Wind River Lawman

by Lindsay McKenna

  Gertie’s thin lips curved upward. She cackled loudly. “Every minute of every day, Mr. Callahan. And don’t you ever forget it!”

  Chuckling, he led Gertie out of the elevator to the restaurant across the hallway. “No, ma’am, I’ll never forget it,” he solemnly promised her. “I’m just glad you’re a warrior for the light and not the dark, or we’d all be in a helluva lot of trouble.”

  Gertie’s laughter floated up and down the hall.

  Chapter Eleven

  June 21

  Dawson felt exhaustion creeping upon him. It was 4:00 a.m. by the time he was allowed to see Sarah. The two groups of family members stayed for ten minutes each, not wanting to tax her. They would come back during regular visiting hours, from ten a.m. to eight p.m., from here on out. Everyone agreed Sarah needed her rest. As he took the elevator up to the third floor, where her room was, he tried to rein in his emotions. What he wanted to do to comfort her, and what he should do, which was keep his hands off, were in a tug-of-war within him.

  At the nurses’ station, he was given Sarah’s room number. Everything was pretty much dark on the floor because the other patients were sleeping. He wiped his smarting eyes as he moved soundlessly down the highly polished hall toward her private room. The door was partly open. As he pushed it wider, he saw a nurse fiddling with the IV stand near Sarah’s bed. The room was semilit, the shadows deep, and he was sure she was probably asleep. Removing his hat, Dawson stood just inside the door, making sure the nurse saw him. She looked up, smiled briefly and finished her work on the IV, then turned toward him.

  “She’s very tired, Mr. Callahan. Make it brief, please?”

  “I will,” he promised, stepping aside so she could leave.

  Moving quietly into the room, he saw how Sarah’s leg was supported beneath the light blue blankets across the lower half of her body. Her eyes were shut, her skin frighteningly pale. If Dawson hadn’t seen this same kind of pallor in combat, when one of the Marines was shot, he’d have been even more worried. Her skin was tight, and he wondered as he approached her bed if she was in pain. Just getting to be with Sarah fed his heart, his soul, in unexpected but wonderful ways. She was going to live.

  He pulled up a chair, not making any noise, and sat down, facing her. Her ginger-colored hair was mussed, and he wanted to gently smooth some of those strands away from her face, knowing how most women hated when their hair wasn’t in place. He saw the light sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks and nose now. Her lips were chapped, parted, and he watched the slow rise and fall of her chest beneath her blue hospital gown. Looking up, he could read the monitors, seeing that her functions were all within normal ranges. Another layer of angst peeled off him. He was damned glad he’d had medical training, as well as combat experience with wounded comrades. It served to tell him much more than the untrained civilian, who wouldn’t know how to read those numbers, much less interpret them. Sarah was stable. That was the best sign of all.

  There was no such thing as quiet in a hospital; the beeps of the machines, the low noise floating into the room from the nurses’ station was constant. Noise pollution. It was a wonder anyone slept at all in them, or got well. The smell of bleach was prevalent. Sitting there, hands resting on his thighs, Dawson absorbed Sarah as she slept. She was beautiful in his eyes, strong, confident and just the kind of woman he’d always wanted to meet but never had. Until now.

  Glancing down at his watch, he saw his time was almost up. Dawson wasn’t about to wake her up to ask how she was doing. Sarah had almost died. She would go through a helluva evolution about her dance on the blade of death. Dawson had seen it in his friends who had walked a similar combat path and nearly died. He’d been there when they finally opened up days afterward, and he’d watched the realization sink into them. Some of them cried, some struggled to come to grips with why they’d lived and their buddy hadn’t. Survivor’s guilt was very, very real. And it had sharp, savage teeth. He hoped Sarah wouldn’t go through that.

  At least he’d found out earlier that the two wounded deputies had survived. One was in ICU, still in critical condition, but the nurses had told him he was improving. There was great hope he’d recover fully or near enough. Sarah would feel responsible for her deputies being wounded; Dawson knew it. She would take on the guilt of not being able to protect her people. Never mind that she was far removed from the kitchen, where Brian Elson had pulled a gun and shot them.

