The Sheriff's Surrender (21 page)

“I'm okay.”

To her dismay, she burst into tears. “You're not okay! You've been shot, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I never meant— Oh, God, I never meant for this to happen! You have to believe me! I never—”

With a rustle, a twenty-dollar bill appeared in front of her face. “Is that enough?”

The lack of emotion in his voice and his refusal to offer even the slightest comfort hurt more than she could say. She forced back a sob so quickly that she hiccuped instead and turned away from him to dry her cheeks, find a tissue in her purse to blow her nose and check her reflection in the mirror on the visor. She didn't look too bad, considering that she felt as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces, and she wasn't likely—please, God—to run into anyone who knew her there.

But that was what Reese had said about Tulsa.

Feeling fragile, she got out of the truck, then turned back to take the money. Before she could pull back her hand, though, he caught her wrist. “Don't make me come in there looking for you, and don't leave me sitting here while you take off out the back.” His expression was impossible to read, but his voice wasn't. It was hard, cold, sharp with loathing.

Great, she thought as she slammed the door with all the force she could muster. Now she felt fragile
and
wounded. She just might find a quiet corner in the store's stockroom and scream out her frustration until her throat was as raw as the rest of her felt. Of course, then he would come looking for her, and he would probably pass out from the loss of blood and crack open that hard head of his, and he would blame her for that, too.

How could he believe she would leave him there, wounded from saving her life? How could the thought even cross his mind? She had never run out on anyone who needed her—
never
—and he had no business thinking he might be the first!

But he did think it.

And that told her a lot about what he thought of her.

She made her purchases quickly, then hustled back to the truck. After moving to an isolated parking space around the corner of the store, she dumped everything into Reese's lap, then walked around to his side. He was pale and sweaty, and his right arm hung useless at his side. The pain etched lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes, and she hoped
it was also responsible for the taut clench of his jaw, and not his disgust with her.

With the scissors she'd just bought, she cut off his T-shirt and discarded it on the floor. The wound was high in the right side of his chest, and the bullet had gone in at enough of an angle that it had exited through his upper arm, tearing a ragged path along its way.

“So what do you think, doc?” he asked sarcastically.

“I've seen worse.” Bitterly, she added, “I've
had
worse.”

Letting his head fall back against the headrest, he closed his eyes and turned his face away from her. He didn't want to watch? Fine. He didn't want to look at her? That was fine, too. Maybe now he'd be willing to send her back to Jace. That was all she'd wanted, ever since she'd climbed out of Jace's car in Killdeer and recognized Reese as her prison guard.

Well…that, and him.

She bandaged both wounds with gauze pads, cotton pads and adhesive tape, securing them as tightly as she could to apply pressure and hopefully stop or at least slow the bleeding. Once she was finished, she leaned across him to fasten the seat belt. She had trouble fitting the two ends together from her awkward position and was more than a bit distracted by her proximity to him, by the faint, familiar scent of him and all that warm brown skin—clammy brown skin—and his gentle touch…

She became still, unsure whether he'd actually touched her hair or she'd merely imagined it. Once the seat belt finally clicked together, she raised her head but couldn't read anything on his face but pain. Surely she'd imagined it. Why would he stroke her hair so tenderly when he was angry with her for getting him shot? Probably the only way he wanted to touch her was to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze.

Once she was back behind the wheel, he gave her directions out of Sapulpa and north to Sand Springs, where they picked up the expressway they'd used to travel into Tulsa. She set
the cruise control for the maximum speed, then spent her time dividing her attention between the highway and him.

She estimated they were more than halfway to Heartbreak when he reclined his seat a few inches and awkwardly brought his right hand up to rest on his stomach. She'd never seen him so pale, and had seen him so distant only once—when the tables had been turned and she'd been the one with the bullet in her chest.

He'd blamed her then, too.

“Is there a doctor in Heartbreak?” she asked, in great need of something to break the silence.

