Wyoming Brave

by Diana Palmer

  “I couldn’t talk to her,” he replied. It was harder than he’d dreamed it would be.

  “Why not?”

  Delsey came in with the coffeepot. She set it down. “How’s our Merrie?” she asked.

  Randall took a deep breath. “They’d just taken her out of surgery when I got there...! Ren!”

  Ren had jumped out of his chair and taken him by both shoulders, almost crushing them in his fear. “Surgery? What happened? Is she going to be all right?”

  He and Delsey were both hanging on Randall’s every word.

  “Apparently there were two would-be killers,” Randall said, wincing when Ren belatedly loosened his grip. “The one in Texas aimed a pickup truck broadside at the limo that was driven by an accomplice. Paul had checked out the driver, but the source had been paid off.”

  “Killers? After our Merrie?” Delsey exclaimed, sitting down. This was all news to her, since no one had told her the truth.

  “Oh my God,” Ren said huskily. “My God!”

  “They’re looking for him,” Randall said. “The driver was found dead in a ditch just after Merrie was taken to the hospital. They think he may have been paid off. They haven’t turned up the driver of the pickup yet.”

  “My God.” Ren’s mind was whirling. “What have I done?” he groaned.

  Randall didn’t know what to say. Apologies seemed useless.

  “You’ll have to stay here and manage things,” Ren said, getting to his feet. “Let Denver slide.”

  “Where are you going?” Delsey asked.

  “To Texas,” Ren said, and kept walking.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MERRIE WAS IN ICU when Dr. Coltrain went in to check on her. He didn’t like her vitals. Her blood pressure was dropping, and she wasn’t waking up. He knew that she’d awakened long enough to talk to her sister earlier, but she was backsliding. He didn’t know why.

  He was really worried. He knew they’d repaired every possible trauma. But even in best-case scenarios, people sometimes died. He didn’t want to lose Merrie.

  Sari almost went mad when Coltrain came out to talk to them and told her what was happening.

  “It’s going to be all right,” he assured her with more conviction than he felt. “I’ve had her moved into ICU. We’ll keep her there for a day or so.”

  Sari looked at him with shiny blue eyes, trying to focus on his face. The migraine was better, but she was sick at her stomach.

  “I wish you’d go home, honey,” Paul said gently, curling her into his broad chest.

  “I can’t,” she sobbed. “You know I can’t.”

  “I’ll contact you the minute there’s any change,” Coltrain said gently.

  “Thanks,” Paul said.

  He turned his attention back to Sari as the doctor strode away.

  “You have to have faith,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t give up on her now.”

  Her nails dug into his back. “I’m so scared!”

  “Yeah.” He held her closer. “Me, too.”

  * * *

  AS THEY SPOKE, a tall man in a shepherd’s coat, wearing designer jeans and hand-tooled leather boots, with a Stetson pulled low over his eyes, approached the nurses’ desk.

  “Meredith Grayling,” he said stiffly. “I was told she was a patient here.”

  Sari looked up with blood in her eye. Before Paul could stop her, she got to her feet and approached the tall man.

  “If you’re Ren Colter, the door is that way,” she said in a scathing tone, pointing toward the exit.

  He stared down at her from a drawn, pale face. He winced. “You’re Sari, her sister,” he said quietly.

  She bit her lower lip, then nodded.

  Paul came forward and put his arm around her shoulders. He held out a hand to Ren. “She’s upset,” he said as he shook hands with Ren. “They’ve taken Merrie to ICU. She’s not responding as well as they hoped she would after the surgery.”

  Ren drew in a ragged breath and averted his eyes. He was dying inside. He’d made so many damned mistakes. He didn’t know how he was going to go on if he lost Meredith. It would be his own fault. He’d ruined everything. He’d frightened her, insulted her, sent her running right into the arms of a killer!

  “Stop beating yourself up,” Paul said. “It won’t help. Come and sit down.”

  “I’ll go mad if I have to sit,” he bit off.

