched his gray face, felt for a pulse, and just about jumped when he clasped my forearm with a hot curl of fingers.

“Hey,” I said. “Anything broken? Does it hurt anywhere?”

I wanted to ask him what had happened to get everyone in such a state, but the important thing was to make sure he was okay. A tenderfoot from the city in borrowed boots.

“Everywhere.” He blinked at me, his eyes mere slits. “It hurts everywhere.”

There was a gash on his forehead. Fair hair stuck to the cut, and blood slid into his shirt collar. Into the dust. I pushed my panic down. I knew first aid. He was breathing and he could talk. He’d moved his arm.

“Can you sit up?” I asked. “Let me help. Slowly, now.”

The rest of the trail ride trotted past, again too fast, going around the barn. Horses whinnied and tossed their heads, and I knew Colt would have his hands full getting them settled down.

Maybe Malcolm or one of the others would see and come to help. Meanwhile, I was kneeling in the middle of a short-grassed summer field, brown and gold beneath that blue sky.

I helped Dalton sit up. We did this slowly. I watched him move his legs, shift his torso. Nothing broken.

Then, before I could take another breath to encourage him to stand up, Dalton slid into my arms. Into the shadow of my body. He was shaking, pressing his forehead against my chest. Smearing blood onto my cotton shirt.

“Easy, easy,” I said, circling my arm around him. “What happened up there?”

I put my hand beneath his chin to lift his head up, making sure he could breathe, wanting my answer. Dust had scattered over his face, showing tracks of silver tears. I wiped those away with the edge of my pinky; nobody needed to know about them but him and me.

“Mountain lion,” he said after a hard swallow. “It was tracking the trail ride all along, I guess. Parallel, beneath the line of trees. When it came out, the kids shouted, and Buddy reared. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t stop him.”

“Nobody could,” I said. “Not with a lost rein like that.”

An experienced rider would have leaned down to gather up the loose rein, but Dalton had been clinging to the saddle like a cat on a high branch. He hadn’t known what to do.

Helping Dalton to his feet was easy, now that I knew what had happened. A mountain lion, unusual in the low foothills midsummer, but not unheard of, had startled the trail ride. The kids, all from the city, had no doubt overreacted. Colt had been on his own, guiding them back down. And Dalton—he hadn’t had the skills to deal with the unexpected situation.

Cameron came up, flushed and wide-eyed, scraping his hair back and exposing that ducktail awash with pink dye that I’d noticed before. “Is he okay?” he asked. “Is Mr. Dalton okay?”

“He’s going to be fine,” I said, scooping my arm around Dalton’s back. “We’ll get him patched up and riding again in no time.” That’s what you did. You got bucked off and got back on again, as quick as you could.