  He slowly stood up, taking the chair back to the corner where he’d found it. Walking to her bedside, he leaned over, barely touching an errant strand of hair, carefully pulling it away from her temple. The powerful desire to hold her, make her feel safe in her highly unsafe world, ripped through him. Just holding her, Dawson knew, would be good for Sarah’s state of jumbled, torn-up emotions.

  It would have to wait until another day. Straightening, he turned and left as quietly as he’d come.

  * * *

  Sarah’s heart thudded when she saw Dawson come moseying into her room. It was shortly after lunch. He had his hands at his sides, looking so strong and confident in that quiet way of his. Wearing jeans, a red-and-white-plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the dark hair on his lower arms, a black Stetson in one hand and a bouquet of pink roses in the other, buoyed her ragged emotions. She looked up, meeting his dark, unfathomable gaze, his expression unreadable. Oh, she knew that military game face, for sure. She watched his gray eyes thaw, and warmth flooded her. That very male mouth of his, the sculpted lips she wanted to touch and outline with her fingertips and mouth, lifted a little, greeting her silently.

  “Shucks,” Dawson teased, “here I thought you’d be asleep again and I could put these roses by your bedside so that when you woke up, you’d see something pretty.”

  “Hi,” she managed, her throat sore, her voice scratchy. Picking nervously at the blanket, Sarah tried to harness the violent churn of emotions. Her family had come with flowers earlier that morning, and that had lifted her spirits, too. But his bouquet meant something else to her that made her feel less edgy, calmer.

  Dawson smiled and halted at her bedside after placing his hat aside. “You’re looking better, Sarah.”

  “As opposed to what?” she asked, lifting her hand weakly as he placed the roses near enough for her to inhale their wonderful fragrance.

  “I visited you around four a.m. this morning and you looked exhausted even while you slept.” He eased the bouquet away and spotted a vase sitting on the window ledge. “You’ve got some color in your cheeks now. How are you doing?”

  There was no one she’d wanted to see more than Dawson. Swallowing, pain coming on its heels, she said, “Better, I guess . . . I’m still woozy, I can’t think hardly at all. It’s awful,” and she followed him with her gaze, watching him set the bouquet on the window frame and take the glass vase to the bathroom.

  “You’re still getting rid of the anesthesia that’s swimming around in your system. It usually takes forty-eight hours before it leaves completely, and your thoughts actually work. Drink a lot of water. That will help you get rid of it quicker. It’s a long process you’ve got to go through,” he warned, coming back with the vase filled with water.

  Didn’t she know that? She had IVs in both arms. So many lines going here and there to take her pulse, her oxygen level, her heartbeat. She watched Dawson put the flowers into the vase.

  “Where would you like your roses, Sarah?”

  “There on the window ledge is fine. Thank you . . .” and she saw his face thaw some more, that unreadable look beginning to dissolve, replaced with an expression she thought might be compassion.

  “I stopped at the nurses’ desk before coming in here,” Dawson told her, walking over to the chair and bringing it to her bedside. “I don’t know if you got the latest medical update on your deputies?”

  Touched deeply that he’d think of her, of what was bothering her most, the people she worked with and were her close friends being wounded, she said
, “My dad visited me at ten a.m. and said that Jeff had been released this morning. His shoulder injury is a lot better than the wounds Craig and I got. We’re stuck here.”

  “Yes, Jeff is back home, from what Gertie told me earlier. The nurse said Craig James is still in ICU, but he’s slowly improving. They have him in a medically induced coma until the swelling in his brain recedes.”

  Grimacing, she whispered, “This is so devastating, Dawson,” and her voice trailed off. She avoided his gaze. Her stomach churned and she tasted bitterness in the back of her mouth. She’d killed a man. Brian Elson was dead. She’d heard Roberta was hysterical over his death. Their sons were threatening to kill the deputies, come after her. Which explained why there was a deputy on guard outside her door and would be there 24/7 until she left the hospital.

