Running Blind by Linda Howard Page B

him, boss, he’s just being a bull.”
    Another reason why Spencer would be here for a very long time. The kid was hurt, but his first words had been in defense of the bull. “We’ll worry about that later. Everyone else out.” Too many people standing too close were part of the reason Santos was still spooked. And with all the others out of the way, the number of Santos’s targets had decreased.
    When it was just the three of them—Spencer, Santos, and Zeke—Zeke eased toward the bull. Already the animal seemed to be calmer. Zeke made low, soothing sounds as he moved forward. He’d actually petted the bull a few times, and Spencer had more than just a few, so this wasn’t a mean animal. He was just big, and he was a bull. Enough said. His plan was to get Santos into the stall and locked up, and then get Spencer to the doctor—simple enough in thought, more difficult in execution, but not as difficult as it could have been. After some initial contrariness, Santos seemed to get bored, and simply turned and walked into the stall.
    Zeke closed the gate and latched it, then called the rest of the men in as he went down on one knee beside Spencer. “Where do you hurt?”
    Spencer’s white features showed the stress of pain. “Just the shoulder. Hurts like a son of a bitch.”
    Thank God it was nothing more than a shoulder, which was bad enough. A kick to the head, and he and Spencer wouldn’t be having this conversation. “I’m going to get you to town, let the doctor have a look at you.” If theywere lucky it was just a strain, and the doc in the local clinic would be able to take care of everything. If the injury was more complicated, they’d be headed to Cheyenne before the end of the day.
    “I’m sorry, boss,” Spencer said as Zeke helped him to his feet. “I know this is a bad time for me to be down even for a few hours. Maybe Darby can cook, or Eli. They said they can’t cook a lick, but everybody’s got to eat tonight.”
    “Don’t worry about any of that right now,” Zeke said. “We’re grown men; we can take care of ourselves for a while.” Never mind that with Spencer hurt they were now short a hand and they’d been working long hours anyway. How in hell could he spare anyone else to do any cooking? One night they could handle, but if the injury required surgery, if Spencer was going to be one-armed for a long period of time … If worse came to worst, Zeke would figure out how to throw a meal together himself. He’d tried that a time or two, trying to give Spencer a break, and each time it had been a disaster. Not only did he have a tendency to burn everything he cooked, he always managed to use every damn dish in the kitchen in the process.
    Kenneth and Micah were married. Maybe one of their wives, or both of them, would agree to prepare a meal or two, since this was a real emergency. They’d refused before, not wanting to be pulled into a full-time job they wouldn’t be able to escape from. They each had small children, so it wasn’t exactly an ideal situation. One way or another, though, everyone would get fed.
    Libby had spoiled them all, with three hot meals a day—not just hot meals, but hearty, good food that was filling and provided the fuel they needed to work a long, hard day. Maybe they could get by with sandwiches and cereal for a while, but it wouldn’t be good enough, notwhen they needed four or five thousand calories a day just to break even. They’d work it out, somehow.
    But as he drove toward Battle Ridge, a silent Spencer sitting in the passenger seat beside him cradling his left arm, Zeke wasn’t feeling hopeful about the situation.

Chapter Six
    C ARLIN HATED THE new nip in the air, the cooler mornings, the shorter days, the undeniable signals that winter was coming. Business at The Pie Hole hadn’t taken a hit yet, but it soon would, if Kat’s previous years were anything to go by. The past couple of days she’d taken out her atlas at night, opened it to