“Afraid of getting blood on your coat?”
Gus almost smiled. Almost. “Yeah.”
“Whatever.” She reached for the first aid bag as he got out of the truck. When he got back in she had another pad in place. The bleeding had slowed and he hoped by the time they got back to the ranch they’d be able to work on the cut.
Thad was still at the kitchen table, talking into the landline when Lillie Jean walked into the kitchen ahead of Gus. He nearly dropped the phone when he caught sight of bloody Lillie Jean. “Excuse me,” he said into the receiver. “What happened?” His gaze went straight to Gus.
“I hit a rock, slid into a rut. Lillie Jean’s forehead slammed into the dash. I’m going to render first aid.”
Thad bounced a frowning look between the two of them. “You want to go to the clinic?”
“No,” Lillie Jean and Gus said in unison.
She glanced up at Gus. “I’ll clean it up and then call you when I need help with the butterfly.”
He nodded and then shrugged out of his coat as Thad went back to his phone call. Henry followed Lillie Jean down the hall, the bathroom door closed, and Gus went to pour a cup of coffee. What a morning.
As near as he could tell, Thad was talking to his attorney, so he wandered into the mudroom and threw a bunch of dirty jeans into the wash to give his uncle some privacy. When he heard the bathroom door open again, he poked his head into the kitchen and Lille Jean beckoned him from the hallway.
“Prognosis?” she asked. She removed the folded tissue she had over the wound to show him a half-inch-long cut that would be a cinch to butterfly closed.
“I think we can do this without leaving a scar.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you some kind of an EMT or something?”
“Bull rider.” One corner of her mouth quirked up as he corrected himself. “Former bull rider. I know about scars.” And regardless of how he felt about her being there, he’d hate to leave one on her beautiful brow.
“In that case, carry on.”
He was kind of surprised that she placed herself so totally in his hands, but if she didn’t have money for urgent care, then that could be a big influencer in her decision. He stepped closer and opened the medicine cabinet and pulled a box of adhesive stitches off the shelf. Lillie Jean swung the mirror closed again and he dug in the box for the size he wanted.
“Why don’t you take a seat.” He gestured at the commode and she sat, lifting her chin. Gus brushed the hair away from her forehead as he surveyed the cut, trying not to notice how the silky strands teased his fingertips. He opened the suture package. “Dab the blood away. Press hard, then lift the tissue.”
Lillie Jean pushed hard against her forehead and when she lifted the tissue, he quickly applied the butterfly, expertly pulling the edges of the cut together so they touched. He dropped his hands and sat back on his heels. It looked good. She looked good. He was losing it.
Lillie Jean got to her feet and moved past him to look in the mirror, tilting her chin sideways to get a better angle. “You did well.”
“Like I said, practice.”
Lillie Jean lightly touched the wound as if testing for pain. “Remind me not to ride with you again.”
“I should have kept my eyes on the road.” Instead of on you. The crazy thing was that once again he was having a hard time keeping his eyes off her. Something about her tugged at him, made him want to study her.
Okay. She kind of fascinated him.
Suddenly the bathroom was about half the size it usually was, and he felt a deep need to escape. “I’ll, uh...let you...yeah.”
WHEN WAS THE last time he’d been at a loss for words? Pub keepers had to have their wits about them and he was kind of known for snappy comebacks. But not today. He felt like a tongue-tied junior high kid as he escaped the overly small bathroom.
Thad was in the mudroom putting on his coat.
“Going somewhere?”
“Sal’s place.” Thad jerked his head toward the hallway. “Is Lillie Jean okay?”
“Seems to be doing all right. She’s tougher than she looks.” He half muttered the second part, coming to terms with the fact that maybe Lillie Jean was a fish out of water, and maybe she resembled a Disney princess in some regards, but that didn’t mean she was overly delicate.
Thad shot him an accusing look as they went out the door. “I told you to buy me some time, not bring her home all bloody.”
“It was an accident.”
“Yeah. I know. But I want to keep on her good side.”
“She is who she says she is?”
“Appears so. I had a long talk with the lawyer kid, who said the will was straightforward. The deed automatically transferred to Lillie Jean at Lyle’s death. There’s just a little paperwork to clear up.”
Gus rolled his eyes at the word kid. To Thad, anyone under the age of forty was a kid, even if he was a lawyer or a bull rider or whatever. “Why weren’t you notified of your partner’s death?”
“They’re behind. They just moved offices and his father retired.” Thad’s mouth twisted. “I gave him a little guff, but, bottom line, Lillie Jean is who she says she is.”
Even though he’d expected something along those lines, Gus felt his stomach twist. His carefully planned future was now null and void.
“I stored some papers in Sal’s house. I want to take a look at them.” Thad gestured toward the manager’s house with his gray head. “You may as well come.”
He may as well. They crossed the short distance to the house without speaking. Thad pushed the stubborn door open and it scraped its way across the worn carpet. The interior of the house felt colder than the outside air, even though Gus knew the furnace was set to come on at fifty degrees and thus keep the pipes from freezing.
Sal had left some time ago, and a layer of dust had settled over the carpet and the few pieces of furniture the former manager had left behind. Furniture that had probably been in the house when he’d first moved in twenty-five years ago.
Thad went to the hall and pulled the cord that lowered the attic steps. The attic was cramped, so Gus waited near the kitchen door while Thad thumped around upstairs, then came back down carrying a metal box.
Gus asked the obvious question once Thad placed the strongbox on the wobbly kitchen table. “Why do you keep things here?” It wasn’t like there wasn’t a lot of room in the main house. It, too, was sparsely furnished.
“I burned most of it. Didn’t want the rest anywhere near me.”
Thad pulled a key out of his pocket, turned the lock and opened the lid. There wasn’t much inside—a couple of envelopes, a small box and a set of keys. Safe-deposit box keys. Thad pulled out an envelope, spread the yellowed paper it contained on the table. It was a handwritten agreement, signed by Thad and his partner.
“The official agreement is exactly the same.”
“You’re sure?”
“Called Ned.” His current lawyer, who happened to be his original lawyer’s son. Another lawyer kid. “He found a copy of the agreement and answered some questions for me. It’s something called Tenant