Boone's Cowboy [Rescue for Hire 8] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (12 page)

Anger sparked in Tim’s eyes for a moment before it disappeared. “Okay,” he said grudgingly.

“I’m going to consider you on probation until I see that you are honoring your word, Tim. If that’s acceptable to you, there are three stalls in the back of the barn that need cleaning out.” Flynn watched the play of emotions cross Tim’s face.

Tim held out his hand and said, “That’s fair. Thank you for the chance.”

Flynn shook the man’s hand, ignoring the way Tim’s fingers lingered a little too long against his. Turning, he walked out of the barn, grabbing a pair of binoculars off a nail on the wall as he passed them.

Standing in the warm sunshine, Flynn put his hands on his hips and observed one of his two herds of cattle clustered together in the east pasture. He kept two smaller herds instead of putting them all together so they didn’t overdamage the pastures he put them in.

Lifting the binoculars, he looked out over at the cows in the field. He was pleased with the way bull one-eighteen seemed to be handling the herd. Now and then the big guy would do his duty with one of the girls. Flynn smiled. Those were going to be some nice calves.

Something out of the ordinary caught Flynn’s eye. Adjusting the binoculars, he examined a good-sized mound of brown amongst the sea of green grass. It looked like something was lying on the ground. A few of the cows were pregnant, and now he worried that maybe one had lost a calf. Or it could be a cow lying in a small indent of the pasture. Flynn had learned long ago not to take anything for granted.

Turning back toward the barn, Flynn returned the binoculars back onto the nail before he saddled up Smokey with efficient movements. He passed Tim as he led the horse out of the barn.

“I’m going to go check on something in the east field,” he said. It was just plain common sense to let someone know where a person was going while out in the back fields. An accident was only an action away.

“All right,” Tim answered.

Minutes later, Smoky trotted down the lane, seeming as happy as Flynn was to be out in the sunshine. He knew he could have taken a four-wheeler, but he preferred using a horse whenever possible.

As he neared the herd, the bull came toward him, clearly on alert. Flynn dismounted Smoky, dropping the reins on the ground, and stepped inside the fenced-in pasture. He didn’t plan on being here too long and knew Smoky would stick around. The bull snorted at him.

“Go on,” Flynn said sternly, relieved when the bull stepped back and walked among the cows.

Flynn went over to the spot that bothered him. Now that he was closer, he could see that it wasn’t a calf or anything to be alarmed at. The cows apparently had dug into the ground, rooting up the earth into a good-sized pile.

With his boot, Flynn managed to scrape the dirt and sod back into place. By the time he was finished, sweat trickled down the side of his face and dampened the back of his T-shirt.

While he took a second to let the light breeze cool him down a little, he checked on the bull, making sure he wasn’t going to cause Flynn trouble. One-eighteen seemed content for the moment to watch over his girls.

Flynn let his gaze glide over the herd, inspecting each cow for overall health. That was when he noticed one of the cows had open wounds on its back. Concerned, Flynn walked in between the bovine, running his hands over one and then another as he passed them. The cow in question, of course, moved to the outside of the herd near the fence.

The sun’s rays baked Flynn’s shoulders through his shirt, and dust clouded the air as the cows wandered around, pulling up clumps of grass to eat. Flynn reached the cow with the wounds, but when she saw that he was close, she shied away.

Flynn had turned to go after her when the earth started to shake.

In one split second, Flynn’s heart stopped beating, and he took off running. Every person who owned large, potentially dangerous animals knew the sound of heavy hooves pounding the earth. Flynn ran harder but heard the hooves gaining on him.

A snort sounded right behind him, and something hard collided with the back of Flynn’s legs, sending him into the air. Helplessly, he saw he was heading toward an old weathered log that had once been an old oak tree that had become a victim of a lightning strike.

The log was smooth from time and the elements, with only a few stubby, thick limbs sticking out here and there. The side of Flynn’s torso crashed into the log, and one limb impaled his leg. Flynn cried out when he felt his ribs and leg snap.

He ended up lying in a heap with the log between him and the herd. At first Flynn wondered why he wasn’t in pain. He went to move his arm and feel his ribs. Agony stole his breath, and he couldn’t get it back. He screamed in torment when his body jerked with reaction to the pain and his leg moved.

