Sweet

by Tammara Webber

  “I heard a shot! The sheriff’s on his way—I called him. That boy of yours wouldn’t want you getting shot doing something stupid. Let the lawmen get shot at. That’s their job, and they’ve got their own firearms to answer with.”

  Right on cue, the sheriff and a deputy arrived simultaneously from opposite directions and parked nose to nose. I expected them to cross the yard and burst through the door, but they crouched in the street behind one of the cars, discussing how to proceed.

  Before I could process their lack of action, Randy pulled into his driveway, taking in the two law-enforcement personnel in the street, Mrs. Echols in her doorway, and me halfway between her door and Boyce’s. He crossed the street, forehead creased. “What’s going on, Pearl?”

  I hadn’t realized I was crying. “My ex is in there with Boyce, and Mrs. Echols heard a shot, and Mitchell is armed and wanted in Nashville for attempted murder—”

  Mrs. Echols gasped and Randy muttered a harsh, “Goddamn.” He shook his head at the two men on the other side of the squad cars, who didn’t look as if they planned to storm the trailer anytime soon. “All right then. Fuck it.” He pointed at me. “Stay. Here. I fucking mean it.”

  We heard an ambulance’s siren in the distance. Randy took a deep breath, shook his arms as if he was shaking off excess nerves, and took off for the front door. The deputy noticed him just before he went inside. “Hey!” he called, poking his head up over the roof of the squad car.

  Five seconds later, Randy threw the front door wide. “Officers! They’re both down!”

  I ran for the front door with the sheriff and deputy, guns drawn, right behind me.

  “Pearl, honey, you don’t want to—” Randy said.

  I bolted around him.

  Neither man appeared conscious. As my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I saw that Mitchell—a gun on the floor beside him—looked as if he’d been run over by a truck. And then I saw the pool of blood around Boyce. Randy and I went to our knees beside him.

  “Shirt,” I said, and he stripped off his tee. I wadded it and pressed it to the still-flowing wound in Boyce’s side. “Hold that—press hard.”

  Randy complied and I searched for a pulse. It was weak, but there.

  “Ohthankgod. Boyce? Can you hear me?”

  “Ambulance on its way,” the deputy said, taking pics before bagging the gun and casing.

  “I take it this one is your ex,” the sheriff said, gesturing to Mitchell. I nodded. “Call for a second ambulance for that fucker,” he told the deputy. “Let’s get the homeowner seen to first.”

  The EMTs rushed inside seconds later, praised Randy for stemming the blood flow, and replaced the blood-soaked T-shirt with proper bandages while checking and recording vitals. Boyce didn’t come to, not even when they lifted him onto a stretcher, but he jolted awake outside during the minute or so it took them to get the ambulance ready to receive him.

  “Pearl?” he said, his voice gruff, pained.

  I leaned above him to shade his face from the sun overhead, holding his cold hand between both of mine. “I’m here. Mitchell’s in custody. I’m so sorry—”

  He squeezed my hand weakly, his voice so soft I had to lean close to hear him. “S’okay, baby.” He squinted one eye open, beautiful and bright green. “Guardian angel. Remember?”

  A soft sob escaped me and I swallowed it back. “Yes. My guardian angel. Man I adore. Please don’t leave me, Boyce.”

  “Sweetheart, if and when I leave you, it won’t be by my choice. I’ll love you straight on through eternity.” He blinked groggily but, true to form, kept talking. “Would this be a good time to tell you I wanna marry you someday? I wanna give you babies and a home and lay you down and love you every night. If I live and that bullet didn’t pierce anything essential to doing those things, that is.”

  I choked a laugh. “Boyce, you idiot. Your man parts are fine.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed tiredly, his grip on my hand weakening. “Thank Christ.”

  At the hospital, Randy identified me as Boyce’s fiancée, his mouth turning up on one side when my brows shot up. “Next of kin,” he mumbled. Ah.

  I cleared my throat and smiled. “Yes, I’m Mr. Wynn’s fiancée.”

  Hospital personnel gave me Boyce’s wallet and boots—his clothes were evidence in the impending criminal charges against Mitchell. I filled out paperwork while waiting for news from the ER doctor, who emerged just as Thomas and Mama tore into the waiting room and attached themselves to opposite sides of me.

