CHAPTER 30

Isla

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Caleb’s once velvety, dark chocolate voice is now edged with cold steel.

I wasn’t thinking; I was reacting.

Despite my uncle’s many warnings that one day my impulsive nature would get me in trouble, at forty, I’d still not been able to get a handle on it. Truth is, I like being impulsive. I like to think I’m being adventurous. Although, at this particular moment with my lungs still struggling for air, I’m pretty positive I could do without this kind of adventure.

I sure as hell didn’t expect a screeching amazon barreling straight for me when I flung the door open. I only got a quick glance behind her to see Ben trussed up on the bed—blood caked to his face and a wild look in his eyes—before I was knocked straight off my feet by a five foot ten human battering ram.

She flattened me out on my back in the snow with embarrassing ease, knocking the wind out of me. Before I could catch my breath, before I even had a chance to react, her hands were wrapping around my neck.

I fought.

I clawed, I punched, I tried to kick at the snarling, spit-slinging, inhumanely strong she-woman pushing me down in the snow, but when I started seeing little stars dancing in front of my eyes, I wondered if this would be it. My next thought was that Uncle Al would be really pissed if he had to bury me too, and that idea alone gave me renewed energy to fight.

The next thing I know, there’s snarling of a different kind, when a giant, black and white ball of fur, with sharp teeth, comes out of nowhere and knocks the woman clear off me. A loud gunshot rings out and suddenly all noise stops.

That’s when I hear the voice.

“Not much,” I try, but not much sound comes out and talking hurts like a mother.

You’d expect to feel cold, lying in the snow, but my body is feeling oddly warm.

“Did she stick you?” he asks, and I feel his hands on my body, looking for holes I presume, although at this point I can’t be sure of anything.

“I don’t...”

Ben

“I just spent a day and a half tied to a damn bed already. You wanna prolong the torture?”

I’m fuming when the nurse tries to push me back on the bed and threatens me with restraints if I don’t lie down.

I think I remember Isla kicking open the door and standing there, wide-legged and fierce, with the blow up of snow swirling around her five foot frame as my pint-sized avenger. My cavalry. Can’t remember a damn thing after.

“Can you please find me someone who does know something?” I grind out to the nurse, who doesn’t look very sympathetic. “Please, my wife may be hurt.”

The little involuntary hitch in my words apparently does the trick, because her face softens as she nods and scoots out the door. The wife thing—I’m going to make that happen as soon as I can fucking see her face.

Minutes later, I’m up and swinging my legs out of bed, again, when Al walks in. My eyes immediately search beyond him, but no Isla. I’m not liking the look on his face as he walks up to the foot of the bed and just stares.

“God, tell me she’s okay,” I choke out. It’s been a long time since I’ve used that name without following it up with a juicy curse, but not this time. This time it sounds more like a prayer.

“You better be callin’ on him,” Al says, his face stern. “You should see the marks that woman left on my girl. I swear she’s turning what little remains of my dark hair gray. Won’t stop asking for you, even as the doctor tells her she needs to stop talking to give her voice a rest. Bruising clear around her throat and gashes so deep some of them needed stitches.” The old man runs a shaky hand through his hair, more shaken than he initially let on. 

The relief I feel is quickly replaced with anger.

“Where is she?” I demand, ignoring the spinning room as I try to get my feet under me.

“Right here, you fool,” her raw whisper sounds from the doorway, where she’s standing with a grinning Neil behind her.

-

I’m being kept overnight for observation because of a concussion and the drug still floating around my system. The gash on my scalp has been stitched up and they treated and bandaged the scrapes on my ankles and wrists. All that would heal, as will the marks and injuries Isla sustained, but it’s going to be a long time before I’ll be able to get over the guilt I feel.

