Graham's Resolution Trilogy Bundle: Books 1-3

by A. R. Shaw

  “Graham?” she asked again and saw where the rock had hit him—or, rather, where his forehead had landed on the rock. McCann checked for breathing. He pushed Macy out of the way and opened the front of Graham’s jacket, then leaned down to his face, turning his head and listening.

  “Is he okay? Is he hit?” Dalton asked.

  “Oh, Jesus!” Rick yelled.

  “Is he breathing?” Macy asked, waiting for the answer. McCann’s brown eyes looked toward Graham’s chest as he listened.

  It was torture, this waiting.

  “Yes,” he said finally.

  McCann pulled away, sat back, and pushed Graham’s hair from his forehead, his hand coming away damp with blood. He further parted Graham’s hair and peered down at the minor split in his scalp. “I think he’s just knocked out. We should get him to Clarisse. He could have swelling.”

  McCann pushed Macy back again as he looked for any other signs of injury that Graham might have. He’d been through the ringer already last winter, and now this.

  Dalton was busy putting pressure on Rick’s wounds. Most of the shot had been absorbed by the ground, but Rick had caught a partial scatter to the lower leg above his boot line.

  “Is Graham okay?” Dalton’s insistent voice beckoned.

  “He’s got a head injury; it’s hard to say. He’s breathing, but we need to get him to Clarisse. How’s Rick?” McCann asked.

  Before Dalton could answer, McCann placed his fingers in his mouth and whistled a loud looping sound toward the forest, and his mare obediently appeared.

  “Rick will be okay; it’s a flesh wound. We can take the Jeep,” Dalton offered.

  “I’m getting him out of here before that guy gets back here. Macy, climb up,” he demanded, holding out his entwined hands for a step hold onto the horse.

  She glanced at Rick and Dalton and back to McCann. She didn’t want to obey, but knew McCann was right. She placed her right hand on McCann’s shoulder, his jacket damp from the rain but strong and unyielding. With her muddy right boot placed in his outstretched hands, she sprung up into the air and looped her left leg over the back end of the mare. Dalton came over and, together, the two men lifted Graham’s unconscious form up and over the center saddle, Macy holding him level.

  “Rick’s gotta come, too!” she said. “Look at all the blood.”

  “McCann will help him hike through the woods to the Jeep,” Dalton said. “I’ll stay and have a word with our new neighbor. That girl has some issues, and he needs to explain why. Macy, go now. I’ll be right behind you. Go straight to Clarisse. Tala doesn’t need to know for now.”

  Macy nodded, and the rain began again as the mare ambled forward with its load. She held the reins, but the horse seemed to know where she was going and trotted gently toward the preppers’ camp with McCann’s orders; Macy was a mere passenger. She blew out a frustrated breath because—again—McCann was owning her.

  Chapter 12 Fleeing Dreams

  She ran, stumbling several times, and finally fell to the wet, uneven ground, muddy and torn. The shot still rang in her ears, the one from before and the one from just now, bringing it all back. Blood appeared vibrant red in her mind as a man toppled over.

  She had run then, as she was running now, blindly into the forest, where she’d hoped the memories would not follow, but it was far too late. They were here now, surrounding her.

  One minute everything was fine, then the men were fighting, and their voices grew even louder until they were on the ground swinging at one another. She fired out of terror and, not knowing the fate of the stranger, she could only run. She ran until the bright and dull shades of green blended and flowed beside her.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dutch followed Liza but didn’t try to catch her; she needed to tire herself out. He kept track of where she was going and hoped she didn’t fall off a cliff. He knew there was trouble with her. She was damaged; he’d seen it before in Afghanistan as they’d rescued women from captivity. They were terrified of any man; even handing water or food was met with a flinch and a frightened stare. He saw this same behavior in this girl, the way she flinched when he’d accidentally brush against her when handing her something. Or the way she never looked him in the eyes and jumped at any loud sound . . . and not trusting him with her name. Someone had done this to her. It made Dutch sick to think about it.

