CHAPTER TWELVE
Dillon reclaimed his seat at the table and grabbed Max’s beer. Damn Kit Derby and storerooms and tornadoes and blizzards.
He took a long swallow, then set the beer mug back down with a thunk.
“Everything okay?” Max asked, shooting a look at Bree, who looked equally concerned.
“Nope,” Dillon said flatly.
“Kit left?” Bree asked.
“Yep.”
“You going after her?” Jake asked.
“Nope.”
“You sure?” Jake asked.
“When have I ever been sure about anything where Kit is concerned?” Dillon asked.
They all just nodded as he made that very good point.
“Should we go after her?” Bree asked Avery.
Avery shrugged and looked at Dillon.
He held up his hands. “Hell if I know what she needs.” But he did know. Kit needed him.
Dillon felt itchy as he made himself stay put in the chair.
Kit was worked up, and he wanted to fix it. But he didn’t know how. Besides insisting that she keep kicking his ass, he wasn’t sure how to assure her that everything would be fine and that this could work.
But damn, he needed her to be the Kit she’d always been, too. He needed her to argue with him and make him look at things differently and challenge him to defend his stance on things.
Because of Kit, he knew what was important to him. Was getting along with people and cooperating and working together toward a common goal important? Of course. But without Kit questioning and holding him accountable and making him defend his choices over the years, he wouldn’t know what he believed in with the confidence he had now.
Could she be both soft and kick-ass? He hoped so. He couldn’t give up either side.
“We need to talk about something else,” he said. “Anything else.”
They all dutifully launched into further conversation about the community disaster resource center. But none of it was new. They all knew the plans backward and forward. But that worked for Dillon. He needed a topic of conversation that he didn’t have to concentrate on.
Bree’s phone rang a few minutes later, and she pulled it out without looking at it. “Officer McDermott.” Then she sat straight up in her chair. “Where?”
Everyone at the table stopped talking and focused on her. Bree was staring ahead and listening to whoever was on the other end.
“She’s not here,” Bree said. “Have you tried her cell?”
She listened again, and Dillon felt a knot of tension tighten in his lower gut. She had to be talking about Kit.
“Yes, try that number, and I’ll start calling, too.” Bree started toward the door. “I’m on my way.”
Dillon was up and out of his seat and on Bree’s heels. Max was right behind him.
Bree disconnected the call and starting dialing another. Dillon didn’t say a word as he followed her to her car and climbed in the back seat. She glanced at him but didn’t say anything. She just got behind the wheel while Max got into the front seat. Jake and Avery were heading for Jake’s truck.
A moment later, she hung up with a “Dammit” and then dialed again. “Kit’s okay,” she said over her shoulder to Dillon as she started the car. “They’re trying to find her for one of her patients.”
Dillon felt some of the tension leave his body. “Thank God.”
Bree looked up into the rearview mirror. “The guy’s holed up in his house with a gun. He’s shot his wife—she’s alive but bleeding—and he’s saying that he’s going to kill her and himself if Kit doesn’t get there in the next ten minutes.”
All the air whooshed out of his body. “Fuck.” He jammed a hand through his hair. It felt like an anvil had settled on his shoulders, pressing him into the seat, into the very floor of the car. At the same time he felt like every one of his nerve endings was jumping and zapping. He needed to move, to do something.
“Dillon,” Bree said firmly, “start calling her. Over and over again until she picks up.”
He nodded and pulled out his phone, his thoughts spinning. Kit’s phone went to voice mail. He hung up and redialed. Bree was on the phone with someone new a moment later. The dispatcher, Dillon assumed from her questions and answers. There was a gun and a distraught patient who needed Kit. That was the bottom line.
Kit couldn’t go to that house. He couldn’t let her walk in there. He couldn’t lose her.
But she had to go.
That realization smacked him in the face as he started to push the button to dial her number. His thumb shook, but he made it press the phone.
She had to go. That’s what she did. She took care of things. She took charge. She made things better.
But damn. How could he watch her walk into that? Could he talk her out of it? Plead with her?