With Isla tucked in beside me, despite the nurse’s objections, Al and Gus get us up to speed. I can’t believe my sister is waking up. Mak was in here earlier, crying when she saw both Isla and me bandaged up. Poor kid. I almost choked up when she threw herself in my arms. For once, Neil’s cocky charm came in handy when he expertly coaxed her out of the room with the promise of unhealthy candy and violent video games on his laptop.

“She was treated for dog bites and is on her way to Durango where she’ll be held in the hospital psychiatric ward for assessment. The DA can figure out what to do with her there,” Gus says.

“I heard a shot,” I point out.

“Yeah, Caleb fired in the air. Your damn animal was about to tear the woman’s throat out. It was the only way he could get the dog’s attention away from her.”

“Where is...” Isla starts, but I cut her off with my hand on her mouth. Something I’ve had to do a few times to keep her quiet. Her glance is scorching when I look down at her.

“Pixie...” I growl softly to which she rolls her eyes.

“Told them to drop the mutt at the coffee shop,” Al says, looking at his niece. “Jen will look after him.”

“Not a mutt...” she mumbles behind my hand.

“I swear, woman, I’m going to slap duct tape on that mouth if you don’t keep it zipped.”

I’m pretty sure I won’t have sex for the next five years, but at least she stays quiet after that.

Apparently, despite the poor radio connection, Caleb hadn’t been that far from where Isla was. Basically just in the woods on the other side of the road. He’d picked up just enough to know she was east of where he was, and with Atsa’s help was able to pick up her trail quickly. The dog had torn free of his leash when it spotted Isla being attacked. They’d found me hanging off the side of the bed, still tethered by my legs and one arm, which had almost been twisted out of its socket. I feel that, although I can’t remember much of my trip down to a waiting ambulance in the same sled Jahnee had apparently used to get me up to the cabin.

Isla had briefly blacked out from lack of oxygen, but had been able to walk back to the trail with just a little help.

“That is one seriously whacked woman,” Gus points out, when he gets ready to leave. “Did you see the gallery she had on the living room wall?”

“Can’t say I had an opportunity to take in the sights, no,” I answer rather sardonically.

“Might be best,” he says, with a quick glimpse at the woman by my side, before returning his gaze to me. “They’ve probably been taken down for evidence by now anyway.”

With a two-fingered salute and a chin lift, he turns, just as a doctor walks in. Gus slips by him out the door and immediately Al gets up as well.

“I’ll go see if I can get some news on your sister and find Mak.” He walks over to the bed and leans down, giving his niece a kiss on the forehead. “You keep that motor-mouth in check, will ya?” As he walks out of the door we can hear him mutter, “Damn girl will be the death of me yet.”

“Is it Ms. or Mrs. Ferris?” the snot-nosed doctor, who barely looks old enough to be wearing laced shoes, asks Isla.

“It’s Ms.—for now,” I answer for her, since she’s not supposed to be talking and this dumbass is asking her questions.

“Right,” he sputters, looking at the chart in his hands. “Well, I’m an OBGYN resident and am supposed to ask Ms. Ferris some questions.”

“That’ll be hard, because Ms. Ferris was told not to strain her voice, since someone tried to strangle her today.” I can hear my voice rising as frustration takes over, but Isla’s small hand on my chest calms me. Enough for something to register.

OBGYN?

“I apologize, I’ll do my best to ask only yes or no questions, although with the first one, that might a problem,” he says, looking nervously at me, before turning to Isla.

“When was your last period?”

Isla

Ohmygod. Ohmygod.

“Breathe, Pixie,” Ben’s deep voice penetrates my panicked inner chant.

I try, but I end up coughing, which hurts my throat like you wouldn’t believe and tears spring to my eyes. Somewhere in the background I hear the click of a door closing, and the next thing I know is Ben’s face looming over mine.

“You okay, baby?”

“Baby...” I rasp between coughs. I watch as the worry melts off his face and is replaced by a shit-eating grin.

