Ruined: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 6)

by April Wilson

  Mitchell removes his hat and scratches his short blond hair. “I’ll give it to you McIntyre Security folks. There’s never a shortage of excitement when you guys come to town.”

  The emergency squad arrives just minutes later, and the paramedics perform a quick assessment of Cooper’s condition, checking his wounds and his blood pressure, which is dangerously low.

  “He lost a lot of blood immediately after he was shot,” I say. “I managed to get a pressure bandage on him pretty quickly, though.”

  After getting his vitals and calling them in to the hospital’s ER, the paramedics set up an IV, then transfer Cooper to a stretcher to take him out to the ambulance. I follow, locking up the cabin as I leave, taking only our wallets and phones.

  “Where are you taking him?” I say, sticking close to the stretcher as they load him into the ambulance. Wherever they’re going, I’m going too.

  Sheriff Mitchell pats me on the back. “The nearest hospital is twenty minutes away, in Stowe. You can ride with him in the ambulance, and I’ll follow in my squad car.”

  When we arrive at the hospital, Cooper is wheeled directly to the emergency room and immediately taken back for assessment. I stop at the registration desk just long enough to give the receptionist some basic information. I fill out his intake form and give them information about our health insurance.

  “Who’s his next-of-kin?” the woman asks.

  I feel a moment of sheer panic, realizing they might keep me away from him as I have no legal claim on him. Technically—legally—I’m nothing to him. I don’t even give it a second thought. “I am.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Sam Harrison.”

  “And what’s your relationship to Mr. Cooper?”

  “I’m his husband.” And even though it’s a blatant lie, I didn’t hesitate for a second. My throat tightens, and I feel tears forming. It shocks me how much I want it to be true.

  The woman’s eyes widen just a tad, and she gives me a sympathetic smile as she makes a notation on a paper attached to a clipboard and hands it to me. “Can you sign this, authorizing us to treat him?”

  When I hand the signed authorization form back to her, she says, “Don’t worry, Mr. Harrison. We’ll take good care of your husband.”

  * * *

  I head into the ER treatment area, desperate to find Cooper. When I finally locate him, he’s lying in a hospital bed, deathly pale and still unconscious. They’ve already cut away his jeans and removed my make-shift field dressing.

  An African-American woman is examining the entry and exit wounds. When she sees me, she glances up and smiles. “I’m Dr. Steadman. I’ll be treating Mr. Cooper.”

  A nurse—Amanda according to her name tag—is taking Cooper’s vitals, while someone else changes out his IV bag.

  As I stand there watching them work, my heart pounds, and I feel light-headed. The doctor peppers me with questions about Cooper’s general health history as she inspects the holes in his leg.

  “The artery has stopped bleeding,” she says to the nurse. “Let’s get these wounds cleaned, and then we’ll suture them.”

  Dr. Steadman removes her gloves, then offers me her hand to shake. “And you are?”

  “Sam Harrison,” I say. “I’m his husband.”

  She nods at me. “We’ll take good care of him Mr. Harrison. No worries.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dr. Stedman leaves, and Amanda, the nurse, directs me to sit down in one of the two guest chairs in the room. Stress and crashing adrenalin are catching up to me, fast, and I feel like I could keel over at any minute. I drag a chair to the side of his bed and take a seat.

  “When was the last time you ate something?” the nurse says, smiling sympathetically.

  I shrug. “I had a trail bar this morning and a sandwich.”

  She shakes her head. “I think you should eat something before you pass out, too.”

  At that moment, Shane walks into the small, curtained-off room, his gaze quickly assessing Cooper, then me. Dressed in a suit and wearing a scowl, he looks intimidating as hell. I give him a quick run-down on Cooper’s status.

  “You don’t look so hot yourself,” Shane says, eyeing me. “When was the last time you ate something?”

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  Shane levels a glare at me. “Because you look nearly as bad as he does,” he says, nodding toward Cooper. “Sam, go get something to eat. I’ll stay with Cooper.”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine. I’m not—”

  “I’m not asking you, Sam,” he says, slipping into what Beth calls his bossy CEO mode tone. “I’m telling you. You can’t help Cooper if you end up hospitalized for exhaustion. Go eat something. Now. That’s an order. I’ll stay with him.”