  “He was hemodynamically stable on arrival,” the admitting doctor told us, and I felt Thomas relax next to me. “The wounds were tangential—bullet went straight through—so we opted against laparotomy. We’ll keep him here on watch for at least twenty-four hours, but assuming he holds steady and surgery remains unnecessary, he could be discharged tomorrow. He’ll need assistance at home for a bit, of course, but his prognosis is excellent.” He squeezed my shoulder, smiling. “Never hurts when they’re young and healthy to start with.”

  “When can I see him?” I asked.

  “Few minutes. The nurse will take you back.”

  “Thank you, doctor,” Thomas said. His smile faded when he turned to me. “You scared us to death, Pearl! What were you thinking, driving over there ahead of the sheriff—what if you’d been shot?” His voice broke and he pulled me into his arms. “Dammit, little girl…”

  He pulled Mama in too, and we stood in an emotional little huddle in the middle of the waiting room.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumbled into his chest.

  He sighed. “No, you’re not.”

  We laughed and he held me tighter. He knew me too well.

  • • • • • • • • • •

  Texas and Tennessee grappled with who would charge Mitchell with attempted murder first—first-degree in Texas and second-degree in Tennessee, where he’d nearly strangled a fellow student to death in a fit of rage the evening before he showed up at my door. The details were still emerging, but news reports said they’d gone out once or twice and he became enraged when she told him she wasn’t interested in seeing him anymore. He’d gone to her apartment with a gun. They argued and he choked her until she lost consciousness. Her roommate—also a med-school student—hid in a closet until he ran out the door. She called 911 and did CPR until help arrived, saving her friend’s life.

  He’d come straight to Texas. Straight for me. I didn’t even know he owned a gun. I didn’t know if he’d had it on him when he came into the house—when Mama confronted him. I felt ill thinking how much uglier that situation could have been.

  I sat next to Boyce, his hospital bed angled halfway between lying and sitting, as he told the sheriff what had transpired from the moment Mitchell stepped foot on the property to the last thing he remembered. He pulled at the thin hospital gown, and judging from the way it stretched across his chest and hid nothing of his defined arms, I assumed it resembled a long, split-down-the-back shirt.

  “I knew the only chance I had was right after we went into the trailer. When it’s sunny out, you’re half-blind for a minute or two after going inside. Soon as he shut the door, I turned and tackled him. I heard the shot but honest to God, I didn’t feel a thing. I grabbed his wrist and elbow and busted his forearm over my knee—”

  “Boy howdy, you sure did—you snapped his damn ulna!” Sheriff Walker snorted a laugh.

  “Huh. Well, then I just beat the shit out of him until I started feeling woozy, which was when I felt the bite of those bullet holes and saw the blood. I hit him one more time, and then I guess I passed out.”

  “You lost quite a bit of blood, son, but he wasn’t going nowhere after the pounding you gave him. He looked like he fell down a long flight of concrete steps and landed on his face.”

  From the toothy grin and literal knee-slapping glee that followed, I guessed Sheriff Walker would have paid good money to see that fight.

  The whole account made my stomach churn. The w
ay Boyce had looked on that floor—pale and still and lying in a pool of blood—I couldn’t think of it without tears stinging my eyes, and I couldn’t stop thinking of it. If Sam hadn’t texted me, if Randy hadn’t been willing to run into that trailer, Boyce might have bled to death. He wouldn’t be lying in that bed holding my cold hand.

  As if he knew the direction of my thoughts, Boyce squeezed my hand and brought me back to the present. “I’ve got too much living to do to let a little bullet stop me.” He smiled wearily at the sheriff, eyelids heavy. “I’m feeling dog-tired, Sheriff Walker. Is that all you need for now?”

  “Yessir, that’ll do it for now.” He jumped up and gathered his things. “The DA is gonna want his shot atcha—sorry—wrong choice of words there, heh-heh. He’ll be wanting statements from both of you. We’ll be in touch.”

  After he’d hustled from the room, I asked, “Should I leave so you can sleep for a bit?”

