Page 18 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

“Oh, no,” Cameron said with a slow shake of his head, his eyes very serious. “Mr. Dalton’s afraid of horses. He told me so.”

Dalton looked at me and then flicked his gaze away. He’d not wanted anyone to know he was afraid. He’d voiced his protests, it sounded like, and still had been forced into joining the trail ride. By the offer of Lucas’ boots. My hat. Everyone’s expectation thatof coursehe’d go.

No man wanted to be seen as a coward. Dalton was no different. It had taken guts to do what he’d done.

“Cameron,” I said, “go find someone to help Colt. Those horses need settling, and then they need to be unsaddled and groomed. Do what you can to calm everyone the fuck down. Understand? But, like I said, first find another ranch hand to help. Two would be better.”

“Yes, sir,” Cameron said, wide-eyed but willing.

He trotted off, and I followed, guiding Dalton, my arm around his shoulders. He walked well enough, but he still had the shakes. His mouth was shut firmly, and he wiped at the blood on the side of his face, smearing it.

“We’ll get you taken care of,” I said.

I wanted to pet him to soothe him, the way I would a horse. He was a man, though, and most likely wouldn’t like such tender treatment.

But at the barn door, which was flung open, inviting us into the cool shade, I bent my head and said, quietly, “That was fucking brave, what you did.”

For a moment, his eyes widened in those shadows, as if he was astonished that anyone would think well of him after what happened.

I knew that feeling. After my arrival at Snow Creek, it had taken me a while to accept any praise as genuine. That my company was welcome was a constant surprise. I was better used to it now, but that didn’t mean I’d forgotten what it felt like to be considered an afterthought.

“Over here,” I said, guiding him through the low gloom of the barn to the dusty little office where Walter Barrett had sometimes gone over accounts, far from the ranch house and its many distractions. It wasn’t much of an office, and there was a bigger one in the staff building, but it still held the ghost of Walter’s casual welcome.

I sat Dalton in the spindle-backed chair and reached to a high shelf where the first-aid kit was: an old metal box, its paint long faded, that was always stocked with fresh bandages and gauze. Ointment. Finger splints. Anything someone might need when working around horses and livestock.

When I placed it on the desk, on the green felt blotter, he said, “I don’t need that.”

“You do,” I said. “You’ve got a mighty impressive cut along here.” I traced a line across my own forehead. “I’ll clean you up, get you a bandage. You might need stitches. We’ll see.”

I pulled over a three-legged wooden stool and sat on it, my knees weaving with his. I started by pulling out several packets of antiseptic wipes. A soft, damp cloth might have been better for cleanup, but this was what I had to hand, and I was reluctant to leave him at that moment, not for any errand.

Had he been any ranch hand, I would have gone about the task quickly: Clean up. Ointment, not too much. Bandage. Done. But in his tattered state, the shakes still evident in his shoulders, I wanted to be slow and careful.

His breath was warm on my wrists as I cleaned his face, learning the contours of it along the way.

The bones beneath his skin seemed sturdy; the curve of his mouth sweet. I cleared my throat and focused on the task before me. Pushed his hair, sticky with drying blood, back from his forehead.

I spread ointment along the cut, which was long but not too deep. Then I grabbed two butterfly bandages and took my time putting them in place.

All the while, he watched me with those sky-blue eyes of his. He winced when my finger flicked across the cut.

“Sorry,” I said. “Almost done.”

“Will I live?” he asked, making a little joke. Making light of the fact that he’d been scared out of his mind the entire time.

“Yes,” I said. “You’ve gone through the worst of it. Astride a startled horse. Out of control. Getting bucked off. If you can survive all that, you can survive anything.”

I didn’t quite know what was running through his mind. But he was looking at me like I was his lifeline. Maybe I was.

More surprising was that only the day before, I’d considered him soft and not altogether useful. He’d looked at me with some disdain as well. Now that gaze of his said something different, but what, I didn’t know.

“You’re going to be sore,” I said. “Maybe you should take some Tylenol and go lie down.”

“Not yet,” he said. “I want to make sure Buddy’s okay. He was pretty scared by the mountain lion. There was white stuff on his neck, and I think I kicked him someplace tender. That’s why he bucked me off, I bet.”

There were a million reasons a horse might buck, and yes, with Dalton leaning over Buddy’s neck the way he had been, it was likely that the heel of his borrowed boots had struck Buddy on his flank, a very tender spot for any horse.

The fact that Dalton wanted to check on a horse he hadn’t wanted to ride in the first place impressed me, and I had never been impressed easily.