The two men from the ground crew had gone over the fence and were at Ry’s side. Tag saw they were setting up IV fluids while Keegan leaned one-footed, stabilizing himself with his back against the fence, holding his shotgun and watching the tree line.
The pilot had shut down and was climbing out to the ground. Tag asked her if she could shoot and, at her nod, motioned for the second gun back from Keeg and passed it to her. She was a smart one, likely ex-military. When she checked the chamber first thing, he told her the round was a slug, not shot, and there were three more in the mag. She nodded again and stayed on the inside of the fence, but went up to it on the opposite side of the first responders from Keeg. She poked the Remington’s barrel through the wire and set about methodically scanning the area across the fence.
Tag pulled wire cutters from Keeg’s saddlebags and started cutting a hole through the fence big enough that they could get a stretcher with Ry on board back through it. One of the medics looked up and saw when that job was about done. He came back over the fence to fetch a stretcher from the helo.
The whole crew was probably on the ground for no more than twenty minutes, though it felt like hours to Tag. Finally, he was walking alongside the stretcher, gripping Ry’s hand and getting a vague squeeze in response before the medics loaded him up and the helo was gone.
Keeg was still standing on the wrong side of the fence, his eyes watching the aircraft disappear now. Tag didn’t have to ask why Keeg wasn’t in the air, too, because he knew the answer. Keegan hadn’t wanted to take anyone’s attention away from Orion.
But the truth was he was looking pretty damn peaky by now.
Tag hesitated but had to ask. “Can you hold on while I patch the fence?”
Keeg’s gray eyes found his slowly. “Keep a bloodthirsty grizz off our land? Sure.”
Still, it wasn’t fun for either of them. They ended up getting Keeg across the fence by having him sit backward so Tag could drag him through. Their saddlebags always contained a small roll of wire for this purpose, so Tag was able to patch the hole he’d made. He took as little time as he could, but both men knew it was an important job. He compromised at “good enough” and made a plan to come back later to reinforce it.
Keeg needed a fair boost getting onto the ATV with his injured right leg. Tag handed him the water bottle he’d rescued from the far side of the fence and actually laughed when Keeg took it and, instead of drinking from it, dumped it over his own head.
They were both bare-chested, having sacrificed all their shirts to stem the flow of Ry’s blood.
Tag might have been fighting tears when he put a hand on Keeg’s wet shoulder. “You did good,” he said. “Ry’s gonna be okay.” Though the words were more hope and prayer than any real confidence.
Keeg nodded, his eyes looking a little moist, too, unless that was just the dowsing he’d given himself. “He’s a tough bastard. He’ll be telling stories of how he outlived a grizz attack long after you and I are pushing up daisies.”
Or prairie wildflowers, anyway. The brothers already had a plan for that.
Tag had stopped for the first aid kit in the machine shed when he’d gone for the ATV. He handed Keegan four ibuprofen tablets and waited while Keeg took them with the last swallow of water.
He’d gotten Keegan back to the house and into the pickup. He’d run in to ransack his dresser for two T-shirts, grabbed a couple more bottles of water, and headed to the hospital in Cheyenne. When he got off dirt roads onto the highway, he’d 911’d Liberty.
He’d spent three weeks trying to figure out how he was going to get what he wanted from that woman.
The perfect solution—a grizzly attack—had never crossed his mind.
Chapter Eleven
Orion had made it as far as the surgical ICU by the time Tag and Keegan arrived in Denver. They both looked weary and drawn—though Tag quite a bit less so than Keegan, who still had smears of blood on his arms and hobbled on crutches.
Liberty had texted Tag several times and talked with him twice. She’d heard more of the story of what had happened and shared news of Orion.
His condition wasn’t so good, but it wasn’t all the way bad, either.
