Coop edged closer to the body, taking in the scene with a glance. Blonde. Five foot seven or so. From what he could see, attractive. Thor was licking the woman’s face, nudging her, as if to wake her. “Enough.” He signaled, and Thor stopped. “We can’t help her now.” Stunned by the body, Coop leaned closer. Blood had flowed from her head, down her face, and onto what looked like very expensive clothes.
His military training sent him into a crouch by the woman’s body with a finger to her neck. Her pulse was weak. Not dead as he expected. Her breathing though, was irregular and shallow.
Putting his hands to her chest, he gave a few compressions, sat back.
“Breathe!” After a moment the woman choked and coughed.
Thank God.
The last thing he wanted was a dead body on his hands.
Thor trembled. He’d been trained to help a fallen soldier.
Another clap of thunder echoed off the lake.
He checked the woman’s pulse again. Her heartbeat had accelerated to dangerous levels.
Heaving a deep sigh, he pulled out his cell phone. Now he would be involved in a long series of explanations. The cops would most likely be suspicious of him, since he was carrying. He didn’t need this.
He started to make the call, when her hand grabbed his wrist. He jerked back, but the woman’s hand was locked tight, and he fell on his butt. Mud splashed, but her grip grew even tighter. “Don’t!” Her voice was a barely-there whisper.
Coop’s heart trip-hammered in his chest. As rain poured on and around them, he sat up. Blood mixed with rain as she blinked and stared. “I need to call the cops and an ambulance.” She needed medical attention. Fast.
If anyone knew how to identify a gunshot wound, it would be Coop and his brothers. They’d been in more than one firefight in Afghanistan and had the wounds to prove it.
“No. Please. I’ll be all right.” Her voice was soft, with an East Texas accent. Who was she?
She struggled to sit up. Coop put an arm around her shoulders and helped her to a sitting position. “Take it easy. We don’t know how serious your wound is.”
She put a shaky hand to her head to wipe the rain away. Her hand came away covered in blood. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
She shook her head. Winced.
“Someone shot you. I heard a car, a gunshot, and then the car left. Whoever it was, must have thought you were dead.” Either that, or Thor’s barking frightened them off.
She dropped her head into her hands. “I don’t remember.”
“I’m going to leave Thor with you for a minute. He’ll keep you safe. I want to recon the area.” Though he thought the shooter long gone, his training told him to make sure.
She took hold of his arm. “I won’t be long. I promise.” He peeled her hand off. “You’ll be all right for a few minutes.” If he was lucky, he would at least find the cartridge.
“Pass,” Coop gave Thor the signal to guard. The dog went to stand close to the woman, his ears perked up in attention mode. No one would get past him. Taking off his windbreaker, Coop draped it over the woman’s head. Not that it would do much good. It was raining too hard.
Still crouched, and watching in every direction, Coop took off as fast as possible. When he got to the lane leading into the property, he saw a few tire tracks that were quickly being wiped away by the rain. No footprints. No gun casing.
To be on the safe side, he extended his search a good fifty feet. The rain and brush made searching next to impossible.
Convinced the shooter had left the scene, he hurried back to the woman and Thor. She hadn’t moved. Neither had Thor. “Good dog.” He gave Thor a quick pat on the head.
“We’re soaked, and the rain isn’t letting up. Let’s get out of here.” He helped the woman to a standing position. Every movement made her wound bleed more.
“You need a hospital.”
“No.”
The woman looked around. Rain pounded harder than ever. The ground was turning to a river of mud. “Did I have a handbag?”
“I don’t see one.” Thor let out a loud bark. “We need to leave. Whoever shot you may come back.”
He hadn’t taken his hand from around her waist. She was none too steady, so he was forced to hold her upright. “You may think I’m crazy, but I’m going to take your jacket.”
He helped her out of it. She didn’t complain. It was as if she didn’t fully comprehend what was going on around her.
He wasn’t surprised.
Taking it, he threw it as far as he could into the dancing water. “My truck isn’t too far.” If the killer came back, they’d think she had washed into the lake. At least he hoped so.
The woman staggered. “I’ll have to carry you.” She looked thin, and probably didn’t weigh one twenty.
“I can make it.”
“No. You can’t.” She wouldn’t make it ten feet. He bent, picked her up in his arms and tromped toward his truck. Though she wasn’t that heavy, the pouring rain, weeds, and his bum leg hampered his progress. His accelerated heartbeat didn’t help.
He’d been out of training too long.
Finally, he opened the back door of his pickup and put her inside as gently as possible, bringing mud and water with them. Thor jumped into the front. The injured woman lay back, her eyes almost rolling in her head. He patted her face gently. When she looked at him again, she was more conscious. “My name is Cooper Browning. I’m going to do a quick field dressing on your wound. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She was way too pale. Hell, he’d thought her dead. What did he expect?
He secured her seatbelt, took a gauze pad out of his first-aid kit and wiped her wound with water from his water bottle. It was more than a graze. Luckily, the bullet had hit at an angle and knocked her out. He was convinced Thor’s barking kept the killer from pumping a few more rounds into her head.
