Chapter 25
25
Walker
Steam fogged up the mirror, blurring my reflection as I stepped out of the shower, water dripping from my hair onto the worn-out bathmat. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I wiped a clear patch on the glass with the side of my hand and squinted at the man staring back at me.
I had a plan, one that involved Caroline Cressley and the best damn chicken pot pie in Whittier Falls. I was going to tell Caroline how I felt tonight. I just hoped that the offer of her favorite dinner from the diner would soften her up enough to consider being with me for real.
I pulled on my jeans, the fabric soft from years of wear. My mind was set like a post in hard ground; I was done being the town’s good-time cowboy. I was ready for something real. I was ready to tell the whole damn world I was in love with Caroline.
Slipping into a black t-shirt, I imagined Caroline’s surprised smile when I’d tell her my dreams for the ranch were coming true. I was creating something real and lasting. And maybe, just maybe, she’d see that I could be someone worth taking a chance on .
Buttoning up a flannel over my shirt, I grabbed my boots, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull them on. I had been rehearsing what to say all morning, the words looping in my head like a lasso. “Caroline, I know I’ve got this wild reputation, but there’s more to me than that. I want to show you.”
The phone buzzed on the nightstand, and my heart did a little two-step. It was Caroline. She hardly ever texted first and hadn’t texted at all the past couple days since she ended things. Grinning like a fool, I thought maybe it was fate that she was reaching out. I unlocked the phone and tapped the messages icon.
But the message on the screen knocked the wind clean out of me. “Help. Office.”
That grin dropped off my face faster than a calf in a roping contest. Fear punched me in the gut, knotted and heavy. I jammed my hat on my head, forgetting all about the chicken pot pie, my heart thundering against my ribs as I grabbed my keys and bolted out the door.
“Help. Office.” Those two words echoed louder than a thunderclap in my ears. Surely it wasn’t life or death. It was probably just something she needed help with. Maybe a burst pipe or her car wouldn’t start.
But deep down, I knew it was more. She wouldn’t send such a brief message unless it was an emergency. She wouldn’t ask for help this way after ending things unless it was serious. My heart sank lower and lower as I raced down the dirt road of the ranch.
I couldn’t lose Caroline—not now, not when I was just starting to find the courage to be the man she deserved.
I mashed Caroline’s number into my phone with fingers that were suddenly too big, too clumsy. It rang once, twice, and then the call dropped off like a rider getting bucked from a bronco. I cursed under my breath, tried again. Straight to voicemail. My stomach twisted into knots.
“Come on, Caroline,” I muttered. “Pick up, darlin’, please.” My voice was a hoarse whisper, lost in the dark cab of my truck.
Fourth try. Fifth. Nothing but the cold, impersonal beep of voicemail greeting me each time. Panic clawed its way up my throat, thick and suffocating. I couldn’t shake the images my mind conjured—Caroline hurt, scared, alone.
“Dammit!” I slammed the phone onto the dash, the sound sharp in the silence. The screen lit up, displaying her name mockingly. No texts, no missed calls.
The drive to Caroline’s office was a blur—a haze of dust and speed and the drumming of my own heartbeat in my ears. I leaned heavy on the gas, pushing the old Ford faster than I’d ever dared before. Each curve in the road was a challenge, each straightaway a sprint.
“Please be okay,” I whispered to the dashboard, to the wind whipping through the open window, to anyone listening. The words were a mantra, a plea, a prayer.
As the town came into view, my pulse hammered in my temples, a rhythm set to the ticking of the clock I couldn’t see but felt running out.
I skidded into the gravel lot of Caroline’s practice, throwing a cloud of dust and pebbles against the side of the clinic. My boots hit the ground before the truck fully stopped, and I slammed the door behind me with a force that echoed off the nearby buildings. The town was quiet, too quiet for early evening, and my steps were the only sound as I rushed towards the entrance.
The sight that greeted me stopped me cold. The steel door to the clinic hung askew, wrenched violently from its frame like a child’s toy discarded by an angry giant. The sturdy lock that should have kept trouble out was busted, metal twisted and mangled. It was a silent testament to the violence that had barged into our small town life.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, my mind racing through every scenario I’d been trying to outrun on the drive here. This wasn’t just some break-in; someone had come looking for trouble, and Caroline . . . she might be . . .
“Caroline!” Her name caught in my throat, strangled by the thickening fear. I didn’t dare call out again, not knowing if whoever did this was still inside. Instead, I whipped out my phone, my fingers shaking as I dialed 911 with more urgency than I’d ever felt.
