His face was hard as stone until he glanced down at her and his dark eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Maryn.”
Maryn tried to smile to reassure him, but the pain was too intense. The cold became unbearable as the four-wheeler picked up speed. Everything grew blurry, but she could still feel warm blood trickling down her side. Darkness filled her mind and she welcomed it with relief.
Tucker burst through the front door, carrying Maryn in his arms and hoping he wasn’t exacerbating her injuries. There was so much blood. Her back and side were both ripped open and he just prayed the claws hadn’t penetrated deeply enough to hurt internal organs. The way the snow was pounding outside, he doubted they could make it through the storm to the closest medical center in West Yellowstone before she bled out. Maybe Braxton or Tucker had been able to get through to the emergency dispatcher and help was on its way. He could hope.
“Oh, no!” Mama Porter shrieked when she arrived in the foyer with powdered sugar dusting her apron. Tuck could smell sugar cookies baking and thought how odd it was that something so simple as baking cookies could be happening while a woman’s life was on the line. Mama let out another scream then finally managed a coherent, “What on earth happened?”
“Bear,” he muttered before turning and barking, “Brax!” He took the stairs two at a time, planning to put her in his bed. Yes, there were seven other bedrooms, but this was his fault and he wanted her close.
Braxton came rushing to his side. His mouth dropped open as he saw Maryn, but he schooled his features quickly. “I’ll get the supplies,” he murmured and rushed for the basement storage room.
Mama Porter gasped for air as she pumped up the stairs behind Tuck. “Where are you taking her?” she managed to get out.
“My room.”
They made it to the third floor without any further conversation as Mama Porter was too out of breath to talk and Tucker was too scared. Maryn hadn’t awakened through the cold ride back to the house, all the screaming from Mama Porter, or Tuck carrying her up here.
“Wait!” Mama forced out. “Don’t set her down yet.”
She ran into his bathroom and returned with a stack of clean sheets. Yanking down the bedspread and comforter she spread out several sheets. “We’ll be able to remove them as they get…” Her face paled as she gazed at Maryn. “Soiled.”
Tucker nodded and gently laid Maryn on her right side. Her back and left side were raked with long rips from the bears claws. The jacket and shirt were dug into the wounds and blood was everywhere. Luckily there were no gashes on her right or her abdomen. His fingers went to her neck. Her pulse was there, but too slow and faint for his liking. She had to be half-frozen too. He grabbed one of the clean sheets and pressed against her lower back to stop the bleeding.
“Is there time to get her to the hospital?” Mama Porter asked.
The closest hospital was Rexburg, which was a better medical choice than West Yellowstone, but almost a two hour drive in decent weather. “Snow’s too thick. We can’t risk getting stuck or taking too long to get her help. She might… bleed out. I think it’s safer to let Brax doctor her. He’s good at stitching.” As long as she didn’t have any internal injuries. Curse living in such a remote location and curse this snow. There was no way an ambulance or life flight would be getting through.
Mama Porter nodded. “She must be freezing. We’ve got to get her out of those clothes.” She darted a glance at him. “You can’t help, it will be unseemly.”
Tucker rolled his eyes. “I think an emergency situation negates social propriety, Mama.” He tucked the sheet around her waist, bent down and gently removed Maryn’s high-heeled boots, and then peeled off her wet socks. Her feet were white and felt like ice blocks. Tuck rubbed her feet while they waited for Braxton, relieved when some color returned to her toes. Hopefully she wouldn’t lose them.
Mama Porter laid a blanket over Maryn then held both of Maryn’s small hands between her own, muttering a prayer over and over, “Please help her Lord, please help her.” Tucker echoed the prayer in his head. This was all his fault. He’d never forgiven himself for killing innocents years ago in Afghanistan. What would he do if he’d driven this woman from his house and caused injuries that wouldn’t heal? What if they lost her? He rubbed her feet harder and muttered a prayer. Not for himself, but for Maryn.
Braxton stormed into the room with Johnson right behind him.
“Any response?” Tuck asked, hoping yet not hopeful.
Johnson shook his head. “I can’t get through. Not sure life flight would go out in this anyway.”