  Sari peered up at him past Paul’s broad chest. She saw the anguish in his face, and it softened her. She moved restively. “Randall told you about Merrie.”

  “Yes.” He stared at her. “You don’t look a lot alike, but you both have the same eyes. Hers are more gray than blue. Gray, like a fog on the river, early in the morning...” He averted his eyes and tried to swallow the pincushion in his throat. He rammed his hands deep into his pockets. “Have they found the assassin yet?”

  “Still looking,” Paul said. “We’ve got people everywhere, including a man who knows the contract killer. We don’t think this was his doing. He had no way of knowing that Merrie came home, since we took her in the family jet. We think he’s still got your ranch staked out and that he sent a relative to keep watch here. Maybe to take her out if he got the opportunity.”

  “The relative will wish he’d never been born, I promise you that,” Ren said through his teeth.

  “Get in line,” Sari muttered.

  “Ah, ah, ah,” Paul cautioned. “I work for the FBI and you’re an officer of the court,” he told his wife.

  “I’ll buy you some earplugs,” she retorted.

  Two men in camouflage came in the door, sidearms holstered, and approached Sari and Paul. But they did a double take when they saw Ren.

  Sari gaped as Rogers and Barton came to a stop and saluted the Wyoming rancher.

  He chuckled, returning the salute. “What the hell are you two doing here?” he asked them after they’d shaken hands.

  “Working for them,” Barton said, pointing toward Sari and Paul. “We’ve been watching the house.”

  “Never occurred to us that some fool would try to run over a limo with a pickup truck,” Rogers added miserably.

  “Nobody could have predicted it,” Paul told them. “How do you know him?” he asked, jerking a thumb toward Ren.

  “He was our company commander in Iraq,” Rogers said.

  “Best damned commanding officer we ever had,” Barton added.

  “I wasn’t, but thanks,” Ren replied. He looked over their shoulders. “Damn!” he said, his lips compressed. “It’s old home week.”

  They all turned as Mikey came walking toward them. He saw Ren and slowed just a little. He grimaced.

  “Now, Captain,” Mikey began. “It was just a little lumber and a few nails...”

  “You walked off with half the lumber in the supply shed to build a canteen at base camp,” he said gruffly. “And you installed two women of decidedly odd morals...”

  “They were lonely,” Mikey protested. “The local cathouse had just closed and they didn’t have enough money to make it back to Spain.”

  “What a bunch of bull,” Ren muttered.

  Mikey grinned. “You have to admit, sir, that morale went up eighty percent.”

  “So did STDs,” Ren shot back.

  “Hey, that’s what they have doctors for, right?” Mikey said, his eyes twinkling. He glanced at Sari’s red eyes. “What’s going on? Something happen to baby doll?” he asked worriedly.

  “They took her to ICU,” Paul said. “The doctor didn’t say much, but she’s not responding as well as he wants her to.”

  “Damn!” Mikey swore.

  “They have a first-rate hospital in San Antonio,” Ren began.

  “We have the best surgeon in two state
s right here in Comanche Wells,” Sari replied. “Dr. Coltrain won’t lose her. I know he won’t.”

  Ren nodded. “Okay.”

  His face was a study in guilt and worry. Mikey frowned. “You know the family?”

  “I know Meredith,” Ren said heavily. “She was staying with me in Wyoming.”

  “You’re the Wyoming rancher,” Mikey said, nodding. “Guess who’s camping on your property with an MSR?” he added.

  “What’s an MSR?” Sari asked.

  “Remington Modular Sniper Rifle,” Mikey replied. “Accurate up to a thousand yards. Our boy likes it. A lot.”

  “How did he get onto your property?” Sari asked Ren.

  “He does a pretty good impression of a truck driver,” Ren replied. “He bribed a neighbor to swear he had a delivery there so he had an excuse to pretend he was lost on my land.”

  “He started out driving semis when he was just out of high school,” Mikey said.

  “You know him?” Ren asked.

  Mikey nodded. “We used to play on the same team. Not anymore,” he added coldly. “Nobody hurts baby doll on my watch.”

