by Kilby Blades
James obeyed, gently setting Chase down. He took a step back, shaking to his core. He crossed his arms over his chest to steady his trembling hands, his forearms soaked with blood.
“The gash on your head. It’s bleeding pretty bad,” Anne said to James, not looking at him.
“I’m fine.” He stared at Chase. He was nowhere close to fine.
“Go wash up and tape a Kotex on your forehead. I can’t believe you can still see with all that blood. I’ll stitch you up after I stabilize him.”
“A Kotex? Like a tampon?”
“No, a pad. We use them for immediate blood absorption.”
“I am not sticking a tampon on my head.”
She glared at him. “Don’t argue.”
James wiped his head, smearing blood on the sleeve of his hunter green flannel shirt. “I’m not leaving him.” His tone left no room for negotiation.
“Listen,” Anne began, peering up at him, her eyes as hard as his, reminding him he was talking to his wife. One of the things that he loved about her was her ability to read right through his bullshit.
“I’m breaking between thirty and three hundred laws right now, not to mention the billion health and safety code violations. My license is on the line and I’m not about to go through all that to save Chase just to lose you to some sort of hemorrhage. You’re covered in grime. Get out of here with those infection-spreading hands,” she ordered. “When you’re clean with a Kotex stuck on your face, come back.” Her eyes narrowed even more. “Or else I will stitch a lightning bolt on that pretty forehead of yours that even Harry Potter will be proud of.”
James grimaced. Blood dripped into his eyes, clouding his vision. He probably looked like something out of a Tarantino movie. He raised his hands, backing off.
“Fine,” he said, biting his lip on the “f”.
“Fine,” she repeated his insinuating enunciation.
Just like when we were married.
“Go to the sink and wash under hot water for thirty seconds. Use that soap and scrub hard. Kotex are on the shelf. I promise we’ll be here when you get back.”
James didn’t have the time to argue. His dog—their dog, really—didn’t have the time. He sprinted to the large stainless steel sink and kicked the water pedal on. The freaking cold water stung his skin and he bit out an expletive. “This water is freezing!”
“Other pedal, genius.”
James narrowed his eyes and swapped pedals. Hot water burst through the pipes. At first the hot water hurt like hell against his thawing hands. But after a moment, it felt good.
He squeezed his eyes against the guilt. Why had he taken his dog for a hike and some training in this inclement weather? What he deserved was a good ass whopping. But how could he have anticipated the front coming in so fast and hard? And that Chase would have risked his life to save him? The weather app’s winter advisory said the storm wouldn’t roll in until well-after midnight. A rogue tear mixed with the blood that burned his cheek.
James blinked, scrubbing the bar of soap against his bare forearms until his skin was raw. He splashed water on his face, grinding his teeth when the water hit his wound, a blinding shock of pain shooting through him.
“You done yet?”
James shook the water from his arms and snagged a towel from the rack, first drying his hands and then wiping his face as best he could. He spotted the box of Kotex on a nearby shelf and tore it open, grimacing as he fastened it against his head using surgical tape.
Wonderful. A man wearing a Kotex.
He hustled back to Chase’s side, laying hands over his dog’s head, not sure whether praying or begging was in order. He’d done all the bargaining during the run to the clinic, and had nothing left to offer.
Except, “I promise I’ll make it right by you.” And, “I’ll get you the biggest Valentine’s Day steak money can buy. A Ruth’s Chris steak.”
“Would have been nice if you’d done that for me once in a while,” Anne muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing. Take off your gun.”
James raised his eyebrows. They both knew he never took it off except to sleep and have sex, and even then, it was right by his head in the nightstand. Always within arm’s reach. Just in case.
“Why?”
“Because you’re making me nervous. It’s clunky, and I need you to hop up on this table and press this gauze to the wound while I give him some oxygen.”
James didn’t argue. He knew it wouldn’t get in the way, but she’d always hated it being an ever-present factor in their relationship.
