A Montana Man

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“I’ve gotta get something to eat,” Tommy said. “Are you coming in, Dad?”

“Not right now, Tom. You go ahead.” While Tommy sprinted to the house, Clint walked over to a corral and leaned his forearms on the top rail. There were horses in the enclosure, but he didn’t see them. A sense of something being not quite right gnawed at him, occupying his mind and wrenching his gut.

But never once had he not given Tommy the benefit of the doubt. Tommy was young, still only a boy, really, and maybe he couldn’t dwell on the accident. Even though it had been no more his fault than Sierra’s, it was possible that Tommy was suffering feelings he couldn’t talk about.

Clint pushed away from the corral, thinking that must be it. It would be a first—he and Tommy had always been able to talk about anything—but “anything” before the accident had been topics without such serious ramifications. His best course would be to let Tommy deal with this in his own way and time, Clint decided. Tommy knew he was here for him, and that was really what was most important.

When Clint approached the open door to Sierra’s room that evening, he first saw the empty bed, then her still form sitting in a chair near the window. It was dark outside, but her face was turned to the glass. The cap was gone from her head, and he registered the rich, dark color of her hair, its marvelous length secured at her nape with something red.

He thought of that for only a moment, though, as he was so pleased to find her out of bed. He stepped into the room. “Sierra?”

Her head came around. The forlorn, lost expression on her face tore at his heartstrings. Hastily he crossed the small room and knelt beside her chair. “What’s wrong, Sierra?” he asked gently.

“There is no driver’s license,” she said dully. “There’s nothing. My van was completely destroyed in the accident. A police officer came by to speak to me today, and he told me everything. Did you know?”

“Yes, but the doctors didn’t think it was my place to tell you about it.” Self-recrimination thinned his lips. He should have gone with his own instincts and told her himself. “Would it have been easier to hear, coming from me?”

She lowered her eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Sighing, she looked at him again. “I’m glad to see you. Thank you for coming back.”

“I told you I would.”

“I know, but the day was so...awful, it wouldn’t have surprised me if you hadn’t.” She fashioned a weak smile. “I don’t think the doctors know what to do with me. Every test was normal. A psychologist dropped in twice, once this morning and again this afternoon after the results of the tests came in. He said...to relax. He said my memory would clear up much faster if I relaxed and let it happen.”

“You sound doubtful.”

“I sound tense, Clint, because I am tense. How can I relax? How could anyone in my situation? I can’t help trying to remember. It’s all I think about. I asked the police officer if anyone had turned in a missing person report for someone of my description. No one has, not in this jurisdiction. Clint, I didn’t just suddenly appear from another planet. Someone must be wondering where I am.”

“Maybe it’s too soon for relatives and friends to become alarmed. Have you considered that?”

Sierra was silent a moment. “That’s the first really sensible thing anyone’s said to me all day. You’re right. Maybe I talked to friends and relatives just before the accident. Maybe I told them I would be out of touch for a few days.” Hope again shone in Sierra’s eyes. “I should have thought of that.”

Clint patted her arm and stood up. “At least you’re out of bed. I consider that major progress, Sierra.”

Her face fell again, startling him. “They’re going to move me out of ICU in the morning. Physically, I’m fine. Everything’s healing nicely, no infections, no complications. My doctors apparently went into a huddle after the results of the test came through and decided I could go home after a few more days.” Her voice cracked. “Where is home? Where will I go? I don’t even have any clothes.”

“They’re not going to just throw you out on the street, Sierra.”

“I know. They mentioned... welfare.” With an agonized moan, she covered her face with her hands. “I can’t bear it, I can’t! Maybe my mind is gone, but I know in my heart that I never lived on welfare.”

“Your mind is not gone,” Clint said sharply. “I’ve spent enough time with you to know that you’re an intelligent woman. Sierra, there’s no shame in accepting charity in a situation like yours.” As positive as he sounded in his attempt to bolster her spirit, he knew how she felt. A discomfiting picture formed in his mind—of Sierra living alone in some little apartment, trying desperately to remember, living with hope one minute and despair the next, probably seeing the psychologist once or twice a week but staying pretty much to herself.

He couldn’t let that happen to her. Again he knelt beside her, this time taking her hand in his. “Listen to me. When the hospital releases you, I’m going to take you to my ranch. It’s peaceful there, Sierra, quiet and beautiful. That’s where you’re going to do your healing.”

She was blinking away tears. “But...I would be...a terrible imposition.”

“You most certainly will not be an imposition. The house is huge, with three empty bedrooms. I have a housekeeper and cook, Rosie Slovek, and you won’t have to do one damned thing except rest and relax.”

“It...sounds wonderful.” She smiled faintly. “Why are you so kind to me?”

“Because you don’t deserve what happened to you. Neither does my son. He can’t even bring himself to talk about the accident. Your presence on the ranch will be good therapy for him as well as for you. Say you’ll come.”

“I will, of course I will. Oh, Clint.” She surprised him by putting her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shirt.

He rubbed her back and made consoling noises, but he was very much aware of her breasts against his chest and her warm, womanly scent. Even with bruises and stitches discoloring her face, she was a beautiful woman, and he felt her in that most private and personal part of himself that had been latent since his wife’s death.

It shook him that he could feel so much for a woman he barely knew. He wouldn’t even attempt to give the feeling a name, although he was certain it wasn’t caused by pity.

He cleared his throat and said, “Here now, it’s nothing to cry over.”

Sierra pulled away and took a tissue from the pocket of her hospital robe. Wiping her eyes, she smiled wanly. “How will I ever repay you?”

“By getting well.” There was a peculiar hoarseness in his voice, and he cleared his throat. “Just by getting well, Sierra.”

She nodded once.

Four

Clint awoke before dawn the next morning, which wasn’t that far from normal. But the tight knot squeezing his gut wasn’t at all normal, and he lay in bed and thought of all that had happened, and what part of it might be causing the discomfort he was feeling.

It struck him out of the blue: they were moving Sierra out of ICU this morning! No problem there; in fact it was an extremely good sign. But moving her where? Into a room with other patients? No way, he thought grimly, bounding out of bed and heading for the shower.