Switchback

by Pamela Fagan Hutchins

Laughing hurt his guts, but smiling felt okay, so he did.

  “You’ve been talking in your sleep,” she said.

  “Did I say anything smart?”

  “Every time your lips move.” She smiled at him. “Which is a lot.”

  “Ha ha.” He readjusted on the bed. His body ached, but the cramps had ebbed.

  Wes appeared in the doorway. He walked up to the bed and patted Patrick’s shoulder. “Doc, good to see you awake. And I hear your survival is all thanks to the beautiful Mrs. Doc.”

  “What?” Patrick asked.

  Susanne shook her head. “Only partially. You were there, too, Wes.”

  Wes cocked his head, his words an echo of Patrick’s. “What?”

  Patrick didn’t like remembering the knife plunging into Chester’s throat. But he was damn glad he’d had it. “I got Trish away from her kidnappers with the pocketknife you gave me.” He left out the gory details.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. Sawbones to the rescue.”

  “You might fit in around here someday after all, Doc.” Wes beamed. “Speaking of the Joneses, did the coroner ever reach you? He wanted to finalize some things in Bethany Jones’s report.”

  “Nope.”

  Susanne pounded a fist on a knee. “Spit in a well bucket. Did Trish not tell you he called?”

  “Still a nope.”

  Wes held up his hands in front of his chest. “He said it’s just a formality. His findings are that you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  A weight lifted from Patrick’s chest. He believed in himself, but anytime he lost a patient, he second-guessed his every decision and action. Even more so when the family came after him and his so aggressively. “Good to hear. Very good.”

  “Well, I’m off shift. I’ll leave you two to canoodle. Or whatever you were doing.”

  Patrick snorted. “Too weak to canoodle.”

  “Soon.” Susanne smiled.

  They waved as Wes left.

  Patrick sighed. “Honestly, I don’t remember anything after Chester.”

  Susanne inspected her nails. They were short. Broken-looking. “You missed me shooting Billy Kemecke.”

  “Did you just say Billy Kemecke? The fugitive who killed a game warden and a deputy?”

  “I did.”

  “How and where?”

  “At the campsite. When you were passed out by the fire.”

  His jaw hung slack. “I’m completely lost. Billy Kemecke was there? And so were you, shooting fugitives? Tell me everything.”

  Susanne filled him in quickly, starting with all she’d been through after he left. He was horrified about Kemecke and the wreck, and that he hadn’t been with her. Chagrined that she’d come to Hunter Corral looking for them, then up into the mountains with Ronnie because of her premonition. Dumbstruck that she had ridden in the dead of night on a strange horse into the wilderness and saved his life by shooting Kemecke.

  “I went with my gut,” she said.

  “So an old dog learned a new trick?”

  She dipped her chin and looked up at him. “Who are you calling old? Or a dog?”

  “It’s an expression, mostly because I don’t know what to say. You’re amazing.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. I amazed myself.” Then she frowned. “Kemecke said you killed his mother.”

  “I haven’t had any patients named Kemecke.”

  “Kemecke is Chester’s older half brother. Bethany was his mother, too.”

  He groaned. “Now it makes sense.”

  “Except for the part where they believe you killed their mother. The dead guy on the mountain—who Kemecke killed, according to Trish—was their cousin.”

  “And the kid?”

  “Ben Jones. Chester’s son.”

  Patrick massaged his temples. All this new information was making his head hurt worse. “But how did Kemecke get from our place to the mountains to meet up with Chester and the rest of them?”

  “In our station wagon. Which was found up in Woodchuck Pass, hidden by Woodchuck Creek.”

  Patrick shook his head. “That still doesn’t explain how he knew where to find them.”

  “Ronnie had that answer for me. There’s another Kemecke sibling in Buffalo. And she doesn’t like you much, either.”

  He put a hand on his chest, looking mock offended. “Everybody likes me.”

  Susanne laughed. “Not Brandon Lewis’s mom. The one you got fired? When her brother Billy Kemecke left our place, he went to see her, and that’s where he learned you guys were up on Walker Prairie. Because Trish had left a message about it with her for Brandon. Honestly, Kemecke was trying to find you, not his brother.”