  Ren took a deep breath. “When will we know something?” Ren asked.

  “When we know something,” Paul said philosophically. “We might as well sit down and get comfortable.”

  “Not us,” Barton said. “We turned up something.”

  “What?” four voices asked at once.

  “Well, it’s not a lot,” Barton replied. “Your police chief had a receipt for the truck rental. He checked it out, and the truck was registered to a man named Ronnie Bates. He lives in Houston.”

  Paul’s eyes narrowed. “Just how did you find that out? Grier doesn’t share information when he’s working on a case.”

  “His secretary was filing it,” Barton said. “I just happened to peek over her shoulder.”

  “What were you doing there in the first place?”

  Barton cleared his throat.

  “Barton?” Paul persisted.

  “Okay. I ran a red light. So sue me!” he muttered. “I was paying my ticket when I noticed the receipt. Only one truck rental receipt I know of that anybody would have out in a police station right now. Had to be the guy.”

  “No wonder Eb Scott likes you,” Paul said and chuckled.

  Mikey wasn’t saying anything. He just listened. But there was an odd smile on his chiseled lips.

  Paul stared at him. “Spill it,” he said.

  “Spill what?” Mikey asked innocently.

  “You’re smiling. You never smile.”

  “He was smiling at his disciplinary hearing, too,” Ren commented drily. “That was just before a three-star general walked in the door and said that Mikey was pilfering material for the canteen on his orders and who the hell did we think we were? Lucky for him, they let him off with a verbal reprimand.”

  “Yeah.” Mikey sighed, smiling. “The general used to take me to poker games in the back room of the officers’ club. He sure liked winning.”

  Ren just shook his head.

  * * *

  REN HAD A lot of time to think on his way here. He was rethinking a lot of his life, especially the part that pertained to faith. Meredith was a stickler for it. She wore her cross all the time. His brother had faith. His mother...well, she’d never lost hers. Ren had lost his own sense of values in college. Randall had reminded him, gently, that an infatuation with a female physics professor had been instrumental in changing those opinions. When he thought about it, he realized his brother was right.

  Faith, they said, worked wonders. He hadn’t been in a chapel in years. But he found the chapel in the small hospital and walked hesitantly into it. He sat down on the back pew and stared at the altar with quiet, troubled eyes. Maybe it wasn’t logical. But maybe there was a higher power, a power that concerned itself with humanity and would listen to a plea. He took a deep breath and bowed his head.

  Sari, returning from the restroom, happened to look in the chapel and saw the tall Wyoming rancher sitting there, in the back pew. Something knotted up inside her turned loose. If Meredith had that sort of effect on a man, perhaps love could work miracles. She smiled to herself as she continued on down the hall.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, Dr. Coltrain came out into the waiting room. “I don’t have anything new to report,” he said quietly. “But she’s holding her own.”

  Sari stared at him. “You’re still worried,” she said, because she’d known him long enough to see through that poker face.

  He drew in a long breath. “Blunt force trauma is hard to predict, especially on internal organs. I think she’ll be all right. But I can’t give you any guarantee.”

  “I know,” Sari said.

  “If you want to transfer her over to San Antonio or get a second opinion, I’m game,” Coltrain added.

  She shook her head. “I think moving her would be a mistake,” she said softly. “And she trusts you. So do I.”

  “Can I see her?” Ren asked quietly.

  Coltrain’s eyebrows went up, but Sari knew that Merrie had feelings for the tall rancher, even if he’d hurt her. She remembered him in the chapel, with his head bowed. He cared about Merrie, too. Letting him see her might just make the difference. She stood up beside him. “Let him go in,” she told the doctor gently. “Please.”

  Ren looked down at her, surprised. “Thanks,” he said roughly.

  She just nodded.

  Coltrain took him back to the ICU.

  “Five minutes,” he said quietly. “No more.” Then he left them alone.

  Ren approached Merrie slowly, then slid his fingers into hers, where they lay so still on the bed. There was a nurse nearby, but she was out of earshot.

