by Susan Stoker, Cristin Harber, Cora Seton, Lynn Raye Harris, Kaylea Cross, Katie Reus, Tessa Layne
“Ah, fuck,” he muttered. Afraid to hurt him more, Wyatt reached in and carefully slid his hands beneath him. Grits let out a sharp yelp and tried to struggle. “No, buddy, just lie still,” he said softly as he pulled his dog out.
Wyatt blanched when he saw the full extent of the damage. Before he could say anything Austen was already tugging her shirt over her head and wrapping it around Grits’s back end. She darted a glance up at him, still shaking, the adrenaline fading away. “How bad is it?”
Wyatt cradled the dog in his arms, holding him close to his chest. “Bad. We need to get him to the vet’s.”
Her legs shook as she pushed to her feet. “I’ll drive. You keep pressure on him.”
“My phone’s in my front pocket. Call the cops. Tell them about Eddie.” He couldn’t stay, not when Grits’s life was in danger. If he stayed the cops would never let him leave just to take Grits to the vet. And nobody was dragging him away from his dog.
She pulled it out and dialed, spoke to the 911 operator as they rushed around the side of the house. He marveled at her strength, at how steady she was despite her whole body shaking and her face streaked with tears.
He didn’t dare ease up the pressure on Grits’s leg. Austen was explaining about Grits, and Wyatt didn’t even care that he was leaving the scene of a crime with two dead bodies. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
Austen jumped behind the wheel of her truck while he climbed into the passenger seat and she raced down the driveway. “Is he still conscious?”
“Barely.” He was so little, and he’d already lost so much blood. Wyatt’s shirt and lap were covered in it.
She turned onto the main road and hit the gas, racing toward town. Wyatt could feel himself zoning out, that all-too familiar numbness taking hold. The smell of the blood, Grits’s rattling gasps, were just like it had been with Raider.
He didn’t even remember arriving at the clinic or rushing Grits inside. He refused to hand Grits over, refused to leave when the vet and her staff rushed to prep Grits for surgery. He stayed glued to the edge of the operating table, crouched down near Grits’s head so the dog could see Wyatt.
“Come on, buddy, you gotta hang in there.” His voice was rough as sandpaper.
A crushing sense of guilt smothered him. This dog had suffered at the hands of a human before. Wyatt was supposed to have been his second chance, his fresh start. Instead he was fighting for his life because a fellow veteran who Wyatt had trusted had shot him, killed Eddie, and had been about to kill Austen.
Staring down into Grits’s dazed brown eyes, he was sucked back in time to those moments when he’d been holding Raider, looking into her eyes and begging her to hold on right before she’d died in his arms. He clenched his teeth together and swallowed as the acidic grief burned in his chest.
“Sir, I really need you to clear out of here so my staff and I can get to work,” the vet told him, her tone making it a command rather than a request.
Wyatt looked up at her, feeling tortured. “I can’t leave him.”
The vet’s eyes softened with sympathy. “Best way you can help him is to let us get started. We’ll let you know the prognosis as soon as we can.”
Swallowing, Wyatt stroked a hand over Grits’s head and neck. His fur was so damn soft, the white all matted and rusty-colored with blood. “I’ll be right outside,” he promised him, then forced his feet to turn him around and take him out to the waiting room.
Austen was there. She jumped out of her seat, dressed in a scrubs top someone at the clinic must have given her. Her eyes were worried, her face pale and stained with tears. “How is he?”
“Bad,” was all he could manage before the lump in his throat choked him.
Austen’s expression filled with empathy and tenderness as she reached for him.
Wyatt went into her arms without a second’s hesitation, burying his face in her throat as he slid his arms around her and held her as tight as he could without hurting her.
She kissed his temple and stroked the back of his head as she whispered to him. “He’s got such a big heart, Wyatt, and he loves you. He’ll fight his way through this, just wait and see.”