His goal was to appease her right now, and he was in her arena. He removed it from its holster and set his gun on the counter—still within arm’s reach—before hopping onto the table and straddling Chase.
“What do I do?”
She grabbed fresh gauze and guided his hand to replace hers over the wound. The feel of her touch sent a lightening bolt through him. He bristled for a second, unprepared for that reaction, but before he could hide his emotion, Anne caught it.
“You okay? Can you handle this?”
“Yes,” he said flatly, letting her believe the reaction had been because of Chase.
“Good. Because if blood still makes you queasy, I’m not going to tell you what I’m about to do.”
“Just do what you have to do. Save my dog!”
Anne’s eyes cut to his. “Our dog.” She pressed an oxygen bag over Chase’s nose and wrapped her hand around his mouth.
“Our dog,” he repeated with a murmur. “Can he breathe like that?”
“It’s oxygen,” she muttered.
“I realize that, but over his nose?”
“It’s fine. Stop questioning me.” She wrapped Chase’s mouth shut with a rubber band and kept the bag in place. “Always questioning my methods,” she murmured.
“I heard that,” James said.
“Well, you’re five inches from my face. I’d be concerned if you didn’t hear me.” She slipped her stethoscope from her neck and pressed it against Chase’s chest. “He’s got a weak but steady heartbeat. The bullet didn’t go through. I need to find it.”
“That’s not good.”
He hadn’t considered that it hadn’t been a clean shot. What if the bullet had ricocheted around inside?
“Ah, shit, he’s going to die, isn’t he?”
Anne placed her hand over James’s, raising her eyes to meet his. A reassuring smile curved at the corners of her lips, and for the first time in ages, he caught a glimpse of the face he’d fallen so hard for.
“We’re not out of the woods yet, but the fact we have a heartbeat is good. Had the bullet struck a major artery, he would be dead by now. I need to start an IV and get this bleeding under control. Here.” She grabbed his fingers. “Press your hand here.”
For the second time in three minutes, touching his wife sent a wave of emotion that he’d set on dormant since August 12th—the night he’d read her texts messages from that doctor and learned she had been lying about being out with friends. She had been with the doctor—Joe-something—the night he decided to file for divorce instead of fight for her.
Anne
Anne ran through an acronym she’d come up with in med school. A.C.T.S. Assess, control, treat, survive. Or maybe that was a book of the Bible. Either way, it was a simple method for handling any situation. Because it spoke to every situation. Especially emergencies involving soon-to-be ex-husbands.
Step one, assess the scene and remove the emotion. At this moment, she couldn’t think of Chase as her dog. He was a patient. Step two, control the bleeding. If she didn’t, her patient would die. She glanced at James’s now-steady hands holding the gauze in place, then at the determined look on his face.
Damn, he looked good. When did he grow that beard? Her heart sped up and she shook the thought.
Focus, Anne.
Step three, treat the patient’s life-threatening ailments first. A freaking gunshot wound. How did this
even happen? How did James let their boy get shot?
Finally, at all costs, help the patient survive and she would do that because she had to.
“Be right back,” she announced. “Don’t move.”
With James’s hands covering the wound, Anne bolted out of the room and raided the emergency supply closet. She snagged an IV bag, a small needle and her tray of tools. When she returned, she picked up Chase’s paw and eased the needle into a vein.
“What are you doing?” James interrupted her concentration.
“Shock. Steroids. Fluids. It’s a cocktail to keep him alive and sedated for now,” she answered calmly, not looking up.
“Can you do that?”
Anne tapped the threaded line and raised a brow at her husband.
“I mean, is that helpful?”
“I don’t know. I missed my vet rotation in school.” James’s eyes yielded a pained expression and Anne realized he had even less of a clue than she did. In medical school, she’d practiced on animals as part of her training so she wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the species. It just wasn’t her expertise.
Nope, not in the least.
James was her patient, too….and her ex-husband. She glanced up at the clock. He would be in T-minus-one hour.
