Stripped Down (8 page)

Sutton covered her mouth in a silencing kiss. Then he said, “Point taken.”

“Good. If we have to cancel the honeymoon—”

“You don’t need to cancel the honeymoon,” their mom said from behind them. “You might have to delay it a few days, that’s all.”

Wyn stood. “Mom. Sit. You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted but I’ve been sitting all night.” She looked at each one of her sons and her daughter-in-law, giving Melissa and Mick both a quick, questioning glance before she spoke. “Dr. Poole has already been here this morning. The damage from the heart attack wasn’t as bad as they’d originally believed. All that means is your dad most likely won’t need surgery, but the cardiac unit in Denver will make the final determination. They’ll be transporting him soon. What hasn’t changed is the fact that he had a heart attack, and even if they just check him out in Denver for a day or two and then send him home, he is out of commission for at least eight weeks. Eight weeks in which he is to do nothing but recover. Not a half-assed ‘I’m fine, the doctors don’t know shit’ kind of recovery that he
thinks
he might get away with.”

Cres laughed.

“So what I need from you boys is your promise that you won’t let him do diddly squat for the next two months. You won’t let him get in his feed truck. You won’t even let him ride along and open fences.”

“Harsh, Mom.”

“I have to be harsh, Wyn. I’m not going to lose that man because of his stupid pride.” Her chin wobbled and Wyn wrapped an arm around her.

“We’ve got your back. We promise not to let him pull any crap,” Cres said.

“Easier said than done because you’re shipping cattle in the next two weeks,” his mother said. “Yesterday, before any of this happened, your dad mentioned being shorthanded with Sutton off on his honeymoon. So you know his first response will be to climb on his horse and round up the herd to help you boys sort cattle.”

“That ain’t happening,” Sutton said. “If you can put off shipping even for a week, we can cut the honeymoon short so I can come back and help.”

Wyn shook his head. “Because of the wedding, we’re starting this a week late as it is. The last thing we need is to lose all our calves to an early blizzard or freezing rain like happened in South Dakota and Wyoming last year.”

“If you’ve got no one that can fill in for Dad, then we’ll postpone the honeymoon.” Sutton sent London a pleading look. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

But London was studying Melissa. “Mel, what do you have going on the next couple of weeks?”

“Not much. I have a break in teaching.”

“Good. Then you can help out at the Grant Ranch.”

Wyn, Cres, and Sutton all said, “What?” simultaneously.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Mel is a cutting horse champion. You guys all know what the main skill is for a cutting horse, right? Sorting livestock. Her horse is at my folk’s farm. She can load Plato up and spend the next couple weeks in the field doing what she’s trained to do.”

Wyn looked at Melissa, who seemed equally shocked by the suggestion.

“London, doll, as much as I love you, you can’t go offering Mel’s help without askin’ her first,” Sutton drawled.

“You heard her. It’s not like she’s got other plans. And Wyn has an extra room where she can stay. So does Cres. That way your mom”—she flashed Sue a smile—“can be with your dad all the time so there’s no chance he’ll go against doctor’s orders and jeopardize his recovery.”

“That would be a huge relief to me,” his mom admitted.

“Plus, not only is Mel a cutting horse champ, the past five years she’s been working as part of a penning team. Shoot, I’ll bet she can cut your sorting time down to nothin’. Am I right, Mel?”

All eyes zoomed to Melissa.

“About the sorting time? No. The Grant boys are ranch born. They’ll ride circles around me. But if you need an extra horse and rider, I’d be happy to help out in any way that I can.”

“Then it’s settled,” London declared. “You all can figure out where Mel is staying later.”

Wyn knew exactly where she’d be staying for the next few weeks.

Everyone started talking and Wyn leaned down to speak to Melissa privately. “You really okay with this?”

“I was thinking to myself earlier that I wished you and I had more time together, and now I’ve got my wish.” She smirked.

“What?”

“This wasn’t as altruistic of London as you might believe.”

He chuckled. “Yes, it
is
fortunate that they won’t have to miss more than a day or two of their honeymoon, isn’t it? Because the ranch matters are handled.”

“That and you know she’s been trying to fix us up since she and Sutton got engaged.”

