Wyoming Fierce

by Diana Palmer

She ran.

  Darby checked the younger man’s injuries as he dialed.

  “Carson County 911,” a voice came over the intercom. “What is your emergency?”

  Darby explained the situation, and tried to pinpoint the location. “Just a sec,” he said, putting the operator on hold while he used the GPS in his phone. He gave her the coordinates. It was such a big state that a rescue unit would have fits trying to find them by landmarks. It was a straight stretch of highway, with no significant landmarks anywhere in sight.

  The operator was asking him questions. He pulled out Cane’s wallet and gave her everything he could.

  “We have a unit en route,” the operator said a minute later. “Stay on the line.”

  “You bet,” Darby replied.

  Bodie had returned with the blanket while Darby was talking to 911. She pulled it gently over Cane, grimacing as she saw all the blood. It brought back horrible memories of the wreck in which her father had died. He’d been bleeding, too, just like this. Nobody had been able to save him. It was too much trauma for her, all this stuff that had happened in her life in the past two weeks. Her grandfather’s death, the funeral, before that, the episode with Will. Now, here was Cane, possibly mortally hurt, and after they’d quarreled. His last memory of her would be one of disgust and anger. And she could never change it. If he died, the light would go out of the world. How would she go on?

  Darby watched her with visible compassion. “Don’t give up on him, girl,” he told Bodie. “He’s a Kirk. He’s tough.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, but tears were rolling down her cheeks. “How long?” she asked plaintively.

  “Our unit’s about ten miles from you,” the operator said gently, overhearing. “They’re coming as fast as they can. Hold on.”

  Bodie’s tears fell faster. “Thanks,” she whispered, her voice choked.

  “That’s what we’re here for,” the operator replied.

  “Look, Bodie,” Darby said, indicating Cane.

  The younger man groaned and he moved his head.

  “Be still,” Bodie said, smoothing back his bloodstained hair. “It’s all right. It’s all right, Cane.”

  He blinked. The alcohol fogged his mind and his reflexes. He tried to sit up, but Bodie pushed him gently back down.

  “You have to be still,” Bodie told him. “The EMTs are on their way.”

  Cane swallowed. He looked up at Bodie and frowned. “What are you doing here?” he asked curtly.

  So much for hoping he’d forgotten their last argument. “Trying to save lives,” she said pertly.

  He made a rough sound in his throat and glanced at Darby. “How bad is it?”

  “Truck seems to be totaled,” Darby said philosophically. “And I’d say you’re going to be in some trouble when the sheriff’s deputy gets here.”

  Bodie paled. “Sheriff’s deputy?” she asked huskily.

  Darby nodded. “They always send a law enforcement unit with the EMTs, in case there’s trouble.”

  “I’ll show them trouble,” Cane said, disoriented.

  “You shut up,” Bodie said curtly. “If they lock you up, I’ll go see the judge and beg him to put you away for fifty years!”

  “You coldhearted, acid-tongued little…!” Cane began.

  “Ahhh-ahhh!” Darby intervened. “None of that,” he said firmly.

  Cane glared at them both, but he shut up. He frowned. There was a lot of pain. He moved and winced. “Damn,” he whispered, his good hand going to his rib cage. “I think I’ve got a busted rib.”

  “Well, let’s hope it’s not the same one you got when the bull kicked you six months ago,” Darby replied.

  Cane drew in laboring breaths and looked up at the night sky. “There’s Orion,” he remarked heavily. “It looks real bright, doesn’t…” His eyes closed.

  “Did he faint?” Bodie asked frantically. “How can he faint when he’s lying down? Cane! Cane?”

  “Concussion, most likely,” Darby said, and now he was really worried.

  “Turn his head,” the operator advised quickly. “In case he throws up. You don’t want him aspirating that into his lungs.”

  “Good idea.” Darby reached down and gently turned Cane’s head to the side.

  It was just in time. The younger man suddenly lurched and heaved into the grass. When he finished, he collapsed back into the ground, unconscious.

  “Oh, dear God,” Bodie sobbed.

  “Don’t panic,” Darby said gently. “Concussion can be treated.” He was careful not to add that he’d seen men die of concussions less obvious than Cane’s. Bodie was scared to death already. No need to add to her worry.