  Liza wasn’t any different from his buddies who were burdened with awful memories of war, and he knew he had to let her ride it out. She needed to be exhausted before he could help her. So he watched and kept his distance. It was then he realized she was his responsibility after all; she wasn’t ready for other people yet. He needed to help make her whole again before he could leave her here alone . . . if they would even have her now.

  Dutch tracked Liza as she fled. She was slowing down; he knew she’d be exhausted soon and her legs would give out. The deep tracks led the way through the muddy earth where, on occasion, he could see her handprints, too. Not long now, he thought. She’ll hit the ground soon. And then he came upon her, curled around her herself, her red hair wildly strewn in a crown about her as she sobbed in great heaves while her breath tried to catch up with her.

  He approached carefully, toward her barricaded back, which harbored her broken but beating heart. She was torn and lost; he’d seen it but didn’t know how badly until today. She was strong, but no one is invincible.

  He knelt down beside her and gently said, “Liza?”

  She curled herself up tighter.

  “Liza,” Dutch said again, reaching out a hand to stroke her temple.

  She shot her ivy-green eyes at him with terror. She jerked away from his hand until she could see through the fog. His hand remained in a hover, waiting for her permission.

  Knowing now that it was him, she closed her eyes and cried more softly.

  It was enough of an invitation, and Dutch brushed her hair away from her face. “It’s okay, Liza. Everything is going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “Did I . . . did I . . . kill him?” she choked between ragged breaths.

  “No.”

  As Liza cried tears of relief, Dutch lifted her head onto his lap and stroked her vibrant hair. She trembled in his grasp, her soul wounded by this life. She tried to speak between sobs, so he bent low to hear her words.

  “My name . . . is Lucy.”

  Chapter 13 The Messenger

  Macy found once herself again carting an unconscious Graham to get aid. She held her hat over him as much as she could and checked the scalp wound frequently. His scalp poured blood in a stream. She was suddenly glad there was no snow on the ground, remembering how bright blood shows in contrast against the white.

  The river’s roar neared; she would soon be in the preppers’ camp. She resisted the urge to push the horse faster, knowing she needed to keep Graham stable more than she needed speed. The horse crossed the bridge with ease, and Macy peered around, wondering where Sheriff had gotten off to; she hoped he wasn’t fighting for his life against the other two dogs. She also hoped Tala wasn’t out in the woods to see them like this—Graham unconscious and her carrying him away. It felt like a betrayal, and she resented being left to deceive Tala.

  Soon they reached the camp, and Steven, after a double take, ran up to her side.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “There was a shot,” Macy began.

  “He’s shot?” Steven asked.

  “No, Graham fell. Rick’s shot,” she said, regretting her words right away.

  “Rick?”

  “Yes, but it’s not bad. They’re coming.”

  “Again, what the hell happened?” Steven asked, but then ignored her when she tried to answer; instead he yelled, “Clarisse!”

  Sam came to help them, and Macy again attempted an explanation as Steven began to pull Graham from the saddle.

  “Someone fired a shotgun, and Graham dove down, hitting his head on a rock, and some of the pellets struck Rick in t
he leg. But he’s fine. McCann is bringing him in with the Jeep.”

  “Okay, I think I get it,” Steven said. By the time he and Sam had a hold of the unconscious body and turned it over, Graham had started to moan. Blood was everywhere, his face covered in it. He began to move, bringing his arm up to his head sleepily. When he pulled his hand away, it was dripping with gore. Macy turned her gaze away as she descended the mount. Taking the reins, she looked for a place to tie them when she heard Clarisse.

  Steven went into medic mode, looking into Graham’s eyes and calling out medical details and jargon to Clarisse. They made little sense to Macy, but when they took Graham away she knew he’d be okay. As she tied McCann’s horse to a slender pine where she would be out of most of the rain, she realized the mare would need a wipe-down and a drink. She was walking through the mist to retrieve a cloth and some water from the tank to clean her off when Sam intercepted her.

