“Let’s have a look, son.” Sam squeezed a hand on Callen’s shoulder, hunkered down. “Don’t think it went in him or through him. Looks like a bad graze. You’re going to be just fine.”
Checking as he went, Sam moved back to Sundown’s head, studied his eyes. “You’re going to be just fine. We’re going to get you home.” He glanced down as Callen limped forward. “You hit?” he said, remarkably casual.
“Maybe.”
“For Christ’s sake! You’re shot.” Bodine grabbed Callen’s arm, got shaken off.
“I’m seeing to my horse.”
Slowly, painfully for both of them, Callen guided Sundown into the trailer.
“Let him be right now.” Sam patted Bodine’s arm. “He’s hurt and he’s mad. Just let him be right now. Let’s go home, tend to both of them.”
Though she was hurt and mad herself, Bodine clamped her mouth shut, swung back onto Leo, and rode home.
She let him be. She hung back as the vet worked, as Callen continued to soothe the wounded horse. It broke her heart to see the horse rest his head on Callen’s shoulder, to see him close his eyes when the vet gave Sundown something to ease the pain.
The whole time Callen stroked, murmured, and watched every move the vet made.
“I’m going to say he’s lucky.” The vet stripped off her bloody gloves, tossed them in a plastic bag. “Even though getting shot’s never lucky. The bullet grazed over the meat. There’s no penetration. He’s lost some blood, and he’s going to hurt. I’m giving you pills against infection, and I’m going to check on him tomorrow morning. He’ll want rest and pampering. You’re going to keep that wound clean.”
“But he’s going to be all right?”
“He’s a strong, healthy boy. I’m going to write out instructions for you to follow, and we’ll keep an eye on him. No vigorous exercise for a few days. No riding for at least a week. We’ll see after that. He’ll heal up, Cal. He’ll have a battle scar.”
“We won’t worry about that.”
The vet adjusted her little square-framed glasses, peered at Callen through them. “You’ll be sleeping in here tonight?”
“What do you think?”
“I think I’m going to write out what to look out for, what you can call and wake me up in the middle of the night for. Otherwise, I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
“I’m grateful. Sundown, thank the doc.”
He might’ve reacted a bit sluggishly, but Sundown bowed his head.
Now Bodine stepped forward. “Would you mind taking a look at Callen before you head out, Doc Bickers?”
When she gestured at Callen’s leg, Bickers rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “God’s sake. Get off that leg, boy. You there, Chase Longbow, help this idiot into the kitchen so I can see if he needs the damn hospital.”
“I’m not leaving my horse.”
“Well, get the idiot something to sit on so I can see what’s what.”
Chase hauled over a stool, then simply shoved Callen down on it. “Shut up about it,” Chase warned, “or I’ll stick one of those needles into you myself.”
“I’d rather a beer.”
Bickers shook her head, shoved up her glasses. “Not until I’ve seen what we have here.”
She pried off the boot, and the movement, the friction drained the blood out of Callen’s face.
At her sides, Bodine’s hands went to tight fists. About two inches above his anklebone, the skin bloomed purple and red around a bloody gash.
“Well.” Bickers sniffed, pulling on fresh gloves. “Your boot took the worst of it.”
“I liked those boots.”
Still beyond pissed, Bodine forced her hands to relax, stepped over and took Callen’s. “Don’t be a baby. You can afford new boots.”
“Took a little bite out of you, but not enough to do more than hurt like the living fires of hell for a day or so. You want something for pain, you go see a people doctor. I can treat this topically, and you’re going to have your own battle scar. You want it stitched up, you get the people doctor for that. I can do it, but there’s no reason. Now suck it up. I’m going to clean and disinfect this, and it’s going to add some flames to that hellfire.”
“Want something to bite on?”
Callen rolled a sour look up at Bodine. “Yeah.” He pulled her head down, clamped his mouth on hers. When the fire hit, he lost his breath for a minute, but she gripped his jaw in her hand, pressed her lips harder to his.
“Almost done here,” Bickers told him. “You stay off this as much as you can. Don’t see you needing a crutch, but find yourself a pair of tennis shoes, a couple days of that before you try pulling boots over this. It’s not near as bad as that sweet horse. Mostly a nick, is all.”
“Right now it feels like you jabbed down to the bone with a hot poker.”
“Yeah, that’ll ease up. You’re a strong, healthy boy.” Bickers slapped his knee. “And nearly as good-looking as your horse. You can take something over the counter for the pain. You got anything tucked away that’s stronger, you tell me beforehand.”
“I don’t.”
“All right. I’ll write all this down for you, leave it, and see you both in the morning.”
“Thanks.”
Bickers nodded, tossed away the gloves. “I’d like to know what kind of sick son of a bitch takes a shot at a sweet horse. I guess he was most likely shooting at you, but he hurt the horse more.” She gathered her bag, nodded at Tate. “Your turn.”
The sheriff stepped forward. “You up to talking to me, Cal?”
“Yeah, but I’d sure like a beer first.”
Rory held one out. “Grabbed one for you. I’m supposed to go back, let the others know you and Sundown are okay.”
“Thanks.”
Callen took a long, slow pull. “I’ll tell you what I know. Worked a little late, rode home slow. Pretty evening. I figured to give Sundown a run when we came around that first bend on Black Angus. He’d just changed gaits. I felt it hit me, then I heard it, then he stumbled. I had to keep him going. It hurt him, but we were in the open there, and I didn’t know if we were going to get shot again. So I pushed him until we had some cover. I heard an ATV start up and take off.”
“You sure about that? A truck, a bike?”
“I know the difference. An ATV. Probably up on the high trail. He had to wait until we came around that bend for a good shot, so he’d be up there, or why not take the shot when we were just standing there or walking? Going into a gallop’s probably what threw the shot off. He had to compensate, change angles fast. Likely not much of a shot.”
Callen took another long pull on his beer. “As memory serves, Garrett Clintok’s not much of a shot. I’d like to know if he owns an ATV.”
“You leave that to me.”
Callen pushed the beer at Bodine, got to his feet. Fury turned his eyes into a storm cloud of fiery blue. “You see that horse? I love him like a brother. Some asshole hides up in the trees, tries to ambush me, and shoots my horse? I don’t leave that up to anybody.”