  She was very pale and her heartbeat seemed faint and thready when he took her hand in his. Her hand was cold. A chill went through him. He’d been with wounded men in this condition, in combat overseas; men who had these symptoms and hadn’t survived. No wonder Dr. Coltrain was worried.

  “I’m here, Meredith,” Ren said softly, leaning down close to her ear. “Come on, honey. You can beat this. You’re tough. I promised to show you branding in the spring on Skyhorn, remember? You have to stick around for that.”

  She didn’t move, but her eyelids flickered, just a bit.

  He brushed his cheek against her cold one. “I’ve got so much to make up to you, Meredith,” he whispered deeply. “I don’t even know where to start. I’m sorry, for what I did, for what I said. I want a chance to replace those bad memories with better ones. So you have to live. You have to, Meredith.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll help you fight. I won’t leave you. Not ever again.”

  He heard her breathing strengthen. He brushed his lips tenderly across hers, feeling the life surge in her, feeling hope reborn.

  “I’ll be waiting, when you wake up. I’ll be right here, honey.”

  Her eyelids fluttered again. And suddenly, they opened, ever so slowly. She looked at him.

  “Meredith,” he whispered huskily. His voice broke. He felt the sting of moisture in his eyes as those beautiful, pale blue eyes that seemed almost gray in the light looked back into his black ones. “My own,” he whispered, his voice rough with feeling, as he bent once more and touched his mouth against hers. “Come back to me.”

  She blinked. There was a lot of pain. It was hard to breathe. “Ren?” she asked in a thready voice.

  He lifted his head. It was hard to see her, through the hot mist in his eyes. “Yes. I’m here.”

  “Don’t...leave,” she managed.

  His fingers contracted around hers. “Never!” he breathed. “I’ll never go away again!”

  She tried to smile, but the anesthetic still had a hold on her. “Okay,” she whispered, and h
er eyes closed again.

  Dr. Coltrain walked back into the room.

  “She opened her eyes,” Ren told the redheaded doctor. “She looked at me and spoke.”

  Coltrain let out a breath. “Thank God,” he whispered.

  Ren was conflicted. He looked down at the sleeping woman with turmoil in his heart, in his eyes. “I haven’t talked to God in years,” he said roughly. “I thought he was a myth.” He shook his head. “I’ve prayed more in the past hour than I have in my whole damned life.”

  Coltrain put a hand on his shoulder. “There are no atheists in foxholes,” he mused. “Or in surgery.”

  Ren managed a smile. “I want to sit with her.”

  “She’ll be here in ICU overnight, at least. But if she keeps improving, we’ll move her out into a regular room tomorrow.”

  Ren nodded.

  “Go tell the others,” Dr. Coltrain prodded. “There’ll be confetti and noisemakers, but remind them that this is a hospital,” he added, chuckling softly.

  “Thanks, Doc,” Ren said with heartfelt gratitude.

  Coltrain smiled at him. “Get out of here. I’m busy.”

  Ren chuckled. He let go of Meredith’s hand. While Coltrain was bending over her with the stethoscope in his ears, Ren went out to tell the others.

  * * *

  “THANK YOU,” SARI said to Ren when they’d absorbed the news. She searched his black eyes quietly. “I’m sorry I was so unwelcoming, at first.”

  “I don’t blame you for feeling angry,” Ren replied. “I’ve kicked myself mentally all the way here from Wyoming.”

  “If she’d stayed, she might be dead now,” Sari told him. “Mikey said the man probably had studied every possible site to set up with a sniper rifle on your ranch.”

  “I wouldn’t doubt it, but if he did, he’s in for a few surprises. You remember J. C. Calhoun?” Ren asked Barton.

  Barton whistled softly. “Do I remember Calhoun,” he agreed. “He works for you?”

  “For six years,” Ren replied. “We’ve had a couple of attempts on my purebred bulls. But word gets around. He turned two rustlers over to the sheriff’s department, and they were spilling their guts about the operation before they were even questioned.” He chuckled.