Clearing her throat and changing her bed side manner, she clarified, “He needs fluids. We are not set up for anything more intense than that. If you walked in here with a man who had a GSW, I’d have done my best to slow the bleeding while calling in a helicopter or ambulance to transfer him to Mercy Grace.”
James nodded and seemed to settle. “Right. Okay. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I just need to concentrate.”
Okay, Anne, she thought. Treat the wound. Save the patient.
As she tapped the IV, one question loomed in the back of her mind: how had Chase been shot? James was dressed in civilian clothing, not his uniform. He also hadn’t explained the large gash on his head. What the hell had happened out there and why wasn’t his boss informed? Chase was their dog, but he was also police property, and this required notifying James’s sergeant. If James had called, Anne expected the waiting room would be teeming with Oakwood County officers.
James must have sensed her mental unease because, just like a cop, he got right to the point. “What?”
She glanced up. “What do you mean?”
“I know that look. What’s wrong?”
“Just . . . did you call your sergeant?” she asked as if the question were part of an every day conversation.
“No, not yet.”
“Do you think you should?”
“I will. I’m currently holding the gauze, however.”
Anne nodded. But why hadn’t he earlier? Everything happened so quickly that maybe he hadn’t had time. Or…Anne gulped, fearing the worst.
What if James accidentally shot Chase?
She eyed his shirt. “Were you working undercover?”
“We were training. On a hike.”
“In this weather?” she asked, incredulous. Her cheeks warmed under James’s scrutinizing gaze. “I mean, it’s just so cold and a front has moved in. The news said it could be the worst storm of the season.”
He raised a brow. “Chase has to be ready to work in all weather conditions.”
Anne bit back any further questions, not wanting to know the answers. The fact that he was working in this harsh weather, hadn’t contacted his sergeant, and wasn’t working with a partner gave her pause. If there was an accident due to carelessness that could cost both their lives, she didn’t want to know.
James
James watched Anne work like a freaking magician. In a span of a few minutes, she’d swapped out the gauze, barely shifting his hands to do so, zipped out of the room and then reappeared, pulling a tray with a whole mess of tools on a rolling table. She started the IV and then swapped out the gauze again. M.D. followed her name on her lab coat, and, damn, if she didn’t look sexy in it. As far as he was concerned, she could be Bear Grylls using a roll of floss and dinner knife to do the job. She was certainly as brilliant as him, but way more gorgeous.
In her quiet way, she was doing her job by asking all the required questions, but he didn’t like her treating him like just any patient. No, he probably shouldn’t have been out tonight but, in his defense, Chase was a wimp in the snow and tonight’s weather had provided a great opportunity to train. He’d been fully prepared to bring Chase in before the weather turned bad, but then, all hell broke loose.
Anne finished shaving a clean spot around the wound and looked up. “Okay, he’s prepped.”
James nodded. “What does that mean?”
She trekked to the sink and washed her hands. Then she gloved up and very calmly said, “I don’t know if you want to be in here for this. It may not be pretty.”
The words sent a chill up his back. “I’m not leaving,” he said with finality in his voice.
“I didn’t think so. Why don’t you stand by his head and comfort him? What I’m about to do is going to hurt. Without an available x-ray, I need to try and feel for the bullet. I sedated him, but keep him calm if he wakes up.”
James felt hot. “You mean feel, as in, put your finger in the hole.”
“Probably two fingers.”
James swallowed dryly. “Oh, God.”
Anne ignored his sudden queasiness. She filled her lungs and honed in on the injury, slowly inserting her fingers. “Based on the wound’s location, the obvious clot, and the anatomy similar to a human, my best guess is that it’s lodged in his abdomen. I need to get it out. It’ll greatly increase his chances of survival until we can get him to the vet hospital.”