That took Wyn by surprise. “Then why is their wedding the first time I met you?”

Melissa looked away. “I have no idea.”

Like hell. He’d find out more about that later. “The circumstances suck, but I’m glad you’re staying with me.”

“Me too. I’ll be happy to bunk in your guest room.”

“I’d rather have you in my bed, but I’ll leave that up to you.”

* * * *

Wyn gave Melissa his address and the key to his front door. She had a few loose ends to tie up before she made the two-and-a-half-hour trek to the Grant Ranch, and she wouldn’t arrive until late tomorrow afternoon. Normally, he didn’t like people in his house when he wasn’t there, but she didn’t feel like a stranger. He might’ve obsessed on that if he hadn’t been obsessing on coordinating family and vehicles as they caravanned to Denver.

Before the orderlies loaded “Big” Jim Grant in the ambulance, the doctor allowed Wyn and his brothers to see their dad for a short visit. The old man looked better than he had the previous night. Sometimes Wyn forgot that his dad was in his late sixties. He didn’t look his age, nor did he act it—having a heart attack while dancing to “La Bamba” pretty much summed that sentiment up perfectly.

Now they watched the ambulance pull away and Wyn felt a pang of worry again.

“Mom seemed more relaxed about all of this,” Cres commented.

“She puts on a good front in front of Dad.”

Wyn looked at Sutton. “I suspect you’re right.”

“I ain’t a doctor, but if Dad’s condition was a life or death matter, they would’ve airlifted him last night. Hospitals don’t fuck around with that stuff,” Sutton said.

“You would know.”

London nestled her head on Sutton’s chest. “We are all staying in the same place tonight?”

“Sounds like. It’s within walking distance to the hospital.”

Cres looked up at the grayish cast to the sky. “I’d better get. Sure hope it doesn’t snow.”

“I hate that you’re goin’ home to check cattle by yourself.” This time of year and this close to shipping, the cattle couldn’t be unattended for even a day. Wyn had stayed behind yesterday morning when everyone else had gone to Gradsky’s to get ready for the wedding. Today, one of them had to go home and take care of the herd, and Cres had volunteered. So it’d be at least eight hours before he got to Denver.

“Mick has offered to help me, if that’s all right.”

Wyn looked at the deep red flush on his brother’s face. This was the first time since Cres had come out that he’d shown an interest in a guy around his family. Normally, Wyn would give him a rash of shit, but this was new territory for all of them.

“That’s great,” Sutton answered. “Mick mentioned when we were workin’ at the range that he grew up on a ranch in Montana before he joined the service.”

“Yeah, so he ain’t just a pretty gate opener.”

Both Wyn and Sutton’s jaws dropped. They said nothing. What the hell could they say?

London laughed. She dug out ten bucks, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it at Cres. “Remind me never to bet against you.” She nudged Sutton. “Cres bet me he could say something that’d leave both of you tongue-tied.”

“Bettin’ against me on the second day we’re married, Mrs. Grant, is gonna get you in a whole passel of trouble,” Sutton warned.

She murmured something to him that made him grin.

“Jesus. Can we just go already?” Wyn complained.

“Yep. See you guys later. Without bein’ a dick, I hope I don’t hear from you at all until I walk into the hospital in Denver,” Cres said.

“Amen, brother. Drive safe.”

* * * *

Late the next afternoon, Berlin Gradsky asked Mel, “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

Berlin mothered Mel way more than her own mother did. “I’ll be fine. I’m actually really excited to put Plato through his paces.”

“London was right about one thing. This is what Plato was trained for.”

After Mel climbed in her truck, Berlin rested her forearms on the window jamb. “Nosy question.”

“Hit me.”

“Is there a reason why you’re staying at Wyn Grant’s house and not house sitting for London and Sutton while they’re on their honeymoon?”

Yes, because I plan on riding Wynton Grant as hard as Plato for the next three weeks.
“Sutton said something about liability issues because of his indoor gun range. I didn’t question it. And given my...condition, it’s probably smart.”

Berlin squeezed Mel’s shoulder. “No one knows, do they? Not even my daughter?”