Wyatt nodded because he didn’t see the point in arguing and he didn’t want to crush her hopes by telling her it wasn’t going to happen. And it wasn’t just Grits that had him so emotional. Here Austen was, trying to comfort him when she’d had a gun to her head less than an hour ago. It killed him.
He crushed her to him and he held on tight. She was his anchor, the only thing stopping him from falling to pieces right here in the middle of the veterinary office.
He dimly realized he was breathing too fast, that he was rapidly losing control. He fought back the flood of tears that threatened to escape, muscling them back by sheer force of will. Austen was traumatized enough and he wasn’t going to be a selfish asshole by unloading all his bullshit baggage on her after what she’d just gone through.
She didn’t speak. Just like in the aftermath of his nightmare last night, she simply held him, allowed him to gain control and find his footing again. And when he could breathe again, when his heart no longer felt like it would explode, he raised his head and took her face between his hands so he could look into her eyes.
That beautiful silver gaze met his, and he felt his heart free-fall. “I love you,” he blurted.
Her eyes widened in surprise but then a smile flickered at the edges of her mouth. “I love you too.”
Elation and relief filled him. “I was so fucking scared when I saw him holding that gun to your head.”
She grimaced and for a second he felt bad about saying anything, but hell, he wanted her to know how much she meant to him. “Me too.”
He stroked his thumbs across her cheeks, savoring the softness as he tried to wipe the traces of her tears away. She’d been through too much, before with losing her fiancé and leaving everything she knew and loved behind to start a new life, then today, nearly losing that life.
It shook him. “I didn’t care if I died so long as you were safe. That’s all that mattered to me.” It was important to him that she understood that.
“If you’d died, I would have anyway,” she whispered, and he recognized the ghosts of past grief in her eyes. “That would have ended me.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re so much stronger than you even realize. You saved yourself today by taking action, all I did was pull the trigger. And then you drove me here, half-naked, after just being held at gunpoint and seeing two men die because you wanted to save Grits. So yeah, I love you. And I would have died to protect you without thinking twice about it.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his, their noses touching. “Well let’s just be glad it didn’t come to that.”
Yeah, no kidding.
Taking her hand, Wyatt led her over to the row of chairs in the waiting room and pulled her into his lap. He was covered in blood but he knew Austen wouldn’t care. All that mattered was being able to touch her and hold her, offer her comfort and reassure himself that she was still alive.
About twenty minutes later the operating room door opened and the vet stepped out. Wyatt stiffened, his stomach shriveling into a tight, aching ball.
“We got a transfusion into him and he seems stable for the moment. But I can’t save his leg. Not in a way that would allow him to walk without pain again.”
Wyatt’s heart had swelled at the first bit of news, but the second bit made it plummet. “So what do you want to do?” he asked.
“I recommend amputation. It’s less risky for him in the short term, and much kinder in the long run. There’s no guarantee that he’ll pull out of this surgery though. He lost over half his blood volume.”
Wyatt nodded slowly. “Okay. Whatever you need to do.”
“It’s an expensive procedure, on top of the transfusion and—”
“I don’t care what it costs.” He’d sell his damn truck to pay for the bill if he
had to.
The vet offered an encouraging smile. “I’ll get my staff to draw up the consent forms. He should be out of surgery within the hour, and of course we’ll want to keep him for a few days. If you want to go home and clean up, we can call you when he’s in recovery.”
“I’ll stay.” He wasn’t going until Grits was out of surgery. And he didn’t bother telling the vet that they’d rushed here from a murder scene, after Wyatt had killed the gunman.
Soon enough he’d have to face everything that had happened back at the house. The cops were probably on their way here to talk to them. He and Austen would be interviewed separately, and there’d be a lot of other steps to take care of before they’d be allowed to go home.
He looked at Austen, who nodded and shifted her gaze to the doctor. “We’re both staying.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Piper stopped in the act of putting a lid on her vanilla latte and frowned as she looked out the café’s front windows. The wail of the sirens coming down Main Street grew louder, and seconds later, two more patrol cars zipped past. The fifth and sixth ones she’d seen go by since she’d entered the café a few minutes ago. Whatever was going on, it had to be bad.