He would be okay, eventually. Probably. He’d had twenty units of blood transfused by the time he was out of surgery. He’d had multiple teams working on him at once. The greatest damage was to his bowel and liver on his right side and to his left arm and shoulder. His bowel had been repaired and should function normally or nearly so, and he could do without the small part of liver he’d lost. At multiple sites, he had torn flesh and muscle. But at his left arm and shoulder, there was also bone and tendon injury. He appeared neurologically intact, despite the risk of brain injury from such severe blood loss. Kidney function, also at risk for that reason, appeared normal.
He was a strong, healthy man, and he would be okay. He’d survived injuries that would have killed most folks, though there still could be stumbling blocks ahead—infection or other complications related to severe blood loss. After acute care, he’d be looking at substantial rehab.
Tag had sounded grim each time she spoke with him. He’d been torn between staying with Keegan while that one got taken care of versus leaving him to be with Orion. By the second call, she could assure him that he wasn’t having to come to say good-bye to Orion. She heard Keegan’s voice over the line, instructing whatever poor hospital staff was at hand to hurry it the hell up, because Tag wasn’t leaving without him.
She’d seen the two of them arrive together, Tag not quite able to slow his stride enough for Keegan to keep up. They stopped at the desk to talk with Orion’s ICU doctor. Tag stood, nearly a full head above the physician, asking questions and listening to answers. But his gaze was focused on the open blinds into Orion’s room. Through the blinds, and locked with hers.
After several minutes, he nodded, put his hand on the doctor’s arm in obvious thanks, and came through the door. Just inside, he paused and looked at Orion.
There wasn’t much to see—at least, not anything gratifying. Orion was heavily sedated and would be kept that way at least overnight. He would have a lot of pain when he woke, and that would interfere with his body’s ability to cope with such extensive trauma. He was still intubated, had multiple lines and tubes running into and out of him, was casted and bandaged extensively, and looked pale as death.
Liberty was sure Tag knew about what to expect, but still, Orion’s condition obviously came as a shock. He stayed still for a moment, visibly rocked, as his eyes took in his brother’s state. Then he turned his gaze to her and strode forward.
It was past midnight, and Liberty had been sitting in a chair next to Orion’s bed. She’d had his hand clasped in hers—her left hand with that crazy ring on it.
She’d been distracted when she’d stopped at the famous jeweler’s, worried about Orion and in a hurry to get to him. The staff had obviously expected her—the ring was at the ready, in a box sitting on a pretty table behind the counter. The gentleman at the counter apologetically asked to see her identification.
“You understand, of course—” he said.
And when he handed the box over, when she opened it, intent on just taking the ring and slipping on her finger so she could go—well, then she did understand.
The ring was spectacular. Three brilliant diamonds sparkled up from a gold band. Tiny emeralds surrounded the diamonds and circled the band—three rows of them. They were green like his prairie, like Tag’s land. And the three diamonds—large, each of equal size to the others—well, it was obviously what they were meant to represent.
The ring, in and of itself, was just…too much. And the symbolism of it, well, that was, too.
She couldn’t help that her hand shook when she reached for it, when she slipped it from the box and onto her finger. She reminded herself of why she was there, why she was donning a ring that implied more than she could accept. With an unsteady breath and a nod to the gentleman behind the counter, le
aving the intense curiosity in his gaze unsatisfied, she left the store.
Nearly, she’d forgotten about the ring over the next hours. They were hours spent waiting, anxiously asserting her right to hear updates on Orion’s condition, and waiting some more. Talking and texting with Tag, and still waiting. She would almost forget, except that it became a comfort to her. She would turn it on her finger in a slow spin or just rub her thumb over the band. Press the diamonds to her lips like they had the power keep her from crying out in frustration at the wait, at the stress of not knowing. Squeeze her hands together, fingers entwined, until the pressure from the ring was almost painful.
Somehow, it helped her. Helped her feel that Tag was close, reminded her that he was coming. That Keegan was okay and coming, too. That Orion would be okay.
