Every Last Reason

by Christa Wick

  "Drink this. I want it all gone by the time we get to the ranch."

  "Yes, Deputy Turk," I answered, a weak smile momentarily stretching my face. "When do you think we'll hear something?"

  "Not long after Maddy knows, I imagine. And she'll know first."

  We drove a few more minutes in silence before my cell phone chimed in my back pocket. Hearing the sound, I jerked straight.

  "It's just your phone, babe."

  "Right," I said, reaching behind me. "I'm officially no good at emergencies."

  "Bullshit," Siobhan snorted. "I don't want to talk about how much blood was back there—"

  She fell silent for a second, her throat constricting around the words.

  "Neither do I," I agreed as I read the text. "Maddy says he's in surgery. Jake is driving Lindy to the trauma center…and Sutton is at the house with Caiden and Leah."

  "Sutton will be very anxious to go to his twin."

  "Yeah," I answered, my throat too tight for words.

  "I have clean workout clothes in the trunk. There's a shower in Lindy's stable. I don't think either of the kids should see the blood."

  I nodded, then realized Siobhan's gaze hadn't wandered from the road to the mirror this time.

  "You're right," I said. "Let's do that."

  Siobhan stayed at the house with me and the kids. Neither Caiden nor Leah knew what was wrong, but both seemed able to read the tension running through us.

  Jake returned around nine to tell me and Siobhan what we already knew—a team of surgeons and trauma specialists were still working on Emerson. The arterial nick I had managed to put a clamp on had been the primary cause of blood loss, but there were other damaged vessels and shrapnel to remove.

  At ten, I put Caiden to bed. He surprised me by falling fast asleep. The tension must have worn him out. The day had an opposite effect on me. I paced the kitchen with Siobhan watching on until Sutton called a little before two to report that Emerson was stable and out of surgery.

  After that, I gave Siobhan a tight hug before returning to my room and crashing into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Hours later, I woke with my tongue pasted against the roof of my mouth and the smell of coffee tickling my nose.

  I rubbed at my face, my eyes still closed. The wing of the house I slept in was almost opposite the kitchen. There were long halls and a lot of doors separating my big snout from the coffee machine.

  Hearing a brush of fabric and a soft cough, I turned my head and opened my eyes.

  Lindy sat in the reading chair, a mug of coffee in her hands, her body faintly illuminated by the light playing along the edge of the curtains.

  I unstuck my tongue from my top palate.

  "Morning," I said, voice scratchy.

  Lindy stared down as she shook her head. Just the way the woman looked was enough to spike terror and anguish through my chest. Bolting upright, I blurted Emerson's name.

  "Stable," Lindy answered.

  The strain in her voice sent another spike through my torso.

  "I didn't mean to wake you," Lindy whispered. "I didn't even mean to come into the room. I just looked up and found myself standing at your door."

  Lindy stared at her coffee as if it had just appeared in her hands. Then her arms started to shake. I grabbed the mug and put it aside before wrapping the woman in a loose hug.

  "I can't ever thank you enough for what you did."

  Her words came out wet and broken as sobs seized the muscles of her throat. I rubbed light circles against her back but doubted there was a way to even momentarily erase the woman's pain.

  "Have you slept yet?"

  "Just a little," Lindy answered. "Once they took him to a room and would let me in."

  "That's a good sign," I told her. "That they put him in a room."

  Lindy nodded. "He was pale, but peaceful. The machines…they have a rhythm. I watched the monitor, listened to the beeps. Didn't realize I was sleeping until he said something."

  "He woke up?"

  "No. Too drugged for that. He was only repeating one word."

  Lindy pulled back, wrapped her hands around the sides of my face and stared into my eyes.

  "Your name. Delia. That's what he kept saying."

  I wanted to retreat. Needed to be alone so I could figure out what it meant and what it must look like to Lindy.

  "Will you visit him today?" she asked, her tone hopeful. "I don't want him to wake up alone."

  "I will," I agreed. "I promise. But first let me help you to your room. Okay?"

