by D. L. Roan
A second of silence passed. Grant pulled the trigger. Stupid Fucker hit the dirt, screaming like a goddamn girl. “You shot my hand off!”
Grant shrugged. “Sorry. I’ll aim better next time.” It was a gamble, he knew. Fifty-fifty chance he was right and the guy didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger. Not his life. Not his hand. Not his problem.
Grant cursed as he secured the man’s guns and gathered his legs together. Pulling him to a sitting position, he yanked Stupid Fucker’s belt from his waist and tied off his bleeding stump.
This was why it was easier to just kill the bastard. Now he either had to knock his sorry ass out and carry him back to the ranch, or listen to him scream and whimper like a sniveling bitch the whole way back. He’d probably puke once or twice on the way, too.
Before tucking his gun back into his waistband, Grant stepped back and studied the little shit, his screeching voice gaining an octave with every cry. To hell with this. Twenty seconds later he had the unconscious—and blissfully silent—overweight bastard flung over his shoulder as he headed back the way he came.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Five days! Grey paced the sterile, horse-stall-sized waiting room the hospital called a family lounge. Five days and six fucking nights since he’d allowed himself to feel something, anything, and now his entire world was crashing in around him. This is what he’d been shutting out; this searing, gaping hole in his chest that grew bigger and deeper as the minutes ticked by with no news.
He’d thought time had slowed down when he looked out his office window and saw Claira fall from that dead bitch of a tree. Then gunfire erupted and World War III broke out on his ranch. That was nothing compared to this. Time stopped all together now. Every time he looked at the clock on the waiting room wall, what seemed like hours had been mere minutes.
“What’s taking them so long?” Grey turned, focusing on the green linoleum as it passed under his feet. He reached the end of another pace across the room and turned, stopping to look at the clock again. He couldn’t do this anymore. “I’m going in there.”
“Greyson, don’t.” Hazel pulled him back from the door and stepped in front of him. “They are doing everything they can. You know it won’t help.”
Grey dug the heels of his hands into his tired eyes and growled. “It’s been over an hour since she came out of surgery. Why can’t we see her?”
“Son.” Josiah approached his eldest son and clapped his big hands on his shoulders. “Let’s go outside and get some fresh air. I’m sure they’ll have her ready for visitors when we get back.”
“I’m not leaving her, dad.” Grey shrugged off his dad’s hand and began pacing again. Pictures of Claira’s lifeless body flooded his thoughts. Lying on the ground, her face was white and dotted with drops of her blood. “They said the bullet passed right through her shoulder. Why would they be taking so goddamn long if nothing else is wrong?”
Hazel patted his arm and turned him toward the row of chairs that lined the back wall. “Honey, they also said she has a severe concussion from the fall. Give them time. Give her time. She’s been through a lot and her body needs to rest so she can heal.”
The waiting room door swished open. Grey jumped from the seat he’d just taken when Matt walked in carrying Connor, Mason right behind him with Car in his arms.
“Daddy Grey?” Con whimpered and reached toward him with his uninjured arm. Grey reached out, took him from Matt and cradled him to his chest. “It hurts, daddy,” Con sobbed.
Another piece of Grey’s heart broke away as he tucked Con’s head under his chin and held his youngest son, hoping to never feel that all-consuming fear of losing him again.
“I know, buddy. It will be better soon, I promise.” Grey stepped over to Mason and reached for Car. “Come here, little man.”
Car hesitated at first, but latched onto Grey’s neck and pulled himself into Grey’s arms. “I’m sorry, daddy. It was my fault. I told Con it would be a good idea to fly the airplane from the top of the tree.”
“But I wanted to do it!” Con protested through his hiccupping cries. “Please don—don’t be mad—mad at him, Daddy. It—it—was—my—fault—too.”
Grey’s knees buckled and he sank back down into one of the lounge chairs, hugging both his boys as tight as he could. “I’m not mad.” He was sure he’d be mad later, but now? Right now he was grateful, and scared shitless.
