Running Blind by Linda Howard Page A

of hand stung a bit.
    Then a memory surfaced, and she felt herself turn redwith anger. She hadn’t thought anything about it at the time, but—“I came out of the kitchen for a minute while y’all were talking, and I heard him mention something about a
stray
. I thought maybe he was talking about a dog or a cat, but he wasn’t, was he? He was talking about
me
.” Brad had called her a lot of things, none of them complimentary, and hadn’t dented her at all because after just two dates she’d known something was way off about him, but knowing Zeke Decker had called her a stray roused every fighting instinct she had.
    “He didn’t mean anything by it,” Kat soothed, then she paused. “Hell, I’m not going to lie to cover his ass, but he
is
under a lot of stress, so try to cut him some slack.”
    Carlin wasn’t about to argue with Kat about her cousin, but she was boiling inside. Stray! He could kiss her ass.
    Jerk.
    S PENCER HAD FINALLY gotten the message about oatmeal. This morning’s breakfast had been somewhat better, though a mess of toaster waffles was no one’s idea of a great meal. Zeke had spread peanut butter on two warm, round waffles and slapped them together. The others had done the same, knowing they’d need some protein before lunchtime rolled around. At least they weren’t being served cold cereal, which held them for about two hours before they were all starving again. Thank God there had been a huge pot of hot coffee to wash the sticky mess down.
    With the hay baling behind them, the pace of his days on the ranch had eased a little. He’d managed to do some laundry, so he had clean socks
and
underwear. Would wonders never cease. He’d never thought he’d be so grateful to have a laundry basket full of clean underwear. The hands were at work and Zeke was just about to settledown with another cup of coffee and bank records to compare and reconcile, when he heard the bang of the kitchen door being thrown open and a frantic voice calling, “Boss!”
    Sounded like Bo, which was bad news because Bo never panicked. Boots clumped hard and fast on the floor, and Bo appeared in the open doorway to Zeke’s office, his expression urgent. Zeke was already up and on his way to the door. “What’s happened?”
    “Spencer,” Bo said simply. “Santos got him.”
    Shit! A big bull could do a lot of damage to a man; Santos didn’t have horns, but a swing of that big head could send someone flying, or a well-placed kick could break bones. Had Santos gone for Spencer after he was down? Normally the bull was calm, and like most animals behaved well for Spencer, but a bull was still a bull and not a house pet.
    Zeke pushed his way past Bo, running through the house and out the open kitchen door, toward the barn.
Fuck!
Spencer had been set to collect semen from Santos this morning. He’d never had any trouble before; Spencer was a much better cowboy than he was a cook.
    “How bad?” he asked, as they ran.
    “His arm’s hurt, but I can’t tell how bad it is until I can get close enough to check it out. No blow to the head, he’s conscious and talking, but the bull is between Spencer and the rest of us and won’t move. I suppose if anybody tried to jack me off and sell my sperm I’d get pissy, too.”
    Inside the barn, the scene was pretty much as Bo had described. Three hands—Walt, Eli, and Patrick—stood between Santos and the door. Santos was agitated, pawing the ground and swinging that big head, facing the men and looking as if he might charge at any second. Spencer was on the ground, sitting propped against a stall, cradling his left arm. There wasn’t a lick of color in his face.
    “You okay?” Zeke asked, his eyes on the bull.
    “Yes sir,” Spencer said and swallowed “It’s my fault. I was getting ready to move Santos into the head catch and I got distracted. I think I moved too fast and spooked him. He started bucking and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Don’t blame