Almost without knowing how it happened, she was in Tag’s arms. He pulled her up and held her hard against him. He sank his head into the crook of her shoulder, and she did the same to him. So their faces were together, the air they breathed the same. She held him and he held her, both of them in desperate need of comfort.
Long moments passed. Finally, Tag lifted his head and their gazes met—tears of worry and relief threatening to spill for both. Tag ran his right hand up her left arm where she’d wrapped it around his shoulder. He grasped her wrist and brought it down, pressing her hand against his chest. And looking then, and touching, to see, to feel, the ring on her finger. He took one long breath, slightly unsteady but full of obvious satisfaction. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
He held her close and kissed her, again and again between words that were all the same. Thank you. Thank you for being here. I love you. Thank you. I love you.
Within those moments was an admission, and acceptance, of weakness. For him, an unusual if not unheard-of confession. A need, a dependence. A realization that life could bring a blow that he didn’t have the strength to bear. At least, not alone.
In the end, she kissed him. She said the words, “I love you.” Because that was what he needed. Slowly, he nodded, his big shoulders drooping. She kissed him again and then turned from him.
Because he wasn’t the only one in need.
Keegan had followed him into the small room. She glimpsed him when Tag had finally slumped in exhausted relief.
The youngest brother was at the end of his rope, too. He was hunched over his crutches, his head hanging down. He was dressed in jeans and boots—or boot, because his right leg was wrapped in a cast from below the knee to his bare toes. His jeans had been hacked off at the knee and torn further up along the seams, no doubt so the cast could fit through. All in all, he looked pretty ragged.
Liberty went to him, put a hand on his cheek to lift his head. Those gray eyes, so full of worry and strain, so very exhausted, looked into hers.
“He’s okay,” she said, and then she kissed him, too.
Tears weren’t just filling his eyes but streaming down his face when she stopped. He breathed harshly, nodded once, and lifted a hand to cup behind her neck. Then he kissed her, not just a touch of support and caring like hers might have been, but rough and needy.
Before it ended, Tag was at her side—at their sides. He had a hand on Keegan’s shoulder, one of support rather than restraint. And the other at her waist, holding her close.
Keegan leaned back, though he still had his hand on her. Liberty looked at Tag and then rested her head against his shoulder. She felt his big breath and knew, when he spoke, that he’d found his strength again.
“The doc said they’ll keep Ry under through the night. He said there’d be no benefit to any of us staying here. That we all need some rest.”
Liberty nodded her head at his chest.
“I got a ranch that’s not secured,” Tag went on. “I have to go home. Lib, would you put Keegan up at your place? Can you? He’s…had a day. I’d like to get him off his feet and horizontal as soon as possible.”
She looked up at Tag. “Sure. Of course.”
He nodded and brushed her cheek, the back of his hand rubbing against Keegan’s, because his hand was still there, too. “Thanks. Let’s head out together.”
Each of the three of them said good-bye to Orion. Keegan put a hand on Orion’s right shoulder, a gesture that would have been a punch in any other circumstance. “Rest up, buddy,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Tag spent a quiet moment at Orion’s side, his hand gently on his brother’s cheek. “Be tough, Ry. I know you are.”
Liberty took Orion’s hand again and squeezed it. Then she leaned in and touched her lips to his.
* * * *
Liberty whispered something to Orion that Tag didn’t catch.
She’d leaned over him, her hot yoga clothes showing off the very fine curves of her ass. Before she spoke, she’d given him a soft kiss.
She’d kissed Keeg, too, and he’d kissed her, and something was settling in Tag’s heart that felt damn good despite the absolute terror of the day.
He held the door open, and Liberty motioned Keeg through it first. Then she went, and he followed, taking hold of her hand that had his ring on it. As their fingers entwined, she looked up at him and smiled tiredly.
They were a pretty beat-up trio headed out to the parking garage. They went to Lib’s car first, and Tag helped Keeg get situated in her little Toyota. Liberty worked the crutches into the narrow hatch in the back.