Maybe.
But he wouldn’t.
“Kit!”
His head jerked up as Bree spoke into her phone. Kit’s phone had gone to voice mail for him. He hung up. He didn’t know what to say anyway, and it wasn’t like she was going to be listening to her messages for the next while. But he had so much to say. So many things he needed to tell her. So many things she had to know.
“Breathe, Dillon,” Max ordered, turning to look over the seat at him.
Dillon pulled in a long, shaky breath and gripped his knees with his hands, squeezing, trying to anchor himself.
Bree was talking to Kit, filling her in on the address and situation. Dillon caught only single words here and there, but it was enough. Travis, Third Street, one gunshot wound, shoulder, Lisa, threat. And most of all, Kit. That last word was the only one he needed to hear.
Bree pulled up the car and slammed on the brake. They were on Second Street. Dillon made himself look around, then focus on Bree’s conversation.
He had to help. Somehow. In any way. Sitting in the back seat, struggling to breathe, and thinking of all the ways this could go sideways was not doing a damned thing for anyone.
He forced all the panic, all the adrenaline, all the what-ifs to the back of his mind and focused. He could do this. He’d done it a million times with patients and coworkers, and it had never been more important than it was with the woman he loved out there in the middle of the heat.
Bree was still talking to Kit as she climbed out of the car. Dillon followed her to the trunk. She popped it open, unlocked the gun case inside, and loaded her weapon. Dillon’s heart lodged itself firmly in his throat, but he had control now. He had his shit together, and it would stay together until this was over.
Until Kit didn’t need him anymore.
Bree’s eyes went to his. “Travis is going to let you inside,” she said into the phone to Kit. “He’s going to let you treat Lisa’s shoulder, and he wants to talk. But it has to be only you, and he doesn’t want you to even be on the phone with anyone.”
She paused to listen, still watching Dillon.
Dillon paced back and forth along the back of the car while Bree talked to Kit.
“Go straight up the front walk,” she told her friend. “He’s waiting for you. Don’t take anything in.” Again her gaze found Dillon’s as she listened to Kit. “You’ll have to find stuff inside to treat her with.”
With that, Dillon’s mind instantly clicked into triage gear. There was a woman inside with a gunshot wound to the shoulder, and Kit would be going in without supplies. Grateful for a reason to use the part of his brain that wasn’t filled with I need her, I can’t live without her, she has to be okay, I have to be sure she’s okay, he generated a list of common household supplies she could use. A gunshot wound, if it was clean, wouldn’t be hard to control until they could get Lisa treatment at the hospital. If the bullet was still in her shoulder, it could get harder. And the location in the shoulder was critical.
“Just do what you can for her shoulder,” Bree said into the phone. “But you have to talk him down. The fact that he wants to talk to you is big. He didn’t shoot anyone in a public place. He hasn’t shot himself. This is all good.”
Dillon could tell that Bree was mostly just talking. Those things were all positive, but they could also change rapidly. And it was possible that Travis had a beef with Kit, and he was bringing her into the house to settle up.
Dillon’s heart plummeted, and he forced himself to breathe. He had to be here for her. He couldn’t freak out.
“Is she there?” he asked Bree.
She nodded. “Outside the house. Across the street.”
Bree had parked one block over. Travis had insisted Kit be the only one to come to his house, and they didn’t want to spook him. But Dillon moved quickly down the sidewalk. Between two houses, he could see what he presumed to be Travis’s house on the next block. And Kit’s car parked directly across the street from it.
His throat tightened. She was right there. He could get to her before she made it up the front walk. He cared about her far more than he cared about Travis.
Dillon instantly shook his head. It might be true, but it didn’t matter. Kit’s job was to help that man. Travis needed her. Lisa needed her. And Dillon knew Kit would fight him to go in.
Fight him. She’d fight him. That’s what she needed.
He stalked back to Bree and held out his hand.
Bree frowned and shook her head, clearly understanding he was asking for her phone.
“Let me talk to her, Bree.”
“No way.”