  Unnerved by so many unexpected events, she absorbed Dawson’s nearness. If only she could crawl into his arms, have them wrap around her, hold her for just a moment because she didn’t feel safe at all. Worse, she worried about those three grown Elson sons coming into the hospital, which was now on high alert, another deputy down on the first floor in the ER, watching for anything suspicious. The hospital wasn’t on lockdown, but she could feel the tension in the nurses who cared for her. They didn’t want a crazed Elson coming into the hospital with an AR-15 or AK-47, murdering doctors, nurses and patients to find and kill her.

  “You did what you had to do, Sarah,” Dawson said gently. He looked out the door, to where the deputy was standing. There was a chair nearby, so he could sit when he wanted to. “We’ve both been in combat. We’ve had friends who were killed or wounded and we’ve seen it happen.” He reached out to where her hand rested against her belly, caressed it briefly. “As I understand it, you were in the bedroom with Roberta when Brian pulled a gun and shot the deputies in the kitchen.”

  Her brows dipped. “Y-yes.” How warm and consoling Dawson’s hand felt on hers. Sarah almost blurted that she wanted him to keep holding her as he drew it away. He gave her a respite from raw feelings ravaging her.

  “I imagine you’re feeling pretty rugged right now,” he ventured.

  The kind understanding in his eyes spilled over her, making her feel less guilty. “Rocky,” she muttered, clasping her hands, avoiding his gaze. “If I’m honest? Really, really rocky.”

  “Are you in pain?” and Dawson turned, looking at the leg beneath the lightweight covers.

  She lifted her hand, touching her gown over her chest. “No pain in the leg, but where that first bullet of Elson’s hit me in the vest? It’s throbbing like a banshee.”

  “Would you consider a chemical ice pack over the area? I think it could give you some relief. Bruises can hurt worse than a wound.”

  “That’s right, I keep forgetting you’re a paramedic.”

  “One of my specialties,” he agreed. “Are you game?”

  “Did you bring your medic pack?” she asked, slight amusement in her hoarse tone.

  Shaking his head, he smiled a little, then stood. “No. But I’ll tell the nurse you could use a couple of those chem packs. I’ll be right back.”

  Watching him move silently out of her room brought back to Sarah once more that Dawson had been recon Marine and had survived in deep black ops. The man had lived six months at a time in Indian Country or the Sandbox, as they called it, in enemy territory in Afghanistan. And like many of the operators she had known, he was self-effacing and humble. A civilian meeting Dawson would never realize who he was or what he had sacrificed for their country. Operators knew they were the best-trained people in the military world; there was no need to tell anyone about it. In fact, the operators she’d known never bragged, but always gave their team the praise, not themselves.

  Her heart swelled with so many emotions for Dawson. Seeing him today was exactly what she’d needed. She’d loved seeing her parents again this morning, along with the grannies. They had surrounded her with a loving safety net. Dawson fed her on another level, but she was too worn and shocky to think more about it.

  Dawson came back ten minutes later with two packs in his hands. “Success. Want me to get one ready for you?” and he held up one of the plastic bags.

  “Yeah. I’m not exactly keen about slapping it against my knee to start the chemical reaction, though.”

  “I’ll do the heavy lifting for you,” he said, and slapped it hard against his knee, which released the chemicals to mix and then turn icy cold.

  Sarah smoothed down the top of her gown and said, “Put it over this area?”

  Dawson did, making sure he didn’t touch her. She gave him a look of thanks, settling it exactly where she wanted it on her upper chest. He could see signs of deep bruising where the collar revealed the damaged skin beneath it. The color was a deep, vivid red mixed with purple.

  “Thanks.”

  “Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked, sitting down once more.

  “Out of here, maybe?”

  Grinning, he said, “Spoken like a type A that’s been hobbled and can’t be on the move like they prefer.”

