Wild Horse Springs. Jodi Thomas
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The stars drew closer. Their light bounced off the black canyon walls as if they were sparks of echoes.
He stopped swearing as the lights began to talk.
“He’s dead,” one high, bossy voice said. “Look how shiny the blood is.”
Tiny beams of light found his face, blinding him to all else.
A squeaky sound added, “I’m going to throw up. I can’t look at blood.”
“No, he’s not dead,” another argued. “His hand is twitching, and if you throw up, Marjorie Martin, I’ll tell Miss Adams.”
All at once the lights were bouncing around him, high voices talking at once.
“Yes, he is dead.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You stop saying anything.”
“I’m going to throw up.”
Cody opened his eyes. The lights were circling around him like a war party.
“See, I told you so.”
One beam of light came closer, blinding him for a moment, and he blinked.
“He’s hurt. I can see blood bubbling out of him in several spots.” The bossy voice added, “Don’t touch it, Marjorie. People bleeding have germs.”
The gang of lights streamed along his body as if trying to torture him or drive him mad as the world kept changing from black to bright. It occurred to him that maybe he was being abducted by aliens, but he doubted the beings coming to conquer the world would land here in West Texas or that they’d sound like little girls.
“Hell,” he said, and to his surprise the shadows all jumped back.
After a few seconds, he made out the outline of what might be a little girl, or maybe a short ET.
“You shouldn’t cuss, mister. We heard you way back in the canyon yelling out words I’ve seen written but never knew how to pronounce.”
“Glad I could help with your education, kid. Any chance you have a cell phone or a leader?”
“We’re not allowed to carry cell phones. It interferes with our communicating with nature.” She shined her flashlight in his eyes one more time. “Don’t call me kid. Miss Adams says you should address people by their names. It’s more polite. My name is Melanie Miller, and I could read before I started kindergarten.”
Cody mumbled a few words, deciding he was in hell already and, who knew, all the helpers’ names started with M.
All at once the lights went jittery again, and every one of the six little girls seemed to be talking at once.
One thought he was too bloody to live. One suggested they should cover him with their coats; another voted for undressing him. Two said they would never touch blood. One wanted to put a tourniquet around his neck.
Cody was starting to hope death might come faster when another shadow carrying a lantern moved into the mix. “Move back, girls. This man is hurt.”
He couldn’t see more than an outline, but the new arrival was definitely not a little girl. Tall, nicely shaped, hiking boots, wearing a backpack.
Closing his eyes and ignoring the little girls’ constant questions, he listened as a calm voice used her cell to call for help. She had the location down to latitude and longitude, and described a van parked in an open field about a hundred yards from her location where they could land a helicopter. When she hung up, she knelt at his side and shifted the backpack off her shoulder.
As she began to check his injuries, her voice calmly gave instructions. “Go back to the van, girls. Two at a time, take turns flashing your lights at the sky toward the North Star. The rest of you get under the blankets and stay warm. When you hear the chopper arrive, you can watch from the windows, but stay in the van.”
“McKenna, you’re in charge. I’ll be back as soon as they come.”
Another M, Cody thought, but didn’t bother to ask. Maybe your name had to start with M or you couldn’t be in this club?
To his surprise the gang of ponytails marched off like tiny little soldiers.
“How’d you find me?” Cody asked the first of a dozen questions bouncing around in his aching head as the woman laid out supplies from her pack. The lantern offered a steady circle of pale light.
“Your cussing echoed off the canyon wall for twenty miles.” Her hands moved along his body, not in a caress, but to a man who hadn’t felt a woman’s touch in years, it wasn’t far from it.
“Want to give me your name? Know what day it is? What year? Where you are?”
“I don’t have brain damage,” he snapped, then regretted moving his head. “My name’s Winslow. I don’t care what day it is or what year for that matter.” He couldn’t make out her face. “I’m on my own land. Or at least I was when my horse threw me.”
She might have been pretty if she wasn’t glaring at him. The lantern light offered that flashlight-to-the-chin kind of glow. With her arms on her hips, she had a kind of Paul Bunyan’s little sister look about her.
“Where does it hurt?” She kept her voice low, but she didn’t sound friendly. “As soon as I pass you to the medics, I’ll start looking for your horse. The animal might be out here, too, hurting or dead. Did she fall with you?”
Great! His Good Samaritan was more worried about the horse than him. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. When I fell off the edge of the canyon, Midnight was still standing, probably laughing at me.” He took a breath as the woman moved to his legs. The pain came sharp suddenly. “I tumbled for what seemed like miles. It hurts all over.”
“How did this happen?”
“The horse got spooked when we hit a patch of ice,” he snapped again, tired of talking, needing all his strength to handle the pain. Cuss words flowed out with each breath. Not at her, but at his bad luck.
She ignored them as she brushed over the left leg of his jeans, already stained dark with blood. He tried to keep from screaming. He fought her hand now as she searched, examining where something had to be broken it hurt so much. He knew he couldn’t take much more without passing out.
“Easy,” she whispered as her blood-warmed fingers cupped his face. “Easy, cowboy. You’ve got a bad break. I have to do what I can to stabilize you and slow the blood flow. They’ll be here soon. You’ve got to let me wrap a few of these wounds so you don’t bleed out.”
He nodded once, knowing she was right.
In the glow of a lantern she worked, making a tourniquet out of his belt, carefully wrapping his leg, then his head wound.
Her voice finally came low, sexy maybe if it were a different time, a different place. “It looks bad, but I don’t see any chunks of brain poking out anywhere.”
He didn’t know if she was trying to be funny or just stating a fact. He didn’t bother to laugh. She put a bandage on the gash along his throat. It wasn’t deep, but it dripped a steady stream of blood.
As she wrapped the bandage, the starched cotton over her breasts brushed against his cheek, distracting him. If this was her idea of doctoring a patient with no painkillers, it was working. For a few seconds there, he almost forgot to hurt.
“I don’t have water to clean the wounds, but the dressing should keep anything else from getting in.”
Cody began to calm. The pain was still there, but the demons in the corners of his mind were silent. Watching her move in the shadows relaxed him. She wasn’t petite, but tall and built with curves that her trousers and man’s shirt couldn’t hide.
“Cody,” he finally said. “My first name is Cody.”
She