  I know Shane’s right, but I hate leaving Cooper. I want to be there when he wakes up. I take the elevator down to the cafeteria and grab a sandwich and a cup of coffee, inhaling both and burning my tongue in the process. Then I’m back upstairs, all in under twenty minutes. Shane gives me a look when I rush back into the room.

  “Is he still out?” I say.

  “Yes.” Shane rises from the chair beside the bed. “Here, sit down, before you fall down.”

  I take the chair Shane vacated and reach for Cooper’s free hand. His right arm is immobilized now by an IV drip and secured to the bed. “What are they giving him?” I say, eyeing the bag of clear fluid hanging from an IV stand.

  “It’s saline,” Shane says. “He’s dehydrated. Plus, they’re giving him an antibiotic and some pain medication. The wounds were pretty dirty. They’re mostly worried about infection.”

  I watch the nurse as she continues cleaning the wound. I guess it’s a good thing Cooper’s still out cold, as I’m sure it would hurt like hell to have someone cleaning the entry and exit holes.

  Just as the nurse finishes applying a fresh dressing, Cooper groans. I shoot to my feet and lean over him. When he does open his eyes, his gaze is unfocused, and he starts to struggle.

  “Whoa, babe,” I say, holding him down. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital. Just relax.”

  “Sam?” His voice is as scratchy and dry as sandpaper.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Shane’s here too.”

  Shane moves to the foot of the bed so he has a clear line of sight to Cooper. “Hey, buddy. Welcome back. You took a pretty long nap. I was getting worried.”

  Cooper looks at me, then at Shane, his brow furrowed. “What happened?” he says.

  “Do you remember being shot while we were hiking? Roger Stevens ambushed us on the trail.”

  Cooper’s color is rapidly coming back. He’s no longer sickly pale, but rather looking a bit flushed now. I lay my hand on his forehead and glance back at Shane. “He feels hot.”

  Cooper shifts his position in bed and groans. “Damn, my leg hurts.”

  “You’ve been shot, babe. What did you expect?”

  “I’ll get a nurse,” Shane says, walking out of the room.

  Chapter 31

  Cooper

  My lower right leg hurts like a bitch, and my head is pounding so hard it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. The room spins, making me nauseous, as everything comes rushing back. Hiking with Sam. My leg collapsing. Searing pain. The crack of a rifle shot. Sam dragging me into the trees.

  I glance up Sam, who’s hovering over me, worry etched all over his beautiful face. “What’s wrong, Sam?” I say, reaching up to touch his face. “Oh, man, you’re so beautiful.”

  He grins at me. “That morphine is some pretty good stuff, isn’t it?”

  I try to hug him, wanting to assure myself he’s all right, but wince in pain when my right arm doesn’t move as it should.

  Sam presses my arm to the bed. “Whoa, careful. Watch the IV.”

  I frown as I try to think clearly. “That asshole shot me? Really?”

  He laughs. “Yeah, really.”

  I look Sam over as best I can for any
injuries. I have vague memories of him holding a gun in the darkness. “Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

  A nurse appears suddenly beside my bed. “Hello, Mr. Cooper. Glad you could join us.” She pulls some wand thing out of her pocket and swipes it across my forehead. Then she checks my pupils. “How are you feeling?” she says.

  “I’ve been better.”

  She glances at Sam. “A slight fever, but that’s not surprising. We’ll keep an eye on it.” Then she looks at me. “Mr. Cooper, can you tell me what day it is?”

  I have to think for a minute. “We went hiking on Saturday. Is it still Saturday? I’m not sure.”

  She seems satisfied with my answer. “And can you tell me what year it is?” she says.

  “Twenty-eighteen. You know, it’s my leg that’s injured, not my brain.”

  She chuckles. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  The nurse steps back to fiddle with the IV stand, and I notice Shane standing at the foot of my bed, frowning.

  “When did you get here?” I ask him.

  “About an hour ago.”

  “Where’s Beth?”