From the way he visualized the scenario playing out, the woman had Thor to thank for saving her life.
He put a gauze pad over the wound as gently as he could and taped it tight. Scrabbling around the floorboard, he found an old T-shirt, wadded it up and pressed it against the wound. “Hold it as tight as you can.” It was still bleeding, but it was the best he could do. Whoever this woman was, she needed a doctor.
Her turquoise eyes tracked his every movement. Something stirred in him. He ignored it.
He tucked an old blanket around her wet, trembling body, got in the driver’s seat, and turned the heat up to high. Reaching over, he patted Thor. “Good boy. You knew the lady was alive.” Muddy, wet clothes clung to his cold skin. Until now, adrenaline had kept discomfort at bay. Now, he was freezing. So was the victim. And she could go into shock. He had to hurry.
He left the area, pulled onto the lake road, and made sure no other vehicle was in the area. Thank God. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see him leave, especially if that anyone happened to be a killer. From there, he hurried as fast as the rain allowed and got back on the freeway.
What was he to do?
He knew what he should do. Haul ass to the nearest hospital and let them take care of her.
He pointed his pickup in that direction.
There was a moan from the backseat. Yep. Definitely a hospital.
“Where are you going?” Her voice was so low he barely heard it.
“Hospital. You’re badly injured.”
“No! Please.” She started to cry. Though weak, her hiccupping sobs got to him. There was something desperate about her. She said she couldn’t remember. If that were so, how did she know she shouldn’t go to a hospital? Or shouldn’t report an attempted murder to the cops?
He slowed the pickup. Hadn’t something similar happened in Afghanistan? After a firefight, a buddy had been injured. He’d been close to the blast and had been unconscious for a while. When he came to, and they were headed back to base, he begged them to take another route. Their logical explanation that they were g
oing the closest way and he needed medical attention didn’t matter, he was adamant. So, they went the long way. Later, they learned a landmine had killed all those in a Hummer that was on the road they were to take.
Sixth sense? Premonition?
Whatever it was, against his better judgment, he’d do this her way. He pulled out his cell phone. “Doc, I have an emergency. I need you at the homestead. Bring as much surgical stuff as you think necessary for a bullet wound. Throw in an IV drip just in case. You know more than I do about the essentials. “
“It sounds as if you need a hospital.”
“Special circumstance.”
“Damn it, Coop. You know the law. I have to report bullet wounds.”
“Talk to you when we get there. Till then, this operation is Need To Know.”
“Shit!” She hung up.
“Can you hear me?” He raised his voice so the woman would stay awake. It was possible she had a concussion along with the bullet wound.
“I hear you.”
“Can you tell me your name?”
There was a long pause before she answered. “No.”
“No, you can’t, or no, you won’t? Is there anyone I can call? Family?”
Another long pause. “My memory. It’s gone. I can’t remember.”
“Don’t worry about it now, just stay awake.”
“I’ll try.”
Her voice was getting weaker. Was he doing the right thing? Was he risking her life by listening to her?
“Tell me why you don’t want to go to the hospital?”
Silence.
“Did you hear me?”
“I don’t know. It’s a feeling. Strong. I’ll die if I go there.”
“You may die if you don’t.”
“I’ll take my chances. If you take me to a hospital, I’ll refuse care. Since I don’t have money, maybe you could loan me enough for a couple of nights at a motel. If I rest, I’ll be fine. I’ll pay you back.”
Stubborn woman.
Even with a bullet wound and barely conscious, she knew what she wanted and was determined to have it.
“I can call the cops?”
“Nooo!” she wailed. “I told you before. I won’t be safe with them.”
He banged a hand on the steering wheel. “How the hell do you know you’ll be safe with me? How do you know I’m not the one who pulled the trigger and put you in this condition? How do you know you can trust me?”
There was more traffic now than earlier, probably because everyone wanted to get home and out of the rain. He slowed the truck and drove especially careful.
She sat forward to lean as close as she could. “I don’t know. Maybe the same reason I know I wouldn’t be safe with the cops or at a hospital. Please. Can you do this simply on faith?” She patted Thor’s head before she fell against the backseat.
“I don’t know, ma’am. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. If you go and die on me, I’ll be accused of murder. Do you want that on your conscience?”
If he thought she’d relent with that statement, he was mistaken.
She let out a soft bark that might have passed for laughter if she weren’t so weak.
“I’ll be fine. You’ll see. When my memory returns, I’ll know whether to go to the cops or not.”
She shut her eyes.
His gaze went from the road to his rearview mirror and the woman slumped against the seat. “Stay awake.”
“I am awake.”
“Then open your eyes.”
“Too tired.”
Who the hell was this stubborn woman? How did she get herself in this position?
How had he? He should ignore her wants and do what he knew was right. Instead, he was doing the opposite.
“Is there anything you can tell me about yourself?”
Her eyes opened to slits. “Like where I grew up? Went to school? Where I live?”
“Yeah.” If he could get some information out of her, he’d unload her and her problems on somebody else’s doorstep and get back to his case.
“Haven’t a clue.” Her eyes shut again.
“I could use a name.”
“Don’t have one.”