  “Are you okay, Macy?” he said, placing a cautious hand on her shoulder as he gave her a once-over. Blood stained her slacks and jacket where she had held onto Graham.

  “Yes, I’m fine, Sam,” she assured him, standing a little taller. He looked as if he doubted her words, and she wasn’t sure why.

  “What happened out there? Do I need to go help?” Sam asked.

  “I think things are fine now; Dalton and McCann have it under control. I don’t really know what happened. I came up and found McCann tied up with two dogs guarding him. Then we heard a shot, and when we got there some lady ran off through the woods and Graham was lying there . . .” she began to choke up, remembering the scene.

  Sam pulled her to him.

  “It’s okay, Macy. He’s going to be fine. He was just knocked out. It’s only a scalp wound, and they bleed a lot, which makes it look worse than it is. He’s awake now and pissed off, but he’s fine,” Sam soothed her.

  He took the bucket of water from her hands. Together they washed the blood from the mare’s chestnut hide until the water ran clear; then they let her drink fresh water. Macy relayed all she knew from the scene until the rumble of Dalton’s Jeep reverberated through the quiet.

  Steven came out and relayed to Clarisse what was wrong with Rick, as if he was only a body instead of his best friend.

  “Will you knock it off?” Rick snarled. Steven ignored any utterance from the patient, however, and threatened him with a tetanus shot in the ass if he didn’t shut up.

  Macy watched their back-and-forth with amusement until she saw McCann staring at her in the distance; she cut her eyes away and went back to caring for his horse.

  When McCann approached her, Sam went to help with Rick. Macy still didn’t look at McCann, continuing to dry the horse instead.

  “Why did you follow us, Macy?” McCann asked. He stood too close to her.

  “I wasn’t following you,” she lied.

  McCann waited a minute beside her, and she felt him watching her hand stroke the horse.

  “Yes you were.”

  “I’m going to go and let Tala know what happened,” she whispered.

  He clasped her wrist in midstroke. “Macy,” he said, gently pulling the rag from her grasp. He was shaking, and she wasn’t sure what that meant.

  “I’m fine, McCann,” she said, pulling away, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead he pulled her toward him and she relented with begrudging reluctance.

  His raspy voice whispered into her ear as he held her close. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

  Macy’s eyes widened. She was all too aware of his closeness and though she wanted someone to hold her like this, she didn’t ever want to risk having her heart broken by losing someone else she loved. She placed her hands on his strong arms and pushed herself away from him.

  “I’m not yours, McCann.” She turned from him as one corner of his mouth bent upward.

  He pulled her toward his chest again, despite her resistance, and whispered, “I don’t want to own you, Macy. I just want you by my side, standing beside me. Only a man with a death wish would ever try to possess you.” He then quickly released her.

  She started to lead the horse away by the reins and turned to see if McCann was still watching her. He was, and she wasn’t certain anymore if having him close annoyed her or if she’d just made a truce . . . of sorts.

  Chapter 14 The Girl

  With Dalton on one side and McCann on the other, they managed to get Rick to the Jeep—after stopping twice to rewrap his calf. Dalton knew buckshot to the shin must hurt terribly, but at least it wasn’t life threatening. He would just have to hear Rick complain like a pansy for a while.

  “You sure you don’t want to come with us?” McCann asked.

  “No, get him in. I’ll walk back. That girl might need to be looked at, too.”

  “I’ll come back after I drop off Rick,” McCann had said.

  “Good idea,” Dalton replied. In the back of his mind, he was a bit jealous of Rick at the moment because he’d at least be in the vicinity of Clarisse soon. Being near her was something Dalton tried to arrange on a daily basis, despite the way their lives were now.

  He tapped the truck’s door, and when McCann took off, he double-timed it back to Dutch’s camp. Although he thought Dutch’s tactics were flawed, he didn’t think the guy was bad unless it turned out he had been abusing the girl. If that was the case, Dalton didn’t care what the guy had witnessed; he’d grab the girl and send Dutch on his way. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

  On his approach he saw the man carrying the young woman through the rain. Her arm held him tight across the neck and her damp red hair hung down in ringlets across his arm.

