Free Sixteen and Dying by Lurlene McDaniel Page B

and uncle.
    She heard his uncle’s angry voice, “…   can’t believe the chance you took!”
    “I’ve ridden in plenty of rodeos. I just had some back luck today.”
    “Bad luck! You almost got killed!”
    “I
like
to ride,” Morgan replied stubbornly.
    “No one cares if you ride in rodeo events,” Aunt Maggie interjected. “But what’s wrong with the barrel races? Or the calf roping?”
    Morgan snorted. “They’re not my style.”
    “Almost getting yourself killed is more your style?” Uncle Don shook his finger in Morgan’s face. “You know what your problem is? You’ve got a death wish, boy! You won’t be happy until you
die
out there.”
    “Stop it,” Aunt Maggie commanded, grabbing her husband’s arm. “Carrying on here and now isn’t helping anything.” She stepped closer to Morgan and took his face between her hands. “Oh, Morgan, you scared us to death.”
    Morgan looked into her eyes. “Sorry, Aunt Maggie,” he mumbled.
    “You’re all the family I have left, Morgan. I don’t want to lose you. Please, please stop this crazy, reckless way of living. Why do you do it?”
    Anne saw Morgan reach up and wipe a tear from his aunt’s cheek. “You, of all people, understand
why
, Aunt Maggie. You know more than anyone what might lie ahead for either one—or both—of us. You and me … we’re different from the others.”
    “That may be true, but I’m living with it without risking my life. Somehow, you’ve got to make your peace about it.”
    “I can’t.”
    Anne felt like an eavesdropper. What in the world were they talking about? What was “different” about Morgan and his aunt? They looked normal.
So do you
, she reminded herself. Could anyone tell by simply
looking
at another person what lay in the darkness of his or her life?
    Uncle Don cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to be so hard on you,” he said gruffly. “Maggie and Iare really glad they could patch you up.” He put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “We’ll load your horse up in the trailer and take him back to the ranch for you.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Come with us,” Aunt Maggie said.
    “I’ll catch a ride with Skip. I’m fine. Stop worrying about me.”
    His aunt and uncle both hugged him, turned, and walked toward the tent’s exit. Passing Anne, they gave her a brief nod of recognition. She felt out of place. Morgan saw her. “Why are you here?” he asked, registering surprise.
    “I saw you get thrown. I was concerned.” She came toward him.
    He edged off the table, wincing with the movement. “No need to be. Besides, I look pretty awful—and I know how the sight of blood gets to you.”
    “Only my own,” she said humorlessly.
    He picked up his torn shirt and attempted to put it on.
    “Let me help,” Anne offered, taking it from him and easing it along his arms. She stepped in front of him and began to button it. His face was inches from hers, and he was looking down at hers. Her breath caught, and her heart began to hammer crazily. “All finished,” she said, slightly breathless.
    He caught both her hands with one of his and settled them at the base of his throat. She felt the warmth of his pulse. “Are you?” he asked.
    Torn with a desire she could barely suppress, Anne gently tugged her hands loose and stepped backward. “We should be going.”
    Morgan eyed her patiently, then reached for his hat. “I should have accepted a ride home with Uncle Don,” he admitted. “I really am pretty sore.”
    Anne felt the air still humming between them. “Maybe Skip’s ready to go on back by now.”
    “Let’s go find out.”
    They rode to the ranch in Skip’s old pickup truck with Marti fussing over Morgan, half scolding him in Spanish, half rejoicing that he hadn’t been killed. Anne rode in silence, cramped for space, trying not to lean against Morgan’s taped ribs. In the darkness, her hands trembled. She was unable to forget how much she’d wanted to put her arms around