  * * *

  SCANT MINUTES LATER, flashing red-and-blue lights came into focus over a rise in the road. Darby stood up and flagged them down. They could see the wreck, but they couldn’t see Cane, who was prone. The sheriff’s deputy got out of his car as the EMTs jumped from their truck and ran to the patient.

  Darby greeted the man and woman, uniformed, as they bent over Cane.

  “He was conscious for a couple of minutes,” Darby told them. “Then he lapsed into unconsciousness, threw up and went out again.”

  The EMTs went to work on him. One ran for a gurney and wheeled it over.

  “You can hang up now,” the 911 operator said kindly. “I hope everything works out okay.”

  “Thanks a million,” Darby told her. “You guys are worth your weight in gold.”

  “Thank you,” she replied with a chuckle. “I’ll tell my supervisor you said so.”

  She hung up.

  The EMTs got Cane into the truck and fed a needle into the artery at his elbow to start a drip. They were already in touch with a doctor in the emergency room, describing Cane’s symptoms and getting orders.

  “We’ll follow you to the hospital,” Darby said. “I’ll phone his brothers to come and admit him.”

  “Thanks,” the driver said. “Don’t speed,” he cautioned. “We don’t need another wreck.”

  Darby nodded. “I won’t,” he promised.

  Beside him, Bodie was going insane. She wanted to force her way into the ambulance, to sit with Cane, to take care of him. It drove off, and she stood watching it, too upset even for tears as she contemplated a future without that hardheaded, difficult man in the ambulance. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  The sheriff’s deputy had been getting 28s and 29s on the wrecked truck—wants and warrants—checking the damage and calling for a tow truck to pick it up and bring it to impound.

  “Going to be some charges, I’m afraid,” the deputy told Darby. “I’m sorry, but DWI is no laughing matter. I’ve pulled too many victims out of wrecks like this, many of them involving innocent people. Even children. They’re the worst.”

  “I imagine so,” Darby said. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

  “Very lucky, considering the damage. Drive carefully,” he told Darby. “You family?”

  “In a sense,” Darby said. “I work for him.”

  Bodie didn’t add anything. Let the officer think what he liked. She’d been raging that Cane needed to be locked up, but now that it was a possibility, she was sorry and depressed. She turned away toward the truck. “Can we go?” she asked Darby worriedly.

  “Yes. Right now. See you,” he called to the deputy.

  The deputy nodded and went back to his patrol car.

  Darby drove to the hospital, which was in Jackson Hole. Until then, Bodie hadn’t realized how far they’d come.

  “This is miles from home,” she told Darby, surprised.

  “Yes. I’m just glad he didn’t kill himself or somebody else.” He’d already dialed the Kirk ranch and was waiting for someone to answer.

  “Mallory,” came a voice over the line. “That you, Darby? Did you find him?”

  “Yes. He was in a wreck. A bad one,” Darby said gently.

  “Is he alive?” Mallory shot back, horrified.

  “Yes, but concussed and
unconscious,” Darby replied, his voice grim. “You’d better get Dalton and get up to the medical center in Jackson Hole as fast as you can.” He didn’t want to say that, to worry Bodie any more, but it was imperative that he make Mallory understand how bad things were. Mallory, too, had seen head injuries lead to death. The family might not have much time to see Cane, if that happened.

  “We’re already on the way,” Mallory said. “I’ll call you when we get to the hospital.”

  “Drive carefully,” Darby said.

  “How’s Bodie?” Mallory inquired gently.

  Darby glanced at her, sitting stiff and terrified beside him. “Holding up. But not well.”

  “We’ll be there soon.”

  Mallory hung up.

  “You have to have faith,” Darby told his companion in a gentle tone. “Cane’s tough. He really is. He’ll beat this.”

  She swallowed. “I yelled at him.”

  “Hey. He yelled at you first,” he returned. “Don’t do that. Don’t punish yourself.”

  She closed her eyes. “If he dies…”

  “He isn’t going to die,” he said firmly. “Believe it.”

  She shifted in the seat. “I’ll try.”

  “And fasten that seat belt,” he added curtly.

  “Oh.” She put it on. “I didn’t realize…”

  “You’re upset,” he said softly. “Yes, I know that. Cane is one huge pain in the neck. But none of us want to lose him.”