James slowly bobbed his head up and down, deciding he didn’t care if she had to open him up completely, he’d stay here for his partner and stay calm. He swallowed all the doubt and fear that had steadily washed over him since the moment he’d heard the deafening pop and his dog yelp. He hopped off the table, ambling around to Chase’s head. He laid both hands on Chase’s head, scratching the coarse fur behind his ears. This was his partner—his friend—the only true companion he still had left. He’d walk through fire for him.
“Do you know if it was a handgun or a—” Anne’s lowered lashes appeared to fixate on his weapon on the counter. “Or something else?”
“I don’t know. Probably a . . .” Wait, shit, that’s her real question. “Are you insinuating I shot my dog?”
“Our dog, James. You might have retained him in mediation, but he’s our dog.”
He glared at her. “Fine, our dog.” Why were they even arguing about this right now? “You think I shot him?”
“All I know is you came into my clinic carrying our dog with a bullet hole in his side. That’s it. I didn’t ask those questions, I just got to work.”
James clenched his jaw. She was right. She didn’t ask questions, at least not that question. Of course, she had every right to know what happened. She was the one putting everything on the line, not him. He owed her an explanation.
Chase had saved him. That’s all he knew. “It was a mountain lion.”
Anne’s eyes shot to his, then immediately back to her task. “What?”
“We were deep in the woods. I had Chase running tactical maneuvers when I saw it about ten yards from me.”
Anne stiffened, her brows furrowed, searching his face. “Did you try to scare it?”
James shook his head and continued, keeping his eyes trained on Chase. “It’s not typical for them to come out like that, but sure enough it was there, haunches raised, fangs exposed. I reached for my revolver, but Chase was faster. He came out of nowhere and chased the threat away. I called him back, but that’s when I heard the pop followed by the yelp.”
She sucked in a breath. “Oh, James.”
“Yeah, I saw Chase slow down, and he just sort of laid down, his big brown eyes looking at me. And then they closed.”
“Jesus, James. Who shot him? Did you call 911?”
James eyes narrowed. “I’m almost positive it was some kids messing around. I saw small boot tracks earlier. I figured kids were shooting at rabbits. But since we were the ones who wandered into the open-fire zone without the proper hi-vis vests, it was my fault. The bullet ricocheted off a log before lodging into Chase. And no, I didn’t call 911 because there’s no cell signal up there. I ran him to my truck and set him right next to me, holding my jacket against his wound.
“At that point I reached for my cell to call for help.” He squeezed his eyes shut, seeing what happened next as vividly as if he were reliving the moment. He swallowed but kept going. “I must have dropped it in the snow. That’s when I hit a patch of black ice. Ran me right into a ditch. When I came to, blood was in my eyes and my head felt like a knife went through it, and Chase was completely out.”
Anne’s brows knit together. She pressed her lips into a line, holding back a sob. “Thank God you’re okay.”
That wasn’t the response he expected. He didn’t know what to say. She was acting like she cared. She held his gaze for a few long seconds, then broke away, a bit of a flush on her cheeks, her hands working diligently.
Chase flinched and James startled. “Is he awake?”
“No, involuntary movement from my fingers probing.”
Anne closed her eyes and leaned into Chance’s body, her eyes flickering and lips silently moving as she felt her way around his insides. The thought reignited his queasy stomach. Not because what she was doing was gruesome, he’d seen his share of gnarly scenes, scenes he’d never share with Anne, but because her hands were in Chase. What she did or didn’t find there would play a large role in the dog’s chances.
“I should have named him Chance.”
“What?” Anne’s eyes opened before closing again.
“Chance. He took a chance on me today. Lunging after that cat the way he did. He takes a chance every day he leaves the house and hops in the back of my truck. His chance of survival today depends on a chance you can find that bullet.”
A ghost of a smile rippled across her face and her eyes met his. “You named him Chase because he chased everything. He chased his litter mates, his food, his toys, his trainer, but mostly, he chased you. We couldn’t even have a proper one-year anniversary because he chased you all the way into our bed, and wouldn’t leave you as long as I had you pinned under me.”