Tucker nodded, grateful they had Braxton’s expertise and were stocked with medical supplies.
“Get me some warm, wet cloths,” Brax said to Johnson. “Mama, warm a few blankets in the dryer.”
Johnson ran to the bathroom and Mama hurried downstairs. Braxton rolled the blanket off Maryn’s upper body and tucked it around her legs then pulled the sheet off and tossed it to the side. Grabbing some scissors, he started cutting Maryn’s jacket and shirt. It was awful to watch as a lot of the fabric was dug into her cuts and didn’t come out with Braxton’s gentle tugs.
Tucker held her body steady on her side. Braxton cut through the front of her clothing and pulled it open then tugged off the material that would come free. “Okay, roll her onto her stomach now, carefully.”
They held her like a china doll and placed her on her stomach. Mama returned and placed the warmed blankets over her legs then turned Maryn’s head to the side and stroked her cheek. Thankfully, Maryn was still unconscious. Well, maybe that wasn’t a good thing. She needed to come around again for him to be grateful for her comatose state at the moment.
Johnson brought warm, wet hand towels and all the men took a different section of Maryn’s back, soaking the jacket, blood, and bits of dirt and fur until they could gently pull the fabric out of the gashes. Tuck counted eight spots where the skin had been ripped open. The bleeding had slowed so there was something to be grateful for. Finally, the last piece of material was free and they were able to remove her jacket and shirt.
Johnson helped Braxton set up a suture station. They both snapped on gloves. Braxton irrigated the split flesh while Mama Porter held onto Maryn’s cheek with one hand and her cold fingers with the other. Tucker felt so helpless as he continued to rub warmth back into her feet. He made sure the blankets were secure around her wet jeans, thinking they should take them off, but it wouldn’t be worth jarring her right now. She looked so pale. He cursed the storm, the bear, and himself. If only they could’ve gotten ahold of the EMTs. A glance out the window showed nothing but driving white snow and all of their attempts to reach the sheriff earlier had failed. He exhaled and prayed.
“What do you think?” Johnson asked quietly.
Braxton examined each cut and washed them with a wet cloth and more saline. “There’s no deep damage and they’re clean. I can stitch them as well as anyone could. She’s lost a lot of blood and it would be crazy to transport her right now. If she makes it through the night, she’ll survive once she gets some antibiotics.”
Johnson held the first tear together and Braxton pierced Maryn’s flesh with the needle. She jumped and moaned. Tucker hated to think of her in pain, but was glad to see some reaction.
“Hold her!” Braxton commanded. He went back to his supplies and filled a syringe.
“What is that?” Tucker asked.
“Morphine.” He gave Tucker a grim smile. “Don’t ask where I got it.” He shoved it into Maryn’s arm and depressed the plunger all the way. She shifted again, but didn’t jump. “It’s all I’ve got for pain though, wish I had a local. You and Mama are going to have to hold her tight.”
They both nodded. Mama Porter held onto Maryn’s delicate shoulders. Tucker laid across her rear and grasped her waist between his hands, determined to hold her steady so Braxton could do what he needed to do. Braxton started stitching again with Johnson holding the wounds closed and also helping to make sure M
aryn didn’t move. She cried out a few times and tried to squirm away from the needle, but they held her steady. Tucker couldn’t stand to watch as the needle worked in and out of her smooth skin. He found that pathetic with all the awful things he’d seen in his life, but this woman had already carved a spot of tenderness out of him.
There were six gashes that needed stitching and it was painfully slow. Finally, Braxton declared it was done. He cleaned off the remaining blood, put Steri-strips on the two smaller cuts, and covered each gash with a large bandage. They left Maryn on her stomach as that seemed the easiest spot for now. Braxton evaluated her fingers and toes. “I don’t think she’ll have any damage. Mama, can you bring some warm socks and another blanket? We’ll cover her up and let her rest.”
The morphine must’ve taken full effect because Maryn didn’t respond as they put warm socks on her hands and feet. Braxton covered her up with a sheet and another warm blanket.