He came around the car and caught her before she climbed in behind the wheel. He put his arms around her again, tucked down to breathe her in a little more, and had to discipline himself to not collapse into her again.
She touched his cheek in concern that was all too apparent. “Are you okay to drive?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll grab a cup of coffee for the road.” One more wouldn’t hurt. When he got home, he’d either fall asleep exhausted or lie there, replaying in his head all the trauma of this crazy day. He figured it was a toss-up, and the amount of caffeine he had on board wasn’t going to matter a whit.
Lib nodded. “I’ll go see Orion first thing in the morning. I’ll call you with an update.”
It was Friday night—or early Saturday, so she didn’t have to teach in the morning. “Thanks, baby. I guess it’s good the Harpers managed to schedule their disaster on a weekend.”
“It’s all good. Don’t worry. And sleep, when you get home. Eat something, and then sleep.”
Then he did what he had to do, what he’d been dying to do. He wrapped her up and kissed her with all the longing of three weeks spent without her. He ran his hands along her body to get her as close as he wanted her, everywhere he wanted her, and used his lips and teeth and tongue on her.
He didn’t know when he would have stopped, but finally lifted up the second or third or fourth time he heard a fake snore from inside the car. Last thing, he lifted her left hand and kissed her knuckle above his ring. “I like how this looks on you. Don’t take it off.”
She didn’t roll her eyes, but he could tell she wanted to. “Yeah. We’ll talk about that, cowboy.”
Lonely. That’s what he felt as he closed the door once she was safely inside, and more so when he wandered through the near-empty parking garage to his pickup.
And yet more when his headlights were pointed home, away from his girl.
* * * *
Keegan let Liberty get them out of the parking garage and headed toward her home before he did what he needed to do—reach over, lift her right hand off the steering wheel, and hold on to it. She looked over, managed half a smile, gave a squeeze back, and let him hold on.
He might have dozed as she’d driven her little car one-handed. At the least, he didn’t follow where they were going or even pay attention to how long the drive was.
Even after, he let her take control. She parked in the drive of a little bungalow that he could tell right off suited her. The front porch was lit up, showing nicely tended flowering shrubs and pots of hanging stuff around it. The place was last-century ol
d, but the aged wood was pretty and polished, and the cedar shakes had a nice gleam of oil.
When he was a teen, he’d broken a leg in a throw from a horse, and so hobbling around on crutches wasn’t new to him. But he was tired, and it had been a day, and so the six steps up to the porch were a bit of a challenge. Liberty went behind him, a hand on his low back, and he didn’t mind that at all. For more reasons than one.
The place was just as lovingly cared for inside as out. She had a lot of houseplants and colorful, comfortable furnishings. He could see she’d converted the dining room to her work space—she had a digital piano there, a desktop, and a table smeared with sheet music. She motioned him that far—the kitchen and what was probably a screened-in porch were beyond—and had him turn left toward the bathroom.
“Shower here,” she said. “I’ll bring in a stool. Do you need help?”
The ortho tech in Cheyenne had hacked off the right leg of his jeans above the cast. He could probably manage and told her so. She brought a kitchen stool and put it right in the shower. Then she set out towels and dug up a toothbrush still in its packaging.
“Use the bedroom on the left when you’re done.” She looked up at him and paused before she left. “You okay? I can help.”
“I’m good,” he said. But he put a hand at the back of her neck, pulled her close, and burrowed in for a couple breaths. When he lifted up, her pretty blue eyes were filled with concern. He leaned in and kissed her. “I’m good,” he said again. “Thanks.”
She nodded and left him.
He wrapped a towel around his cast and sat in the shower with the door open and his right leg mostly outside. And if he hung in there longer than he should have, using up most of her hot water, if that water wasn’t the only wet thing that streamed down his face, if a couple of the sighs of relief and exhaustion that he let loose maybe sounded more like sobs, well, no one had to know but him.
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