  "Okay," Lindy repeated. Getting to her feet, she pulled me into a tight hug, her words once again broken with the sound of crying.

  "Thank you for saving my son's life."

  22

  Emerson

  I drifted in and out of consciousness. My limbs would twitch, pulling me from sleep as my mind revisited flickering memories of the shootout. Junker's laugh, Hood swinging the double-barreled beast of a gun, the pop of my 9mm as I drilled a hole through his brain.

  The twitching brought with it pain. My eyes would flash open, then close, my brain retreating from the bright hospital lights.

  I had no idea how much time passed between each return to consciousness. Nor did I have much memory of those fleeting moments when I was awake without pain.

  I recalled Mama in the visitor's chair, knitting. Mama in the same chair, yarn on the floor and her body leaning to the side because she had fallen asleep sitting upright. Sutton once. Maddy looking out the window, her long red hair confined to a braid that ran halfway down her back.

  If I tried really hard to remember, images of Delia skittered against my closed lids. Delia with blood on her cheek, her hands bloody, too. I couldn't get past those erratic vignettes, wasn't sure why they were in my head.

  "Looks like someone's awake," a feminine voice purred. "Don't be shy, Mister Turk."

  I peeled one eye open to find a woman in hospital scrubs patterned with prancing unicorns. She wore a name tag on her chest, but my gaze couldn't focus enough for me to tell if she was a doctor or nurse. Considering the unicorns, I hoped she wasn't a doctor.

  "You don't remember me?" the woman pouted as she changed the bag on my IV. "You were talking to me yesterday."

  I opened my mouth, tried to swallow. It seemed like all the dust from the ride out of Billings had collected around my gums, between my teeth, and down my throat.

  She handed me a cup with a lid and bendy straw. I took a sip and then another, the grit finally clearing.

  "How long have I been here?"

  "In ICU, three days," she answered. "I'm Gina, remember?"

  I still couldn't read her name tag, but her face was an open book. I had visited Sutton in the VA hospital after he was shot down on a jump. The nurses had all but draped themselves over my brother's bed. I laughed about it then. I no longer found the scenario amusing.

  Not giving Gina the answer she sought, I yawned, closed my eyes, and fell fast asleep.

  On day four, I managed to roll onto my left side. The hospital staff didn't want me to, but I was sick of looking at the ceiling. So, whenever the room emptied, I rolled, braced a pillow against my back and stared out a window at the big Montana sky. The weather was nice. Fluffy clouds floated against the vast blue field.

  In the hall, someone pumped the hand sanitizer next to my door. A quick double pump. Gina did that.

  Gina was irritating as hell, coming in when it wasn't yet time to change my bag or check my vitals. She was a terrible interrogator, too, going on about how I must have someone special worried sick about me. No way was I telling the woman I was still officially single—especially since I hoped to cure my single status as soon as I was out of the hospital.

  "I don't need anything," I grumbled as footsteps crossed the threshold into my room.

  "Great," Delia chirped. "Because I didn't bring anything for your cranky ass."

  I tried to roll, forgot about the pillow blocking me.

  Pain rippl
ed through my groin. My lungs reflexively seized, leaving me gasping for air.

  "What idiot put you on your side like this!" Delia snapped as she braced a supporting arm along the back of my shoulders and removed the pillow.

  With the obstacle gone, she eased me onto the mattress.

  "I did," I rasped.

  She snorted then schooled her features into something contrite as she rearranged the sheet covering me.

  I kept my gaze on her beautiful face.

  "I was wondering if you were going to visit."

  Her brows quirked together.

  "Been here every day." Grabbing the discarded pillow, she helped me lift my head and slid it behind me. "You've had a whole parade marching through your room, but they only let two in at a time. All your brothers and their wives, at least half your cousins. Royce and Will. Your uncle and his wife were here on Sunday and brought Great Aunt Dotty with them. It would probably be easier to tell you who hasn't visited."

  She finished with a big, breathless smile.

  "I don't remember."

  Delia looked at the label on my IV. Reading the prescription and dosing instructions, she shook her head.

