Long Way Home. Gena Dalton

thanks,” he said, setting his jaw against telling her to let him take care of his own stuff. “I’m fine.”

      “When I get back, want me to help you move your things into the house?”

      It sent a new jet of hot resentment through him. Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone?

      “No, Ma,” he said shortly, “the bunkhouse is great. I need some time to myself.”

      “Well, I don’t want you to just sit out here and brood,” she said. “Plus you shouldn’t be alone right now. You’re just starting to heal, Monte. You might get down and not be able to get up.”

      He gave a short bark of a laugh.

      “Don’t waste any of your worry on that. I’ve got so many visitors I can’t get dressed in the mornings. I’m gonna have to start sleeping in my clothes.”

      She didn’t say anything. Finally, even though he didn’t want to, he met her searching, blue gaze.

      “It’s all right, Ma. Don’t worry about me.”

      “We–ell,” she said, “okay.”

      She turned to go.

      “Sure I can’t bring you anything?”

      “Can’t think of a thing I need,” he said with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel. “Thanks, anyway.”

      “All right,” she said. “If you change your mind, call me on my cell.”

      With a final pat for Annie, she left.

      Monte moved the currycomb in dust-raising circles along the mare’s back. He might as well get ready for it—Bobbie Ann would never give up. She’d be after him again, later in the day, to move to his old room.

      His resentment grew. Wasn’t it enough that he’d come home? Did he have to live right in the family’s pocket every minute, so they could make him feel guilty every second?

      By noon Monte was in the main barn, hunting for his favorite old saddle while Annie stood tied to the hitching post right outside the door. It had to be somewhere in one of the narrow tack/feed rooms built off the main aisleway, but Daniel didn’t know where and Monte wasn’t going to ask anybody else. Daniel could be counted on to answer a direct question and go about his business. Clint or Jackson would have to hassle Monte awhile.

      Saddles were stacked two and three deep on some of the racks, but he managed to lift them off each other and move them around until he found the one he’d always favored. He picked it up, snagged a pad to go under it, stepped awkwardly out into the aisle and headed toward the door.

      He set his jaw against the pain. No way was he going to sit around and get so stiff and stove up that he couldn’t do anything. No way was he going to let his body crater until he couldn’t ride anything at all.

      Bulls were one thing. He’d admit that. He might never be able to ride bulls again.

      But horses were something else. And he had ridden Annie bareback in from the road yesterday, so he could certainly ride her in a saddle.

      In a saddle, it might not hurt so much.

      He made it to the door after having to stop and rest only once, and stepped out into the sunlight. Right into the path of Clint and Jackson.

      “Well, hey, here’s Monte,” Clint said. “Up and at ’em at noon.”

      His tone was light, though, not derisive, and it held a note of… Was that pity?

      Monte kept going, trying not to limp as much, hoping they wouldn’t notice that the simple effort of carrying a saddle was making him break out in a cold sweat.

      “Gonna ride your new mare?” Jackson asked.

      He came straight to Monte and reached for the saddle. Clint glanced around, saw Annie and veered toward the hitch rack to get her.

      That made Monte’s gut tighten.

      “I’ve got it,” he said sharply. “I don’t need any help.”

      His voice sounded weak, even to himself, and slightly out of breath. Too much, too soon. He ought to sit down for a minute, but he’d been hurt worse and done more, and he could do it again.

      Especially to avoid accepting help from his brothers.

      Especially Jackson, who was more permanently injured than he was.

      Jackson took the saddle anyway, even though Monte tried to hold on to it, and limped toward the mare with it. Clint led her to meet him and they met just as Monte reached them with the saddle pad.

      “Look, guys, thanks,” he managed to mutter, around the knot of fury and humiliation in his throat. “I can take it from here.”

      “Hold on,” Clint said, saddling the mare with swift efficiency. “You tryin’ to put us crossways with Ma? Daniel’s over there by the indoor seeing every bit of this. We don’t want him telling Bobbie Ann we let you saddle your own horse.”