“Now we just pray she wakes up in the morning and someone can get through with some antibiotics so she doesn’t get infected,” Braxton muttered.
Tucker looked sharply at him and Brax shook his head. “Sorry. This is what we’re dealing with. You wouldn’t want me to sugar coat it.”
Tucker nodded, the guilt and anguish eating clear through him.
“One of the biggest side effects of morphine is respiratory depression. We need to monitor her closely,” Braxton said.
“We’ll take turns watching her through the night.” Mama Porter nodded and Tucker could already see her making a chart in her head to make it all fair and even.
“No.” Tucker was not leaving her side until she woke up and a doctor snowmobiled in to check her out and give her antibiotics. “I’ll stay with her.”
Braxton and Mama Porter exchanged glances. Johnson stared at him with that level gaze of a friend who knew what he was dealing with. Only someone who had survived Afghanistan would truly understand.
“Keep trying to get through to the Sheriff or the medical center in West. As soon as a doc or EMT can get in here with some antibiotics and whatever else he thinks she needs, I want him here.”
Braxton nodded. He packed up the unused supplies while Mama Porter grabbed a garbage can and Johnson swept the bloodied gauze and ruined clothing into it.
“I brought Max in,” Johnson said. “We’ll stitch her up and keep her in the lower garage tonight. I think she’s going to be okay.”
“Max?” Tuck had no idea what his friend was talking about. Why would their dog need stitches?
“The bear got her too. I think she was trying to protect Ms. Howe.”
“Oh, Max.” The dog loved to explore the Island Park property and was a great companion to all of them. Tucker wished he could bring her upstairs, but he wasn’t up for a fight right now. Mama Porter stayed very firm on the no animals in the house rule. “Let me know how she’s doing.”
Johnson nodded.
They all started to file out, but Mama Porter turned back. “This isn’t your fault, Tucker Shaffer and I won’t let you blame yourself for it.”
Tuck couldn’t respond.
Mama Porter patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll check on you throughout the night and we’ll get a doctor here.”
“Thank you.” He hung his head, but forced himself to look up and call out to his friend. “Brax.”
Braxton pivoted and waited.
“Thank you. I know that wasn’t easy.” Braxton had been a professional so maybe it was easier than Tucker could imagine, but watching that had made him sick. It was hard to imagine how Braxton kept his hands steady and did such a good job.
Braxton dipped his head in acceptance of the simple gratitude and then followed the others down the stairs.
Tucker glanced over Maryn’s still form. She seemed to be sleeping as comfortably as one could whose body had been ripped apart. He pulled an overstuffed leather chair over and sat heavily, knowing this was going to be a miserable night with his demons, regrets, and fears for Maryn and Max’s recovery.
The night passed slowly. Mama Porter brought him Dr. Pepper and sugar cookies, muttering about the batch she burned, but he didn’t touch any of the food. How could he eat and drink his favorites when Maryn might not survive? He passed a hand over his face. Okay, he was being dramatic and that was a word that had never described him before. Maryn should survive, but she was still in danger of infection or not waking up if she had a concussion and her beautiful body might never be the same again. It made his stomach churn.
Tucker stood and paced next to his bed. Maryn seemed to be resting more easily since the last dose of morphine Braxton administered around three a.m. Thank heavens for Braxton’s knowledge and his smuggling of medical supplies from Mexico. Tuck hadn’t known about the morphine, but to see Maryn asleep and not writhing in pain was the best sight he could remember.
He studied her face relaxed in sleep. Her features were delicate, from her small nose to her rosebud lips. She was beautiful, but she hadn’t acted like the type of woman who used her looks to her advantage. Friendly, open, and fun were probably the words that had best described her before she’d seen those pictures and he’d turned into a growling jerk. How would she react to him when she finally opened her eyes? Tucker dreaded and wished for that moment.
A few times in the night she’d twitch restlessly, her eyelids fluttering, and she would mutter something unintelligible. Tucker hovered, brushing her brow with his fingers and murmuring what he hoped were comforting words, until she settled back down.
