by The Witness
"Damn."
"What? What is it?" Lauren's anxious gaze darted around.
"There's a car watching this road."
"Where? I don't see anything."
"About fifty yards to your right. Parked in the shade of that big spruce on the other side."
Leaning forward, Lauren peered through the darkness. "Are you sure? I still don't see it."
"I'm sure."
"What do we do now?"
"One thing is certain. We can't stay here. If they don't already have search warrants for this place and the Double R they will before long. Somebody is probably waking up a judge right now. It'll be tomorrow before Edward can get the manhunt called off. We have no choice but to make a run for it."
Sam turned his head and looked at Lauren. Even through the darkness he could see the fear in her eyes, but she met his gaze directly and didn't make a sound. Unable to resist, he reached out and hooked his hand around the back of her neck, pulling her to him as he leaned over and gave her a deep, passionate kiss. He felt her pulse leap, then take off with a mad thrumming that exactly matched his own thundering heartbeat.
When he was done he drew back just a few inches and looked deep into her eyes. "Ready?"
She stared back at him, her eyes wide and glittering like green glass in the darkness. Finally, sucking in a deep breath, she pressed her lips tightly together, squared her shoulders and nodded.
"That's my girl." Sam planted another quick kiss on her mouth, then straightened and gripped the steering wheel. "Hang on."
He gunned the engine, and they shot out of the trees. In seconds they bumped over the cattle guard, hooked a skidding left and blasted down the road. Only then did Sam turn on the lights.
"Brace yourself. Here they come."
Lauren twisted around in her seat and saw headlights where seconds before there had been only blackness. As she watched, they grew steadily larger. "Oh Lord, they're gaining on us, Sam!"
Sam made no reply. His profile looked as though it had been chiseled in stone. He pressed the accelerator harder and the truck picked up speed and for a moment the space between them and the car widened.
"They're catching up again!"
Grimly Sam pushed the accelerator pedal to the floor, and the pickup streaked down the deserted highway like a bullet.
Lauren looked over her shoulder again. "They're not getting any closer but they're staying with us," she reported.
Sam looked into the rearview mirror just as a flash of fire appeared on the passenger's side of the pursuit car. At the same instant something thunked against the pickup's tailgate and Lauren shrieked.
"Oh my Lord! They're shooting at us!"
She barely got the words out when the back window shattered.
"Get down! Get down!" Sam yelled. Steering with one hand, he reached over and shoved her down onto the floorboard as another bullet took out the side mirror on the passenger door.
Sam took what evasive measures he could, but going that fast he couldn't risk swerving much or he'd roll the truck.
Huddled in a ball on the floor with her hands over her ears, Lauren screamed and screamed as volley after volley of shots splatted against the pickup and whined past.
"Holy—!"
Thirty feet ahead a small herd of mule deer exploded up out of the bar ditch onto the road.
Sam jerked the wheel to avoid them. Veering onto the shoulder, the pickup lifted up on two wheels and hung suspended even as it continued to move forward. Cursing, Sam fought to bring it right again and Lauren screamed.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but in reality could have been no more than a few seconds, the truck's left tires slammed back down onto the pavement, bounced twice, then regain purchase.
From behind them came a prolonged screech of tires on paving, followed by a tremendous crash.
Lauren's head came up. "What was that?"
Sam's gaze flickered to the rearview mirror. "Our friends just got a close-up look at the local wildlife."
"What? Wait! Listen! They've stopped shooting." Cautiously she rose to her knees and peered through the shattered back window. "Oh, my goodness. I don't believe it! They've crashed! The car is in the bar ditch with its headlight pointing skyward. And there's something strewn across the highway. I think...it looks like dead animals. I don't see any sign of those men."
She turned to Sam, her face joyous. "We've done it. We've gotten away!"
"Yeah, well...don't get too excited. I'm sure they called in our position to the rest of the team. There'll be more agents coming along any second."
"But we have a head start. Surely they won't be able to catch us."
"Well... that... that depends."
"On what?"