  "Well, yeah, with this stuff in you, I'm not sure how you're talking right now."

  Picking her bag up from where she had dropped it by the door, she put it on the side table then scooted a visitor chair closer to my bed.

  "Let's see, your mother has been here, of course. Everyday. She came home the first morning to get some clothes, then rented a room at the hotel across the way."

  Delia angled her head as she looked out the window.

  "You can see just a sliver of it there. And she's here now, but talking to your doctor. Leah is with her this time. We showed her pictures that you were okay, but she's going to be wound tight until she sees you in the flesh."

  The chair was on my right side, same side as the gunshot wound. I reached out to capture Delia's hand, my movements slow and painful. She scooted the chair closer, took control of my hand and gently placed it on the mattress.

  "You're going to get tired and sore really fast. Take today slow. Tomorrow, too. Really, you need another week of being very gentle with yourself."

  Ignoring the advice, I reached up and stroked her cheek. Something danced in her gray eyes as she looked at me. Then the door swung open and a small voice squealed my name.

  "Emerson!"

  "Whoa!" Delia shot up and caught Leah before my niece could finish launching herself onto the hospital bed.

  "I want to kiss him!" Leah protested.

  "Of course," Delia agreed, still wrangling the child. She rotated Leah, her arms cocooning the child's torso. "But you can't get on him. He needs us to be very gentle."

  Leah lowered her head, then nailed me with her pale green gaze.

  "Sorry, Emerson."

  God, I thought, chest tightening, she looked more like her mother every day.

  I smiled, pain trying to force down the corners of my mouth.

  "It's okay, Honey Bee."

  Delia brought Leah in closer. The little girl cupped my cheeks, puckered her lips until she looked like a baby duck, then planted a slightly wet kiss on my nose.

  "And that's all you get for today, young lady," Lindy huffed from the door.

  Delia put the girl down. Leah crossed her arms and shook her head, the pucker turning to a pout.

  "You promised to stay by me and not get on the bed," Lindy scolded.

  Leah responded with an indignant flare of her shoulders. "I didn't get on the bed, Gam-Gam."

  I snuck glances at Delia as the five-year-old's debate escalated. Delia wisely stared at the ceiling as the argument played out. A smile danced along her mouth. For a second, her chin quivered with suppressed laughter. She had to be trying hard, I thought, not to get caught laughing over Leah's logic or how hard it clearly was for my mother to lay down the law with this specific grandchild.

  "Fine." Leah dropped her shoulders and turned toward me. "I have to go. I'll behave better next time."

  "Of course you will," I said, easing my hand to the edge of the bed. Leah side-eyed my mother then clasped my fingers.

  Surprising me, she nabbed Delia's, too. Looking up at Delia, Leah shook her head, the small face twisting with a clear and sudden need to cry.

  "I'm glad you won," she told Delia. "Mama's just gonna have to wait to see him again. Wait to see all of us."

  Tears shimmered in my mother's eyes as she rushed over and scooped Leah up, voice hoarse as she told me she would return as soon as she found Jake.

  I watched the door close behind them then turned to Delia.

  "What was Leah talking about?"

  She retreated to the chair, started to answer then fell silent for a minute or more. I watched her throat working, noticed the almost imperceptible nods as she mentally parsed through what she was going to say.

  "Just a bad dream she had Wednesday," Delia answered at last. "She dreamt that Dawn and I each had hold of one side of you. That Dawn was trying to pull you away and I was fighting until…"

  Her throat convulsed and her cheeks paled before she spoke again.

  "Until the pulling split you in two."

  "Wednesday, huh?"

  Delia nodded.

  "We would call Dawn 'Jinxie,' when we were kids," I said. "She would catch us doing something—something stupid—and say the branch was going to break or the saddle strap wouldn't hold. Always right, too. She even knew where Barrett was going to get gored by a bull."

  Finding the bandage covering my wound, my fingers drifted up to the edge of my bottom rib.