“So it seems,” he says, clearly not feeling my level of sheer panic, and I promptly burst into uncontrolled sobs. “Shhh,” he hushes, rolling on his back and taking me with him, somehow managing to keep both of us from rolling off the narrow bed.

“Too much...” I mumble against his chest when the tears slow down, still feeling utterly overwhelmed. It is all a bit much to take in one sitting; although it’s becoming quite clear Ben and I aren’t destined to live a nice, steady, predictable life.

There was a time, before Ben, when I would dream of some excitement, but I have to admit at this point, I’ve had about all the excitement I can handle.

“Never too much. Not with you,” he whispers in my hair and my sobs start all over again.

I managed to keep it together for twenty-four of the most harrowing hours of my life, tracked down my man, was almost killed by a lunatic, was saved by the best dog in the world, only to find out I’m having that baby I was told I’d probably never have.

I just started to come to terms with it, too. At least I thought I was.

A baby.

How am I going to raise a baby on the side of a mountain? If I can’t keep track of my grown ass man, who the hell decided it was a good idea to put me in charge of a child?

Ohmygod. I’m going to have to give birth. But first I’m going to be big as a whale. What if something is wrong? We’re not exactly spring chickens, aren’t there things that can go wrong?

“That’s why he says they’ll monitor closely,” Ben says, making it clear that my quiet private meltdown wasn’t quite as private, or quiet, as I thought it was.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I admit, looking up at him, more than a little pissed when I see him smile.

“I don’t think you have much of a choice at this point.”

“A little less of the cocky would be good,” I snap, hurting my throat in the process, but it only makes his grin bigger. He puts his mouth close to my ear.

“Can’t recall you complaining about that when I was planting my kid in you.”

I’m about to hit him when a woman in scrubs pushes a machine into the room.

“Ready?” she asks with a bright smile.

“You bet,” Ben says, with all the confidence in the world as he scoots off the bed, despite my protests, and sits down on the chair beside it. My efforts to still his hands are pointless as he helpfully pulls up my shirt.

Only a few minutes later, our hands are tightly entwined as we get a first glimpse of our nugget, aptly named by Ben with his overt appreciation for fast food.

“This little one measures at about eighteen weeks. Do you want to know what it is?”

“You can see that?” Ben asks.

“Sure can.”

Ben looks at me and then both of us turn to the woman.

“Yes,” Ben says, just as I say, “No.” But one glance at the crestfallen look on his face when he turns to me with his mouth open, and I change my mind.

“Oh fine.”

Ben

“Hey, Sis.”

I smile despite the shock to my system the sight of Stacie’s bandaged body gives me. One of her eyes is covered under the thick padding and the other is half-opened. It’s looking straight at me though.

Mak is with Isla in my room, and I was able to bribe Al into wheeling me in a chair to the ICU. That nurse, Carol, was manning the desk but she took one look at me, then at Al, and threw her hands in the air, before purposely turning her back. Al chuckled behind me.

“Guessing you had a run in with her, too?” I conclude.

“Sure did. Told me she figured we all belonged to the same family. Damn battle-axe missed her calling as drill sergeant.”

I reach out and carefully stroke my sister’s fingers that seem lost against the white blankets.

“You’re hurt,” she croaks. The observation, along with the sound of her voice, dislodges a sound that is half-cough, half-sob, from my throat.

“You still win,” I whisper, bending down to kiss her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she says, and when I put my forehead to the mattress to hide my emotions, she lifts her hand and lets her fingers trail over my hair.

We stay quiet like that for a while, when Stacie clears her throat.

“You thirsty?” I ask, lifting my head. I spot a cup of water on her nightstand and carefully bend the straw to her lips.

“Where’s Mak?” she wants to know, her one eye scanning as much of the room as she can.

“Isla’s taking care of her in my room.” A little smile tugs at Stacie’s lips. “It’s good practice for Isla,” I add quietly, so only she can hear. I watch as her eye pops open and the small smile gets a little bigger.