"On whether or not...you can drive a...truck."
"Me? Why should I—Sam! What're you doing? Why are you slowing down?"
The pickup rolled to a stop in the center of the road. Feebly, Sam managed to shove the gearshift into Park an instant before he slumped over the wheel.
"Sam!" Lauren swept aside the pebbles of glass and scrambled up onto the seat next to him. "Sam? Sam, what's wrong?" She grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him upright, but when Sam moaned she quickly stopped. "Oh Lord, Sam, talk to me."
His eyes flickered open and he grimaced at her. "S-sorry, babe...but I've...I've been...shot."
Seventeen
"Shot! No! No!" Lauren cried.
Terror clawed at her. Panic-stricken, she ran her hands over Sam's shoulders and upper arms, his back. "Where? Where are you hurt? Tell me, Sam!" she demanded. "Talk to me!"
His only reply was a moan. She wasn't even certain he was still conscious.
"Oh, Sam." Her fingers encountered something wet and sticky. Lauren drew her hand away and sucked in a sharp breath. Her palm was covered with blood. "Oh God. Oh God. Oh God."
She pressed her lips tightly together and fought to quell the bubble of hysteria rising in her throat. Glancing around, she saw that a mile or so behind them the lights of the wrecked car still shot skyward like a spotlight. Other than that, there was no sign of human life—or help—in sight.
She ground her teeth. No, don't think of it that way. Look on the bright side. At least there was no sign of those men's cohorts. Yet.
That thought brought a low moan from her throat, and she had to fight back another wave of panic. What was she going to do? Think, Lauren. Think! They had to get out of there. And fast. But first she had to tend to Sam. If she didn't stop the bleeding quickly he would surely die.
After fumbling around she located the switch for the overhead light and flipped it on. Kneeling on the seat beside Sam, she pulled him upright. He moaned again and his eyes flickered open. "Gotta...get outta... here," he mumbled.
"I know. I know. But let me do this first."
"You're...you're gonna ha...have to...drive."
"I know that, too. But I warn you, I've never driven a pickup before."
"N-nothin' to it. You'll...do fine, swe-sweetheart." Sam's words were slurred, and at the end his voice trailed off and he slumped back against the seat and went limp.
"Sam? Sam!"
He didn't reply. Lauren put her ear to his chest and sagged with relief when she heard his heart beating. Working quickly, straining and panting, she stripped off his parka and eased him forward until he was braced against the steering wheel. One look at his back made her stomach roil and sent her terror skyrocketing anew. Blood soaked his shirt all the way to the waistband on his wool pants.
Breathing hard and making unconscious, little distressed sounds, Lauren pawed through the duffle bag and pulled out a pair of long johns, then snatched Sam's shirt free of his pants and shoved it up to his shoulders. Bile rose in her throat at the sight of blood oozing from an obscene hole just above his shoulder blade.
Quickly she folded the body of the long johns into a thick pad and pressed it tightly against the wound. Struggling and straining to reach around Sam's inert body, she used the le
gs of the garment to tie the makeshift bandage in place.
When done, she sat back on her heels with a sigh of exhaustion and surveyed her handiwork. It wasn't the neatest bandage she'd ever seen, but it seemed to have stanched the flow of blood. Sam needed a clean shirt, but there was no time for that.
Lauren pulled the bloodied shirt back down and worked first one, then the other of his arms back into his parka and brought him upright again with his back propped against the seat back.
"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" She gave his cheek a sharp tap, then another. "Wake up, Sam. You have to help if I'm going to scoot you over. I can't budge you on my own."
Sam's eyelids fluttered twice, then opened partway. His eyes were out of focus, and she could see that just remaining conscious required tremendous effort. "Ri-right."
Lauren put her arms around Sam's waist and pulled with all her might as he did his best to scoot sideways. It took a tremendous effort and caused him a lot of pain, but finally she maneuvered him to the other side.
"Are you okay?" she gasped.
"Y-yeah. Let's...go."