Jake and Josiah huddled together in a whispered conversation before Jake stepped over to Grey, knelt on his haunches in front of him and cupped his grandsons’ little faces. “Your Mom and I are going to take them home with us. The police are still out at the ranch with Nate and Uncle Cade, working things out. When they’re done we’ll go over and gather some of their things. Joe will stay here with you until one of us comes back with a fresh change of clothes for all of you.”
Grey tensed when Jake reached for his boys, unwilling yet to lose the feel of them, alive, and safe in his arms. His mom stepped over and placed a kiss on the top of his head “We’ll take good care of our grandbabies.”
Moments later the room exploded in a cacophony of loud curses as the McLendon men began to vent some of the anger they’d subdued in front of their mother and the twins. A loud thump broke through the chaos and Grey turned to see what was left of one of the chintzy coffee tables Mason had thrown against the wall.
“If that sonofabitch ever steps one foot outside of a jail cell I’ll rip his throat out with my bare hands and feed what’s left of his sorry, goddamn carcass to the coyotes.”
Joe, Matt and Grey stared slack-jawed at Mason. Ever the silent presence of calm and the self-appointed peace keeper of the entire McLendon family, the normally cool and collected Mason had come completely unglued.
“I want every goddamn faculty member on that fucking schoolboard fired! No, not fired. Gone! I’ll burn down every one of their goddamn houses and see to it personally that none of them ever step foot in this town again! And so help me God, if I ever hear that prick’s name uttered anywhere other than an obituary I’ll kill the sorry sonofabitch that dared to say it out loud!”
Matt was so entirely awestruck at his twin that he jumped when the waiting room door swung open. Two official-looking men in suits strolled in as Mason kicked another chair across the room. The men stopped in mid-stride and everyone in the room paused to glance back at Mason. He ran his hands through his hair and turned away from them with a frustrated snarl.
The older of the two men cleared his throat and offered his hand to Grey. “I’m detective Handleman. This is my partner, Detective Simms. We’re from the Boswick County Sheriff’s Department. Sherriff Long called us in to assist him on this case.”
Grey shook the man’s hand. Matt and Josiah followed suit. They looked over at Mason but didn’t make an attempt to greet him. “We have Preston Dawes in custody—”
Mason’s growl was more animalistic than human as he lunged at the Detective. Grey and Joe stepped up to block his path and hold him back. Mason fought against their hold, reaching out to grab whatever handful of flesh he could get his hands on as both the Detectives took a step back from the shocking scene.
“Uh, this isn’t such a good time.” Matt felt a strange but welcome sense of calm as he opened the door to usher them from the room. Mason had lost his damn mind and, for the first time in his life, he was the rational twin. He almost laughed at the odd thought. It made his skin itch a little, but he kind of liked the unexpected switch. “Give us some time to process this,” Matt requested once they were out of the room. “We’ll all still be here, and hopefully a little more cooperative tomorrow. Can you come back in the mornin’?”
“Mr. McLendon,” the younger Detective said. “I’m sure you understand that it’s best if we get the details down while they're still fresh.”
Matt urged him down the hall toward his partner. “And I’m sure you understand that, if you go back into that room, my brother will rip off your head and shove it up your
ass, and I’ll be hell-bent to help him.” So much for calm and collected. He shrugged and turned back toward the waiting room from hell. It was nice while it lasted.
Three more agonizing hours passed before they allowed anyone into Claira’s room. Even then it was only one at a time. Grey and Matt held back and let Mason go first, with the hope that seeing her would help him climb back into his own skin. When he returned a short while later, he was little more than a broken shell.
The aching twist in Grey’s gut grew tighter as he slid into the seat beside to Claira’s bed. She looked so fragile, more than usual. He couldn’t help but stare in awe as he wondered how such a tiny person wouldn’t just crumble into a million unrecognizable pieces after taking a bullet like that. Thank God it hadn’t hit anything vital. The thought that it could have been one of his boys lying in that bed... He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. It was unthinkable. She’d saved their lives. All of them.