The sky lightened outside, signaling the sun had risen, but there was too much snow swirling in the air to see past the river. Tuck heard the high whine of a snowmobile and dropped his head. “Thank you, Lord.” He was surprised at how much he’d prayed tonight. After Afghanistan, he’d given up hope of a higher power ever forgiving him for his sins, but he found he could still beg favors for someone else. He gazed over Maryn. He’d do a lot of things for her he never thought he’d do for anyone and he barely knew her.
A loud rap and then the sound of the doctor and Braxton pounding up the stairs drew his attention. Tucker stood on wobbly legs and met them at the entrance to his suite. He extended his hand. “Thanks for coming.”
“Sorry I was so slow. Message just came through a couple hours ago then it was slow going through this storm.”
Tucker shot a glance to Braxton who held up his hands. “We’ve been trying all night. The storm blocked the towers.”
Tucker escorted the doctor into his bedroom. Maryn still slept soundly. The doctor checked her pulse and took her temperature before uncovering her back and probing her neck and spine for a few minutes. “I don’t feel any misalignment, but when she awakens ask her if she’s feeling any pain. If she is, don’t move her. We’ll have to get an ambulance or helicopter in here somehow and transport her if that’s the case.”
Tucker’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t even thought about spinal injury.
The doctor must’ve noticed his expression. “I think it’s unlikely. Just trying to cover all our bases.” He carefully peeled back the bandages and checked the sutures. Maryn stirred but didn’t awaken. The doctor gave a nod to Braxton. “Experienced hand.”
“In another life,” Braxton said, but allowed himself a small smile of pride.
“These aren’t too deep, they should heal nicely. I wonder if she hit her head when the bear threw her.”
“Possibly,” Tucker said. “She was up against the fence when I got there.”
The doctor nodded. “What have you given her for the pain? Was she lucid enough to take anything?” He smoothed antibiotic cream over the wounds and covered each one back up with fresh gauze.
“No.” Braxton studied the winter wonderland outside. “I had some morphine.”
“Where did you get morphine?” The doctor arched an eyebrow.
“Mexico.”
Both the eyebrows shot up. “Not always the most reliable source for medication. When was her last shot?”
“Three a.m.”
“I’ll leave another dose for you to administer around ten. Then try to let her wake up and see how she does. I’ll leave some oral pain killers. I have Lortab and OxyContin to get you through until you can bring her in tomorrow. If this storm abates. I’ll give her a shot of antibiotics and then we’ll just watch to make sure no infection manifests. Watch her for nausea, confusion, headaches, the typical concussion signs. Call me if she manifests any of those.” He sighed. “The cuts aren’t as deep as I feared. She’ll be one sore little lady, but if she doesn’t have head or spinal injury, she should recover just fine.”
Tucker watched silently as the doctor gave Maryn the shot of antibiotics. She didn’t respond to the needle at all. Handing all the supplies over to Braxton, the doctor snapped his bag shut and stood.
“What if she doesn’t wake up?” Tucker asked.
“There is that, but her vital signs are good and the morphine is keeping her pretty sleepy. Give her until that next dose wears off and if she doesn’t start coming around, call me.”
Tucker nodded. “Thank you.”
The doctor shook his hand then left with Braxton. Tucker sank into the chair again. He recognized his body needed sleep, but he just couldn’t allow himself that luxury… not until Maryn opened those blue eyes and reassured him she was okay.
Everything was hazy. Maryn hated the confusion and cloudiness, but it was so much better than the pain when the bear had ripped her apart and battered her around like a toy. She remembered them stitching her up, though she’d been too worn out and drugged to respond to the ouchiness of the needle pulling in and out of her sensitive skin. After the major pain of the bear attack, the stitches weren’t worth complaining about.
There were different voices swirling around her throughout the night, but one was always there, a low almost gravelly voice and the delicious smell that she associated with Tucker. She loved it when she could sense him near, gently touching her, talking to her about who knows what, but it soothed her when she came out of the fog long enough to feel the pain. It felt like the night would never end, but then the room lightened and she sent up a silent prayer of gratitude. She’d survived.
The Feisty One: A Billionaire Bride Pact Romance Page 5