  “I guess he got doubly lucky.”

  “And us doubly unlucky.”

  “Tell me about it.” Patrick yawned. The protozoa were still doing a number on him. “Go on. What else?”

  She told him about the search team arriving and the group that had gone after Perry and the horses.

  “Did they get Reno off the mountain?”

  She stroked his hair off his forehead. “They did, supporting him from behind with ropes. Perry insisted on staying with him, too.”

  A one-ton horse with a compound fracture and fly-by-night splint, on three legs? It had to have been hellishly slow. Dangerous, too. “And no one got crushed?”

  “Nope. I think it took them six hours.”

  “Wow. It only took us one or two to ride up there.”

  Susanne smiled. “Perry said Reno was a trooper.”

  “Where is Reno now?”

  “They hauled him straight to Joe Crumpton’s veterinary hospital.”

  Susanne kept talking, and Patrick closed his eyes and listened. She told him Reno would be lame, but since Crumpton owed him one—hell, he owed him more than one—he promised to doctor Reno like he would a Kentucky Derby winner. Luckily, the horse had only broken his splint bone, which was less severe than a cannon fracture. Reno hadn’t shown any sign of infection or joint sepsis yet, either, which was another of Patrick’s fears. With luck and good care, Reno would live. And then Patrick would make sure he had the best of feed and pasture mates for the rest of his life. It was the least he could do after the ride Reno had given him to find Trish.

  “How did I get down?” he asked.

  “A horse-drawn stretcher. It was quite an event. Trish, Ronnie, and I rode down beside you. An ambulance was waiting for you at Woodchuck Pass.”

  Chester had been pronounced dead at the scene, Susanne told him, but Kemecke would live to face death-penalty charges. Ben Jones was no worse for his knock on the head. He’d likely finish his youth in juvenile detention. Trish had tried to plead his case, how he hadn’t wanted to kidnap her, that his violent family had forced him to go along with them, but Patrick knew that would be for the law to decide. As for Ronnie, the sheriff had blistered her hide about riding up into the mountains with Susanne, but in the end, she’d kept her job.

  Susanne kissed his forehead. “And that’s about it, except that Perry has renewed his demand to play football. He said he tackled one of the bad guys and took him down.”

  “Not that successfully.” Patrick pretended to grumble through his smile. “But the kid was incredible.”

  Susanne shrugged. “So he’s told everyone. I know I was against it before, but I think we should let him play.”

  “Over my dead body.” But Patrick knew he would cave. “And Trish?”

  “She seems good. Better than good. Dare I say nice?”

  “You’re probably going too far.”

  “She wants to go to church this weekend. She said she promised God she would if she got away.”

  Despite the pain, Patrick laughed. “I seem to recall the Lewis family goes to our church.”

  Susanne laughed, too. “And there’s that.”

  “A little awkward, given his family ties.”

  “It may have a dampening effect on the relationship.”

  Patrick wouldn’t
mind that at all. “Imagine those Christmas dinners, with an in-law who kidnapped our daughter, tied you up, and tried to kill us.” He scooted up in his bed.

  “Hopefully Kemecke will be out of the picture for good, soon.” Susanne cranked him to a seated position.

  He cleared his throat. “I need to say something to you.”

  “I have something to say to you, too.”

  “Ladies first.”

  She took a deep breath and blew it out. Her eyes were moist. “I’m really, really sorry I didn’t go to the mountains with you guys. And not just because I was held hostage and had a wreck and had to ride up into the mountains to save you.” They smiled at each other. “But because I missed you. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. Even on an elk hunt. In Wyoming.”

  Patrick’s throat closed. After he was able to swallow down a lump, he said, “And I shouldn’t have tried to make you do things you didn’t want to. I want to do things you’ll enjoy, too.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed his lips softly, then stood up. “I’ll go tell the kids you’re awake.”

  “Wait, I didn’t get to say my piece yet.”