Flynn was in trouble, and he knew it. When Flynn turned his head and saw his phone lying ten feet away, his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. He knew his only hope was Tim.

* * * *

Boone turned in the driveway and drove up to the house. He couldn’t wait to jump a certain cowboy and then sleep for a week.

He walked into the house and called, “Flynn.” Silence answered him.

In the back of his mind, he knew Flynn wasn’t in the house, but he searched it anyway. He checked the garage and found all the vehicles parked in their places, so Flynn had to be home.

After looking around outside, he walked down to the barn. He let his eyes adjust to the dim interior before calling, “Flynn.”

Boone frowned. He heard a noise at the back of the barn and started walking down the aisle. Smoky and Wendy snorted at him as he passed them.

“Flynn, are you back here?” he called.

Tim stepped out of the last stall holding a pitchfork.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Boone asked.

The stupid fool raised the pitchfork as though Boone should be afraid of it or something. Boone snatched the tool out of Tim’s hands and threw it across the aisle, where it landed with a clang.

Tim took a swing at Boone. Boone deflected the blow with his forearm and punched Tim in the face. The man went down hard.

Boone knelt and pressed a forearm against Tim’s windpipe. “Where’s Flynn?”

“I don’t know,” Tim forced out.

“Bullshit,” Boone bit out. “You better start talking.”

“He said there was something in the east pasture he wanted to check out. He hasn’t come back yet.” Tim might be talking, but his eyes said he wasn’t telling Boone everything.

Boone grabbed Tim by the shoulders and shook him, banging his head against the floor. “The four-wheelers are in the garage and the horses are all here. If what you are saying is true, how did he get out there?”

“Okay, okay, stop please,” Tim cried out. “He took Smoky. But Smoky came back about a half hour ago.”

Boone shook the moron again. “Why didn’t you go out there and check on him?”

Boone heard death in his tone. Tim must have finally seen the light because he started spilling his guts.

“I thought I’d wait and then go out there and rescue him. I thought he’d finally appreciate me. It would show he could count on me to save him, and not you.”

“You stupid fuck. If he’s hurt and you’ve left him out there, my face is going to be the last thing you’ll ever see,” Boone threatened.

Boone let go of Tim in disgust. Standing, he went to the barn door and lifted the binoculars off the nail. Pointing them at the east field, he scanned the area. No matter how many times he looked, he couldn’t see any sign of Flynn.

Lowering the glasses, Boone took a deep, calming breath and closed his eyes. This time he searched every cow and every clump in the grass. He was just about to give up when the sunlight reflected off something.

Boone tried to zero in on the object, but the binoculars weren’t strong enough. It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, he had a starting point.

He dropped the glasses and ran as fast as he could to the garage. Seconds later Boone raced out of the garage on the four-wheeler at full speed. Something inside told him Flynn was in trouble.

The four-wheeler hadn’t even stopped moving before Boone jumped off of it. Boone ducked under the fence and surveyed the area. Now he saw a spot where the dirt had been freshly packed down.

It was weird. The spot indicated Flynn had been here. And yet it was as though he’d disappeared off the face of the earth.

Boone started walking toward the spot. “Flynn,” he called.

The bull snorted at him. At this point, Boone would take the damn thing on. Nothing was stopping him from finding Flynn.

“Flynn,” he yelled.

Boone heard a groan. Looking around, he spotted an old log lying next to the fence on the other side of the pasture. His first instinct was to run over there, but the bull snorted again, and Boone would not instigate a chase with a fifteen-hundred-pound animal.

At a steady pace, Boone made his way across the pasture. So far, the bull had more of an interest in the cows than Boone. Just before he reached the old downed log, Boone saw Flynn’s cellphone.

He picked it up and walked around the log. Boone froze with shock at what he saw before he dropped to his knees.

“Oh fuck, Flynn. Hold on, honey. I’ll get some help. Oh shit, Flynn. Shit.”

“Boone, is that you? What’s the matter?”

Boone looked down at his hand and saw he was still holding Flynn’s phone. At the top of the screen was Cade’s name. He didn’t remember dialing the number or hearing the phone ring. But, right now, it didn’t matter.