She shook her head. “London didn’t need that extra stress during her wedding planning. We both know she would’ve stressed about that too.” But her friend wasn’t dumb. She’d asked Mel several times if she was avoiding her. She’d asked if something had happened on the circuit to make Mel drop out. Mel would tell her the reason she’d been distant the last six months as soon as her bossy-pants BFF returned from her honeymoon.

“You’re right. I’m happy for my daughter and son-in-law, but I’m glad the wedding is over.” She smiled. “Now I just have to worry about you.”

“I promise not to take any chances with Plato if I’m not feeling up to it. You know I’d never risk his safety. I’ll be fine as long as I follow the rules.”

“I’ve watched you get a handle on this, sweetie, so I trust you with him.”

“Thanks for everything.”

“You’re welcome. Drive safe. Text me when you get there.”

“I will.”

Berlin stepped back and Mel slowly pulled the horse trailer down the long road leading away from Grade A Farms.

The drive to the Grant Ranch was a little over two hours, and Mel didn’t have any reason to hurry. Chances were good she’d beat Wynton there. The family had been in Denver since yesterday, and today they were getting the final diagnosis on the Grant patriarch. She’d stalled as long as she could at Gradsky’s. She’d even driven into town and loaded up on groceries because she wasn’t sure what type of food a bachelor rancher would stock.

In the last six months, after being diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, Mel had no choice but to monitor every morsel of food that went into her mouth. She also had to reduce her physical activity because she was still learning her limits—which weren’t even close to the same as they’d been before her diagnosis.

She hadn’t been lucky enough to “get” type 2 diabetes, which allowed her to control her blood sugar levels with modifications to her diet. Her regulation came in the form of daily shots of insulin. Keeping snacks within reach for those times when she felt her glycemic index was low. Carrying glucose tablets with her. Making sure she always had her blood glucose meter, glucose strips, lancets, her needle disposal container, and insulin with her. Thankfully, she could inject herself with an insulin pen, and the type of insulin it used didn’t have to be refrigerated.

Even after six months, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to any of this. It still seemed surreal.

After fighting fatigue, excessive thirst, and weight loss for two months, when she was in LA she finally went to the ER because she thought she might have mono. She’d had it once before and the symptoms seemed similar. The doctor hadn’t been convinced her body would react that way to the stress of being on the road, so she’d ordered a battery of tests. When the blood and urine tests had come back positive for diabetes, and further testing indicated type 1 diabetes—a rare diagnosis in a thirty-two-year-old—Mel had literally passed out.

After she’d come to in the hospital, she’d learned the meaning of diabetic shock. She learned her life would never be the same. Ironically, she’d chosen a hospital that had an entire department devoted to dealing with diabetic patients. She learned how to inject herself with insulin. She’d taken a two-day course on proper nutrition, the dangers of excessive physical activity, and how to monitor her blood sugar. She’d soaked it all in. The only time she’d outwardly balked was during her appointment with a counselor who blathered on about emotional changes affecting the body.

Mel had been numb to that. The physical changes concerned her because she realized she’d have to quit competing. It wasn’t just her and her horse in the arena, like a barrel racer, or a bulldogger, or a tie down roper. No, in the cutting horse division, it was her, her horse, and ten or more cows. During team penning competition, there were two other riders on horses and up to thirty calves. In other words—mass chaos. She couldn’t take the chance that she’d have a low glycemic moment and pass out on top of her horse.

Again.

It had happened to her during a competition, prior to her diagnosis. At the time she’d blamed it on excessive heat in the arena, or being overly tired. She was lucky she hadn’t injured herself or someone else.

Especially since she hadn’t remembered anything that had happened.

Mel had withdrawn from all competitions. She’d been in limbo, trying to figure out what to do with her life now that her life had changed. Being a trust fund baby did have some perks—she didn’t have to decide immediately.

The scenery kept her interest for the remainder of the drive. When she turned down the dirt road that the GPS indicated led to Wynton’s house, she envied him and this view every day. Hills and flat land and those gorgeous snow-topped Rocky Mountains in the distance.

His house wasn’t what she expected. It was an older ranch house with one old barn, one enormous new barn, and loading pens off to the side of the corral. She pulled the horse trailer up to the pasture Wynton had recommended. She’d keep Plato segregated for a few days until he became acclimated to the area and the other horses.