  “At home.”

  “You left her alone?”

  “No, of course not. Lia’s with her.”

  I shake my head. “She’s probably worried sick.” Her father was shot and killed on the job when she was just an infant. Now I’m the closest thing she has to a father. We practically adopted each other.

  “Yes, she is,” Shane says. “So get well quickly and come home.”

  The nurse checks the dressing on my leg. “Looking good,” she says. Then she addresses Sam as if I’m not even here. “Dr. Steadman will be in shortly to suture the wounds. Then he’ll be good as new.”

  “Hey, what about me?” I say. “I’m the patient.”

  The nurse pats my arm. “Don’t worry, Mr. Cooper. Your husband is making sure we take good care of you.”

  My husband?

  I glance at Sam, who gives me a wicked grin.

  “Is there something I should know?” I ask him, after the nurse leaves.

  He leans over to kiss me. “Yeah, we’re married.”

  At the confused look on my face, he laughs. “I was afraid they wouldn’t let me come back with you, so I told them I was your next-of-kin. Your husband, actually.”

  “Works for me,” I say, trying to play it off as a joke. In reality, I’m desperately trying to ignore the rush it gives me. I would marry Sam in a heartbeat if I thought he was ready for a commitment like that. But he’s so young—just twenty-eight. Actually, soon to be twenty-nine, as he has a birthday coming up in less than a week. I’m a lot older; I know exactly what I want, and that’s to have Sam in my life. Forever.

  * * *

  Dr. Steadman returns a little later to suture my leg. After sticking some needles in my leg to numb it—ouch!—she gets busy with her needle and thread, patching up the holes in my body. Even with the local anesthetic, I can still feel the tug and pull of the needle and thread going through my flesh. Sam sits beside me, holding my left hand, wincing right along with me.

  Shane walks back into the room. “Jake has collected all of your personal belongings from the cabin,” he says, eyeing the doctor’s sewing technique. “After we leave on the chopper, he’ll drive the Jeep back to Chicago.”

  I nod, gritting my teeth. “Sounds good.”

  Chapter 32

  Sam

  The next afternoon, Cooper is prescribed some oral antibiotics and pain killers, and is finally discharged from the hospital with instructions to follow up with his own physician. An orderly wheels him to the main entrance, and I help him walk to the waiting Jeep.

  Sheriff Mitchell is there to see us off. “It’s good to see you,” he says, shaking hands with Shane. “Maybe not under these circumstances, though. How’s your wife?”

  Shane grins. “She’s fine. We’re expecting this summer.”

  Mitchell’s eyes widen. “Wow, you’re going to be a father. Congratulations, man.” Then the sheriff shifts his attention to me and Cooper. “Stevens’ body has been recovered and will be transferred to Sweetwater.”

  The sheriff shakes my hand and then Cooper’s. “I’m glad you two are all right.” Then he looks at me. “You did well out there, Sam.”

  I laugh off his praise, patting Cooper’s back. “Someone’s gotta have this guy’s back.”

  Cooper and I sit in the back of the Jeep, with Shane up front. Jake drives us to the small regional airport where the company helicopter and pilot are on stand-by.

  It’s a quick flight back to the helipad on the roof of the McIntyre Security building downtown. Cooper refuses crutches or a wheelchair, so it’s slow going to the elevator that will take us down to the underground parking garage, where Shane has a car and driver waiting to take us home.

  When we arrive at the penthouse, Beth, Lia, and Jonah are waiting for us in the foyer. Beth is in tears when she sees Cooper limp out of the elevator, grimacing with each step. After being on his feet, even for a few minutes, he’s white as a sheet, his expression pinched and drawn.

  Beth walks into Cooper’s arms and loosely wraps her arms around his waist. “Don’t scare me like that,” she says.

  Cooper rubs her back. “I’m sorry, kiddo. I’ll try not to get shot again.”

  She laughs around her tears. “It’s not funny.” Then her expression falls. “My dad was shot,” she says, in an agonized voice. And killed. That part she doesn’t say aloud. Her father, a Chicago police officer, was killed in the line of duty when she was just an infant. Cooper is, more or less, her adopted father. “I love you,” she says, her voice little more than a whisper. “I can’t lose you.”