Hurrying out the door, she climbed in her car and drove to the Miller place, careful to take the turns slow so that the plate of brownies and the lemon-sour cream pie balanced on the passenger seat didn’t fall over. She’d made the pie last night and pulled the brownies from the oven less than forty minutes ago, before she’d jumped in the shower, so they were still warm. She hoped Austen and Wyatt liked them.
But when she turned down the street to the Miller place, a ball of dread formed in the pit of her stomach when she saw all the emergency vehicles blocking the driveway.
Had someone been hurt on the job site? Worry gnawing at her, she parked a half block away and crossed the street. All the cops knew her, since she’d been married to the former sheriff. Thankfully most of them didn’t hold that against her.
One of the most senior deputies, Frank, saw her coming and met her on the sidewalk. “Everything okay?” she asked, casting a worried look over the fence into the front yard.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Piper jerked her attention back to him, the dread growing stronger. “Why, what’s wrong?”
“Can’t give details right now, but it’s serious. Medical examiner is on his way.”
What? Someone had been murdered? She blanched. “Are Wyatt and Austen okay?” She didn’t know any of the others working on site.
“I don’t know who was involved. Sorry.”
Oh my God. Wyatt had told her that someone had sent him threatening texts. And then Greg had showed up and threatened him at his house.
A sick feeling permeated her. Was Frank hiding that Greg was behind this? Had her ex actually lost it completely and hunted Wyatt down, then killed him in cold blood out of some insane notion of jealousy?
No. No, he wouldn’t.
But what if he had?
Heart pounding, she pushed past Frank, intent on getting through the barricade and up the driveway so she could see what the hell was going on.
He caught her upper arm and turned her around, his grip gentle but firm. “I can’t let you go in there, Piper.”
“Please just tell me if they’re okay,” she pleaded, half frantic. “They’re my friends.”
“I honestly don’t know. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in.” His expression told her he felt badly. “Is there anyone I can call for you?”
Ignoring the offer, she dug out her own phone and dialed Wyatt. The ringtone droned in her ear, grating on her tautly stretched nerves. Three rings later, his voicemail picked up. “Shit,” she whispered, starting to tremble as the fear hit her. She dialed Austen next, and same thing.
“No, no,” she muttered, and out of desperation dialed Easton’s number. He didn’t answer either.
She stepped past Frank, who followed her like a bloodhound as she rushed to the tape blocking off the end of the driveway. Casting a frantic look down it, she spotted Wyatt’s truck parked out front. Nausea churned in her stomach. Oh my God…
On wobbly legs she turned around and ran back to her car, dialing Wyatt once more before she pulled away from the curb and raced back toward town. She got his voicemail again. Swallowing hard, she sped down Main Street and out into the countryside, on autopilot as she headed for the Colebrook place.
By the time she arrived at the farmhouse she was on the verge of tears. Easton’s truck was parked out front. She bounded up the front steps and banged on the door, about to lose it. Quick footsteps sounded from inside and then the door swung open to reveal Easton standing there, bare-chested.
“Something bad’s happened at Austen’s place,” she blurted, almost panting because her breathing was so choppy. “I went there, but the on-duty cops wouldn’t let me in, and then I called Wyatt’s and Austen’s phones but they didn’t answer—”
“They’re okay,” he said quietly.
She stopped, blinked at him as his words penetrated, a wave of relief slamming over her. “How do you know?”
“Wyatt called me. He and Austen are both okay.”
“One of the cops said the medical examiner was en route.”
Easton nodded, his brown eyes somber. “Two people died.”
She swallowed. “Who?”
“Two guys on the crew.”
Oh, man, how awful. “Did Wyatt say what happened?” she asked carefully, dreading his answer. If Greg had done this, she didn’t know what she’d do.