  Giving him a sour look, Sarah said, “Got that right. I’ve already ordered my second-in-command to bring me up to date on what’s going on at our office.” She stared at her left leg. “I hate hospitals . . .”

  “Yeah, they’re not big on my list either. You look worried about something. Want to share?”

  “My mom and dad want me to recuperate at their home. Did they tell you that?” Because they were the ones who had told her this morning that he’d been there from the beginning, and that he’d given two pints of his blood to her. They’d become somber when they’d admitted that if Dawson hadn’t done that, she could have died or, at the very best, not recovered as quickly as she had. Her heart stirred; she wanted so badly to let down and blither to him about being shot, about what had happened, but her law-enforcement side won out and she suppressed it. She would thank him, however. The man was a true hero in her eyes. He’d helped save her life.

  “Gertie was saying your parents had made their offer, but she was adamant about having you recover at her house.”

  She settled back against the pillows, closing her eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling very weary. “There are two things to consider. Only my family knows that my dad is battling prostate cancer right now. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to drop myself with all my needs and demands for the next four to six weeks, on top of his medical condition. And the Elsons want a shooting rampage. I don’t want them attacking my home, my parents’ home or even Gertie’s.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry to hear about your dad. What’s his prognosis?”

  “The doctors don’t want to do surgery. They’re using drugs right now, and they seem to be working.”

  “That’s good news, but I think you’re right about not placing yourself in their home. I know chemo really tires a person out, and I’m sure your parents are under a lot of stress. And I talked to Gertie about the Elsons this morning over breakfast. She didn’t mince words about them.”

  “I don’t want to put anyone at risk, Dawson.” The words came out low and filled with anguish. “My family just didn’t need me getting shot right now. I-I feel so damned bad about it . . . about becoming a burden . . . another worry for them. My mother has always been afraid for me, afraid of me getting shot or killed, and I’ve fulfilled that fear for her. And now she’s scared out of her wits about the Elson boys coming to their house to kill me. And if they did, they’d shoot my parents, too. It would be a bloodbath. My poor grandmothers could have strokes or heart attacks if that happened. It’s a mess.”

  “It’s not an easy time for anyone,” he agreed. “Gertie told me when she got back from seeing you this morning that she begged you to let her take care of you.” He saw her open her eyes, saw the turmoil in them.

  “I-I really think going to Gertie’s would put her and a lot of her employees at risk.”

  “You’re in for six weeks of healing with that leg
wound. I think you need a place to hole up and get well. What do you want to do, Sarah? Really?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. No one had asked her; her parents and Gertie had ignored the possible danger to themselves, wanting to care for her no matter what. Dawson had a way of getting to the heart of the issue without the emotional baggage that came along with it, interfering with the logic of what should be done. Swallowing several times, she managed, “Gertie isn’t up to taking care of me; I know that. Yes, she has the room.” She stared at him. “What I really want? I want to disappear after I get out of the hospital, find somewhere I can stay without the Elsons finding me. I want to confuse them so I can get well enough to get back to doing my job. I don’t want to put anyone else at risk.” Her voice became choked. “Enough good people have already been hurt. I refuse to have more.”

  “Do you know of a place to hide?”

  “Yes. There’s a US Forest Service cabin up on the slopes of the Salt River Range. I can make a call, talk to the supervisor, and I know they’ll give me permission to hide out up there.” She pushed strands of hair away from her face, eyeing him. Her heart began a beat of dread. What if he wouldn’t go along with her request? What if he said no? Sarah knew she’d need someone to care for her. “I need your help, Dawson. You’re the person I want to stay with me up at that cabin. You’ll do double duty: helping me medically as well as being my bodyguard. Are you willing to do that? If not, I understand. I’ll find someone else.”

  Nodding, he pushed his hands slowly up and down his thighs, considering her request. “I have the medical background. I would know enough to care for you, and if you needed further medical help, I could make the right call to get it.”

  Her heart leaped. “You’ll do it, then? You’ll take care of me for a while?”

  “Yes.” He saw her face crumple with so many emotions. “We’re a good team. I’ll do it.”