Lauren jumped out of the cab, ran around to the other side and climbed into the driver's seat. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, she darted Sam a nervous glance. "Here goes," she said and stomped on the gas.
Smoke and the smell of burning rubber rose as the tires squealed and spun on the asphalt paving. Then the truck leaped forward and shot down the road, going from zero to eighty-five miles an hour in ten seconds flat.
Lauren had little experience driving any vehicle, and compared to her car, the truck seemed enormous and awkward to handle. She held the wheel with a white-knuckled grip and concentrated fiercely on keeping the pickup between the faded center stripe and the bar ditch. Using the duffle bag to keep himself propped upright, Sam fought to stay conscious.
After a few miles the road intersected a main highway. "Turn right...here," Sam gasped. "And slow...down. We don't want to...get stopped for...speeding."
Lauren gritted her teeth and did as he ordered, but it was difficult. Instinct urged her to floorboard the gas pedal and put as many miles between them and their pursuers as possible. At that hour there were few vehicles on the road, and as she drove through the darkness Lauren had the eeriest feeling that she had somehow entered an alien world.
"Where are we going?" she asked when she could stand the silence no longer. She received no answer.
"Sam?" She glanced at him and saw that his eyes were closed and he lay slumped against the passenger door. Fear shot through her. "Sam? Are you still with me?"
Still no reply.
"Sam? Sam, wake up! Answer me!"
The only sounds were the engine's steady rumble and the rhythmic thump-thump of the tires on the highway. Another vehicle passed the truck, and Lauren jumped at the unexpected whoosh when it went by. She moaned and bit her lower lip. What in heaven's name was she supposed to do now?
She couldn't just drive around aimlessly, and she had no idea how to find that hunting cabin Sam had mentioned earlier. Besides, he needed medical attention.
Lauren choked back a hysterical sob. How she was going to manage that she had no idea. If she took him to a hospital or a doctor they would have to report the gunshot to the police, and if that happened she and Sam were as good as dead.
It was after midnight and she had no idea where she was, but the lights of a town glowed up ahead. Staring at twinkling lights, she came to a decision.
A highway sign identified the town as Monticello, Utah. Lauren stopped at the first motel she found and rented a room using Sam's bogus credit card, praying all the while she registered that the sleepy clerk wouldn't recognize her or ask too many questions.
She parked the pickup as close to the room as she could and somehow managed to rouse Sam enough to pull him from the cab. Holding his good arm looped around her shoulders she wrapped her other arm around his waist and staggered inside with him, nearly collapsing under his weight before falling with him, facedown, onto the bed.
Lauren scooted off the bed and dashed back out to the truck for the duffle bag, then dashed back inside and bolted and chained the door. After turning up the heat she noticed that Sam still hadn't moved or made a sound. She went to the bed and touched his shoulder. "Sam? Are you okay?"
He gave no response. She quickly checked his pulse and peeled back his eyelids and realized that he had passed out again. Just as well, she thought, considering what she had to do.
Fighting fatigue and fear, Lauren tried to think logically. The first and most important thing was to clean Sam's wound before infection set in. That would probably start the bleeding again, but she'd just have to deal with that.
It was almost one in the morning. Where was she going to get the bandages and medicine she needed? From the looks of things when she'd driven into town the sidewalks of Monticello had been rolled up hours ago. Looking at Sam's prone form, she gnawed her bottom lip. Did she dare risk leaving him alone long enough to drive around and look for an all-night drugstore? She pulled the keys from her parka pocket and fingered them, debating. Suddenly she snapped her fingers.
The truck! Why hadn't she thought of that before? Surely a rancher, or anyone who did physical outdoor work, would keep a first-aid kit handy.
Lauren unbolted the door and dashed back outside. Sure enough, behind the passenger seat in the extended cab section of the truck she found a large plastic box with a red cross on the top.
"Bless you, Augustus," she murmured fervently, and hurried back inside.
After considerable struggle she managed to strip Sam to the waist and remove his holster and gun. Slipping her hand beneath his chest, she felt for an exit wound but found none. Lauren groaned. The bullet was still inside.
