Carson was quick enough to stop Colt from pouncing on Cam, who was now holding his face and wailing. “Knock it the hell off, both of you. This is getting f**kin’ ridiculous.”
“What’s goin’ on? We heard screamin’.”
Cord and Colby—holding Keely—stopped five feet from where Cam was curled into a ball. And Colt was bleeding.
“Colt has a fishin’ hook stuck in his calf, so I’m taking him to the hospital. You all stay here. And stay in the damn house.” He rested on his haunches in front of Cam. “Lemme see.”
“I think he popped my eyeball.”
Mr. Dramatic. The kid should be an actor. “Then you’d better let me look at it so I know whether I’ll need to take you to town with us.”
Cam moved his hand.
Carson sucked in a sharp breath. Already swollen. The kid would have one helluva shiner. “Can you see?”
“Sorta.”
“Put something cold on it.” He addressed his oldest sons. “Watch TV or something until we get back. If your mother calls, not a word about us bein’ at the hospital, got it?”
“Yes sir.”
He gestured to the poles and buckets. “Get this stuff put away.” Then to Colt he said, “Stay put. I’ll get the truck.” He checked to make sure he had his wallet. In fifteen years with six kids they’d been to the ER once. Once. The first time he’s left alone with the kids? He was on his second trip in less than twenty-four hours.
Yeah, his wife was gonna lose her mind.
Cord rapped on the driver’s side window.
“What?”
“Probably better stop at the store while you’re in town since there’s nothin’ to eat around here.”
Colt ended up with four stitches but it’d taken the doctor longer than he expected to remove the hook. After the doc had cleaned the area, and Carson had seen the level of grime on Colt’s skin, he swore that kid was taking a shower if he had to hose him down himself.
At the grocery store he’d ended up with a cartful of food—all quick, all junk, all of which would make his sons happy.
Luckily there wasn’t big trauma at home. Things were somewhat normal except for Carter being loopy from his pain meds. Keely had crashed, face down on her stuffed animal in the middle of the living room floor—but at least she was napping. Cam had a bag of frozen peas on his face. Colby was sprawled out on the couch. Cord was in the bathroom. Again.
That’s when Carson realized it was damn near two o’clock and he hadn’t checked cattle. How the hell had he forgotten? Now he had to feed the horde before he could feed the herd.
Lunch was eight cans of Spaghettios, a dozen hot dogs, two bags of barbecue-flavored potato chips, a box of Twinkies—all washed down with a gallon and a half of chocolate milk.
As soon as he chucked the paper plates from lunch, he wandered into the living room. “I need to check cattle.”
Cord sighed and stood.
Carson shook his head. “You’re in charge…and hold off on your bathroom visits until we get back.”
Cord’s face turned bright red.
He pointed to Colby. “You’re up. Let’s go.”
Despite the gusts of wind that sent the cattle looking for shelter, they finished an hour and a half later. Colby hopped out to open the last gate, Carson drove through and waited, watching in the rearview mirror like he always did to make sure the gate actually got shut.
That’s when a gust of wind shook the truck and he watched as the wind caught the gate, slamming Colby’s hand between the gate and the post.
Carson bailed out of the truck and barely stopped the gate from smacking into Colby again as he rested on his knees, cradling his arm.
“Fuck, f**k, f**k, f**k,” Colby yelled. “That f**kin’ stupid f**kin’ gate.”
“How bad is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you move it?”
Colby shook his head.
“Come on.” Carson opened the passenger side and helped Colby in before he went back and secured the gate.
After he’d climbed in the truck, he saw Colby’s tears before he tried to blink them away. This kid never cried. Not even as a baby, so he must be hurting bad. “Show me.”
Wincing, he moved his left arm.
Carson’s stomach bottomed out, seeing that Colby’s right hand had already swelled and was turning red and purple. A long raised welt had darkened on the center of his forearm. “Christ, kid. How are you not screamin’? That f**ker looks painful.”
“I didn’t…”
“Son, you don’t gotta act tough around me. I’d rather you were honest so I have an idea of what we’re dealin’ with.”
“It feels like all the bones in my hand are broken.”
A hand injury with multiple broken bones could mean multiple surgeries—and from what he’d heard, they were painful and incapacitating.
Carson left Colby in the truck when he went in to explain what’d happened and why he had to make his third trip to the emergency room.
On the drive into town, Carson kept up a steady stream of chatter because Colby’s pain-filled silence was more than he could take.
Sure he’d been upset holding onto Carter and hoping there weren’t complications when they reset the break. But the poor overwhelmed six-year-old had all but passed out.
Then today with Colt, the kid had cracked fishing jokes all the way into town. The only time his charm faltered was when the nurse had numbed the area with four separate shots. Carson had seen one single tear escape while the ten-year-old gritted his teeth.
“Dad,” Colby interrupted. “It’s okay. I don’t really think Ma will skin you alive when she gets home. This was an accident.”
His thirteen-year-old boy having to console his forty-one-year-old father just made him feel worse.
This trip to the hospital took longer. He’d be damn surprised if the medical personnel didn’t call Wyoming Child Protective Services.
He remained by Colby’s side through all the X-rays and waiting for the on-call specialist to give a diagnosis.
The good news? No broken bones but a couple of hairline fractures that required Colby to wear a cast for six weeks. The bad news? Since he’d injured his riding hand the kid couldn’t compete for the rest of the summer. Better than not being able to compete for a few years because of surgeries.
By the time they finished three hours later, Carson was exhausted. They stopped at Dairy Queen and picked up burgers and fries and ice cream for supper.