A Man I Used To Know Read online

  “Next up, Tom Bennet!”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Books by Margot Dalton

  Title Page

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  Copyright

  “Next up, Tom Bennet!”

  The rodeo announcer’s voice boomed over the arena. “Tom’s a local cowboy, ladies and gentlemen, and he’s won every prize you can think of.”

  Eleven-year-old Kelly Bennet sprawled on her stomach on the roof of the camper, rested her chin on her hands and stared over the fence. From there, she had an unobstructed view of the bucking chutes. Although she hated to watch her father ride, it was worse not to know what was happening.

  The gate swung open, and the bull carrying her father surged into the ring, twisting and leaping madly. Music blared overhead, its frenetic beat matching the rhythm of the bull’s wicked hooves.

  Suddenly her father’s body loosened and flopped to one side. He was holding on by sheer effort of will while he struggled to regain control. The bull lunged to the side again, and her father slipped down toward the crushing hooves.

  The crowd gasped, then waited in horrified silence as a group of cowboys gathered to stand around their fallen comrade.

  “Please, please, let him be okay. Please, God, I can’t look after Casey. all by myself. Please, God, let him get up and walk away”

  But her father didn’t get up.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Margot Dalton grew up in Alberta, Canada, on a ranch that had been operated by her family since 1883. As she says, her home was “where my great grandmother once traded flour and sugar to wandering Indian tribes in exchange for buffalo robes and beaded moccasins.”

  Now recently returned to Alberta after spending many years in British Columbia, Margot has written more than thirty books since 1980 when her first Harlequin Superromance novel was published. A Man I Used To Know is set in her native province—an area Margot writes about with authenticity and great affection.

  Books by Margot Dalton

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  664—MAN OF MY DREAMS

  693—THE HIDING PLACE

  714—A FAMILY LIKENESS

  749—MEMORIES OF YOU

  794—COTTONWOOD CREEK

  MIRA BOOKS

  TANGLED LIVES

  FIRST IMPRESSION

  SECOND THOUGHTS

  THIRD CHOICE

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  A MAN I USED TO KNOW

  Margot Dalton

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE MEDICINE HAT STAMPEDE was held at the end of July, when the prairie grass was bleached pale gold.

  The sunshine seemed so pure and brilliant it was almost a tangible thing, spilling softly over plains and fields that drowsed in the midday heat.

  Medicine Hat, in the southeastern corner of the province of Alberta, was one of the oldest cities on Canada’s western plains, with a proud heritage of exploration, ranching, industry and rugged independence. That colorful history was celebrated with energy and gusto during the annual stampede, which attracted professional cowboys from as far away as Texas.

  On this July afternoon, the hundred-acre expanse of fairgrounds hummed with noise and activity and glittered vibrantly with color. People waited in line for tickets at booths under the grandstand, while others swarmed the fairgrounds, rode the Ferris wheels and visited the stock displays.

  From the huge loudspeakers on the rodeo announcer’s covered wooden perch, the twangy voice of Willie Nelson washed over the eager faces of the spectators, over the glossy horses and the waiting tiers of seats. It drifted above the midway rides and the glittering acres of parked cars, fading at last in the sweep of silent prairie that lay beyond.

  The rodeo opened its final day with a serpentine ride. More than a hundred mounted cowboys and cowgirls, all contestants in the rodeo, galloped in and circled the arena in a tight intricate pattern, weaving a web of color and magic in the sunny afternoon, a whirling kaleidoscope of rhythm and movement, of leather and horsehide and bright silken fabric.

  After the contestants exited the arena, the rodeo events began, wild and spectacular, incredible feats of physical daring and horsemanship. The crowd clapped and cheered, intoxicated by the beauty of the warm summer day and the holiday atmosphere all around them. Urged on by the rodeo announcer, they applauded every ride and rewarded every cowboy’s performance with their stamping feet, shouts and hand clapping.

  Near the rear gate where riders entered and left the arena, a big dusty truck equipped with a camper van was situated behind a rope barricade.

  Coils of rope, extra boots and spurs, little bags of powdered resin and masses of leather strapping, even some medical supplies, were arranged neatly on the tailgate of the truck. Next to the equipment sat a skinny child in jeans and ragged T-shirt, a baseball cap pulled low over wary blue eyes.

  Most casual passersby would have glanced at the child’s dirty callused hands, wiry little body and withdrawn, self-contained air and assumed this child was a boy.

  But in fact it was Kelly Bennet, age eleven—at the moment the sole caretaker of her little brother; four-year-old Casey, who was having his afternoon nap inside the camper.

  Kelly stood up on the tailgate, opened the door and peeked inside at Casey. He slept deeply, his curly brown hair spilling over the pillow and making him look like an angel, though he was dressed as a miniature cowboy in a little pearl-buttoned shirt, tooled-leather belt with trophy buckle and small leather boots. His battered straw cowboy hat lay on the floor where he’d tossed it before climbing into the bunk.