“Yeah, Doc Hanson. If he's not around, Callie'll take care of it.”

“Who is she?”

“Callie Sellers. Nurse-midwife…works with him.” With some effort, he managed to pull his cell phone from his jeans' pocket, found the number he wanted in its phone book and dialed. He was silent for a moment, then with a grimace and a muttered curse, he disconnected, then looked up another number. “Callie…hey, it's Reese. Can you meet me at Doc's clinic—” he broke off to catch his breath and made an effort to not sound so weak “—in about fifteen minutes? It's kind of an emergency…Thanks.”

He made one last call—to someone named Brady, asking him to meet them at the clinic—then let his hand fall heavily, and the cell phone slid free. Neely caught it, disconnected the call, then laid it on the console. “You should have gone to the hospital in Tulsa.”

“Yeah, and it probably would have gotten you killed.”

“Would that be such a loss?” she asked bitterly. No one would care but her mother and her sisters—none of whom she had contacted, even though he'd said she could, as long as he listened in. They would be angry that she'd gotten herself in trouble again and hadn't told them again. If she survived this, they would never have to worry again, because she was never, ever again doing anything that might cause problems for anyone.

Reese didn't respond to her self-pitying question, which made her feel even sorrier for herself. She tightened her fingers around the wheel, clenched her teeth and focused intently on driving and nothing else.

He'd estimated the time perfectly. Exactly fifteen minutes after he'd called the nurse-midwife, they were pulling into the tiny parking lot behind the clinic in downtown Heartbreak. Another car was parked in a space marked Reserved, and a gorgeous redhead was waiting at the door. Her bright, practiced smile faded when Neely climbed out of the truck, and it disappeared completely when she helped Reese out. The woman none too politely moved Neely aside, draped his left arm over her shoulder and snapped at Neely to hold the door for them.

She did so, then let it close again—with her on the outside. She had Reese's keys and his truck. If she wanted to escape, this was her chance. She could go to his house, get her clothes, her credit cards and her cash, and she could be well on her way out of the state before gorgeous Callie was finished patching him up. He would be glad to see her go—glad to have her out of his life. He would recover from getting shot, no doubt with plenty of help from Red, and he would go back to life as normal, working days and romancing half the women in the county by night. And she…she would be all right. She was a survivor, remember?

She was standing there, keys clutched in one hand, other hand wrapped around the door handle, trying to decide, when the decision was taken away from her. A black-and-white Blazer bearing the insignia of the Canyon County Sheriff's Department pulled into the parking lot, blocking the truck.

The man who climbed out was tall and handsome, with eyes as remote as any she'd ever seen. He moved with the sort of masculine grace inherent in men who knew who they were and what their place in life was. His hair was black, his face as lean and hard as his body, his eyes surprisingly blue and his mustache wicked. He didn't need the badge on his shirt or
the gun on his belt to intimidate anyone. She was unnerved by his mere presence.

“Is Reese inside?” he asked in a throaty voice custom-made for whispering sweet nothings…or deadly threats. When she nodded, he gestured for her to precede him through the door. “Callie?” he called.

“We're in here, Brady.”

Neely followed the voice to the nearest treatment room. Inside she found Reese propped up on a gurney with a woman on either side—the redhead on his left, a blonde on his right. The blonde was working on him, and the redhead was…providing comfort, Neely decided uncharitably. She was clasping his left hand to her chest, stroking his face with her other hand and murmuring soft words in a familiar, sexy, sultry voice.

The redhead wasn't Callie the midwife, as Neely had assumed. No, Callie was the blond woman and she looked the way a midwife should—like some sort of earth mother. Though pretty, she had such an air of nurturing about her that Neely couldn't imagine being jealous of her. But her friend, pretty Isabella,
ride-me-cowboy
Isabella…

Neely disliked her tremendously.