  “Not even me,” she agreed.

  Especially you, by the look of it, Darby thought, but he didn’t say it aloud. He’d never realized how much Cane meant to the quiet young woman beside him. That was a tragedy in the making. Cane was a rounder. He wasn’t the sort of man to settle down and raise kids. He’d break Bodie’s heart and leave her numb, given the chance. Darby hoped she already knew that, because he wasn’t going to say it to her. He had a soft spot for Bodie, like all the Kirks. It was a pity that Cane was so hostile toward her. A real shame.

  * * *

  DARBY AND BODIE SAT in the emergency room waiting area. Well, Darby sat. Bodie paced, arms folded across her chest, her face drawn and white while they waited for the resident who was working on Cane to come out and tell them something.

  “Why is it taking so long?” Bodie worried, casting glances at the door behind which the medical personnel were dealing with Cane.

  “Tests, I imagine,” Darby replied. “They’ll have to find out the extent of the damage before they can treat it.”

  “Concussion,” she murmured. “How do they treat a concussion?”

  “Depends on how bad it is,” he replied evasively.

  “What if it’s real bad?”

  “ICU,” he speculated. “Maybe for a couple of days, until he’s stabilized.”

  “ICU,” she murmured again. She glanced toward the treatment area again. “It’s taking so long,” she repeated dully.

  The door opened and Mallory, Dalton and Morie came through it, all wearing worried expressions.

  Morie went at once to Bodie and hugged her close. “You poor thing,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry you had to see it.”

  Bodie broke down. The sympathy was too much for her shattered reserve. “I yelled at him,” she cried. “I said I hoped they locked him up…!”

  “And what did he say to you before you said that to him?” Morie asked wisely.

  Bodie pulled away and wiped at her eyes with a tissue from a box placed strategically in the waiting room. “He said a lot,” she replied.

  “I thought so.” She turned to Darby, who was talking to the other men in a hushed tone. “How bad is it?” she asked them, keeping her arm around Bodie.

  “The doctors haven’t come out, but I believe he had a massive concussion,” Darby said quietly. “It could go either way.” He couldn’t pull punches with the brothers, but he hated having Bodie know just how desperate Cane’s situation really was.

  “He could die?” Bodie asked, and her pale brown eyes were drenched in tears.

  “There is that possibility,” Mallory said grimly. “But let’s try to think positively. He’s got good medical care, and he was conscious when you first found him,” he added, indicating that Darby had filled him in on the details earlier.

  “He was very conscious,” Bodie said. “Then he just went out like a light, threw up and went out again.”

  “Not a good sign,” Tank murmured, shoving his hands into his jeans. His own face was as taut as Mallory’s. He’d seen combat. He’d seen men die of head injuries. He knew the prognosis, or possible prognosis, better than anybody else in the room.

  “They have excellent staff here,” Mallory replied gently. He patted his brother on the shoulder. “He’s a Kirk. He’s come through worse than this.”

  “I know.” Dalton stretched. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to say a prayer. They got a chapel here?”

  “I’ll ask someone,” Morie said, and went looking for the chaplain service.

  Bodie folded her arms across her chest. She was already praying. Hard.

  * * *

  THEY WENT TO THE CHAPEL and stayed there for several minutes, silent and worried sick, while one of the chaplains stood discreetly outside the room, waiting for them. When they came out, she escorted them back to the waiting room and stayed with them.

  It was a kindness, but Mallory understood it better than anyone else. The chaplain had spoken with the doctor treating Cane. When she put away her phone, her face was grim before she forced a smile and said encouraging things.

  But Mallory knew why she was hovering. They didn’t expect Cane to live. The chaplain might be needed by the family, which was why she stayed with them. It was vaguely terrifying, despite the comfort of it.

  Mallory didn’t say what he was thinking. Bodie was already near collapse as minutes turned to hours, and still the doctor didn’t come out to speak to them.

  “Do you think you could call them again and see what’s going on?” Mallory asked the chaplain.

  “Certainly I can,” she said softly. “Just a moment.” She went to use a stationary telephone, instead of her cell phone. That worried Mallory. She obviously didn’t want them to overhear what she was saying, or what she might be told.

