|LEMON ODELL|

    I woke disoriented, the remnants of adrenaline-fueled chaos still swirling in my mind, mingling with the dull ache that throbbed behind my temples. Memories flashed like fragmented shards, disjointed and hazy. Going back to the room for Fiets's stupid tacking gear that I'd been too tired to carry out the first time. Colt Langmore, bloodied and battered, lying motionless in the arena. The paramedics talking over me in hushed tones.

"Are you awake, dear?"

I struggle to focus, finding a nurse wearing heart and Cupid patterned scrubs at my side. I squint, the lines between dream and reality blurring in my groggy mind. Valentines Day? Wasn't that... in a few weeks? Or was it?

"Where am I?" I asked hoarsely.

"The hospital. You're in good hands, I promise."

"Can I get some water?" I croak, my throat parched and raw. The effort leaves me wincing, the sound of my own voice a broken and mangled whisper that feels foreign and unfamiliar.

"Sure, dear." The nurse poured a cup from a pitcher beside the bed and I drink the water quickly in desperate gulps. "Your boyfriend is still in surgery, but you can see him when he gets to recovery."

I nearly choked on the water, setting the cup a little too harshly on the table beside me, causing water to splash over the edge as my hands trembled with the realization. "Boyfriend?"

The nurse frowned. "Isn't he? The paramedics said you were holding hands in the ambulance."

Holding hands? I nearly told the woman that I barely knew him, that we'd met nearly three months ago and even then Colt was still a mystery to me. But I knew they probably wouldn't tell me anything about him otherwise. Swallowing my pride I responded. "Sorry, it's pretty new. We haven't really defined it."

The nurse gave me an overly sweet smile, clapping her hands together.

"Has his family been told?" I asked as the nurse turned to leave.

The woman frowned. "No. Someone called his mother, but she didn't answer." She smiled.

"Your emergency contact," she looked down at her clipboard, "Stella Odell?"

I frowned, the memory of Stella's face at the memorial service still vivid in my mind. It was the last genuine conversation we had. I had stood firm, telling her I'd continue barrel racing, refusing to let Daddy's death change that. Stella called me a fool for sticking to something she deemed reckless. I retorted, accusing her of being the fool for abandoning her family and everything she cherished for a different path.

Losing you would break me, Lemon, Stella's voice wavered. And I can't do that. 

And so, I had made the hardest decision of my life—I had let her go, wrapped up in the never-ending demands of ranch work and what little barrel racing I actually managed to do in my spare time.

Now Stella was somewhere in Denver with two kids, a house, a dog named Beatles and a husband. Sure she visited for holidays on occasion, the children taking up the tradition of painting the barn and picking fresh blackberries. But the distance had always remained.

Embarrassment flooded my senses realizing that this would be the first time she would hear from me in this last year.

"I'm sure Stella was busy. Did she answer the phone?"

"I have a note that she seemed worried and was advised to wait until morning to visit," the nurse confirmed.

Worried.

A smile graced my lips, that was Stella all right.

Typical worried older sister, though I didn't find it necessary for her to fly all the way in for this. Not when she had so much going on at home already. I'd have to call her and let her know I'd be alright. About an hour later a doctor came by to talk to me. They'd taken care when stitching up my back, but I already knew I would have another scar to add to my growing collection. My left shoulder had a torn rotator cuff that would heal, and my leg, mercifully, had bled a lot but was only badly scraped. The doctor was more concerned about the possibility of a concussion, and insisted that I stay under observation for several days unless someone could accompany me on the drive back to the ranch. I stayed silent, unsure if I could rely on Colt for that, he seemed worse off then I was.

After a while, I dozed off, woken occasionally by nurses to check my vital signs and ask if I wanted more pain medication. They'd placed my left arm in a sling to stabilize it and I kept waking up thinking something was choking me.

Around 7 a.m. I gave up and asked a nurse about getting some breakfast. Being used to waking up at five made it hard to let myself relax, not when I knew very well that there was work that had to be done.

I tried my best to relax, watching the local morning news while eating the limp bacon and tasteless oatmeal an orderly provided, gratefully sipping bitter coffee. I nearly choked when Colt Langmore's face popped up on the screen next to the perky blonde newscaster.

"Competition will resume today at Canyon Ridge Center, where world champion bull rider Colt Langmore and bull rider Lemon Odell were both injured last night. Police are currently investigating why a bull was loose in the arena. While hospital staff would not comment on the patients' conditions, sources confirm that Langmore was rushed directly into surgery upon arrival at West Park Hospital whereas Odell seems to be better off."

I wondered if the doctors had gotten hold of his family by now. If not, they might see it on the morning news. Wasn't he from Montana? Or was it Texas? Rem had mentioned it once.

I got out of bed gingerly, not used to the sling steadying my arm, and took small steps over to the plastic bag marked "Patient property" on a shelf in the corner. The mirror above the shelf showed just what I'd expected. Half my face was a mass of scrapes and purpling bruises. My curly brown locks resembled a wild nest of straw, tangled and unruly. Frustration etched across my face as I attempted to run my fingers through the mess, hoping to at least tame the worst of it. After a moment, I sighed and let my hand fall, accepting the mess on my head.

I rummaged through the blood-stained clothes they had apparently cut off of me. My battered boots, caked in dirt and grime, felt heavy in my hands as I inspected them. My phone was miraculously intact and somewhat clean. With trembling fingers, I unlocked it and navigated to my messages. Unsurprisingly, there were multiple messages and missed calls from Stella. But nestled among them was a text from Patty, my elderly neighbor, whose watchful eye had caught wind of the news. Patty had always been like a surrogate grandmother to me, looking out for me like one of her own after my parents passed away.

Patty: Hey Lemon, saw the news. Hope you're okay. Just wanted to let you know I swung by the ranch earlier. Animals are all good, fed and watered. Take care of yourself, and let me know if you need anything.

Stella: Please let me know when you get this, were worried about you
Stella: If I don't hear back from you by the end of the day I'm flying out. Piper and James miss you.

I awkwardly tried to cradle the phone so I could use both hands, but the phone slipped and I settled for a slow one-handed text.

Lemon: I'm OK, promise no need to visit. I'll call when I can. I love you all

I had just set the phone down when it beeped. I laughed and picked it up.

Stella: not kidding can't sleep. Bad dreams. Call when u can, we love you too
Lemon: OK

I set the phone down again and looked around the sterile room. Someone had put no-slip socks on my feet, but I wasn't about to sit around all day with my ass hanging out of a hospital gown waiting and hoping that Colt was okay. Growing up in the rodeo circuit meant that I had heard so many rodeo horror stories throughout the years- hell I had seen more then a few bull rides gone wrong. It was one of the things that had pushed me away from following in my daddy's footsteps and picking up bull riding. Not that I would have gone that route anyways.