  Kelly edged forward to pull off his boots, not overly concerned about waking him up. Casey slept like a log once he finally dropped off.

  She set the boots aside, covered her brother with a blanket and examined his face, which was still smeared with a sticky mess from the caramel apple he’d eaten after lunch.

  It was always such a chore to wash his face. He fought and yelled and tried to run away from her. Once he’d even bitten her hand.

  Briefly she considered cleaning him up now, while he was asleep, but she was reluctant to take the risk. A face-washing might just be disturbing enough to wake him up. Kelly cherished the times when her brother slept and she could have a few moments to herself.

  When he turned over in his sleep and kicked the blanket aside, she noticed that he had a hole in his blue jeans again, torn right through the knee.

  Kelly sighed. She was gradually learning to sew well enough to fix Casey’s clothes, but she could still only do big ragged blanket stitches that looked awful. Despite her best efforts, Casey never seemed as tidy as most of the other little kids around the rodeo circuit. And even when they bought him new clot
hes, they usually looked as bad as the old ones before a week had passed.

  “Kids!” she muttered under her breath, closing the door and climbing up the side of the camper.

  Kelly sprawled on her stomach on the sun-warmed roof, rested her chin on her hands and stared over the fence into the rodeo arena. This vantage point gave her an unobstructed view of the bucking chutes, and her father was entered in the next section of bullriding.

  “Next up, Tom Bennet!” the rodeo announcer called. “Tom’s a local cowboy, ladies and gentlemen, and he’s won every prize you can think of, and a few he’d probably rather forget.”

  The crowd of several thousand rippled with laughter, then roared in excited applause when they saw their local favorite climb up the side of the chute and settle gingerly on the back of a heavy Brahma bull. The big animal shuddered and bellowed as he stood captive in the narrow enclosure.

  “Tom’s been away from the rodeo business for the past few years. Nowadays he’s back full-time and we all sure appreciate him,” the announcer went on, leaning over from his stand to peer into the bucking chutes. “And he’s drawn Vampire today. Now, folks, that’s a mean ol’ bull if ever there was one.”

  Kelly stuffed the heel of her left hand into her mouth and bit down on it hard enough to make a row of neat red marks.

  She hated watching her father ride, but it was worse to look away and not know what was happening....

  Tom Bennet was wearing a gray plaid shirt, and it strained taut across his broad shoulders. She could see him clearly through the rails of the chute. His jaw was tense, his teeth gritted as he slipped his gloved fingers into the woven handhold and settled himself on the bull’s wide dusty back.

  Vampire bellowed in rage and flung his head, aiming viciously upward with one of the curved horns. Kelly’s father ducked his head aside, then settled his hat more firmly, sat erect and nodded to the men lined up on the chute behind him.

  Simultaneously the flank strap was tightened and a last hitch was taken on the handhold. The gate swung open and the bull surged into the arena, leaping and twisting madly.

  Music blared overhead, its frenetic beat matching the rhythm of the bull’s wicked hooves as he pounded and gyrated. Dust rose in suffocating clouds, almost obscuring the whirling animal and the man clinging to his back.

  Suddenly, to Kelly’s horror, she saw her father’s body loosen and flop to one side. Tom was out of balance, holding on by sheer effort of will while he struggled to regain control.

  The bull lunged to the side again and her father slipped down toward the crushing hooves. But his hand was still fastened into the braided rope that encircled the animal’s body.

  Kelly scrambled to her feet and danced in terror on the roof of the camper.

  “He’s hung up! Hey, you guys!”

  She cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed into the arena.

  “He’s hung up! Hurry and get him away!”

  The rodeo clowns swarmed nearer to the bull, leaping in and skipping away, one trying to distract the crazed animal while the other tugged at Tom’s hand, still trapped in the rope.

  The cowboy’s body flopped alongside the bull like a rag doll, receiving regular kicks from the blunt hooves. At last the rope loosened enough to let him fall away, and he lay unmoving in the dirt of the arena.

  But before the clowns could distract the bull again, Vampire shifted his massive rear quarters with cruel deliberation and planted both hooves full on the midsection of the man who lay prone in the dirt. He kicked again at Tom’s head and galloped the length of the arena, where he entered the holding pen and stood placidly among the other bulls.

  The crowd gasped, then waited in horrified silence as a group of cowboys gathered to stand around their fallen comrade.

  Kelly strained to peer over them, her heart thudding with alarm.

  “He’s all right,” she whispered to herself. “He’s okay. It’s just...he got the wind knocked out of him, that’s all.”

  She made no move to climb down from the camper and approach the group around her father. Instead she sank into a small, tight bundle, wrapped her arms around her knees, buried her face against them and prayed with all her heart to anybody who might be willing to listen.

  “Please, please, let him be okay, let Dad not be hurt. Please, God, I can’t look after Casey all by myself... please, God, let him get up now and walk away.”