“Bree.” He used his best doctor-in-charge voice. “Give me the fucking phone.”
She covered the mouthpiece and glared at him. “No. Dillon, she can’t be shaky right now. She’s going in. You and I both know there’s no other option in her mind. But she has to be on. You’ve mixed her all up. She can’t be soft right now.”
“Bree,” Dillon said, calm, cool, and absolutely determined. There was only one woman who could out-stubborn him. And she was about to walk into a volatile situation that he needed her to walk out of. “I know you love her, but I promise you that there is no one on this planet who needs her to come out of this in one piece more than I do.” Dillon held out his hand again. “Give me the phone.”
Bree frowned, then took a deep breath. And handed over the phone.
“Kit?”
“Dillon?”
Her voice almost sent him to his knees. She sounded scared. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that in her voice. And that wasn’t Kit. She was tough and in charge and always knew the right thing to do and say.
“You know exactly what’s going on with this guy, right?” he asked, tamping down every urge to tell her he loved her and that he wanted to marry her and that he knew she didn’t like big dogs but that they were going to have a black Lab and he already knew the dog would like her best.
“I . . .”
She trailed off, and Dillon swore silently.
“Dr. Derby,” he said firmly, “do you or do you not know what’s going on with your patient inside that house?”
He heard her take a deep breath. “Yes,” she finally said. Then firmer, she repeated, “Yes. Of course I do.”
“Then what the hell’s taking so long?” he asked, making himself do this when he really wanted to rush to her side and hold her. “I have a patient inside there, too, and until you deal with yours, I can’t treat mine.”
Again he heard her pull in a breath. “Yours is a clean bullet wound. Mine has a few bigger issues,” she said.
Dillon felt relief bloom in his chest. There she was. His fighter. Almost.
“So can you handle this or what?” he asked. “I’m going to need you to do some triage for the gunshot, too. Is that going to be too much?”
He could almost picture Kit pulling herself up tall and lifting her chin. He’d seen that four million times in his life. And he could imagine her doing it when she was eighty-six with gray hair, meeting his gaze with her sharp brown eyes and saying, “I love you, Dillon, but you’re wrong.”
He wanted to be wrong with her for the rest of his life.
“Of course I can handle it, Dr. Alexander,” she said.
He heard her car door slam and knew she was out of the car and on her way up the walk. He willed his heart to quiet so he could at least hear the rest of what she was saying.
“First thing is getting that fucking gun away from him, Kit,” he said, knowing that some of his emotions had spilled into his voice.
“I know,” she snapped.
“And then you need to stop any bleeding.”
“I’m aware.”
“And I know that shoulders aren’t really your thing. If she’s still alive, he missed the carotid, but the brachial plexus—”
“Dillon,” she broke in, “I did take anatomy. The same class you did. Do you really think that I studied the shoulder complex at any point in my life and am not aware of the circulatory issues at stake here?”
Dillon felt his smile spread. He hadn’t expected to be smiling for quite some time. He nodded. “There’s my girl,” he said softly.
He knew he shouldn’t say anything softly. He shouldn’t be sweet. She couldn’t let her guard down now. But he couldn’t help it.
There was a long pause on the other end. Then her voice came to him softly as well. “Tell me you love me, Dillon.”
He swallowed hard, his throat so tight suddenly he wasn’t sure he could. But of course he could. “I love you, Kit. So fucking much.”
He heard her breathe deeply and then, “I love you, too. And I know that doesn’t make me soft or weak or less than I was before. It makes me stronger. More sure. It makes everything I do mean more.”
“Damn right it does,” he told her. He paused. “And now I’m going to need you to go into that house and deal with this situation because I need to take you home and celebrate you finally saying that to me.”
She didn’t say anything, but he could picture her nodding.
“Go get ’em, Kit,” he said.
“I’ll see you soon,” she told him thickly.
They disconnected, and Dillon gripped the phone tightly in his hand, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.
“I’m going to need that back.”
He opened his eyes, not having realized he’d squeezed them shut until Bree spoke. He handed her the phone.