R
eese felt like hell, and little of it could be blamed on the gunshot wound. In fact, with the medicine Callie had put in his IV, he wasn't even totally sure he still felt the gunshot wound. Too bad it couldn't work the same magic on all his other problems.

It took two or three tugs, but he managed to free his hand from Isabella's and catch hold of Callie's. “I need to talk to Brady alone.”

“And I need to clean this wound, debride the damaged muscle and the surrounding tissue, insert a couple of drains and—”

“Before I get any woozier,” he interrupted, and after a moment, she nodded.

“We womenfolk will wait in the hall,” Callie said with a touch of sarcasm. “Sheesh, man gets himself shot, comes in here asking me to break the law and treat him, then throws me out of my own treatment room—” The closing door cut off the rest of her words.

Brady came closer to the bed. “What happened? Who shot you?”

Reese ignored his questions. “That woman is Neely Madison, a…a former prosecutor in Kansas City. A drug dealer she sent to prison has put a price on her head, and some lucky bastard damn near cashed in on it this afternoon. She's…she's staying at my house. I need…” He blinked a few times, tried to shake off the effects of the sedative. “I know it's way outside your job description, but I don't know…if I'll be…be able…”

“I can spend the night there, and tomorrow if necessary.”

Reese nodded, or thought he did. His vision was blurring, and he was so tired. “Don't let her run…run away. Thinks…she'll protect ever'one if she goes alone…Got to keep her…”

With a sigh, he let his eyes close. He needed a minute's rest…just a few minutes'. When he opened his eyes again, he felt less tired, but not any better. His head ached, he was a little queasy, and the throb in his right shoulder increased with each passing moment. Once his vision cleared, he glanced around the room. Apparently he'd rested for more than a few minutes. His shoulder and arm were bandaged, and the IV bag was almost empty. Brady stood at the door, seemingly oblivious to everyone in the place. Callie and Isabella were talking quietly at the foot of the bed, and Neely was staring out a window that looked on a brick wall a foot away. She had that lost look again, as if her troubles were about to beat her down again.

She could have died today, and it was his fault. He'd kept repeating that to himself on the long drive home, but it still hadn't completely sunk in. He truly couldn't comprehend that he had put her life in danger. He could have caused her death. She'd asked him if going to Tulsa was safe, and he'd stupidly assured her it was, all because he'd wanted to do something to brighten her mood.

He felt the same sick fear that had swept over him when he'd seen the man's reaction to her outside the theater. The
guy had looked like a grossly exaggerated example of surprise, like a cartoon character whose eyes popped out of his head as his jaw hit the ground. He'd thought fate had dropped a jackpot right into his lap, and it was only by the grace of God that he hadn't been able to cash it in. Reese hadn't deterred him. He hadn't done a damn thing, except get her shot at.

He started to sit up, not easy with his arm in a sling and protesting every tiny movement, but with a groan, he managed. Callie and Isabella came to stand beside him as he swung his legs over the side of the gurney. Neely did nothing more than glance over one shoulder.

“How do you feel?” Callie asked.

“Like I've been shot and treated by a midwife.”

“You should probably spend the night here. I'll bunk out in Doc's room.”

“I'll be more comfortable at home. And you'll be more comfortable at your home.” He started to breathe deeply, then winced.

“You really shouldn't be alone tonight, Reese,” Isabella said, stroking his hair back from his forehead.

“He won't be.” That came from Brady. “Neely and I will be with him.”

That drew her attention. She turned to look at Brady, then her glance skimmed over Reese, avoiding his face, before she silently nodded.

“Well…all right.” Callie picked up two bottles from the counter. “These are antibiotics. Take two every six hours until they're all gone. Don't miss one. And this bottle is painkillers. Only as needed—but for God's sake, Barnett, if you need one, take one.”

He nodded, though he had no intention of taking anything that might affect his judgment or his ability to protect Neely…such as it was.

