Wild Trail (Clean Slate Ranch #1)(35)

“Are you hurt?” Mack asked.

“No. I may or may not have puked my breakfast up when Blizzard finally stopped running, but I’m not hurt.”

Mack swung off Tude, then tied him to the same post as Blizzard. Kept the shotgun against his shoulder as he approached. Wes looked pale, with two bright spots of color on each cheek. No false bravado in place. He’d been scared and admitted to it, and that did something funny to Mack’s insides. “Come down off that before you fall through,” Mack said.

“It’s sturdy.” Wes stamped on the porch board. “I can’t believe this is here.”

As curious as Mack was about the old ghost town, he needed to do his job first. “Wes, what happened?”

“Oh, I got lost. I mean, I didn’t get lost so much as I wasn’t paying attention to where Blizzard was going, but once I realized we were out of sight of the group, she got spooked by a skunk and raced off. It was all I could do to hold on and not fall off, fuck trying to grab the reins and stop her. I’ve never ridden a galloping horse before.” Wes sounded both affronted and still a tiny bit terrified, which Mack found kind of cute.

“It can be startling if you haven’t done it before,” Mack said. “I’m impressed she didn’t throw you.”

“So am I, believe me. I think she slowed down because she found the town. Once I peeled myself out of the saddle, I started to look around.”

Wes’s wan smile made Mack pay closer attention. The color on his cheeks and tightness of his shoulders. The guy had been really, truly scared, and he still wasn’t okay. Mack resisted the urge to hug him. Wes was his guest, not a scared friend.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Mack said.

“Wouldn’t want to lose a guest on your watch, right?”

“Exactly, so get down off that porch.”

“Fine.”

Wes took three strides across the ancient porch. Right in front of the three steps down, something snapped, and his left foot disappeared beneath the splintered wood. Wes yelped, then fell backward on his ass. Mack bit back a sharp I told you so and went to help him.

“Fuck, that hurts,” Wes said.

“You twist it?” Mack asked, squatting in front of Wes. His leg disappeared into a jagged hole to mid-calf.

“No, something’s stabbing my ankle.”

“Should have worn boots.”

Wes grumped. “The only boots I brought had a heel and seemed inappropriate to wear on a twenty-four-hour horse ride. Something got me between my sneaker top and my pant leg. Ow.”

Mack couldn’t tell if Wes was really in pain, or if he was being a princess about a little cut, so he treaded with caution. He poked around the hole, checking for additional jagged edges, before gently lifting Wes’s leg by the knee. Wes hissed as his foot rose out of the hole. Sure enough, a piece of wood had pierced Wes’s leg near the ankle, deep enough to make it bleed and look crazy painful.

“Ugh.” Wes grimaced.

“Please tell me you aren’t afraid of blood.”

“Not mine, but other people’s blood makes me squeamish.”

“Good. Stay put a second. I’ve got a first aid kit in my saddlebag.”

“My hero.”

Mack shot him a withering look, then jogged over to Tude for the kit. He used his walkie to try and raise someone. Must be too far out, because he couldn’t get Reyes or Judson. He’d have to get Wes patched up and back on his horse so they could reconnect with the group. Except his overwhelming curiosity about the ghost town also made him want to poke around.

No, poking around got Wes wounded.

He could take some pictures, though, to show Judson and Arthur. If Arthur had any idea the town existed, he’d never mentioned it. Someone in town might know why it was here.

Wes had his pant leg pulled up as far as the tight material would go, and he’d taken off his sneaker and sock. His feet were as long and elegant as his body—Nope, stop it. No admiring the goods. Patching only.

Mack got two bandage squares and antibiotic powder ready, before wrapping his fingers around the piece of wood. “This is gonna hurt.”

“I know.” Wes smashed his eyes shut. “Do it.”

Wes got points for not letting out more than a soft grunt when Mack yanked the wood shard. About an inch came out of his leg, and blood oozed from the wound. He pressed one bandage down to staunch the bleeding, then glanced at Wes. Wes’s face was paler, but he didn’t appear in danger of passing out. Sturdier than Mack gave him credit for.

Mack braced Wes’s foot on his own thigh, so he had better access to pull the bloody bandage away and then sprinkle on the antibiotic powder. “How’s your tetanus shot status?” he asked as he applied the clean bandage.

“Might need to get a booster,” Wes replied.

“Better safe than sorry.” Mack wound strips of medical tape over the bandage to keep it stuck to Wes’s skin, then covered the whole thing with a self-adhesive bandage.

“All this first aid knowledge from your time in SWAT?”

“Some of it. Took a few non-credit courses on life-saving over the years. Never know when the skills will come in handy, especially way out here.”

“With so many clumsy city slickers around?”

“City slickers and new cowboys.”