“You did good,” she told him.
“You sure?”
“You’ve always pushed her just enough,” Bree said.
“And I’ve always loved her just enough.”
“No, you’ve always loved her way beyond that.” Bree took the phone and tucked it in her back pocket. She had her gun drawn. “You need to stay here,” she told him as she started across the grass between the houses. “Ambulance is on its way with no sirens or lights. They’re coming to you right here.”
“You’re going in there?”
“I’ll be in the front yard, ready,” she said, indicating the huge tree in the front yard of Travis’s house. “This is going to be okay. Just hang tight.”
Dillon nodded. Okay, ambulance. Emergency medicine for Lisa. That’s what he could concentrate on.
Max came up beside him. Dillon scrubbed a hand over his face, “Jesus, how do you let her go in like that?”
Max clapped him on the shoulder. “Because she’d be miserable if she didn’t go in,” he said. “And she’s a hell of a shot.”
Dillon let out a small laugh. It wasn’t much, and it kind of hurt his chest, but he did it.
“Kit’s a hell of a shot, too,” Max said. “Maybe not with a gun, but she knows how to get to the heart. She’ll figure this out.”
Dillon knew he was right. Kit wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but in the middle of this, and she was the best one for it.
That made it a little easier to stay outside and wait. Not much, but a little.
Thirty agonizing minutes later, the front door to Travis’s house opened, and he walked out, his hands up in the air.
Bree moved in immediately, with two other officers who’d shown up. She quickly got Travis to the ground and cuffed.
“And then there’s that,” Max said, letting out a long breath that showed he’d been as wound tight as Dillon had. “It’s pretty hot when she cuffs someone.”
Dillon didn’t say anything. And he didn’t remove his stare from the front of the house until Kit stepped out, helping another woman with an arm around her.
Relief washed over him so intensely that he had to lean back against the hood of Bree’s car to stay on his feet.
Bree looked over her shoulder as the two other officers escorted Travis to their squad car down the block. Kit nodded and waved to her friend.
Dillon couldn’t hear any of it, but he knew she was okay.
“Go,” he told the EMTs, waving them forward.
They pulled around the corner and up in front of the house, blocking Dillon’s view of the yard. Pulling in much-needed oxygen, he took two steps to test the stability of his knees before he broke into a run. He rounded the front of the ambulance a moment later. Lisa was already on a stretcher. He glanced at Kit, and she gave him a smile.
For the first time—maybe in his life—his own needs nearly overrode those of the patient. But he forced himself to turn to Lisa. She was conscious and even smiled at Jeremy, the paramedic taking her blood pressure.
They rattled off numbers to Dillon, who took them in and processed them automatically. He lifted the edge of the dish towel on Lisa’s shoulder. The wound had missed anything vital and was as clean as it could be coming out of a kitchen.
“I’ll meet you up there,” he told the EMTs as they rolled Lisa into the rig. Then he swung around and stalked toward Kit.
“I’m—”
That’s as far as he let her get. He crushed his mouth to hers, gathering her into his arms and drinking her in. He absorbed the feel of her against him, the way she immediately clung to him, the heat of her, her weight in his arms, the way she smelled and tasted.
He didn’t let her up for air for several long moments, completely ignoring Bree’s throat clearing and Max’s “Uh, dude.” It wasn’t until the police chief, Dillon’s uncle Wes, said, “Okay, break it up,” that Dillon finally lifted his head.
Kit stared up at him.
Dillon stared down at her.
Finally, the corner of her mouth curled up. “Just another day at the office.”
He set her on her feet and hugged her against his chest. “Thank you for being kick-ass at your job.”
She squeezed him back. But added, “And yours, I guess. You gotta admit that gunshot wound looked good.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m not the only doctor here.”
“But I’m on your turf,” she said, also repeating words from two weeks ago at the scene of Sarah’s delivery.
“Damn right you are,” he said. He ran a thumb over her cheek. “And I never want you anywhere else.”
“Right beside you, giving you a hard time and challenging you at every turn?” she asked.
