Long Hard Ride (Rough Riders #1)(75)

Around five a.m. Channing was jostled awake. She blinked up into Keely McKay’s curious blue eyes.


“Channing, right? Gemma told me to keep an eye on you. My folks are gone. Colby isn’t awake, but he is alone if you want to see him.”


“Thank you,” she whispered.


The room was small and filled with a medicinal stench. A ghostly sound of Colby’s breathing apparatus echoed, as well as the constant beep beep of the machines keeping him alive.


Channing bit her tongue hard to stop a gasp from escaping.


His leg was in a cast. Most of the rest of his body was covered up with blankets. He had tubes in both arms. He didn’t look frail; he looked…like a wounded warrior.


She approached the side of Colby’s bed, curling her fingers around the metal railing. Her tears fell. “Oh, cowboy. Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.”


No response.


She brushed her fingertips across the scraped-up knuckles on his hand and studied his unconscious face for the longest time, hoping for a sign of some kind.


Increased activity in the hallway signaled it was time for her to go.


Channing kissed his forehead and moved her lips to his ear. “Get better soon. When you’re back on your feet, cowboy, come looking for me because I’ll be waiting. No matter where I am or what I’m doing I’ll be waiting for you. For as long as it takes. And I’ll say the words you were so hell bent on hearing from me last night. I love you, Colby McKay. Don’t you ever forget it. I’ll say it again. I love you.”


Walking away from him was the hardest thing she’d ever done, even when she knew it was for the best. For now.


Chapter Twenty-One


One week later…


Trevor sipped his fourth beer and watched Edgard loading the last of his tack in his luggage. “You sure you don’t wanna take that saddle? It’s awful damn nice. Nicer than mine.”


“No. You can have it. Or you can sell it. I don’t care either way.”


Pause. “Maybe I’ll keep it around for when you come back.”


Edgard sighed, but he didn’t look up from zipping his soft-sided suitcase. “I already told you, Trev. I’m not coming back.”


Trevor ignored the stab of pain near his heart. He drained the lukewarm brew and reached for another.


Thud. Edgard’s last bag hit the floor.


The silence between them was deafening.


Edgard said, “When are you going to Cody?”


“Tomorrow. Early.”


“Who’re you going with?”


“Cash and Brian. Colby’s cousin Dag.”


“Good luck. Dag’s a great heeler.”


“Thanks.” He fiddled with the metal tab on the beer can. “You sure you don’t want me to take you to the train station?”


Edgard laughed softly. “That wouldn’t be wise, amigo.”


“It ain’t like I’m gonna make a big scene, Ed,” Trevor scoffed.


“I know. Maybe I would.” Edgard briefly shut his eyes. “Shit. I’m not gonna do this. I can’t do this anymore.”


Edgard ran his hand through his hair. A gesture of frustration Trevor had come to recognize in the last two years he and Edgard had been together. Off and on. In secret. He knew it wasn’t fair to either of them.


Trevor wanted to get up, walk over and smooth Edgard’s dark hair back in place. He ached to soothe him and tell him everything would be all right. But mostly he wanted to wrap his arms around Edgard and beg him not to leave.


But Trevor did none of that. He just steadily drank his beer, waiting for the numbness to settle in and ease his sorrow.


Edgard opened the door and tossed out his luggage. Then he closed the door again and braced his shoulders against the wall.


Automatically Trevor stiffened.


“Don’t worry. I’m not going to make you uncomfortable by telling you how I feel. You already know. I just wish things could be different.”


Trevor swallowed a drink and the lump in his throat. “Me too.”


“Take care of yourself, meu amor.”


“You too.”


A truck horn honked outside.


Without another word Edgard turned and walked out of his life.


Trevor stayed seated until he heard Gemma’s rig drive away. Then he slowly stood, shuffled to the door and locked it.


He shoved the rest of the case of beer up in the sleeping compartment and crawled across the mattress. He cracked open a fresh can, lay flat on his back and let the tears come.


Chapter Twenty-Two


Eight weeks later…


Colby McKay sat on the front porch of his parents’ house with his leg propped on a folding chair and scowled at the darkening sky. Fucking clouds. If it was gonna be cloudy, at least the damn things should be rain clouds. They needed the moisture in a bad way.


A dry autumn breeze drifted through the eaves, rattling the wind chimes. He’d been home for two months. A doctor ordered bed rest after his leg had been busted up like a cheap 2X4, and his lung had seeped air like a leaky balloon.