  “She okay?” Dalton called.

  “Yeah. She’s shaken up, but she’s okay,” Dutch said as he came into camp. He sat her down in the fur-lined chair she had fled from earlier, which had partially been covered with a tarp to cast out the rain.

  Dalton knelt by her side. She shivered and her lips trembled. “Are you all right, Miss?” he asked. She flicked her eyes up at Dutch without answering. Dutch wrapped another blanket around her and picked up the shotgun she’d dropped before. Dalton watched as he wiped off the dirt and checked the load.

  “I want to talk to you . . . in private,” Dalton said as he stood up.

  Dutch nodded, telling Lucy, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  A short distance away, Dalton waited for Dutch to catch up. He contemplated losing his cool but knew that wouldn’t be good for the girl, considering how she’d reacted before. With his hands on his hips, he asked the man in an angry but controlled voice, “Do you mind telling me what the hell just happened here?”

  By all appearances, Dutch seemed calm, and he didn’t strike Dalton as a bad sort—meaning, he didn’t think the guy had harmed the girl himself. But Dutch certainly hadn’t given them the best impression. His behavior with Rick had been unsettling, but it was something Dalton would have done himself if the roles had been reversed. Dutch had calculated that they were coming in to see him; he didn’t know what kind of people they were, and he took precautions to keep himself and the girl safe from them. These actions were warranted in the world they lived in now. Anyone with a tactical mind would have done the same. Dalton felt it was his own fault for not anticipating this, but he set up sentry guards himself and, given Dutch’s actions, he considered him an equal.

  Having Rick knock the crap out of Dutch was also predictable. Rick was humorless when humiliated; Dalton felt the blame and knew he should have stopped his buddy’s attack.

  What wasn’t expected was the girl’s reaction, and Dalton was afraid he knew the answer as to why she behaved the way she did. He just hoped Dutch wasn’t the one who’d abused her.

  “I think she had a flashback,” Dutch explained and looked Dalton in the eye. “She’s just a kid. She works hard, but she’s skittish. I came upon her fleeing from the invaders. She’s been traumatized; I don’t know to what extent.” He shook his head.

  “She ever done anyt
hing like this before?” Dalton asked.

  “No. She’s quiet. She was scared to death when I first found her. It’s taken weeks for her to even look at me straight. She only just told me her name—Lucy. It wasn’t her fault; I shouldn’t have set her up with the shotgun. We haven’t been around anyone else. I had no idea she’d react that way.”

  “You’re not with her, right?” Dalton had to ask. He could see right away that Dutch was offended at even the suggestion.

  “I could be her father, man. Hell, no! She’s a girl, maybe twenty. And I’m almost fifty.”

  Dalton nodded, relieved at his answer. “Look, besides her, we have a lot to talk about. Why don’t you two come back to camp with me? I have a doctor who can take a look at her and make sure she’s okay. Then we can talk about these invaders and decide what to do.” At that time, McCann came into the clearing, heading their way.

  “I don’t know where my dogs ran off to, and I’m not leaving my provisions unguarded here,” Dutch said. “My only task was to warn you guys, drop her off, and be on my way. I’ve done that, and I’ll be leaving as soon as she’s taken care of.”

  “You mean you’re leaving her here with us?” Dalton asked.

  “Yeah, if you’ll have her. She really is a good worker; she’s just a little traumatized,” Dutch explained.

  “Don’t you think that’s up to her?” McCann asked once he caught on to the gist of their conversation. Dalton could tell the kid didn’t much like this guy’s style.

  “She’s not mine. I only found her. Or rather, she found me, fleeing for her life only a few weeks ago. I’m a loner, and she needs other people her own age to be around,” Dutch said.

  “All right; let’s have McCann, here, take her back to our camp. She can stay the night with Clarisse after she’s looked at. We’ll figure out her living arrangements later. McCann, have Sam and Reuben come back with you.”