  “I thought that was it.”

  “Nope.” He took her hand. “You need to know that you are okay with me just like you are. You don’t ever have to ride another horse or go hunting, or even love Wyoming. I love you. And I’m also so proud of you. Coming after us like that? You saved us. You faced your fears, and you saved us.”

  Susanne wiped a tear. “Patrick Flint, that may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  He grinned. “I guess nearly dying makes a guy romantic.”

  She adopted an officious expression and formal voice. “You didn’t nearly die, you know. It was just a glorified case of diarrhea.”

  “Hey now! You sound like me.” But he laughed. “Seriously. I owe you one. I shouldn’t have left you. How can I make it up to you?”

  Her expression was reflective. “I want out of our house. I feel . . . differently about it after being held hostage there by a killer who kidnapped our daughter.”

  Patrick steeled himself. “Back to Texas?”

  “Eventually. But I’d be willing to compromise for now with a house near a creek. With a couple of acres and a mountain view.”

  His face lit up. “Really?”

  “Really.” She kissed him again, a little longer and a little less gently.

  “Canoodling is starting to sound better and better,” he said.

  From the doorway came the sounds of gagging and fake retching.

  “Gross,” Perry said.

  “Like, get a room,” Trish added.

  Patrick threw his voice to sound like hers. “Like, get a life.”

  “Like, I already have one, and it’s pretty awesome.” She tossed her hair, but the snotty expression she’d been wearing lately was gone.

  He nodded. Something they could agree on. It was a good life they had. He patted the bed beside him. “I’m busting out of this joint today. We’ve got these elk tags, and we didn’t get our elk. Who’s up for a little hunt this weekend?”

  He girded himself for the anticipated response, smiling ear to ear when he got three groans and an eye-roll.

  ***

  Next up: There’s more Patrick Flint and family coming in early 2020 in Snake Oil. Pre-order now!

  Or you can continue adventuring in the What Doesn’t Kill You mystery world:

  Want to stay in Wyoming? Rock on with Maggie in Live Wire on Amazon (free in Kindle Unlimited) at https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07L5RYGHZ.

  Prefer the beginning of it all? Start with Katie in Saving Grace on Amazon (free to Kindle Unlimited subscribers), here: https://www.amazon.com/Saving-Grace-Doesnt-Romantic-Mystery-ebook/dp/B009FZPMFO.

  Or get the complete WDKY series here: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07QQVNSPN.

  ***

  And don’t forget to snag the free What Doesn't Kill You prequel novella by joining Pamela’s mailing list at https://www.subscribepage.com/PFHSuperstars.

  For my dad, who gave me all my best traits and a few of my others. You have always been my hero, Papasan—totally book worthy!—and I love you.

  And for Eric, without whom there would be no books, for so many reasons.

  Other Books by the Author

  Fiction from SkipJack Publishing

  The What Doesn't Kill You Series

  Act One (Prequel, Ensemble Novella)

  Saving Grace (Katie #1)

  Leaving Annalise (Katie #2)

  Finding Harmony (Katie #3)

  Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1)

  Earth to Emily (Emily #2)

  Hell to Pay (Emily #3)

  Going for Kona (Michele #1)

  Fighting for Anna (Michele #2)

  Searching for Dime Box (Michele #3)

  Buckle Bunny (Maggie Prequel Novella)

  Shock Jock (Maggie Prequel Short Story)

  Live Wire (Maggie #1)

  Sick Puppy (Maggie #2)

  Dead Pile (Maggie #3)

  The Essential Guide to the What Doesn’t Kill You Series

  The Ava Butler Trilogy: A Sexy Spin-off From What Doesn’t Kill You

  Bombshell (Ava #1)

  Stunner (Ava #2)

  Knockout (Ava #3)

  The Patrick Flint Trilogy: A Spin-off From What Doesn’t Kill You

  Switchback (Patrick Flint #1)

  Snake Oil (Patrick Flint #2): 2020

  Sawbones (Patrick Flint #3): 2020

  Nonfiction from SkipJack Publishing

  The Clark Kent Chronicles

  Hot Flashes and Half Ironmans

  How to Screw Up Your Kids

  How to Screw Up Your Marriage

  Puppalicious and Beyond

  What Kind of Loser Indie Publishes,

  and How Can I Be One, Too?

