I sit in the flatbed with Michael’s head resting in my lap and the cool wind hitting my face as Billy races to the veterinary clinic attached to Franks’s house.
Mirren is already waiting, her clinic lit up like a lighthouse in the darkness. As soon as Billy stops, I jump out of the pickup, my sneakers smacking against the dirt.
“Careful with him,” I warn as Billy drags Michael to the edge of the flat bed.
He glares at me, then with a small grunt hoists Michael into his arms and walks quickly for the sliding door that reads Animal Lovers Veterinarian Service.
Mirren is shaking her head at me while I close the door behind us.
“Annabelle Mae, what have you gotten yourself into?” She walks around the sterilized table, parting Michael’s jacket so she can see the wound. “Who is this man?”
“His name’s Michael.”
She pulls out a couple of surgical gloves and starts putting them on. When I don’t say anything else, she gives me a pointed look. “And?”
“And, he, uh… he’s twenty. And he wants to be a rancher.”
“Great. That’s helpful.” Mirren rolls her eyes and moves back to the table.
I’ve always loved Franks’s mom. She wasn’t a teen mom like mine was, but they were pregnant at the same time, and she was the only one to truly believe Mom’s story about my father. She took my mama under her wing, and they became fast friends despite the age gap. They raised their babies together. Mom looked after Franks when the settlement from Mirren’s divorce came through and she decided to use the money to start up her own veterinarian clinic, since Buckland Springs didn’t have one. We’ve grown up together, and Mirren is the closest thing to a mother I have now.
“He needs a hospital.” She tuts.
“He can’t afford a hospital. Please, Mirren. You can do this. Help us out.”
“I’m a vet! And he’s not an animal!” She gently cuts the bandage off and studies the wound, her skin paling slightly. “He’s been shot. Why has he been shot? Who pulled the trigger?”
I give her a useless shrug, my voice disappearing when I realize I don’t know any of the answers and I am an insane person. What if the shooter is still lurking nearby?
I must be batshit crazy.
But Dean doesn’t call me a stubborn ass for no reason.
I’m helping Michael, the wannabe ranch hand. It’s my freakin’ destiny.
I keep the thought to myself, crossing my arms and pinching my shirt sleeves.
“Help me roll him over,” Mirren orders Billy around the table.
He follows her instructions, and they gently pull Michael onto his side so Mirren can remove his jacket and check the wound from behind. There’s another feeble bandage on his back, which has bunched and is now missing the mark. I can see the red hole clear as day. I shudder and pinch my biceps.
“I think the bullet entered here. It’s a through and through, thank God. He’s done a pretty good job of stopping the bleeding, but he’s still weak. He needs a drip. Antibiotics and—”
“Can you clean the wound and stitch him up?” I rush out the words.
Mirren scowls at me, but I hold her gaze.
“Please. Help him. I’ll pay for any expenses.”
“You will not!” Franks gives me a swift, reprimanding look before turning to her mother. “Mama, you can do it, right?”
Mirren closes her eyes, the look on her face telling me she’s about to fold. I love that she’s a big ol’ softy. “I should be callin’ 9-1-1.”
“But you’re not going to. You’re gonna help him.”
With a sigh, she pulls off her bloodied gloves and washes her hands.
“Please, Mama.”
Without a word, Mirren gives her daughter a stiff nod and goes about organizing her equipment. Franks is soon made an assistant nurse, and before I know it, they’re standing over Michael’s body, gloved up with masks on.
Thank God for these two. I seriously don’t know how I could live without them.
12
Hiding the Stranger
There’s a drip in Michael’s arm. I focus on the liquid in the clear bottle, wincing at Michael’s groan of agony when Mirren starts working on the area.
“I don’t have any general anesthetic, so he’s just gonna have to cope,” Mirren mumbles, obviously feeling bad about it. “All I have on me is a local, which will numb the area, but it’ll wear off soon enough, and then it’s gonna hurt.”
“That’s okay. You’re doin’ great,” I murmur.
Her gaze snaps to mine, telling me to shush up.
I dip my chin and step back, focusing on the liquid drip again. Following the tube down to the needle inserted in Michael’s arm, I then trace the curve of his muscles with my eyes, all the way down to the curled fingers of his left hand. They’re long but not too skinny. I bet they’re strong.
Huh. He bites his nails.
I gaze at the nubs on the top of each finger while Mirren quietly works.
Metal instruments clink against the metal tray. Murmured instructions are issued every now and then, Franks stoically assisting her mother with the bloody operation.
A rustling to my left makes me glance over.
Billy’s got Michael’s leather jacket and is going through the pockets.
“What are you doin’?” I lightly slap his arm. “You can’t go through his stuff.”
“Why not?” Billy frowns at me. “We need to know who this guy is.”
I scowl at him, feeling like it’s a huge invasion of Michael’s privacy, but I’m also maybe just a little curious.
Billy hands me a lighter with a tiger etched onto the side.
“I saw him playin’ with this at the table.”
“He’s probably a smoker,” Billy murmurs.
“He didn’t smell like smoke to me. Are there any cigarettes in his pockets?”
“No,” Billy grumbles, pulling out two fifty-dollar bills and slapping them into my hand. “He’s not so poor if he’s carrying around a hundred bucks.”
“It could be all he has,” I argue quietly, not wanting to disturb Mirren’s important work.
“That’s it.” Billy drops the jacket, then points to the table. “We need to check his jean pockets as well.”
“Isn’t that going a little too far?”
“All I want is an ID. If he’s not lying about his name, then that’s at least a start.”
I narrow my eyes at Billy, then look across at the table. There’s no weird lumps or anything in Michael’s pockets, which makes me assume they must be empty. So no signs of a phone or wallet, which is kind of weird. Who doesn’t have those?
Unless they’re in his back pocket, but Mirren probably would have noticed when she was stitching up his back.
She’s working on his front now.
Mirren’s voice rises a little as she inserts a curved needle into Michael’s belly. “I don’t think any internal organs were nicked, but he’ll need a full scan for us to truly know. I’m serious about the hospital, Annie. If he doesn’t start improving in the next day or so, you’re gonna have to take him.”