  “I’m sorry, darlin’. Please don’t worry about me. I’m far too ornery to die.”

  “You can say that again,” I add, trying to lighten the mood. “Now let’s get you to bed. You need to rest before you fall on your face.”

  * * *

  It’s a long, slow shuffle from the foyer to our suite. Cooper moves painfully slowly, gritting his teeth with every step. Shane offers to get him crutches or a wheelchair, but he insists on walking on his own power. The least he’ll do is throw his arm across my shoulder and let me help support his weight.

  “I could carry you, ya know,” I say. “I’ve done it before.”

  “Don’t you dare,” he says, half laughing and half groaning. “I’ll never live it down.”

  I can’t help thinking back to November when I spent the better part of a week in the hospital, healing from a head injury and a broken leg. Cooper stayed by my side at the hospital, never leaving me. He was there all through my disorientation, through the seizures, through all the God-awful pain. He even brought me back here to the penthouse so he could nurse me back to health. “I guess the tables have turned, haven’t they? Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

  “Yeah, but don’t get any funny ideas, pal. I can still kick your ass.”

  I grin as I lean over to kiss him. “Hey, I’m the one who carried your heavy ass nearly four miles through rough terrain. I think I can take you.”

  We finally hobble our way down the hallway to our suite, and I push the door open. Inside, there’s a huge vase of fresh-cut flowers with a single helium balloon attached. The balloon says Get Well.

  I walk Cooper over to the bed and sit him down. Then I retrieve the card tucked inside the vase of flowers and hand it to him.

  “Let me guess,” I say. “Beth?”

  He nods. “She says, ‘Please don’t get shot ever again. Love, Beth.’ And there’s a smiley face and a little heart with curlicues, too.”

  I sit carefully on the bed beside him. “I should check your bandages. Make sure all that walking didn’t start you bleeding again.”

  He grunts noncommittally. “I was hoping you’d forget.”

  “Ha, no chance.” I like playing nurse for him. I like the idea of taking care of him, seeing to his need
s, helping him hobble to the bathroom so he can take care of business.

  “Here, lie back,” I tell him, pressing on his shoulders. His jeans were cut off right above the bullet wound, so I have easy access to the area. I remove his bandages and examine the sutures, looking for fresh bleeding or signs of inflammation. “Everything looks good. There’s a little bit of seepage, but it’s not blood, and your skin around the sutures is a bit pink, but I guess that’s to be expected. I think you’re okay.”

  “What I really need is a shower,” he grumbles, after I apply a fresh dressing.

  “No, you don’t,” I say, laughing. “Besides, you can’t shower with the dressing on your leg. You’re not supposed to get it wet. How about I give you a sponge bath in bed? That would be fun.”

  He scowls at me. “Oh, hell no. I’m not a feeble old man, you know.”

  I wink at him. “Come on. It’ll be fun. I’ll pay extra attention to your dick—make sure it’s feeling the love.”

  He gives me a genuine smile, the first one I’ve seen from him all day. “You ass.”

  In the end, we compromise, deciding on a sponge bath in the bathtub. I help Cooper walk to the bathroom, and he climbs into the tub and sits on the built-in seat with his bandaged leg propped up on the side of the tub, out of the water. I soap him up while he rinses himself off with a hand-held sprayer. We can’t quite manage to keep his dressing completely dry, but all in all, we do a pretty decent job of it.

  By the time I get him back to bed, with his leg propped up on a pillow, there’s a quiet knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Cooper calls, sounding resigned to receiving more attention than he’s comfortable with.

  Beth opens the door and sticks her head through the opening. “Peter Capelli is sending over dinner tonight. It should be here in about an hour. He sends his regards and says he’s glad you’re okay.”

  “Good,” Cooper says. “I’m starved.”

  She steps halfway into the room, eyeing both of us warily, as if she’s checking to make sure we’re both fully dressed. “Do you guys mind if I come in?”

  “Of course not, honey,” Cooper says, holding out his hand to her.