Desperado

by Lisa Bingham

  Elam felt a searing rage rise from the pit of his stomach. “So why’d he shoot her?”

  “Near as I can tell, Eddie Bascom tried to talk to P.D. at the party. Bart was afraid that Eddie had been able to spill the beans, so he got desperate and shot her.”

  “He’d better be behind bars,” Elam growled.

  Bodey grasped his arm. “They took him away in cuffs. Sheriff Hamblin is likely to lock him up and throw away the key.” Bodey gestured toward the emergency room. “So why aren’t they out here giving us an update?”

  Elam shook his head. “They won’t tell any of us anything because we’re not related and that nurse over there wouldn’t give me the time of day, let alone allow me inside.”

  Bodey’s eyes darkened with determination. “Let me try.”

  Elam felt a spark of hope. “Do you know her?”

  “Not yet,” Bodey said, flashing the stern-faced blonde a hundred-watt smile as he strolled toward her. Elam watched in amazement as he leaned his forearms on the counter and bent toward her.

  Bodey could charm the birds out of the trees and into his skillet if he had a mind to do it. And Elam had evidence of his brother’s supernatural powers when the blonde regarded him suspiciously at first, then began to smile, leaning in toward him like a glacier melting beneath the sun. Soon the two of them were murmuring and laughing. Then Bodey leaned close, whispered something next to her ear and jerked a thumb toward Elam.

  The nurse flicked a glance his way, then said, “Let me see what I can do.”

  Waving her badge in front of the security lock, she slipped into the emergency bays. A few seconds later, she returned and crooked a finger in Elam’s direction.

  Like a little boy being allowed access into the forbidden faculty room, Elam hurried to follow her. She led him down a series of exam beds divided by beige striped curtains until she reached one close to the end.

  “Miss Raines? You have a visitor.”

  Elam stepped from behind the curtain. His heart sank to his toes when he found P.D.—a woman who had always been so full of life and purpose—looking small and vulnerable in a too-large hospital gown. She was incredibly pale, dark shadows hovering under her eyes. A nearly empty blood bag and an accompanying IV bag dripped fluid in one arm, while a blood pressure cuff wrapped around the other. A cannula under her nose hissed softly in the silence. But Elam pushed his misgivings away, focusing on the most important issue at hand.

  P.D. was alive.

  “Hey,” Elam said softly, his voice tight and husky with all of the emotions that roiled inside him. More than anything, he wanted to haul her into his arms just to feel the warmth of her body next to his, but he settled instead on lacing his fingers with hers.

  “Hi.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  She grimaced. “I’ve felt better.” Her chin wobbled. “And my beautiful dress is ruined.”

  A doctor stepped into her cubicle and said, “Better a dress than your liver.”

  Elam shot him a concerned look, relaxing only when the man shook his head. “No harm done to that. The bullet creased her here.” The doctor pointed to his side. “We’ve cleaned her up, given her intravenous pain medication and antibiotics, and a whopping thirty-two stitches.” He peered at Elam disapprovingly as if the gunshot were all his fault, then continued, “Thankfully, none of her vital organs were hit, but she’d lost a lot of blood by the time she got here, so we topped off her tank.” His gaze bounced to P.D., becoming much warmer. “So, as much as we’d love to have you remain in our gracious accommodations”—his eyes twinkled—“I’m kicking you out.”

  He ripped a paper from his pad, handing it to P.D. “This is a prescription for some oral meds as well. The nurse will print out the written instructions for you to take home.” He pointed a finger at P.D. “I want you off your feet as much as possible for at least a day or two. You’re also extremely dehydrated—which wasn’t too surprising to me after I heard you were part of the Games.” He glanced at Elam. “See she has plenty to drink. I want to see her again in my office in town on Thursday.” He handed Elam a business card. “Call first thing in the morning and have the nurse make an appointment.”

  And with that, he sailed from the room again, leaving the curtain fluttering in his wake.

  Knowing they probably had only a few minutes before the nurse reappeared, Elam bent to kiss P.D. on the forehead.

  “How are you. Really?”

  “I …”

  She was going to lie—he could see her trying to formulate a sunny answer. But then, she said in a soft whisper, “I don’t know.”

  The fact that she trusted him enough to tell him the truth made him realize how far they’d already come as a couple. She was willing to be honest with her emotions and he needed to do the same for her.

  “Hurts like the devil?”

  He was rewarded with a rueful smile.

  “Yeah.”

  Elam took a deep breath. There was so much he wanted to say—he needed to say—but he couldn’t seem to corral his thoughts into a logical path, so he kissed her instead, knowing that he would never tire of feeling her lips against his.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” Elam whispered as he drew back. His voice shook, betraying a portion of the emotions that swirled in his gut. He cleared his throat, then began again. “I’d appreciate it if you’d avoid getting shot in the future.”

  She tried to smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  But he saw the betraying wobble to her chin and realized she was probably still hovering close to shock. No doubt, she was pissed at herself for not being able to rein in her seesawing emotions.

  “Hey, Elam. Are you here to take P.D. home?”