  “Hell, no.” Boyce’s mouth twisted into a roguish grin. “I want you up on this bed so I can claim my reward.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you—”

  “Then get that pretty mouth up here. This body denied a bullet, baby.” He gestured to the body in question, both arms wide. “The only thing killing me right now is not touching you. Boyce Fucking Wynn has to live up to his middle name, and I can’t do that without you.”

  “You and your middle name did just fine without me for a while.”

  He tugged my hand and winked. “Naw, baby, I just got by. I was saving the good stuff for you.”

  I laughed, settling gingerly onto his left side regardless of his claims of bulletproofness. “Oh, were you now.”

  Pulling me close, he held me against his shoulder, tipping my chin, fingers spreading to cradle my head, thumb caressing my face. “There was no one before you, and anyone in between was my sorry-assed attempt to ignore what I thought I couldn’t have. You broke my heart every time I saw you, sweetheart.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, dragging my fingers over the planes of his face, watching him close those beautiful eyes that had never once lied to me and lean into my hand. “I’ll never break it again.”

  Tugging me higher, his breath whispered over my mouth. “Do these lips belong to me?”

  “Yes.” I smiled and he pressed his lips to mine softly—a murmur of a kiss.

  “And those dark eyes—I could sink and drown in those eyes—are they mine too?”

  I nodded, lids falling closed as he touched feather-soft kisses across them. My fingers curled and slid to his neck.

  He kissed me again—sweeping his tongue through my mouth as his callused hand skimmed down my arm to press our palms together. “And this hand that could lead me anywhere and I’d follow?” He threaded his fingers through mine and turned the back of my hand to his mouth for a kiss.

  “Yes.”

  His left hand stroked over my hip and curved over my side. “This body,” he whispered, trailing our joined hands down the center of my chest. “Will it surrender under my hands? If I swear to worship you from the top of your head to your toes and everyfuckingthing between?” At my nod, he left my hand low on my belly, his palm roaming back to cover my heart. “And this heart, above all else. Does this heart belong to me?”

  “All yours,” I said. “Always yours.”

  The realization that followed was like the sun surrounding his head the day I died and didn’t die. That little boy, kneeling at my side, holding my hand, telling me to wake up—he didn’t have a perfect life, but he hadn’t been damaged yet. He hadn’t been disappointed and misunderstood, neglected and battered. He hadn’t suffered the loss that was coming for him.

  He hadn’t needed salvation that day—I had. He had saved me, and his love for me had somehow saved him. I felt no pride about that. Just gratitude and relief that I finally had my finger on the pulse of our shared heart. Not just Boyce’s and mine, but everyone we knew and everyone we’d ever known. We were all parts of this interconnected life. We existed for it and because of it and sometimes in spite of it.

  Life was part survival and part contentment, and in each other, we’d found both of those things. Whether that was miracle or fate or coincidence, I’d take it. I’d take it with both hands.

  Epilogue

  Nine months later

  Boyce

  “I know this is where I’m supposed to say, ‘If you don’t want to do this, we can jump in my car and get the fuck outta here.’ Sorry, Wynn. She’s the best you’ll ever do and we both know it.” Maxfield chuckled, watching from the second-story window as guests arrived while I paced on the opposite side of the room. “When she’s too good for you, man, you don’t run. You thank your lucky stars and hold on tight.”

  “Thanks for the confidence booster, asshole,” I grumbled, moving next to him to glance out the window at the cloudless blue sky. Pearl couldn’t have ordered a day that looked more like a postcard. Dr. and Mrs. Frank had rented out the whole inn to house all the out-of-town guests, the courtyard for the ceremony, and the dining room for the reception.

  Maxfield smirked and grasped my shoulder. “You don’t need any more confidence, Wynn. You got that girl. All I can figure is you must be fucking amazing in ways I do not want to know.”

  Ray Maxfield knocked and stuck his head around the door. “You boys about ready?”

  Maxfield held up a finger. His dad nodded and shut the door.

  “In all seriousness, man. It shouldn’t be me standing next to you today.”

  I frowned, confused, but then I knew—Brent.

  “Since I never knew him, I’ve talked to a few people about Brent—Thompson and his mom, old Hendrickson, and of course, Arianna. He was a war hero when he died, but first and foremost he was a protective big brother. He was a good man. And he raised a good man.” He clapped my shoulder. “He’d be so fucking proud of you.”