She handed the bottles to Neely, then summoned Brady with a wave. “Let's get him in the wheelchair. The best thing for him now is sleep. If he gets hungry enough to eat, let him. No booze if he's taking the painkillers. Keep him in bed for
a few days, and keep his arm in the sling anytime he's sitting up or is out of bed. If he starts running a fever, let me or Doc Hanson know immediately. I'll come by tomorrow to change the dressing, and I'll show you how—”

“I know how,” Neely abruptly interrupted. “I changed my own dressings when I got shot.” Carrying the pill bottles, she crossed to the door, then coolly looked back at Isabella. “Why don't you hold the door? I'll get the other one.”

There was a moment of silence when the door closed behind her, then Callie gestured for Reese to scoot forward. “Who
is
she?”

He eased off the table, leaning heavily on Brady, then maneuvered into the wheelchair. There, he considered all the possible answers he could give before settling on one. “Someone I'm trying to keep—” He was about to say
safe
, but, while true, it was only part of the answer. He'd already told them all they needed to know, but with a weary smile he repeated it. “Just someone I'm trying to keep. Thanks, Callie.”

“We'll check on you in a day or so. Take care of yourself.”

Isabella held the door while Brady pushed the wheelchair. Neely was waiting at the other door, her features set in a hard mask. Seeing her brought a knot of regret to his chest that made the gunshot wounds feel like scratches. How many times had he let her down? How many times had she needed him but he wasn't there, or he turned away, or he couldn't do anything to help? Too many, and all of them unforgivable.

Brady helped him into the truck as Neely started the engine. The deputy went to his own truck while Isabella fastened Reese's seat belt, then brushed her fingers tantalizingly over his arm. “Take care of yourself, cowboy,” she murmured before closing the door and stepping away.

“She would be happy to come over and stay with you,” Neely remarked without emotion as she watched the rearview mirror.

“I don't want her there.”

When Brady was clear, she shifted into reverse, then care
fully backed out of the narrow space. “I told you she had a thing for you.”

Deliberately he returned to a conversation they'd had before the day had gone to hell. “Hmm. How do you think little baby girls with her red hair would look?”

“Like clowns.”

Her answer came so quickly, so dryly, that he couldn't help but chuckle—at least, until the first shock of pain spread through him. Gritting his teeth through it, he gave a small, contained sigh. “I don't know exactly what Isabella wants, feels or thinks, but whatever it is, Neely, it's not reciprocated.”

When she didn't reply, he fell silent for the short drive home. He was tired and couldn't think of much more comforting than his bed…except his bed with Neely in it. He wouldn't be able to take full advantage of her, of course, but he was pretty sure he'd sleep better if she were beside him, if he could reach out and touch her and know she was all right.

But she didn't look too touchable as she pulled into the garage beside his sheriff's truck and shut off the engine. She didn't unfasten his seat belt or come around to help him out. She waited until Brady was inside, then closed the garage door and unlocked the door into the house.

Reese was navigating under his own power—well, with a little support from the wall—and on his way to the bedroom when abruptly he turned back to face Neely. “Give Brady the keys.”

Wordlessly she handed them over.

“And the cell phone.”

She pulled it from the deep pocket of her dress and gave it over, too.

“And give me the pills.”

Taking them from the other pocket, she moved close enough to put them in his outstretched hand, and then she cut through the living room to reach her bedroom. He heard the door close and imagined he even heard the click of the lock. Wearily, he continued his laborious trip to the bedroom.

“If you need to go to your place to pick up anything, go ahead,” he told Brady once he was settled in bed. “But if you go, take her with you—and keep a close watch on her. She's tried to escape before. If you need to go outside, she knows the code for the alarm. Make certain she resets it. Anything else…?”

Brady went into the bathroom and returned with a paper cup of water, then removed three pills from the bottles. “Take these.”

“Not the pain pill. I don't need it.”

“If you could see the way you look, you wouldn't say that. Take it. I'll keep an eye on Neely.”