  Elam straightened to see one of Bodey’s old girlfriends striding into the cubicle.

  “Yeah. I’ll be taking care of her.”

  P.D. tried to object, but he took the prescription from her fingers and tucked it into his pocket.

  “Here’s her instructions and an envelope with enough pills to tide you over until the pharmacy is open in the morning.” The woman handed the items to Elam, then turned to P.D. “Go ahead and stay in the hospital gown. We’ve got you all nice and clean, so there’s no sense putting you back in your stained clothes. Just have Bodey drop it off later in the week if you want.”

  It was clear that the woman hoped Bodey himself would make the delivery.

  P.D. nodded.

  The woman efficiently removed P.D.’s cannula, the IV line, and the blood pressure cuff. Then she announced in a too-happy voice, “I’ll get you a wheelchair and you can head home.”

  Again, they were left in silence. Elam’s pulse thudded in his ears, urging him to say something—anything. But he couldn’t seem to find the words.

  Luckily, the nurse returned at that moment with a cheerful, “Here we are!”

  P.D. grimaced, sweeping back the covers and trying to gingerly move to the side of the bed. But Elam slipped his arms underneath her knees and gently transferred her to the chair in a single motion.

  “Are you parked out back?” the nurse asked.

  “Yeah.”

  They made their way past the emergency bays and into the waiting room. Bodey immediately stood.

  “How are you, doll face?” he asked, rushing toward her.

  P.D.’s smile was weak. “I’ve been better.”

  “I bet. Let me know if there’s anything you need, okay?”

  Elam dug the prescription out of his pocket. “Can you get this filled in the morning?”

  Bodey glanced at it and nodded. “Sure.”

  “I’m going to take her home.”

  Bodey’s smile was slow and filled with meaning. “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll head back to the hotel and gather your things. I’ll bring them by in the morning after I get her meds.”

  “Thanks, Bodey.” Elam handed Bodey the hotel key cards, then almost held out his hand, but at the last minute, he pulled his brother close for a back-sl
apping hug. “Thanks for everything.”

  Bodey pounded Elam’s back with equal force. “Take care of her, Elam. Then try to get some sleep yourself.”

  With a nod, Elam hurried to bring the truck to the curb.

  *

  P.D. welcomed the darkness that surrounded Elam’s truck as he drove out of the hospital parking lot. He’d folded up his Carhartt jacket as a makeshift pillow and covered her with a utility blanket to keep her warm, even though the air outside was warm. She’d stretched out, using as much of the seat as possible so that she wouldn’t pull at her bandages.

  She was suddenly exhausted—physically, emotionally, spiritually—and that weariness played havoc with her mood. One minute she was calm; the next, she hovered on the verge of tears.

  Elam reached over to take her hand. “It’s natural,” he said quietly.

  “What?”

  “You’ve been shot, P.D. Your body is still processing the shock, so your emotions will be out of whack. Feel free to cry or shout or mutter cuss words if it will make you feel better.”

  A laugh pushed involuntarily through the tightness of her throat. But then she grew serious. “Have you been shot?”

  He nodded. “And once they had me back on base, I cried like a baby, punched out a wall, then cursed a blue streak all in the space of a minute and a half.”

  P.D. shot him a disbelieving look, but she felt the tension in her shoulders ease, realizing that she didn’t need to be on her guard. And oh, how sweet was that? To be so accepted by another person that she didn’t need to censor her emotions.

  Resting her head against the window, she concentrated on breathing in and out. Despite the pain pills, her side throbbed in time with her pulse. But she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep anytime soon. Her thoughts were whirling too violently for that.

  “Did they find Eddie?”

  “Eddie?”

  “Eddie Bascom. Isn’t he the one who shot me?”

  Elam’s features were limned by the light from the dashboard. He shook his head. “It was Bart Crowley.”

  “What?”

  “He confessed that he’s been stealing supplies from you for months—then he blamed it all on Eddie.”

  “So Eddie was telling me the truth,” P.D. breathed, ashamed that she hadn’t given him more of a chance to explain.

  “There’s more. Bart started to panic when he realized Eddie wasn’t going to slink away with his tail between his legs. So he offered some money and booze to a pair of kids if they’d torch Vern’s, not knowing that you’d be there.”

  “If I hadn’t been in the office that night …”

  “Vern’s might have burned to the ground.”

  She shuddered. It could have burned to the ground with her in it as well.

  “There’s more,” Elam said tentatively.

  “Was he watching my house?”

  That question made Elam pause. A muscle worked in his jaw. “I don’t know about that yet, but he worried that once Vern’s was back in business, you’d be examining the books more carefully.”

  “I took them home with me the night after the fire. He must have discovered that they were gone.”

  “He bribed that other group to steal our horse.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “And he’s the one who pushed you down the hill.”

  “That son of a bitch.”

  “And he dropped that rock on Jennifer Tompkins.”

  “What?” P.D. touched a hand to her temple, sure that she’d begun to hallucinate. The information she was receiving was so at odds with the man she’d thought that Bart Crowley had been—staid, dependable. A friend.

  “He thought it was you. She was wearing clothes similar to yours, had her hair in a braid …”

  A chill raced through her.