“Boss, call 911. I’m in the east pasture at Flynn’s. I just found Flynn, and he’s hurt bad.” Boone took a much-needed breath.

“Calm down, Boone,” Cade instructed. “Shane is here and is calling 911. We’re both on our way.”

Boone took in the battered body of his beloved Flynn. Bone stuck out of a rip in his blood-saturated jeans. From the way Flynn struggled to breathe, Boone suspected he had a rib injury and it involved his lungs.

Flynn’s eye opened. Boone dropped the phone and leaned his face next to Flynn’s.

“Boone, you’re here,” Flynn whispered.

“I’ll always be here, cowboy,” Boone said, tears dripping down his face. “I’m going to try and slow down some of the bleeding.”

“Do what you have to do, pretty baby,” Flynn whispered. Boone saw drops of blood on Flynn’s lips.

Boone tore off his shirt. He quickly ripped it into pieces and tied a makeshift tourniquet around Flynn’s leg. He also tried to secure the broken bone a bit. His heart broke when Flynn cried out.

For now, that was all Boone could do. Sitting down in the dirt next to Flynn, he took the cowboy’s beloved hand in his, and waited.

He looked up when he heard the sound of motors in the distance getting closer. Across the field, he saw the boss and the commander riding four-wheelers toward him.

Boone leaned down. “Flynn, it’s going to be okay. Help has arrived.”

“It became okay when you got here,” Flynn whispered back.

Minutes later, Boone looked up to Cade standing over him. He had his phone at his ear. “Damian, we need the chopper, stat. Flynn Wakefield is hurt badly.”

“Boone, watch out for the bull,” Flynn whispered.

“It’s okay. The commander’s standing between it and us holding a pitchfork,” Boone answered.

A half hour later the Rescue for Hire helicopter took Flynn away from Boone. Gabriel had arrived with the copter and immediately sprang into action. Boone felt more at ease knowing Gabriel’s expertise was helping Flynn.

* * * *

“He’s a dead man,” Boone shouted viciously.

“The sheriff has already talked with him, Boone. Flynn wouldn’t like it if you ended up in jail.” Cade sounded as though he was trying to reason with Boone.

“I’m sure Flynn is going to end up bailing me out of jail sometime in the next seventy years. It might as well be for a good cause,” Boone countered.

There was a whoosh of a door opening. “Too late. Tim won’t be bothering anyone around here anymore,” Treb said.

“What did you do?” Cade’s voice sounded wary.

“I persuaded him that it was in his best interest to leave and not come back.” Treb sounded happy.

“Any broken bones?” Cade asked.

“Nope,” Treb answered.

“Blood?” Cade asked.

“Not much,” Treb answered.

Flynn laughed and then groaned. He vowed right then never to laugh again until his ribs were healed. A hand gently cupped his cheek.

“You’re awake,” Boone said softly.

“How long was I out this time?” he asked. Since one-eighteen had nailed him, Flynn had been in and out of consciousness for at least a week. Lack of blood, two surgeries, and enough metal plates and screws to create a miniature airplane would do that to a man.

“About twelve hours,” Boone answered. “The doctors have started cutting down your medication. You’ll start to feel less spacy soon.”

“As long as you stay in my space, I don’t care,” Flynn said.

“We have a few visitors.” Boone carefully climbed onto the bed next to Flynn.

Flynn looked around the room and saw every member of Rescue for Hire. Now that he thought about it, every time he’d woken up, they were there with Boone.

“Hey, everyone,” he greeted them and received waves and nods back. “I don’t mean to sound rude, but have you been here at the hospital all week?”

“Of course,” Treb answered.

Flynn frowned, confused. “Of course?”

“Well, yeah, Boone is a member of the team. Since you are his partner, that makes you family, too,” Treb explained.

The man made it sound like the simplest thing in the world. Flynn wondered why he was still confused.

“It does?” he asked.

“It’s what we do,” Treb said. “When one of our own is in the hospital, we all stay and help take care of him until he’s out. That’s what family does. Except you still need to do the whole tattoo thing. But after that, it’s all legit.”

For a second, Flynn wondered if it would be easier to go back to sleep and try to figure this out later. Instead, he looked up at Boone and asked. “What tattoo thing?”