“Something doesn’t feel right. I hate to say it, but I need to see that sports medicine guy in Denver.” He threw off the cover and exposed a swollen foot the size of a football. He also exposed his six-pack abs, but at least he had on boxer briefs, though they didn’t really conceal all that much, given Chance was a well-endowed man. Something she knew, but seeing was a potent reminder.
This was all her fault. And though she had planned to tell him she was leaving, having packed her bags the night before, how could she now? He needed her, really needed her, even though she’d been the cause of all this pain.
“Of course I’ll take you. Do you want me to call?”
“I’ll call,” Chance said. “How’s Cowboy doing?”
He was hurt and still asking about Cowboy. “He’s fine. None the worse for it.”
“Hopefully he didn’t get back an appetite for the outdoors. I don’t want to search for him again anytime soon.”
“It won’t happen again.” She’d make sure by leaving, but now was not the time to tell him. First she had to get Chance to the doctor.
*
The ride back from the doctor’s felt like they were driving in some funeral procession, given the gloom that had settled in the air. She’d never seen Chance so down as he stared out the passenger window. The doctor had checked out his X-rays, then his swollen foot, and then took more X-rays. The surrounding tissue was inflamed. Not only would pain be a battle, but the doctor had tacked on another two weeks to his prognosis, which was four more weeks than Chance’s timeline.
“The doctor said it would heal.”
Chance didn’t respond.
“Eight weeks isn’t forever.” She tried again.
“It is when it means the end of the rodeo season.”
“It’s just for this year.”
He turned away from the window and toward her, his eyes wide and his frown deep. “You know how much work it takes to get on the top of the standings where I was before Cheyenne? You have any idea of the time and effort and sheer luck it took to get there? Next year, none of those things may come together, and I’ll be just one more cowboy back in the pack. This was my year to win the NFR, Libby. My year. And now it’s gone down a sorry drain filled with nothing but pain.”
The defeat in his voice was gut wrenching. This wasn’t like Chance. He’d always been a fighter. Now he sounded like he was ready to give up. The doctor said the foot needed a little rest followed by physical therapy. She’d make sure he did both. Nothing would be more important to her than getting Chance back on his two feet. As soon as they got home, she would call Tom Whitefeather and beg him to come up and see what else he could do for Chance.
“I won’t let that happen, Chance.” She’d have to stay and see him through to recovery—without incident.
“Ain’t nothing you can do about it.”
“Maybe. But one thing you’ve taught me is, you have to try.”
*
Chance cringed as he swiped through the rodeo standings on the tablet screen. He’d dropped another slot since last week when he saw the doctor. How could he not when he wasn’t competing? So much work, and a lousy injury was going to make it all for naught. Well, that was rodeo. You were always just one spill away from disaster. But this year the bad news just seemed to pile on, starting with a broken foot and most likely ending with a broken heart.
Oh, he’d been trying to keep things light and casual with Libby. And most times he succeeded. But there were moments when all the feelings for her came back with a vengeance, especially since the kiss they’d shared after he’d found Cowboy. At the time, he’d been under the influence of the painkiller, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed every blessed second of it. Since returning from the doctor’s, there hadn’t been a recurrence. Not that he didn’t want to these last few days, especially when she was inches away as she helped him with his exercises. But he’d be inviting more pain and misery than he was in already.
She’d been all business. She’d convinced Tom Whitefeather to come over and do some work on the foot, including cold compresses to reduce the swelling. Chance had even attempted some exercises with Libby’s assistance.
Yup, they were a regular patient-nurse team, and he hated it. Except for fantasizing about her in a tiny nurse’s uniform, making him feel better all over.
Being so close had become nothing short of torture, and that’s how he knew his foot was healing. He could finally focus on something else, and that something else was nothing but problems. She was planning on marrying someone else, for Christ’s sake.
“Time for exercises.” Libby bustled into the room with a pasted-on smile and a bunch of colorful elastic bands and a wet towel in hand. “You need to stop checking your standings every day. It only makes you peevish,” she said, nodding toward the tablet.
She was wearing an especially tight pink T-shirt, one that pulled across her ample chest and outlined her assets. A pair of skin-hugging yoga pants clung to her curvy ass and legs. God save him.
“It’s making me crazy, is what it’s doing.”