Because he knew he couldn't possibly look as bad as he felt, Reese took the pills, then lay back. “Let me see the cell phone, will you? I've got to call Jace before I go to sleep.”

He waited until Brady left, leaving the door mostly closed behind him, before dialing Jace's cell phone number. When his cousin answered, he wasted no time telling him in the bluntest terms possible what had happened.

Jace let loose with a string of curses. “You're supposed to be keeping her safe, out of sight, not parading her around Tulsa! Which part of your body did you use to make this brilliant decision?”

“I know it was stupid, and I'm sorry. It's just been hard, her being here, and I thought—”

“You didn't think at all! Jeez, Reese, I took her to you because I thought you had better sense! I thought you would protect her and instead you do something idiotic like take her out on a freaking date?”

“I never wanted her here in the first place, Jace!” he said defensively. “You think you can do so damn much better, come and get her!”

The instant the words were out, something—instinct, intuition, sixth sense—drew his attention to the door, where Neely was standing, looking as if she were the one who'd been shot and he'd done it. “Aw, hell, let me call you back, Jace,” he
muttered. He laid the phone aside, threw back the covers and started to swing his feet to the floor.

“Don't bother getting up.” Finally she moved, but not to run back to her room and lock the door, as he expected. She came into the room, around the bed and sat on the window seat. “I just wanted to see if you needed anything. I didn't mean to interrupt your call.”

“What I said…” He started to rub his shoulder, in a way he'd seen her do a dozen times, but the first touch convinced him it was far too tender. “Jace was yelling at me like he did when we were kids. He's two months older, and he always acted like that meant he was twenty years smarter. I didn't mean…”

“You made no secret of the fact that you didn't want me here.” She said it calmly, reasonably, but her gaze was locked on the rug beside the bed.

“Well, you know…things change.”

Looking unconvinced, she nodded once, then stood again.

“You want a drink? The ceiling fan turned on? The light turned off?”

He grinned weakly. “You know, just a little physical contact can go a long way toward providing comfort. A pat or two, a warm hand, a warm body.”

The bleakness in her expression intensified. “Yes, it can.” Then she walked out of the room.

Reese scowled at the ceiling. It was pretty clear that she'd been thinking about that when she'd gotten shot, when he wasn't there to offer her comfort, help or assurance at all. When she'd lain in a hospital bed and no one had cared enough to visit. When people who'd once been friends had forgotten her name or, worse, had become bitter enemies. Of everyone who'd treated her unfairly, he was the guiltiest, and neither of them could forget it.

He was almost grateful for the telephone's ring. He answered with a distracted hello.

“Is Neely all right?” Jace demanded.

“Yeah. She's just shaken up a bit.” And remembering bad memories, reliving bad times.

“Tell me everything.”

Reese gave him a blow-by-blow account leading up to, during and following the shooting. He described every detail of the man, his car and the partial license tag number he'd gotten, identified the weapon, estimated the number of shots fired.

“It'll be in the Tulsa paper and on their news. You can find out what the P.D. there has to say.”

“What about you? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Doc Hanson's nurse fixed me up.”

“I'll come get her tomorrow—”

“Like hell you will.”

“I thought you didn't want—”

“She's my responsibility, and she's safe here. No one at the theater knew us. No one followed us. My best deputy is staying here with us, and if worse comes to worst, there's always the safe room.” He tried to swallow back a big yawn but with little success. “She's not going anywhere, Jace. Not now.” Maybe not ever.

“I don't know…”

His cousin's lack of confidence stung. “I made a mistake. It won't happen again. I'll keep her safe or die trying.”

“Oh, yeah, that's just what she needs on her conscience,” Jace said sarcastically. “I'll leave her there for now. But don't do anything else stupid. Don't make me come down there and knock some sense into you.”

Reese agreed, hung up and gingerly resettled in the bed. He'd screwed up big time today, but it wouldn't happen again.

He swore on his life it wouldn't.