“And making my heart nearly pound out of my chest when you’re taking risks and when I’m so damned proud of you I can’t stand it and when I’m overcome by how much I love you.”
Her eyes went soft. “I love you, too.”
And it was official, she absolutely could be kick-ass and soft and sweet at the same time.
Two weeks later, Dillon walked into the board meeting for the free clinic just after it started again. But this time he was holding Kit’s hand.
Everyone stopped talking and turned their attention to Chance’s newest power couple.
“Morning, everyone,” Dillon said.
Kit gave him a smile and a wink as she slid into the chair just to the left of where he was standing, but Dillon stayed on his feet.
“Morning, Dillon,” Don greeted. “We’re eager to hear the big news.”
Dillon had sent out an e-mail to the entire board yesterday, asking for this meeting and promising something big.
“Then let’s get right to it,” Dillon said. He looked at Kit, his heart swelling. They could do anything together, and they’d decided that it was silly to not just do the clinic together. Any project they’d taken on as a team had surpassed all expectations. It was stupid, really, to not approach this the same way they had the project at the park when they’d been in high school. They’d both focus on the things they were most passionate about, they’d push and argue with each other, and in the end, it would turn out perfectly. “Kit and I are taking over the development of the free clinic for Chance, separate from the hospital,” he told everyone. “We’ve realized that we’ve gotten too bogged down in details and red tape. This community and its people need the services, Kit and I are willing and able to offer those services, and we can worry about everything else as we go.”
Don frowned as everyone around the table began shifting in their chairs and murmuring.
“Dillon,” Don started, clearly choosing his words carefully, “we don’t want you to think that the board and the town aren’t supportive of the clinic.”
Dillon looked at Frank Harvey and noticed he was simply sitting back in his chair, smiling.
“It has nothing to do with support,” Dillon said. “We know you’re all just doing your due diligence. But the truth is, Kit and I don’t need the support. We can do this together, and we’re tired of waiting around. That is not a shot at anyone,” he added quickly. “We just realized that with our skills and passion, we can get this going now rather than waiting, and so that’s what we’re going to do.”
Kit picked up the explanation. “So we’re opening the clinic tomorrow. We’ve talked to the bank and to Tyler Morris,” she said, referring to the real estate agent in town. “We’ll be working out of the storefront on Main next to the hardware store. We’ll have enough start-up money to get the basic supplies, but the main thing is we just need a place and . . .” She looked up at Dillon. “Us. This is our idea, our passion, and we have the licenses, skills, and desire to make it happen. We don’t really need anything else.”
Dillon really wanted to kiss her just then.
Don still looked concerned. “What about medications and lab and radiology?” he asked.
“Well, we’re hoping that we can still get the grants in place and can get more staff to help out and that the hospital will want to work with us on those things,” Dillon said. “But once we get it actually up and running, we know that everyone will see how great it is and will want to be a part of it.”
“You’re going to staff it with just the two of you?” Karen asked. “That’s a lot to take on.”
Kit nodded. “It is. Which makes it right up our alley.”
Yep, he really needed to kiss her. Soon.
“So you’re both on the same page on everything now?” Karen asked. “I know you had some opposing views.”
Kit laughed. “We still do. We always will. That’s what ensures this clinic will be the very best that it can possibly be.”
She gave him a grin that made Dillon’s heart completely full. They basically had a card table, a couple of chairs, some basic supplies, and a lot of educational brochures. But they were going to open the clinic tomorrow. Together. And it was going to be amazing.
Frank sat forward in his chair and said, “Kit. Dillon. I know I speak for everyone here when I say I have every faith that this will turn out wonderfully. And we’ll all do what you really need us to do—stay out of your way.”
Dillon grinned at that, and Kit smiled and rose from her seat. “Thank you, Frank.”
Dillon took Kit’s hand, and they started for the door.
“That’s it?” Don asked. “That’s all the discussion this needs?”
“It is,” Kit said with a nod. “But you’re all welcome to our grand opening tomorrow. There will be balloons and cookies.”