  “That could have been me. I could have been the one with my head gashed open.”

  “You say that like it’s worse than being shot.”

  He had a point there.

  Elam reached over to take her hand. “You scared the life out of me tonight, P.D. I thought I’d lost you.”

  Her stomach flip-flopped crazily at the raw emotion in his voice—but she didn’t know how to respond. She glanced out of the window instead, watching the moonlit fields flashing past them. It took several moments for her to realize that Elam had passed the turnoff to her house.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you home.” He paused, squeezing her hand. “To the cabin.”

  She remembered hearing that the contractors had finished working there. And although she was curious to see what had been done, right now she just wanted to burrow beneath the covers of her own bed.

  Elam must have read her thoughts because he said, “I don’t want to take you back to your bungalow until the sheriff can do a walk-through. With everything else that Bart has reportedly tried, I don’t want to chance that he’s done something to your house.”

  When she became alarmed, he hurriedly assured her, “It’s just a precaution, P.D. Helen and Bodey said your house was locked up tight, remember?”

  She nodded, glad that Elam had insisted on installing the hardware on her doors before the Games had begun.

  “Besides, if you’re up to it, I’ve got something I’d like to talk to you about,” Elam added hesitantly.

  He looked so serious that P.D. immediately feared what he had to say.

  Please, please don’t let it be the infamous “Let’s Be Friends” speech.

  She opened her mouth to stall him, but quickly closed it again. No. She wasn’t going to borrow trouble before it came. She’d told herself from the beginning that she would take whatever Elam was willing to give her—and now she had to trust in her own judgment.

  Nodding, she closed her eyes. The pain medication was giving the whole evening an “otherworldly” air, so she kept them tightly shut—even when she knew they’d turned into Taggart Hollow, when they’d begun the ascent up the hill, when he pulled to a halt near the back steps.

  “Wait here. I’m going unlock the door and turn on the lights.”

  She nodded, finally blinking until her gaze focused on the shadowy shape of the cabin. Several windows lit up with a golden glow, then the light above the door flashed on. P.D. watched as Elam hurried back to her with purposeful strides. For the first time, she noticed that his vest was stained with blood—her blood. Poor Helen. She’d gone to so much work to make their costumes so beautiful and historically accurate. P.D. doubted that any of them could ever be worn again.

  Elam opened the passenger door. Again, when she tried to sit up, he gently gathered her in his arms and carried her up the steps of the newly finished deck. P.D. had only enough time to absorb the ornate wrought-iron railings that had been installed, and the gleaming BBQ grill and patio furniture that had been set up in the far corner.

  As he moved inside, P.D. had a glimpse of the kitchen’s shiny maple cabinets and granite countertops before he crossed into a shadowy hall. His feet made no sound on the thick carpet as he climbed a set of circular stairs and traversed another short hall. Then, stepping through a set of double doors, he went into a huge bedroom.

  P.D. made a soft “Oh!” of delight when she saw the oversized antique four-poster bed, bureaus, and nightstands. Opposite the sleeping area was a sitting room with slipcovered chairs and an overstuffed sofa. Beyond that was a wall of windows that looked out over Taggart Hollow and the glittering lights of Bliss. As Elam settled her onto the couch and draped a fuzzy blanket on her lap, P.D. realized that the color scheme Elam had chosen was a mirror to that in her own home—a soothing mix of whites and off-whites interspersed with splashes of color.

  Elam saw the direction of her gaze and turned in a small circle. A satisfied smile spread over his lips. “They did a great job, didn’t they?”

  She nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Bodey stopped by to stock the fridge, crack open the windows, and make sure there were sheets on the bed.�
� Elam seemed suddenly unsure of himself. “I hope that you don’t mind staying here, in the master bedroom. The other rooms still need furniture, and I was warned some of them had fresh paint and …”

  He broke off, running a hand nervously through his hair before gripping the back of his neck. He appeared to mull something over in his mind before coming to a decision.

  “You said … you wanted to talk to me,” P.D. offered slowly, giving him a verbal nudge.

  “Yeah, I …” He laughed softly to himself and straightened, shoving his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “I don’t know why the hell this is so difficult. I mean … it’s not as if …”

  P.D. was gripping her hands so tightly, her knuckles gleamed white. “I know what you want to say,” she whispered. “The Games were … intense … and things are bound to change now that we’ve returned to the real world—”

  “No,” he interrupted forcefully. “That’s just it …” He sank onto the floor in front of her, framing her face with his hands. “P.D., this past week has been … incredible.”

  Not exactly the response she had expected.

  “But it doesn’t matter to me that the Games are over or that real life is about to reassert itself.”

  Oh-kay … And where was he heading with that statement?

  “I don’t need more time to know what I want.” He grazed her lower lip with his thumb. “I want … you. I want to spend time with you. I want to take you dancing and horseback riding. I want to show you what I do on the ranch and have you show me what you do at Vern’s. I want to know everything about you—your favorite foods, your favorite color, your favorite movie. I want you to feel like my home is yours and I hope you’ll let me do the same.”