  Audio, e-book, and paperback versions of most titles available.

  Acknowledgments

  When I got the call from my father that he had metastatic prostate cancer spread into his bones in nine locations, I was with a houseful of retreat guests in Wyoming while my parents (who normally summer in Wyoming) were in Texas. The guests were so kind and comforting to me, as was Eric, but there was only one place I wanted to be, and that was home. Not home where I grew up, because I lived in twelve places by the time I was twelve, and many thereafter. No, home is truly where the heart is. And that meant home for Eric and me would be with my parents.

  I was in the middle of writing two novels at the time: Blue Streak, the first Laura mystery in the What Doesn’t Kill You series, and Polarity, a series spin-off contemporary romance based on my love story with Eric. I put them both down. I needed to write, but not those books. They could wait. I needed to write through my emotions—because that’s what writers do—with books spelling out the ending we were seeking for my dad’s story. Allegorically and biographically, while fictionally.

  So that is what I did, and Dr. Patrick Flint (aka Dr. Peter Fagan—my pops—in real life) and family were hatched, using actual stories from our lives in late 1970s Buffalo, Wyoming as the depth and backdrop to a new series of mysteries, starting with Switchback and moving on to Snake Oil and Sawbones. I hope the real life versions of Patrick, Susanne, and Perry will forgive me for taking liberties in creating their fictional alter egos. I took care to make Trish the most annoying character since she's based on me, to soften the blow for the others. I am so hopeful that my loyal readers will enjoy them, too, even though in some ways the novels are a departure from my usual stories. But in many ways they are the same. Character-driven, edge-of-your-seat mysteries steeped in setting/culture, with a strong nod to the everyday magic around us, and filled with complex, authentic characters (including some AWESOME females).

  I had a wonderful time writing these books, and it kept me going when it was tempting to fold in on myself and let stress eat me alive. For more stories behind the actual stories, visit my blog on my website: http://pamelafaganhutchins.c
om. And let me know if you liked the novels. I have three more in my hip pocket, waiting to be written if you want them: Snaggle Tooth, Scape Goat, and Strike Out.

  Thanks to my dad for advice on all things medical, wilderness, hunting, 1970s, and animal. I hope you had fun using your medical knowledge for murder!

  Thanks to my mom for printing the manuscript (over and over, in its entirety) as she and dad followed along daily on the progress.

  Thanks to my husband, Eric, for brainstorming with and encouraging me and beta reading the Patrick Flint stories despite his busy work, travel, and workout schedule. And for moving in to my parents’s barn apartment with me so I could be closer to them during this time.

  Thanks to our five offspring. I love you guys more than anything, and each time I write a parent/child (birth, adopted, foster, or step), I channel you. I am so touched by how supportive you have been with Poppy, Gigi, Eric, and me.

  To each and every blessed reader, I appreciate you more than I can say. It is the readers who move mountains for me, and for other authors, and I humbly ask for the honor of your honest reviews and recommendations.

  Thanks mucho to Bobbye and Rhonda for putting up with my eccentric and ever-changing needs. Extra thanks to Bobbye for the fantastic Patrick Flint covers.

  Patrick Flint editing credits go to Rhonda Erb and Whitney Cox. The proofreaders who enthusiastically devote their time—gratis—to help us rid my books of flaws blow me away. My gratitude goes to Anita, Caren, Karen, Kelly, Misty, Ginger, Lanier, Tara, and Pat.

  SkipJack Publishing now includes fantastic books by a cherry-picked bushel basket of mystery/thriller/suspense writers. If you write in this genre, visit http://SkipJackPublishing.com for submission guidelines. To check out our other authors and snag a bargain at the same time, download Murder, They Wrote: Four SkipJack Mysteries.

  About the Author