Serious Cowboy (Cowboys of Duncan Ranch #2)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Amnesia was such a bizarre condition to deal with. Zeke had come to with no concrete memories of who he was, what he’d done, or how he’d arrived at a hospital. The strangest part was being aware that the place he’d be brought to was a hospital, but having no idea how he knew that. For that first day, his brain had felt like scrambled eggs more than an essential organ used to access information.

He could tell the medical staff his favorite color but not the date. He could identify an ink pen but not his own name. It’d been the most discombobulating experience he’d ever had to cope with, and when he finally began to recall parts of his life, he felt relieved. Zeke had been so anxious to regain his identity.

That had turned out to be both a blessing and a curse. Not all those memories were happy or positive. Many, in fact, were unhappy. But the point was that they were his. Like filling in a piece of art that was paint by number, an overall portrait of who he was had begun to emerge, and just getting that far allowed him to feel some of the basic comfort he’d been seeking.

Then, there was Callie, this woman who’d been present from day one. When he’d initially seen her standing at the threshold of his room, he hadn’t been lying, he didn’t know who she was or why she might be there. Yet, as she demonstrated her strength and compassion with him over the intervening days, he knew one thing. She was good. She was kind. She had a beautiful soul to go with that beautiful face of hers.

Also, she must be someone important to him.

So, his trust in her increased. Above and beyond everyone else, he trusted Callie. When he’d seen his parents, he’d vaguely recognized them, but his feelings toward them were complicated. When he was around Callie, however, his feelings were much more cut and dried. She’d dedicated herself to being there, and he knew she’d continue to be there.

That was all he really needed to know.

He didn’t know why, but when he woke that morning just as the sunrise was dawning with pink and gold majesty over the horizon, he remembered everything. Or at least, he thought he did. He even remembered the accident that had likely led to him being in here.

Or parts of it, anyway.

He peered down at the cast now coating the majority of his left leg. It had ached when he’d initially awakened, but now it didn’t hurt as long as he didn’t put any pressure on it. Once, when by himself, he’d attempted to stand. And oh, yeah, that had been a mistake. He’d hissed and fallen right back into his bed.

He definitely wasn’t ready for that yet.

But something he was ready for was Callie.

When she arrived, he’d had his eyes closed, and he continued to feign sleep just so he could peek at her for a second without her knowing. She’d crossed his room and messed with his array of get-well paraphernalia, tidying and adjusting the greenery and cards. As she did the sun burst in earnest, lighting up her pale blonde curls. She looked like an angel standing there.

Maybe she was one.

Or close enough.

“Hey, Callie,” he greeted her, and even he could detect the difference in his tone. She could, too.

“You sound… better this morning,” she said carefully, and he recalled how they’d spent the last few days together. He also remembered their relationship and breakup. Yet despite all that had transpired between them, she was here.

“I am better.”

He was, too. Not that he didn’t miss his wife and daughter. Remembering them like those events had just occurred had ripped him wide open. So much so that he thought he would metaphorically bleed out.

But now, he could again feel the distance, the eighteen years that had elapsed since then. It was so strange to acknowledge that he was now exactly twice as old as he’d been then. And it certainly still hurt. It likely always would. Yet maybe releasing some of that grief had—he didn’t know—helped him in some way, like drawing poison from an infected wound helped.

The pain was still there, but it was less of a sharp slashing and more of a dull ache.

“That’s lovely to know,” Callie said, still walking on eggshells. He could tell. So, he decided to end the suspense.

“I remember you now. I remember us dating.”

Her pale blue eyes widened. “You do?”

“Yes. And I remember us calling it quits.” Well, it was less of a mutual split up and more him sending her away without ever welcoming her back. Of him removing her from his life without even deigning to provide her with a second chance.

She huffed out a humorless laugh. “Probably wondering why I’m here, then, huh?”

“Not really. I also remember this past week and a half. All the time you’ve spent with me in the hospital. How you’ve treated me, taken care of me. Including last night.”

“Okay.” A wrinkle formed in the center of her forehead. It was pretty adorable.

