CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Wes!” With extra effort, Chloe managed to climb out from under Wöden and scramble through the snow to where Hannah and Wes both lay inert.
“Chole! Get back!” Gage shouted, suddenly appearing from the woods beyond. “She’s still armed.”
“Wes is under her. He’s hurt!” she shouted, ignoring his command.
Abruptly a mountain of a man appeared in front of her, huge arms hugging her close. “Stay back, Miss Chloe,” Cleetus whispered in her ear as she struggled to get free. “Let Gage secure the shooter first. Bobby wouldn’t want anything to happen to her sister.”
Only the mention of her pregnant, beloved sister kept Chloe from leveling the big man with a quick knee to the groin. He turned slightly and she could see Gage crouched next to the jumble of Hannah and Wes, placing his hand on the woman’s neck. He pulled a bloody knife from her hand and set it aside. Tears filled Chloe’s eyes.
Why wasn’t he hurrying?
Why wasn’t he trying to get to Wes?
“Give me a hand.” Gage motioned to the other deputy who’d been keeping a gun focused on the pair. They lifted the massive mound that was Hannah in her camouflage suit off to the side.
With an elbow to Cleetus’s side, Chloe gained her release and rushed over to Wes.
“Wes!” she said, coming to her knees beside him, cradling his head in her hands, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Wes, please, please be alive.”
His eyes opened and he lifted his left hand to cup her face. “Just got the wind knocked out of me counselor.”
“Oh, God!” she said, lowering her mouth to his. The warmth of his lips easing some of her fear. He slid his hand behind her head, gripping her hair in his hand, deepening the kiss.
“If you two are done. I need to see to his wounds.” Harriett said, kneeling beside them.
“Wounds?” Chloe broke off the kiss, sitting back to scan over him. His right leg and arm, along with the side of his chest were covered in blood. “Oh, God, you’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing more than a few cuts,” he said, trying to sit up, but Harriett put a hand on his chest, stilling his movements.
“Stay,” she commanded.
“I’m not a pet dog,” Wes muttered.
“Stubborn as one.” Harriett had her hands up under his shirt, placing bandages she’d taken out of the bag Chloe still had on. “Looks like that knife wound glanced off your ribs. You’re going to need stitches. Now let me look at the bullet wound in your leg.”
“Bullet wound?” Wes asked. “Hannah didn’t have time to get a round off my direction. Who shot me?”
“I did. Needed to change your trajectory or you would have this knife deep in your chest instead of glancing off your ribs,” Harriett said, stunning them all. Before anyone could comment, she started giving orders like a drill sergeant to new recruits. “Daniel, go get your truck. Cleetus, bring the dog. Chloe go with him. Animal knows you. Don’t need him biting Cleetus. Gage, call your wife. Tell her that her sister’s okay.”
Everyone scurried to do as she’d ordered. Chloe hurried over to Wöden, reassuring the injured wolf-dog that Cleetus wouldn’t hurt him. Once the big man lifted the animal into his arms, Chloe walked with him through the woods back to Wes’s house.
“Get some blankets,” Harriett said, as she and Gage helped Wes onto the back of the pickup truck Daniel had parked next to Wes’s SUV.
Running into the cabin, Chloe grabbed the blankets from the bed. Back outside, she spread one on the bed of the truck. Wes lay down on one side and Cleetus set Wöden in beside him. The nearness to his friend, seemed to ease the wolf-dog and he nuzzled against Wes’s neck. Climbing into the truck bed with them, Chloe covered them with the other blanket, then hunkered down on the other side. She slipped her hand over Wes’s where he held onto Wöden. Turning his hand, he linked his fingers with hers and squeezed.
“Hold on you two,” Harriett ordered as she climbed into the truck cab with Daniel. “Let’s go wake up the Doc.”
* * * * *
As it turned out they didn’t have to wake up anyone. Doc Clint and his wife, Emma, were standing on the front porch of their clinic when the small caravan of trucks arrived. Beside them was an older, whipcord-lean, man with salt and pepper hair.
The minute the truck came to a stop, everything seemed to happen at once.
“We’ve got two gunshot patients,” Harriett said, as she hopped out of the truck cab. “The human one is a through and through in the right thigh. He’s also got a knife wound to the right lateral chest. Blade didn’t puncture the rib cage. No internal organs hit.”
Chloe moved to the side of the truck bed as the doctor and his wife helped Wes onto a wheelchair and hurried up the ramp into the clinic.
“The non-human patient has at least one gunshot wound to the back-left leg. Possibly a second. Didn’t have a chance to check. Besides I like my fingers. Glad you made it, Neil.”
“Your phone message didn’t give me much choice, Harriett,” the older man said with a chuckle. He stood by the side of the truck and held out his hand for Wöden to sniff. “Hello, old friend. Remember me?”