“What should I call you? Jane Doe?”
There went that soft bark again. She couldn’t be too badly hurt. “Make up one.”
“Lori, Marcie, Margie, Thelma, Reanna, Karen, Della?”
“Anything but Thelma. You pick.”
He played the game to keep her awake. “Lori or Margie?”
She sighed. “Lori.”
“Good. That’s settled. We’re almost there. How do you feel, Lori? Does anything hurt?”
“Head.”
“Understandable.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to the homestead. One of my best friends is a doctor. She’ll tend to your wound. I warn you, though. If she says you need a hospital, that’s where you’ll go.”
The lashing rainstorm hadn’t eased and he couldn’t get warm. He could only imagine how chilled Lori must be. Her lips were so blue they were purple and her body was shaking. She could go into shock. He didn’t want that.
“No. I won’t. I may not know who I am, but I’m not ready to die. If I go to a hospital or to the cops, that’s what will happen.”
Was she on the up and up? How could she possibly know? Was she pretending amnesia for nefarious reasons? Could be if she knew who’d shot her and didn’t want them to know she was alive—if she was involved in a crime and didn’t want to be caught?
There were dozens of scenarios out there. Since he didn’t know whether he could trust her or not, he’d watch her closely.
If she raised his suspicions to a higher level, he’d call the cops no matter how loud she yelled.
Then again, maybe he wouldn’t have to.
Her family would notify the authorities, and there would be a missing persons bulletin. Simple.
He’d wait and see.
The truth would come out eventually.
Lashing rain eased to a sedate drizzle.
Before long he turned into the lane leading to the homestead.
He pulled his pickup as close to the house as possible. Doc Louise, a big red-and-white striped umbrella in hand, ran out the door to meet them.
Doc might not approve of the burden dropped in her lap, but instead of shying away, she was heading straight for it—ready, as always, to help, and to heal.
Chapter Two
Lori watched the frowning red-haired woman come toward them. It was clear she didn’t approve of the situation.
Neither did Lori. She wanted to be at home, wherever home was, curled up by a fire with a good book—warm rather than freezing to death. Instead, she couldn’t stop shaking, and not only didn’t know where home was, she didn’t know who she was.
The man who called himself Cooper opened her door, reached in, and picked her up. “I can walk.”
“I doubt it.”
A couple of adjustments and he was limping toward the house, the woman holding an umbrella over their heads.
Lori, it wasn’t her name, but it would have to do until she could remember, leaned against his broad chest and sighed. Though chilled, frightened, and hurt, she felt safe, as if this man would take care of her. She sank deeper into his strong arms, inhaled his scent. Rain and fresh air mixed with male. Her head felt light. Was she going to pass out? Or did she simply like the feel of his arms around her? She heaved a deep sigh that sounded to her more like a contented purr.
An older woman, no more than five-feet-tall held the door open, her face lined with concern. “I have the guest room ready.”
He took her there, his boots squishing water on hardwood floors. “Not the bed,” she begged. “I’m too wet and muddy.”
“I’ll handle it from here,” the younger woman said as Cooper put Lori on her feet in the middle of a nice, warm room and walked out. Shivering, she looked around at the pretty, blue sheers on the windows, the hardwoo
d floors with a hooked rug by an old four-poster. A handmade quilt in all shades of blue was spread on top. She wanted to wrap herself in it, curl up in the bed, and forget what had just happened.
The panic she’d felt ever since she first opened her eyes and saw the blue-eyed man staring at her in disbelief slowly diminished.
Though her body was shaking from cold and shock, she felt safe. She didn’t know these people, but the safe feeling warmed her shivering body.
The younger woman started to undress her. “Do you have any dry clothes?”
“I’ll see.” And the older woman was off, the door shutting firmly behind her.
The woman with the pretty red hair took off Lori’s top, wiped her with a towel and then wrapped her in it. “You can call me Doc Louise, or simply Doc. You’re covered in mud. If you’ll sit on the chair, I’ll check you out.” She took Lori’s temperature, checked her heart with her stethoscope and removed the dressing from her forehead. “It isn’t bleeding, and other than an accelerated heartbeat, you seem to be holding up well. Let’s get you in a hot shower and get some of that mud off. Is that okay with you? After that, I’ll give you some fluids through an IV.”
“I think a shower would feel good, but I don’t think I need an IV.” Anything warm would feel wonderful. An IV wouldn’t.
They were in the bathroom, her clothes gone. When she stepped into the shower and hot water cascaded over her shivering body, she wanted to cry in gratitude.
Doc was right there. “I’ll put a little shampoo in your hair. I see mud.”
The doctor proceeded to bathe her like a baby. A good thing, since she felt as weak as one and was hanging onto the side of the shower to keep from falling.
It wasn’t a long shower, but when she stepped out and was wrapped in a large, soft towel, she felt considerably better.
The older woman passed a pair of sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt through the door. “There’s a cup of tea on the nightstand.” The door closed.
The clothes didn’t fit. The pants were at least six inches too short and the top was too tight. It would do. She was grateful for dry clothes and a clean body. She could have died.
Wounded at the Lake Page 2