“Yeah.”
That he didn’t just tell her spiked her anxiety. “What?” she demanded, about to snap. “Why won’t you tell me?”
Easton sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, then reached for her hand and pulled her inside. “Come sit down,” he said, leading her into the front parlor. “You look pale.”
She sank onto the sofa while Easton sat on the coffee table in front of her, resting his elbows on his knees and it was unsettling to realize she was having a hard time keeping her eyes on his face when all those chiseled muscles were on display a mere foot-and-a-half away.
“One of Wyatt’s guys killed one of the others, and attacked Austen.” He paused. “It was Scott.”
She stared at him, aghast. “The guy who worked here on the farm?”
Easton nodded. “Apparently he had a grudge against Wyatt for what happened to Taylor over in Afghanistan. He wanted to even the score by killing Austen in front of Wyatt.”
“Oh my God,” she whispered, horrified. It was so sick and wrong.
“Yeah. I’m not clear on the details yet, but Wyatt shot him. He’s dead.”
“Good.”
One side of Easton’s mouth tipped up at her response, and she struggled to ignore just how gorgeous he was. “That’s what I said.”
Shuffling footsteps on the staircase made her look over and Mr. C came into view.
“Piper,” he acknowledged as he headed down the remaining stairs. “You hear the news?”
“Just now. You okay?” How awful, to find out one of the men he’d hired had done this.
“Wyatt and Austen are okay, so yes, I’m fine.”
Piper looked back at Easton. “Are you guys heading out to meet Wyatt?”
He nodded. “They’re at the vet clinic.”
“What? Why?”
He grimaced and reached out to take her hands. “Grits was shot.”
She gasped, one hand flying to her chest. “No!”
He nodded. “Looks like he’s going to lose one of his back legs.”
“That son of a bitch,” she fumed, shoving to her feet. Killing one of his coworkers, threatening Austen, and then shooting an innocent little dog? She hoped he was burning in hell right now.
Easton rose and rubbed his hands over her upper arms, but the soothing touch did nothing to calm her down. “Wyatt and Austen are down at the clinic. They’ve gotta talk to the cops after, and Wyatt didn’t w
ant Grits to be alone so he asked me to come stay with him while he’s in recovery.”
“Oh, but… Why wouldn’t he call me to do that?” Maybe it was stupid to feel hurt by that, but she’d been the one to bring the dog to him in the first place. Wyatt knew how much she loved animals, and how much she cared about him and his family.
“He didn’t want to upset you,” Easton said, still rubbing her arms. For some reason his touch sent distracting and unwanted tingles racing over her skin.
Unsettled by her body’s reaction, she stepped back, out of reach, and cleared her throat. This was the first time she’d ever felt like an outsider with them. Even through Wyatt’s long rehab once he’d come home from the hospital, his family had allowed her to be here in the thick of things. They’d let her help them all, leaned on her for support. “I was heading over to Austen’s place to drop off some treats I made. They’re in the car. Can I leave them in the cabin?”
“Of course.”
She turned and headed for the front door, mind whirling, a flurry of emotions pushing her precariously close to tears. Easton followed her out and she wished he hadn’t. She could use a few minutes alone to compose herself.
He was right behind her when she opened the front passenger door and saw the mess on the seat. “Oh no…”
She’d been in such a rush to get here, she hadn’t even thought about the baking during the turns. Brownies and crumbs were strewn all over the seat, and some pie filling had smeared on the center armrest where the plastic wrap had come undone and the pie had smashed against it.
Easton stuck his head in to take a look. “Still looks good to me,” he said, and began scooping the fallen brownies back onto the paper plate she’d stacked them on.
Piper swallowed, struggling against tears, but couldn’t quite hold back a sniffle as she dealt with the pie.
“Hey,” Easton murmured, setting the plate down and taking her by the shoulders. She tensed and resisted turning around to face him, afraid she’d break down, but he was insistent.
