A Cowboy's Touch by Denise Hunter

asked.
    “Sure.” Wade removed his hat and wiped his sleeve across his forehead. “You can help me get them up the hill.”
    He heard a muffled scream and followed the sound across the valley and up the hill.
    Trinket was trotting down the slope, and Abigail flopped around in the saddle like a rag doll.
    Son of a gun .
    “What the heck’s she doing?” He nudged Ace forward. “Stay here, Maddy,” he called over his shoulder.
    The mare was half a mile away, and Abigail clearly had no control of the horse. He hoped he could reach her in time. Even as he had the thought, Trinket spurted forward like she’d shifted gears. He watched Abigail keeling to the side and felt a dread he hadn’t felt since he’d pitched head over heels two summers ago. That had ended with two broken ribs and a fractured shoulder.
    “Pull back!” he called, but the wind snatched his words.
    Abigail’s foot was free of the stirrup, he could see that now, and she caught air, slipping, slipping. Help her, Lord .
    He watched helplessly as she flew from the saddle. Her arms stretched out. She cleared Trinket’s hooves, then hit the ground hard. Bounced and rolled to a stop. Trinket galloped past Wade, and he let her go.
    He raced toward Abigail’s still form and dismounted before Ace reached a stop. She was facedown in the long grass, her limbs sprawled. No odd angles, thank God.
    “Abigail.” He went to his knees, reluctant to touch her for more than one reason. The woman’s stillness weighted his gut. “Abigail, you okay?” What if she’d hit her head on a rock? Broken her neck?
    Another image flashed through his mind, a different time and place, another lifeless body. He pushed the image back where it came from, removed his glove, reached toward Abigail’s neck. He forced himself to take her pulse, realizing last time he’d done this he’d found nothing but cold, stillness.
    Abigail’s skin was warm, smooth. Please, God . He gulped, his fingers finding the artery and stopping. A slow steady pulse beat against his fingers. His own heart seemed to skip a beat in response.
    Abigail moaned. Her hand flinched at her side.
    “Don’t move.”
    Despite his instruction, her hand inched toward her side.
    “Hold still.” Her hair hung in her face, and he itched to brush it aside. He clenched his hand into a fist.
    Her eyes fluttered open. “What—what happened?”
    “Took a spill. Lie still. Tell me what hurts.”
    “Everything.”
    Still had a sense of humor. “Good. Means you’re not dead.”
    Nearby, Maddy dismounted Destiny and approached. “Is she okay?” Her voice wobbled.
    “I’m fine,” Abigail mumbled into the grass.
    Sure she was. “What hurts?” Wade asked again.
    “My head.” She closed her eyes, wincing.
    “Anything else?”
    “Nothing serious, I don’t think. Can I move now? I have grass up my nose.”
    “Go ahead.”
    As she rolled, Wade noted a knot already rising on her forehead, scrapes on her cheek.
    Her hand covered her eyes in slow motion. “Turn off the lights.”
    He set his hat on her head, careful to avoid the knot. “I think you lost consciousness.”
    “Mmm.”
    She probably had a concussion. He should check her pupils, which meant he’d have to touch her. Couldn’t be helped. “Need to check your pupils.”
    “They’re still there.”
    “Wise guy.” Wade held open one eye and watched it react to the light. Her eyes were mossy green with flecks of amber. Not that he noticed. He checked the other, and pulled back as soon as the task was completed. “Think you’ll live.”
    Dirt and grass clung to her cheeks. He wasn’t going to be the one to brush it away.
    Maddy went to her knees beside Abigail. “I’m sorry, Abigail. I shouldn’t have ridden off without you.” Tears and guilt glimmered in her eyes.
    “My fault,” Wade said. “Guess Trinket’s not as steady as I thought.”
    “No,” Abigail said. “I—I think I gave her a signal accidentally— and then I couldn’t