“It showed me how little interest I have in staying that way.”

“What way?” she asked.

“Broken up. I miss you. I miss how I was with you. How I am with you. I haven’t been…” How did he put this? “Healthy enough for a relationship, Callie. Not mentally. Not for a long time. Not since Maria and… Hadley.”

Even now, saying his lost daughter’s name was hard. Up until now, he hadn’t been able to utter it out loud. Speaking that name in this moment felt like a cleansing. A release. One that choked him up. Yet even as his eyes burned, he managed to swallow and go on.

“But you’re good for me. And if you’ll forgive me for my regrettable behavior, I’d love for you to take me back.”

She pressed her hands to her own eyes, which had started to stream. Oh, no.

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “Did I say something wrong?”

Callie smiled through her tears. “No, you said something very right. The rightest.”

He smiled back at her, choking up for a whole other reason. Zeke stifled that, too. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

But he needed to be certain he understood. He’d misread the signs before. “So, we’re no longer split up?”

“What?” There was a discernible glimmer of lightness in her gaze. “You think I’d hang out like this for just anyone?”

“Maybe.” She was an extremely caring soul.

“Well, let me make things clear, then. I’ve been doing this because it’s you. And I care about you.”

Zeke reached for her hand, held it in his. “I care about you, too.” Even though it terrified him. Yet if Callie was willing to take that chance—particularly considering what had just happened—the least he could do was the same.

The least he could do.

Three days later and after more extensive testing, they released him with several standing appointments for physical therapy to occur in his home. Walking in a boot with crutches—an absolute necessity—was a total drag, but the allure of convalescing in the familiarity of his own home made such considerations a small price to pay.

Callie had gone back to her job in Tim’s office, but she still came by every evening to check on him. It felt so nice to know that he had her visit to look forward to. His first PT session had been brutal, and it’d taken him an hour after the guy left before Zeke felt capable of moving from his chair. But Callie calling out, “Zeke, it’s me,” had been a great motivation.

“It’s open,” he hollered back.

Struggling to put his body in a standing position on his crutches again to greet her, he did it only to realize how parched he was once upright. He reached for the glass of water he’d poured for himself earlier, planning to grab a quick drink, when he misjudged his weight distribution. He lost his balance, tumbling cast first right into the end table where his drink resided, knocking the glass, the table, and the lamp sitting on top of it to the floor.

Worse, as he fell, he couldn’t control where he landed, and he just happened to wind up with his uninjured leg slamming onto the glass, breaking it.

He shouted out a curse from the wicked jolt of pain that the glass slicing into the meat of his upper thigh caused as well as jarring his broken leg. That’s how Callie found him. Face down on his floor, his sweatpant-clad leg wet from both the water and the blood now seeping out of it.

Just his rotten luck.

“ Zeke ,” Callie shrieked as she rushed toward him. Maybe due to the fact that this was his fault, the embarrassment of her finding him in such a precarious circumstance, or the variety of throbbing he now felt in each leg, he snapped at her.

“Back up. I need some space.”

She did, but the space didn’t help him in the process of regaining his footing. In fact, he couldn’t seem to regain his footing at all.

“Let me help you, Zeke.”

Scowling at the necessity of it, he begrudgingly allowed her to assist him back to his chair. Only then did the degree of the damage become clear. He was bleeding like a stuck pig. Maybe that glass had cut him worse than he’d originally thought.

“My gosh, you’re a mess,” Callie exclaimed. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No,” he growled at her, upset for more reasons that he could count. “I’m not going back to the hospital for something so stupid. Just give me some band aids. I’ll be fine.”

“Zeke Knight, those are deep cuts. And you might’ve reinjured your other leg, cast or no cast. I’m not taking that chance.”

“No ambulance,” he insisted, trying to stand, but it was no use. He couldn’t do so under his own power, but going back to that hospital after being there so long already would be tantamount to torture.

She huffed out a breath, seeming as exasperated with him as he felt with the entire debacle. “I’m calling Tim, then. That’s the only compromise I’ll make.”