“She didn’t do anything. Just let it go.”
“She doesn’t really know what she wants, Mason. And she still loves you.”
He choked out a laugh. “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you? Bet she’s confused as hell, running hot and cold, isn’t she?”
He didn’t answer.
“Thought so. Let me talk to her.”
He shifted his gaze up to Jolene. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You know she doesn’t like to talk about the two of us, especially not to anyone else.”
Sunlight shadowed Jolene’s features, but Mason could well imagine the giant grin on her face. “And pissing off my sister gives me a particular pleasure. Since she doesn’t live on the ranch anymore, I’ve missed our tussles. Don’t deny me that.”
He shrugged. “What you do with your sister is up to you. Don’t do it on my account. I can take care of my relationship with Valerie on my own.”
“Yeah. You’re doing a bang-up job so far.”
He sighed, tipped his hat up and leaned one arm against the fence post. “What the hell do you think I should do? You’re right. She runs hot and cold. One minute she says what she wants, and the next she wants something different. She left for a reason, Jo. She didn’t want to stay.”
Jolene laid her gloved hand on top of Mason’s. “She left because she was scared.”
“I know what she’s scared of. I can’t change how she feels. Neither can you. Leave it alone. You might think you can bully her, but she’ll just dig in her heels and run again.”
Jolene sighed, turned away and leaned against the fence. “You’re probably right. But it frustrates the hell out of me when I know she still loves you.”
“I don’t know about that. I used to think she did. Now I’m not so sure. And either way, you can’t force her to stop being afraid. She’s either going to get over it, or she isn’t.”
“You can live with that?”
“I can’t decide it for her. Those choices need to be hers.” He picked up his tools. “Come on, there’s a section of old fence that needs to be cut off and relaid a quarter mile south. Let’s ride.”
Ride, work and not think about Valerie. That’s what Mason needed to do today. He’d done too damn much thinking about her already and it was taking time away from his job. A ranch didn’t run itself.
valerie busied herself going over the ranch paper-work that Jolene had insisted she and Brea catch up on. Tedious, mile-high financial and inventory reports, but Jolene said they both needed to understand the ranch’s net worth and current inventory before they got together to make any decisions about the future ownership.
Since he had no heirs, Uncle Ronald’s portion of the ranch ownership automatically went to all three sisters, as agreed upon when Ronald and Valerie’s father had generated joint ownership in the Bar M. So Uncle Ronald’s will would have no bearing on the ownership of the ranch.
“And I thought technical reports were hideously boring,” Brea said, pushing the chair back in the office and yawning.
Valerie nodded. “I’m sure Jo is doing this to punish us for leaving the ranch in her hands.”
“In her more than capable hands, from the looks of these reports. The growth in the Bar M the past ten years has been nothing short of phenomenal. She and Mason have done an amazing job.”
Yes, they had. Valerie remembered Mason talking about plans for the ranch. She’d only half paid attention. The Bar M had been her parents’ ranch. After they died, she wasn’t much interested in what happened to it. Now she saw what a mistake that thinking had been. Her parents would be sad to know she hadn’t taken an active part in making the Bar M grow, in nourishing their dream.
But Jolene had. And so had Mason. They’d kept her parents’ homestead flourishing and profitable. “Jo and Mason have done wonders for the ranch.”
Brea sniffed. “I don’t know about you, Val, but I don’t feel like we deserve any part of it. I’ve been so busy with my life in Tulsa, I didn’t pay much attention to what they were doing out here. And to look over these reports now . . . wow.”
“Yeah. Wow, indeed. While you and I selfishly went about our lives, Jolene and Mason have been busting their asses making something out of the Bar M. Mom and Dad would have been proud.”
“Of them.”
“Yes. Of them.” Valerie was ashamed of her fear and her cowardice. And yet she still couldn’t see herself staying here, being a rancher’s wife. Being Mason’s wife. Throwing her heart full-fledged into a relationship, knowing that at any moment it could be taken away. Loving someone was dangerous.
Just then Jolene burst through the door of the office, her hands, shirt and jeans covered in blood. “Valerie. Come now.”
Valerie flew out of the chair. “Are you hurt?” she asked as she caught up to Jolene, grabbed her arm and swung her around.
“It’s not me. Come on.”
“Hang on a second.” Valerie dashed upstairs to grab her medical bag, slipped into her boots and practically flew down the stairs. Jolene was waiting impatiently at the door. Without a word, they ran out the door.
“What happened?
“Knife slipped. Got him in the leg.”
“Who?” Valerie asked as they jumped into the Jeep.
“Mason.”
Valerie went cold; her heart stuttered and her throat went dry. “Mason? How bad?”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of blood. He wanted to hop on his horse and come back here. But there’s blood pouring everywhere and I wouldn’t let him.”
Jolene drove fast, zooming down the road, then off-road as she sailed into the pasture. Valerie held on to the door handle as the Jeep went flying over hard rock and bumps in the field. She saw Mason’s horse tethered along the fence line. He was on the ground, still conscious, thankfully. Before Jolene came to a complete stop, Valerie flew out of the Jeep; she dug her heels in and pushed off into a dead run, her heart pounding.
“Jesus, Valerie, you’re white as a sheet,” Mason said.
“Shut up.” She dropped her bag beside her, slipped on latex gloves and grabbed a scissors.
“Hey. Don’t cut those.”
“Shut up,” she said again, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. Right now Mason was a patient. That’s all she’d allow herself to think about.
“Jo, go get some of the hands. We’re going to need help getting him into the Jeep when we’re done here.”
“Got it.”
“I don’t need—”
“Shut up, Mason.”
“You’re a mean doctor.”
She ignored that, too, and cut away his jeans from the bottom up and over his knee, then gently pulled away the material. The blood was fresh, the gash on the top of his thigh deep. Dear God, it was so close to his femoral artery. A few more inches . . .
“It’s not bad,” he said. “I was just a dumbass and stabbed myself when the clippers slipped.”
“It is bad. You need stitches. You’re damn lucky you didn’t nick an artery or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”