Instead of snarling like he had when Cleetus first approached him in the woods, Wöden whimpered and nuzzled the man’s hand.
“That’s it. You know I won’t hurt you. Let’s get you inside and make you feel better, okay?” The man turned to Chloe, held out his hand and smiled. “Dr. Neil Haverman, local vet.”
“Chloe Roberts.” She shook his hand. “I figured that’s who you were. Wes told me you treated Wöden when he first found him.”
The rattling of wheels interrupted them as Cleetus pushed a hospital-type gurney down the ramp from the clinic. “Harriett says she has room two ready for you Doc.”
Chloe moved to the side of the truck so the men could move the wolf-dog onto the stretcher, then followed them inside. “What can I do?”
“Go keep him calm,” Harriett said coming out of a room.
Chloe started after Cleetus and the vet.
“Not the animal. I can handle that. You keep the human patient calm. He keeps asking if you’re alright,” she said, pointing to the room she just left.
Hesitantly, Chloe stepped into the exam room. Wes lay on a stretcher-type table, his torso naked, a thermal blanket draped over his lower half except for his right leg, which was heavily bandaged from around the thigh. Beside him stood the doctor and his wife and a tall metal table.
Emma smiled over her shoulder when she saw her standing in the doorway. “You can sit right there,” she said, pointing to the cane-back chair on the opposite side of the room.
Wes lifted his head slightly and held out his hand.
Without hesitation, and not caring who might be watching, Chloe hurried to his side and slipped her hand in his. The strength of his grip reassured her that he was going to be okay.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice slightly slurred.
“Yes. Of course. You were the one shot.”
“Saw Wöden knock you down.” He tried to lift his other arm to her face. Emma grabbed it.
“Dammit, hold still, Wes,” Clint said, pausing with a medical instrument holding a needle and suture out of the way. “It’s difficult enough to sew at this angle without you making the cut a moving target.”
“Sorry, Doc.” Wes said, again his words slurred.
He rested his arm back over his head, exposing the wound on his right outer chest for the doctor to continue his suturing. Chloe focused on Wes’s face and not the repair work going on to his body. There was a reason Dylan was the surgeon and not her.
“You might…have…a…concussion,” Wes said, staring into her eyes. His pupils were bigger than she’d ever seen.
“We’ll check her out once you’re patched up,” the doctor said, not looking up from his work.
“Sorry…I didn’t…keep you…safe,” Wes said, his eyes slowly going shut.
“Wes?” Chloe squeezed his hand in hers, panic rising inside her.
“He’s okay, just asleep.” The doctor said. “Harriett gave him some Dilaudid for pain before you came in the room.”
Chloe turned to the doctor and nurse. “Are you sure there wasn’t some internal damage? Shouldn’t he be at a hospital? Getting x-rays or an MRI or a Cat Scan?”
Clint removed his gloves and stepped back so his wife could start putting a dressing over the knife wound. He pointed to Wes’s thigh. “Harriett’s triage assessment was correct. The gunshot was a through-and-through, just needed stitching up. He’ll hurt for a while and need time for the muscles to heal, but no bone was broken.” Then he nodded to the wound in his side. “The knife pierced his chest, but didn’t go through the ribs or hit his lung.”
“How do you know without doing some sort of tests?”
“He would’ve been having great trouble breathing. Skin would’ve been blue. Probably would’ve coughed up some blood,” Harriett said coming in behind them, bustling around to unlock the wheels on the stretcher. “Room’s ready, if you’re done.”
Emma nodded, moving the metal tray out of the way. Chloe scooted back against the wall as the pair started out of the room. She went to follow them.
“Stay,” Harriett commanded and continued pushing the stretcher out of the room.
Chloe froze. Everyone in Westen was wrong. Harriett hadn’t been in the CIA. The woman had been a drill sergeant in another life.
A chuckle sounded behind her. “Probably both.”
Her cheeks flushed as she realized she’d been speaking out loud. “I’m sorry. It’s just. She’s scary.”
“Tell me about it. The woman drives me crazy on a daily basis,” Clint said, taking her elbow and leading her back to the chair she’d vacated. “Wes says you hit your head?”
“No, I don’t think so. It all happened so fast. One moment I was looking into the rifle barrel—” She started shaking.
The doctor took both her hands in his, chaffing them. “Take a slow deep breath.”
She did but the shaking seemed to get worse. “Then…Wes’s face…and…Wöden knocked me down.” She hiccupped and her teeth chattered. “He…saved…my life.”
A heated blanket suddenly surrounded her. She looked up to see Emma standing beside her. “It’s alright now, Chloe. It’s all over.”
“But it’s not over. Is it, Chloe?” a deep voice said from the door. Gage stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, concern in his eyes, looking very much like the town sheriff.
Chloe shook her head. Her brother-in-law was right. The danger was far from over.