That sick fuck, Dawes, puked up a full confession, still spouting off at the mouth as Grant carried him up to the house and dumped his sorry, bleeding ass on the ground in front of one of the ambulances. He had a debt to pay to Grant, too.
Apparently, somewhere in Preston Dawes’s twisted mind, he believed they had somehow stolen Sarah from him. “It’s your wicked and corrupt witchcraft that made her stay with you! You filled her with your demon spawn and they killed her!” he’d shouted as they lifted him onto a gurney. “I’ll not let you corrupt another innocent woman.” Dawes had twisted and flopped on the gurney, glaring at Grey as they wheeled him to the ambulance. “I’ll not let you! She’s mine!”
Grey felt like vomiting, again as he heard Dawes’ whiny voice in his head repeat on a constant loop. He still couldn’t believe how much he’d underestimated the crazy fucker. He knew the man was prejudiced—all of the Dawes’ and Grunions were—but he’d never once imagined one of them would stake out their home and start shooting at them.
Grant had spotted Dawes slithering across the pasture. He’d retrieved his rifle and climbed to the roof of the feed barn to scope him out, thinking he’d caught a hunter poaching on their land.
When he’d watched him set up at the edge of the property and scope out their home, Grant knew they were in trouble. Before he could climb down to warn anyone, the twins had begun to scurry up the tree that stood between them, and then all hell had broken loose. He couldn’t get a clear shot until Con had slipped down to the lower branch and by then it was too late. Claira took the bullet that Dawes had intended for his son.
Now, she was lying there, unconscious, tubes and wires snaking their way around her every limb. The doctor’s said her head injury caused her brain to swell and they were keeping her in a coma with medicine until the swelling subsided.
They were saying there was a chance, a small chance, she might not remember them or what had happened when she woke. She could even have brain damage.
Grey got up and paced to the other side of the room. He wouldn’t let himself even think it. No one knew what she was going through, locked away behind all those medications that made her sleep. She would be fine. And if she wasn’t, then they would take care of her and help her until she was fine. She was their heart. She was the heart of Falcon Ridge; their gift from heaven and he wasn’t giving her back!
Two days passed and the swelling had stopped. She was breathing on her own and they had removed a few of the more intimidating machines from her room. The men came and went on a constant rotation. One or more of their dads was always there for support. Josiah had gone in to sit with her a bit that first night. He was wiped when he came back into the waiting room and no one acknowledged the red rims around his watery eyes. Nate and Jake hung back with the rest of the family whenever they were there, always offering a strong shoulder if the men needed it. No one cried in front of the family, but they had all shed a million tears between them when they were alone.
The constant drone of the machines beeping and whirring had lulled Mason into a dark and fitful sleep. Sitting on the rigid edge of the only chair in the room, his upper body slumped over the edge of Claira’s bed, her hand in his. Her tiny fingers twitched against his palm. At first he’d thought it had been a dream. He opened his eyes, wiping away the crusty haze only a mixture of tears and exhaustion can cause. He held his breath in a motionless trance, waiting to feel the movement again, praying that it wasn’t a dream.
Another twitch followed by a wispy moan jerked Mason into the realm of the conscious. The numbness in his legs and feet had him scrambling for purchase when he stood. He ignored the pain as the sudden rapid beat of his heart pumped a rush of blood to his legs.
With a touch as soft as a feather, he caressed her pale cheek and brushed his lips against her temple. In a whisper he repeated the request that had been his silent plea to her for the last two days. “Hey, Sweetheart. Please wake up for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
A small, shiny dot appeared in the middle of the most complete darkness Claira had ever known. It was as if the sky had turned to black and the sun had shrunk to the size of a distant star. When she tried to focus on the dim light, a spike of pain pierced her skull. A haze of reds and oranges floated in her peripheral vision and set her chest on fire.
She heard a faint groan in the distance. It grew closer as the light grew brighter and her chest burned hotter. Then she was falling. She grasped frantically at the dark nothingness that was swallowing her whole, but found only more darkness and pain. She heard voices and shouts and piercing sirens of noise. In a snap everything fell silent. A warm numbness enveloped her. She welcomed the darkness as she faded away into its depths.