  Around them, people came and went, some with hopeful faces, some in tears. A family sitting nearby glanced at Bodie and the woman, an elderly lady, smiled softly. It was an unspoken comfort. People in desperate situations, afraid for loved ones, became family in a way that was inexplicable to those who hadn’t experienced it. Bodie smiled back, trying to convey her own sympathy.

  Inside, she was shaking. This was as bad as losing her grandfather. His death had been quick, merciful in its way. But she remembered the doctor’s office, the terror she’d felt. It was like this. Only this was worse. Waiting. The waiting was terrible. It was torment.

  She glanced toward the chaplain, who had her back turned to the family. She was listening, nodding, nodding some more. Finally she hung up. Her expression was briefly worried and tense.

  She turned and came back toward the Kirks. Bodie watched her walk with stark terror in her eyes. That look on the chaplain’s drawn face—it meant Cane wasn’t going to make it. It meant he was going to die…!

  CHAPTER TEN

  BODIE’S HEART BEAT IN concert with the chaplain’s steps, harder and harder. Her eyes clouded. Don’t say it, she wanted to say aloud. Don’t tell us. Just let us hope. Let us hope…!

  She ground her teeth together and stood rigidly along with the Kirks, who were also dreading her approach.

  But the chaplain didn’t stop at them. She only smiled and went past them, to the elderly woman who was waiting, nearby. She spoke gently. The woman burst into tears, and the chaplain hugged her, whispering words of comfort. Beside her, an elderly man was also crying. They spoke again to the chaplain, nodded and walked out of the room, slowly.

  The chaplain came back to the Kirks. “I’m sorry. I was getting news about your brother when t
he physician told me they’d lost the woman’s mother. She was very old, but that doesn’t matter when you love someone.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Bodie said, looking after the elderly couple as they left the room.

  “So am I. Now. About your brother,” the chaplain said, and she smiled, “he’s conscious and yelling at the doctor. It is a concussion, but not fatal. They’re moving him to ICU overnight, to be sure. It’s just a precaution,” she assured them. “I wouldn’t lie to you if it was a dire situation.”

  “Thanks,” Mallory said. Dalton nodded. Morie smiled.

  Bodie let the tears roll down her cheeks unashamed. “Thanks!” she added.

  The chaplain smiled again. “This is what we’re here for, to make things a little easier for the family. I’m glad I had good news for you.”

  “So are we,” Mallory said. “Although I’m sorry for the other people.”

  “We all are,” Morie said.

  “Death and life are opposite sides of the same coin,” the chaplain replied. “We deal with both here. It’s nice when I can give a happy report, instead of a sad one.”

  “Nice for us, certainly. When can we see him?” Mallory asked.

  “I’ll find out. They’re moving him to ICU now. It will limit the number of people who can go in to two, I’m afraid,” she added as she walked away.

  “Tank and Bodie,” Mallory and Morie said almost at the same time. They laughed at their coordination.

  “I’m…not family, though,” Bodie stammered.

  “Yes, you are,” Morie said gently. “Cane may be an idiot, but you have feelings for him. We all know it, even if he doesn’t. You go with Tank.”

  “Thanks,” she said, her eyes lifting to Mallory to include him.

  “I’ll see him later, with Morie,” he said softly. “Tell him that,” he told Tank. “He’s more fond of you than the rest of us. It will do him good to see you.”

  Tank smiled. “Okay.”

  Bodie wiped her eyes again and managed a smile. Thank God. Cane would live, even if he never wanted to get married or have a family, even if he hated her. He would live. It was enough. For now.

  When they were finally allowed into the cubicle in ICU where Cane was lying on white sheets, covered with a light blanket, Bodie had to grit her teeth. Her mother had been in ICU just at the last, connected by tubes and wires to all sorts of machinery that made regular beeping sounds. There was an oxygen tube in Cane’s nose, a drip IV in his arm. He had cuts on his head and stitches just below his hairline. He was white as a sheet and his eyes were closed. Bodie looked at the thick, black lashes, and wondered at the expression on his face. He was always so tense, so wired. He never seemed to relax and his face reflected that stress. But here, on the bed in the hospital, all the harsh lines were softened. He looked younger, handsomer. He looked almost fragile.