Dillon chuckled as he held the door open for her. She didn’t know it, but there would also be a big-ass diamond ring on top of a s’more for her as soon as the last person left the building.
He was pretty sure she’d say yes. But he wasn’t sure he’d mind if she needed a little convincing.
And yes, he did realize that he was going to beat both Max and Jake to proposing.
Six months later
“Hell yeah!” Dillon’s arm shot into the air, and he swung to face Kit with a huge grin. “I won!”
She laughed. “Yep, number one in the rooster races. Way to go.”
But he grabbed the trophy from her and picked her up with one arm around her, giving her a big, long kiss in front of everyone. Then he set her back on her feet. “And tell Jake that you did not fix this race so I would win.”
“How would I fix a rooster race?” she asked with a laugh. “Your cock was definitely the fastest.”
Jake and Max laughed. “Fastest,” Max said. “Not sure that’s really a compliment when we’re talking cocks.”
“Yeah, she didn’t say biggest or best,” Jake pointed out.
But Dillon gave her a wink and swatted her on the ass. “My cock and I are number one, and I have a trophy to prove it. That’s all I need.”
She rolled her eyes but laughed.
The guys moved off toward the frozen-lemonade stand, and Kit felt Bree and Avery move up next to her.
“You totally fixed the race, didn’t you?” Avery asked, tucking her hair behind her ear, the diamond in her engagement ring winking in the sunlight.
Kit just grinned.
“How did you fix a rooster race?” Bree wanted to know.
“I can’t give away my secrets,” she said.
“Okay, maybe more important, why did you fix it?” Avery asked. “Does Dillon really need to win everything?”
Kit shook her head. “Nah, but it does soften him up, and that makes it easier to beat him later.”
“What are you playing later?” Bree asked.
“Chutes and Ladders.”
Bree rolled her eyes. “That’s so weird. You guys play that game all the time. I don’t get it.”
“You’re both weird,” Avery said. “You should just call your ice-cream sundaes and board games what they are—hot, rocking sex.”
Bree turned to Kit with her eyes wide. “Oh. Chutes and Ladders is a code for sex?”
Kit laughed and put an arm around each of her girlfriends. “No. We actually play. You and Max don’t actually eat ice cream?”
Bree laughed. “Oh, we do. But it’s definitely a code. We eat ice cream while we—”
“Okay,” Kit interrupted. “Got it.”
A second later, Bree frowned. “You might have to explain how the Chutes and Ladders thing goes.”
“Strip Chutes and Ladders,” Kit said simply. She wouldn’t ruin their assumptions by telling them that she and Dillon had had some really amazing talks because of Chutes and Ladders.
“But why that game?”
Kit laughed. “It’s kind of a long story.”
“Well, whatever,” Bree said. “I’m glad you’re happy.” She grinned at both of them. “I’m glad we’re all happy. It’s awesome.”
Kit pulled in a deep breath. “It is. Completely.” She squeezed her friends.
“Oh, and I can’t wait to show you the flowers for the wedding!” Bree suddenly exclaimed as Amelia, the town florist, started toward them. “Amelia did a great job.”
Bree was as surprised as anyone by how much she was enjoying wedding planning, but she really was. Avery and Jake would be married first, but only by one day. They would say “I do” on the anniversary of last year’s tornado. Bree and Max would be the next day. And then Kit and Dillon would be in December. On the date of the big blizzard. Sarah, Tim, and Caleb would even be there, celebrating the wedding . . . and Caleb’s first birthday.
Kit knew that Dillon really did like to be first at things, but he hadn’t even blinked when Jake told him the date of his and Avery’s wedding. It was perfect for them, and Dillon knew it. And Kit thought that maybe Jake was even hoping for a tornado warning that night. Not a total storm, of course, but some storm clouds would be very appropriate.
Avery nodded. “Yeah, the weather here might really suck sometimes, but it sure does stir up some fun.”
It really did. She and Dillon might actually play Chutes and Ladders and talk. But the blanket tents and s’mores were a whole other thing.