Stables (Black Gulch Ranch #2)

4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Char

“I promise, I’ll be fine.” My arms wrap around Libby. She might be taller than me, but I can still reach.

“I can send Devon over if you need help?” Her lower lip sticks out. “I won’t be able to make it back up until tomorrow afternoon. Unless you want me to show up covered in cow shit.” She wrinkles her nose.

“Please, don’t send your brother. He always tries to hit on me and I feel bad every time I tell him ‘no’.” I’d roll my eyes, but it makes my face hurt.

Her teeth show as she laughs. “Yea, he’s fifteen going on forty in his own head. Okay, fair enough.” She squints and makes a finger pistol at me. “But you better call me. I’ll figure something out.”

Letting out a long breath to fight the pain, I push myself up on the couch. “You already checked on the horses and brought me food. Paisley and I will just watch movies tonight.”

Her smile fades as she watches me. “Did that sheriff ever get back to you and say if he picked up Matt?”

“Not yet.” And I’ve been checking. Constantly.

She glances over at Paisley in her playpen next to me, then drops her voice. “I’m gonna go grab your pistol out of the bedroom so you have it close by.”

Just the thought of Matt coming back makes my stomach twist. “Thank you,” I whisper. All I can hope is that he’s going through one of his regretful stages today, if he isn’t already in jail.

It was like that when we were married. A slow escalation until he’d explode. Then when I thought I’d had enough and was going to leave him, he’d shower me with gifts for weeks afterward.

But the anger grew worse each time. Every tirade would push a little further.

I can’t believe I thought I loved him.

And that I’m so damn stupid. Now, I’m paying the price for it.

“Here, tuck this in somewhere easy to get to.” Libby slides my tiny revolver across the end table.

I wish I was as comfortable with mine as she is with hers.

“Thank you.” It’s a stark reminder of what kind of hell I went through this morning.

God, tomorrow is going to suck.

The bruises always hurt more the second day.

“Okay, anything else before I go? Need a cup of tea with your water?” She stands with her hands on her hips and looks around the room, like my own personal Superman.

“Shoo. You’re going to be late. Those cows will be leaking milk by the time you get home.” Flicking my fingers at her, I give her my best smile.

Her mouth twists to the side as she chews on the inside of her cheek. “Keep me posted.” Her bright skirt swirls before she closes the door behind her.

When the sound of her engine leaves the driveway and fades into silence, even Paisley’s cartoon doesn’t drown out the overwhelming sense of being alone.

I can’t even focus on what she’s watching.

My mind floats on repeat with every mistake I’ve made in my life that left me in this position.

Broken, barely scraping by, working my ass off, and trying to raise my little girl.

I wish I knew a way to fix it.

All of the options become a suffocating weight that pushes tears from my eyes.

This is all just so damn hard.

The moment I feel like I’m getting ahead, something like this knocks me down.

Paisley’s head rocks in time with the music on her show, then claps her pudgy hands together slightly off rhythm to the characters on the screen.

She’s why I try.

My curly haired cutie.

“Mommy!” she shrieks, patting my bruised cheek. It sends lightning bolts of agony rocketing through me.

Shit, I must have dozed off.

“I’m sorry, baby girl.” I pull her out of her playpen and press my lips against her temple to soothe her, ignoring the radiating ache in my side.

Fuck.

She’s burning up.

“Oh, Paisley. I’m going to find some medicine.” Fire laces up my side as I push myself up.

I’m pretty sure I have some children’s dose stuff for fevers.

Bracing myself on the cushion, I can’t stop the audible groan that comes out of me when I manage to stand.

Every joint in my body screams at me.

“Come on, honey.” I dangle my hand so she can grab my fingers.

Each slow step sends spasms through me.

Great. The bottle I need is on top of the refrigerator.

Why do I put stuff up there when I’m too dang short to reach it without a stool?

Her sniffles transform into wails and she flops herself onto her diapered butt in the middle of the kitchen floor.

I can’t raise my arms.

Anything higher than my boobs feels like someone is squeezing my chest and makes it hard to breathe.

Panic makes my heart race.

I hate this helplessness. Paisley needs me, and I’m failing.

Wait. The broom might work.

Awkwardly holding it by the bristles, I manage to knock the bottle off of the top.

But I miss when I try to catch it.

“No, no, no.” Crap. Of course it’s glass.

At least it didn’t shatter, just cracked enough that the red liquid oozes in a semicircle around it.

“No-no!” Paisley mimics my cries, smacking her knees.

I want to join her and cry.

Her flushed red cheeks bunch and she rubs her eyes with the heels of her hand.

I hate seeing her uncomfortable.

“Mommy’s going to get you a cool washcloth, okay?” Hobbling over to the sink, I soak and wring out a small dish towel.

Draping it over her shoulders sends her over the edge and she erupts in a full-bellied scream.

A knot forms in my throat.

I’m not even sure if I can carry her.

“Let’s go take a bath.” Cooling her down should buy me some time to figure out what in the heck to do next.

The burn of tears streaks my own cheeks. “Do you want the bubbles? We can do them. Come on.” I try to coax her.

Can I drag her if she doesn’t cooperate?

Should I call Libby? She’s my only friend that stuck around after I hooked up with Matt.

It’s like the rest knew he was bad news, but they didn’t want to tell me.

I guess they didn’t care as much as I thought they would.

Libby’s already done so much for me.

I need to do this.

Gritting my teeth, I manage to tug Paisley up and limp with her down the hall to the bathroom. The stabbing pain in my chest isn’t getting any better.

At least it isn’t worse.

Her fussing lessens when I start the water.

Not too cold.

“Do you want bubbles, Paisley?” I tilt the bright pink bottle in the air so she can see it.

Her fingers fill her pouty mouth, but she nods.

As the foam fills the tub, I kneel slowly to the thick rug next to her. “Let’s get your clothes off so you can play.”

It’s so hard to fight the grimace of pain with every move. The last thing I want to do is scare her.

Once she’s in, she seems to calm down and pushes her rubber duckies around her in a swirl.

Maybe there’s some meds in the cabinet over the sink.

The twinge in my side is ever present, and reminds me when I reach across the sink.

Nothing in here I can use, but there is a forehead thermometer.

I’m happy to see that the batteries still work.

“Hold still, honey. Momma’s going to look at your pretty hair.” Fussing over her sweaty curls, I manage to get a reading.

One hundred and one.

Oh boy.

Finding the closed toilet to use as a seat, I fish my phone out of my pocket.

My contact list is full of people I don’t know, or ever talk to.

Libby.

The clinic might work?

If I remember right, the clerk may live near me? Maybe she can bring me some medicine?

Only one way to find out.