  "Same place," I said, lips curling until I remembered my dream about Delia that kept repeating. "Thankfully I'm not psychic, if there's anything to that kind of stuff."

  She tilted her head, studied me.

  "Why do you say that?"

  I didn't want to answer, not at first. But the more I fought to stay quiet, the more I felt like I wouldn't be able to exorcize the visions until I told her.

  "These drugs have me dreaming strange things. When I close my eyes, I see you with blood…that light purple shirt, your jeans…it's on your cheek and in your hair."

  Lifting my hands, I covered my face. The gesture pulled at the bandage covering my wound. I grimaced. A guttural whine twisted through my throat.

  "You need strapped down," Delia grumbled. Leaving the chair, she stood over me and began to lift the sheet.

  A hot bolt of pain twisted through my lower torso when I tried to stop her.

  "Handcuffed, too," she snickered. "And, in case you've got amnesia to go with the blood loss, I already saw the tattoo and piercing at your mother's house."

  A nervous giggle escaped her. She slapped a hand over her mouth for a few seconds as the wicked gleam in her eyes grew brighter.

  "Sorry to inform you, but Maddy, Siobhan, and half your damn tactical team saw it. I had Tyson cut away your pants."

  I stared at Delia, my drug-hazed brain trying to put her words in order.

  "No one has told you anything?" she asked.

  I shook my head.

  "Not that I remember, at least." I pulled her hand away from the sheet and held it against my chest. "Are you saying you rendered first aid to me after I was shot?"

  She nodded, the smile on her face shaky and slipping.

  "Until the air ambulance arrived with a trauma physician."

  My grip tightened. I stared into her gray eyes, my brain battling the narcotics in my system to remember what I had seen in the barn after I was shot.

  "You saved me…"

  "You bet your ass she did," Siobhan cackled from the doorway. "Now, tell me when you got that piercing or I'll have to tattle to Aunt Lindy. I'm guessing it has nothing to do with you being undercover."

  Breaking contact with Delia, I collapsed against the pillows. Head dancing side-to-side, I replied with a shallow laugh.

  "Monkey Butt, I can't wait until you finally fall in love."

  "Wha
t's that mean?" Siobhan asked.

  "It means I'm going to be merciless when it happens." I laughed again, a little deeper. "We all will."

  23

  Delia

  A male nurse came into the room and swapped out the IV pouch with a fresh bag. Siobhan followed the man out. Ten minutes later, Emerson floated off to sleep. I said his name. When he didn't respond, I brushed my lips against his forehead in a kiss he wasn't supposed to feel.

  He felt it anyway, his hand sliding to capture my wrist even as his eyes remained closed. He gave a soft squeeze then nailed me with his midnight gaze half a second later.

  "Just so we're clear," Emerson said, a dopey smile creeping across his face. "I don't have amnesia. I remember what happened at Mama's house. I remember confessing how long I've been in love with you."

  The smile sharpened slightly, more focus returning to his gaze.

  "I remember tasting you, too."

  Heart fluttering, I eased back—and saw a hard, straight line pushing against the thin blanket covering him.

  "Settle down, Tiger," I warned with a laugh. "You realize it was a groin shot, don't you?"

  His gaze growing heavy again, Emerson offered a sloppy wink.

  "But the equipment still works, at least when I'm around you."

  I shook my head, a deeper laugh escaping. "Well, for now, all you get is a chaste goodbye kiss."

  Bending over, I extracted my wrist from his grip then kissed the center of his forehead. By the time I straightened, he was asleep once more.

  I tiptoed to the door, eased my way into the hall then looked around. Sutton was walking toward me, an extra coffee in his hand.

  "For you, sister dear," he said, planting a kiss high on my cheek.

  I blinked, ready to cry, then thanked him. That "sister" stuff his family did really got to me. All of Lindy's boys called their brothers' wives "sister." Sutton extended that to me. Sometimes with an odd, but innocent, twinkle in his eyes that I couldn't decipher.

  "You're the best," I said, sinking onto a bench a few doors down from Emerson's room.

  "Mama said you were here and I figured you could use a boost."