  But her father didn’t get up.

  She raised one arm and peeked underneath it, terrified by the way he looked, crumpled on the arena dust, blood coating his blond hair and dripping from his face.

  Kelly’s father was the strongest man in the world. Things like this didn’t happen to him.

  “I can’t get hurt,” he often told Kelly with a sunny grin. “I have two lucky charms, you know, and I take them everywhere.”

  “What are they?” she would ask.

  “You and your brother.” He’d hug her then and give her a noisy kiss. “You kids are my lucky charms, sweetheart. You protect me no matter what I do.”

  But they hadn’t protected him now, Kelly thought with a shudder that made her stomach turn upside down.

  “Get up, Daddy,” she whispered. “Please, please get up.”

  The ambulance came rolling into the arena, its lights flashing. Tom’s body was examined by the paramedics, then braced, splinted and moved carefully onto a waiting stretcher.

  Kelly knew how much cowboys hated to be carried from the rodeo arena on a stretcher. Even if he collapsed once he got behind the chutes, a cowboy always wanted to walk out under his own steam.

  But her father was lying on the stretcher, unmoving, his long legs still, hands folded on his chest. A few cowboys walked slowly next to the stretcher to shield their companion’s body from the eyes of the spectators in the grandstand. One of them carried Tom’s hat.

  Kelly stuffed her hand into her mouth again and bit down hard enough to cause a sharp pain. The sky whirled around overhead, and the harsh sun stabbed knives of fear into her brain.

  LATE SATURDAY AFTERNOON, the Medicine Hat hospital drowsed in the summer heat. But things were as bright and noisy as ever in the children’s ward where Lila Marsden was visiting several of her patients.

  One of them, a little girl in a miniature yellow armchair by the bookcase, sat forcing a pair of doll-size overalls onto a teddy bear. She frowned in concentration, her lower lip jutting, small hands fumbling with the snaps. In the fluorescent lights overhead, her bald head gleamed as pale and fragile as an egg.

  Lila paused and knelt by the chair, watching gravely. “Do you need some help with those overalls, Carrie?” she asked.

  “Stupid things won’t fit.” the little girl muttered.

  “Won’t they? Well, maybe if we just...”

  Lila made a deft adjustment to the straps on the overalls, then pulled the legs down so the fasteners lined up properly.

  “There,” she said. “Try it now.”

  Carrie tossed her an absent smile and began to work on the snaps.

  “How are you feeling this morning?” Lila asked, stroking the child’s head. A blue pulse throbbed just beneath Carrie’s bald scalp, giving an impression of intense vulnerability.

  “I threw up,” Carrie said in a matter-of-fact tone. “All my breakfast.”

  “Oh dear.” Lila sat back on her heels and studied a notation on the clipboard she carried. “I was hoping that sort of thing was all over with.”

  Carrie finished doing up the snaps on the overalls, then examined her bear. “Teddy and I want to go home,” she said after a moment.

  Lila hugged the little girl, who felt thin and frail in pajamas and dressing gown. “Soon you can go home, sweetheart,” she murmured. “It’s going to be just a few more days.”

  Carrie wriggled free to settle back in the armchair, feet stiffly extended in her furry slippers. She took a picture book from the shelves beside her, opened it on her knees and cuddled the bear, pretending to read aloud to him.


  Again Lila stroked the little girl’s head with a lingering caress, then moved across the room to the toy shelves, where an older boy, about eight or nine, sat in a wheelchair watching a couple of other children constructing a tower from plastic blocks. One of his legs was encased in a foam-padded brace, and he held a metal pole next to his chair, containing an IV apparatus suspended from an overhead bar.

  “Hi, Tony,” she said, pausing next to the wheelchair. “I’ll bet you wish you could get down on the floor and help them, don’t you?”

  The boy turned to grin up at her. His blue eyes were darkly shadowed and his face was pale under a drift of freckles.

  “I like riding in the chair,” he said. “It’s better than being in bed all the time like I was at first. And sometimes the other kids push me down the halls really fast.”

  “Well, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Lila gestured at the intravenous needle taped to a vein in the back of his hand. “We certainly don’t want anything to come loose while you’re out there drag racing.”

  She consulted another chart, frowning thoughtfully.

  “How did you sleep last night, Tony?”

  “I got really hot and felt kind of sick,” the boy said. “But the nurse came in and gave me something and I fell asleep again.”

  “Did your leg hurt?”

  “It hurts all the time,” he said cheerfully. “But not as much anymore.”

  “That’s good.” Lila smiled at him and smoothed his cowlick.

  A week earlier, after a fall from a bicycle, Tony had suffered a sudden onset of osteomyelitis lodged deep in the marrow of his upper left tibia, just below the knee. The injured area was pumping a rare form of staph infection into the boy’s bloodstream, so virulent that his body temperature had spiked to dangerous levels every few hours during his first three days in hospital.