  Fuck. “Maxfield, don’t make me lose my shit right now, for chrissakes.” My voice shook.

  “Almost done—just one more thing.” He looked me in the eye. “I didn’t have a brother growing up. You’re as close as I ever got, and damn if you weren’t exactly what I needed. I’m honored to stand up with you today.” He jerked me in for a hug and I went easy because I needed a minute. “Don’t forget what I said, man,” he said. “Just hold on tight.”

  He slapped my back and I slapped his. We separated and shrugged our shoulders. Torn between the desire to punch him in the face or hug him again, I heaved a deep breath. “Sorry Dover will be standing across from you during the ceremony, by the way.”

  He shrugged. “This is Pearl’s day, and I was over that shit a long time ago. My only concern is if she gets catty with Jacqueline, because she will find herself face-first on the ground and eating dirt.”

  “Oh man, what I’d give to see that. Just… not today.” Melody Dover had been almost accepting since Pearl’s and my engagement. I reckoned she’d assumed it wouldn’t last, but here we were. She still bit my head off when the opportunity arose, and she’d cornered me for a convincing Hurt my girl and I’ll cut your nuts off speech night before last, but I sorta respected her for that.

  “I’ll ask Jacqueline to hold off on any ass-kicking until after the reception.”

  “Deal. You got the ring?”

  He pulled a small pouch from his pocket. “Got it. Randy outdid himself.”

  I’d gone to Thompson last fall and told him what I wanted. A ruby stone for her July birthday. A few small diamonds. A design with all the stones completely inset so she could slide lab gloves over it and whatever else she did for work or research without catching it on anything. The ideas he sketched out were cool, but they didn’t do justice to the finished product.

  When she was home for winter break, I brought her to my place on Christmas Eve. “I have one more gift for you,” I said, leaving her standing in the middle of the living room with no lights on but the ones strung through the tree in the corner. “Stay right here.”

  The Chri
stmas tree was the first one that trailer had seen since I was seven years old. I’d threaded white lights all over it and called it done, which was all manner of wrong according to Sam. “Jeez—lazy much? Where are the ornaments?” she’d said. “It looks dumb with just lights.”

  “I don’t have any,” I’d admitted. “I haven’t had a tree since I was a kid.”

  She’d shown up with four boxes of shiny ornaments from Walmart the next day. “Merry Christmas from me and Dad. It’s sorta lame to give you Christmas ornaments for Christmas, but I had no choice.”

  When I brought a kitchen chair out to the living room and sat Pearl in it, facing the tree, her expression was a blend of a worry, laughter, and total confusion. “Boyce…? We set gift limits—you made me promise not to go beyond them! What—”

  I knelt in front of her and she sucked in a breath and fell silent.

  I took her left hand, pretty sure we were both shaking. I just hoped to hell it wasn’t all me. “Once upon a time, an undeserving boy pulled a little half-drowned, wannabe mermaid out of the ocean. He laid her on the sand, thinking his heart would break if she didn’t wake up. The moment she opened her big dark eyes and looked up at him, his heart wasn’t his anymore. After that moment, his life’s quest wasn’t a matter of searching for his other half, because he knew right where she was. His mission was waiting for her to know he’d left his heart in her hand that day on the beach and hoping that someday it would bring her back to him.”

  She raised her trembling right hand and covered her mouth. Glassy with tears, her eyes reflected the lights from the tree like handfuls of stars in a clear midnight sky.

  I pulled the small, carved driftwood box Thompson had converted into a ring box from my front pocket and opened the lid. “Pearl Torres Frank, I want to have you and hold you and love you for as long as we both shall live. Will you let me do that, sweetheart?”

  She nodded and burst into tears.

  I’d waited five more months for her to come home. Five months for me to have that trailer hauled off and a little house erected in its place with help from Vega and Thompson and a few customers who were happy to barter construction services for car maintenance and repairs. Five months to develop the cold feet I never got. Maxfield had nothing to worry about on that score. I knew what I wanted, and I was about to stand under a flower-covered arch in front of half the town and get it.