Trying not to think about that, she washed his wound, then his entire back with warm, soapy water and a washcloth. When done, she leaned close and examined the hole and grimaced. The puckered edges were an angry red rimmed with gray and still oozed blood. She swabbed the area with the washcloth again and noticed that inside the hole there were tiny fragments of cloth and fiber from his clothing. Lauren frowned. That couldn't be good.
To her relief, in addition to the usual gauze pads, cotton balls and bandages, the first-aid kit contained a pair of tweezers, alcohol, iodine, a tube of antibiotic cream, a burn pack and even surgical needles and suture thread. The last items made Lauren shudder and marvel at the toughness of cowboys.
In the bathroom she poured alcohol over the tweezers then returned and knelt on the bed beside Sam. Biting her lower lip, she hesitated, her shaking hand poised over the ugly wound. "You can do this, Lauren. You have to do this." Closing her eyes, she said a quick prayer, then drew a deep breath and bent closer.
Sam moaned as she plucked out the first bit of cloth, and Lauren moaned right along with him. For the next ten minutes, in between swabbing away blood, she plucked and pulled and probed and tried not to gag. When she'd finally removed all the debris she swabbed away the blood once again and gently spread the edges of the hole a bit wider, drawing another groan from Sam.
Lauren peered into the wound, but she didn't see anything that looked like a bullet. She knew it should come out, but there was no way she was going to go digging around in there. She might do more harm than good.
"I'm sorry, Sam, but this is the best I can do," she murmured as she twisted the cap off the iodine bottle and poured a liberal amount of the brownish/orange antiseptic over the area.
Sam's head jerked up off the pillow. "Jesus! Wh-what're you... doing?"
"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry," Lauren cried. "I'm just trying to doctor your wound. Lie still now, while I finish."
The order was unnecessary. As she spread the edges of the hole once again and squeezed almost a half a tube of antibiotic cream inside he passed out. Lauren covered the wound with a thick wad of gauze pads and taped them in place.
Sighing, she sat back on her heels. Suddenly, in delayed reaction, she began to tremble from head to
toe. She hugged her arms around her midriff and rocked back and forth on her knees. "Please don't let him die. Please, God, please," she murmured over and over. "I couldn't bear it."
And not simply because she depended on him to protect her, Lauren realized, but because the idea of living without Sam Rawlins was too painful to contemplate. As unlikely as it seemed, as foolish as it undoubtedly was, she had fallen in love with this tough, taciturn, complicated man.
Lauren moaned and rocked harder and called herself all manner of uncomplimentary names, from weakling to imbecile to pathetic, but it made no difference. She loved him. Deeply, irrevocably.
When her shakes finally subsided and she had herself under control, she sighed again and wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm and gazed at Sam and the awkward bandage on his back. It looked a stark white against his bronze skin. She climbed from the bed and tugged off Sam's moccasins, then pulled the covers up over him.
Well, she'd done all she could, she thought tiredly. Now she would just have to wait and hope that by morning he'd be feeling better.
Exhausted, Lauren stripped out of her clothes, took a quick shower and climbed into the room's other bed. The instant her head touched the pillow she fell into a deep sleep. A couple of hours later she jerked awake.
"What? Who—?" She sprang upright in the bed and looked around, disoriented. Then, in the sliver of moonlight slanting in through the gap in the motel draperies, she saw Sam, and everything came rushing back. In a flash she realized what had awakened her. Sam was groaning and thrashing around violently.
In an instant Lauren was on her feet. "Sam? Sam, be still. You're going to hurt yourself worse. You'll have your wound bleeding again if you don't stop that."
For all the attention he paid she might as well have talked to the wall. She reached out, intending to stroke his back, but at the first touch she sucked in her breath. "Oh Lord, Sam, you're burning up."
She brushed his hair away from his face, and blinked back tears. "Damn you, Sam Rawlins. Don't you dare die on me now. Not after all we've been through. You hear me!"