Mason scrambled toward Claira’s bed as the nurses pushed him back. “What’s wrong with her?” He shouted over her screams and the alarms and the doctors barking orders. Claira’s body convulsed wildly. Whimpering incoherently, she grasped blindly at anything within reach. One of the nurses pushed him toward the door. He slumped against the wall in a boneless heap as whatever medicine they’d injected into her IV took over and she relaxed back into her bed.
“This is expected, Mr. McLendon.” The attending physician extended his hand and helped Mason to his feet. He’d long ago given up trying to remember any of the nurses or doctors' names. “She’s coming around, slowly, but with everything her body has been through things can be a bit...confusing for her. This is a good sign, trust me. She’s fighting her way back.”
Mason trembled as he nodded at the doctor. He glanced over at Claira’s now sleeping form. “So this...” He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and scrubbed a hand over his face. “This means she is going to wake up? She’s going to be ok?”
The doctor gave him a sympathetic look then turned to look back at Claira. “I can’t make that promise, Mr. McLendon. But I can say that she seems to be a fighter. The swelling went down quickly and she’s responding to more stimuli each day. There’s only so much we can do. She has to do the rest.” Mason nodded but couldn’t say anything through the lump in his throat.
“It’s only been forty-eight hours. Give it time.” The doctor opened the door and ushered him from the room, away from Claira. He glanced back over his shoulder at her frail form as the door closed behind them.
“Go for a walk, Mason.” The doctor said. “Let one of your brothers take a shift. If you don’t mind me saying so, at the risk of losing my head, you look like shit. You’re no good to her or your family like this.”
Mason began to argue, but the doctor held up a staying hand and blocked his attempt to go back to her room. “That wasn’t a request, Mason. It’s not good for you or her.”
Two days following the nightmare episode Mason had witnessed, Grey sat slouched in the chair next to Claira’s bed, fingering the ring they’d bought her the night before. Being able to focus on something besides the wreck their lives had become had given him back a little strength. But, buying that ring on faith that she’d be ok, and would accept their proposal, had se
t him back more than a bit in confidence. Different scenarios played in his mind, too many of them without a happy ending. How could she still want us after this?
Over the last two days Claira had several more episodes like the one she’d had with Mason. Now she rested comfortably, muttering words and phrases that made no sense but gave him more hope than he’d had the day before. He sat listening to waves of silence intermingled with quiet mumbling, her voice like a lullaby rocking him to sleep. He was so immersed in the sounds that he didn’t answer when she first whispered his name.
“Grey?”
Grey’s eyes opened and a wave of adrenaline washed over his skin.
“Grey?” Claira whispered again and he turned to see her big doe eyes staring back at him.
“Claira?” Oh thank you God! “I’m right here, baby bird.” Grey rushed to her side and cradled her delicate face in his hands. “You remember me,” he said in an excited whisper. “You’re really awake and you’re going to be ok. And you remember me!”
“Of course I remember you.” Claira half smiled, but then closed her eyes on a painful moan. “Where am I?” Her mouth was as dry as a desert and her throat burned.
“You’re in the hospital, baby. Let me get the nurses and I’ll be right back.” Grey didn’t want to leave her, but he had to get a nurse or someone to make sure she was ok.
Hospital? What was she doing in the hospital? “Wait, Grey?” She tried to sit up, but something skewered her to the bed like a white-hot poker through her chest. “Ow!” She looked down at the bandages over her chest that extended to her shoulder and adrenaline rushed through her veins as the memories flooded back.
“Grey!”
Grey jumped when he heard a fear laden scream from Claira’s room. He dashed back in to see her trying to rip the IV from her arm. “Claira! Baby, don’t do that! What’s wrong?”
“Grant! Grey, you have to get away. Grant tried to kill me and he’ll kill you too! He’ll kill all of you!” She wrestled with the nurse and the tangles of wires and tubes as she choked on a sob.