“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice was a calm in the midst of the storm raging inside me.
“Look, there’s been a break-in at Whittier Falls Family Practice. The door’s busted open. I need deputies here now,” I said, forcing myself to speak clearly despite the panic clawing its way up my spine.
“Is anyone hurt? Are you safe?” the operator asked, her questions like lifelines thrown across the growing expanse of my dread.
“I don’t know. Please, just hurry.” I pocketed the phone, no longer able to stand still while Caroline might be . . .
I couldn’t finish that thought. Not yet. I had to hold onto the hope that she was alright—that I wasn’t too late.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped over the threshold of the broken doorway, the weight of fear settled over me. Caroline needed me. And I’d be damned if I let her down.
The stillness of the clinic was deceptive, like the calm that rides before a storm. I didn’t hear any struggle, or see any signs of the perpetrator.
“Caroline!” My voice felt foreign in the silence, more desperate than I’d ever heard it. The echo of her name bounced off the walls, unanswered. Stepping further into the belly of the practice, my boots scraped against the linoleum floor, the sound of my own breathing too loud in my ears.
“Caroline!” I tried again, louder this time, hoping for any sign of life. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat a drum of war against the fear that threatened to choke me. This wasn’t some rowdy bar fight or an unruly horse I could tackle with sheer brawn; this was Caroline’s life hanging in the balance, and all my muscles felt useless.
Every room I burst into was empty—no sign of a struggle, no sign of her. The air was thick with tension, like the charged moments before lightning splits the sky. It was the kind of suspense that made men believe in premonitions and portents, the kind that had always seemed silly to me until now.
Finally, at the end of the hallway, I found the door to the back room slightly ajar. “Caroline?” This time it was barely a whisper, the hope and fear mingling together so tight it was hard to breathe.
There she was. Caroline, bent over an injured woman laid out on the floor, her auburn hair a stark contrast against the sterility of the room. Relief flooded through me so fierce it almost buckled my knees. “Thank God,” I muttered under my breath, stepping closer.
But the scene before me sucked away that relief as swiftly as it had come. The woman on the floor was pale, her face pinched in pain, a dark stain spreading across her blouse. A gunshot wound. My stomach turned at the sight of the blood, thick and spreading, a crimson testimony to the violence that had passed through these walls.
“Caroline,” I said again, and this time she looked up. Her green eyes met mine, filled with a determination that didn’t quite manage to mask her fear. Seeing her like this—strong yet vulnerable— it did something to me. It reminded me why I wanted her, why I wanted more from life, why I wanted to be the kind of man who could shoulder someone else’s pain.
“Help me,” she said, her voice steady despite the chaos around us.
I nodded, stepping forward without hesitation. I didn’t know much about doctoring, but I knew about being there for someone when they needed help. Whether it was a spooked horse or a bleeding stranger, you didn’t back down. You showed up. And that’s what I was going to do for Caroline, and for this woman before us.
“Whatever you need,” I told her, my voice firm, even if everything inside me was reeling. “I’m here. Cops are on the way.”
Caroline’s hands, usually so steady and precise when stitching up a cut or setting a bone, trembled as she applied pressure to the wound. I stepped closer, my own hands itching to do something—anything—to help.
“Get me the stat kit from the cabinet in the hall,” she directed without looking up, her voice more composed than I felt.
I rushed out to the wall-mounted cabinet, flinging it open. The shelves were neatly organized with supplies, labels facing out, ready for quick retrieval. I grabbed the kit and was back by her side in seconds, laying it out on the counter like some makeshift operating table. My fingers fumbled with the latches before flipping it open.
“Here,” I said, keeping my tone level. “What’s next?”
“Hand me the gauze pads, quickly,” she instructed, nodding towards the stack of white squares.
I did as told, moving with an urgency that matched the pulse hammering against my temples. Caroline swapped out the blood- soaked cloths with fresh ones, layering them with practiced efficiency.
“Keep those compresses tight,” she ordered, her eyes fixed on the task at hand.
“Got it.” I pressed down as she started wrapping bandages around the woman’s midsection, working to stem the flow of blood. A ranch dealt you plenty of wounds, broken bones, and birthing complications, but nothing quite like this.
“Who did this?” I couldn’t keep the growl from my voice, my eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger still lurking.
Caroline didn’t meet my gaze, focused on securing the bandage. “Her husband Jim. He . . . he just ran out after he shot her.”
The very idea that someone could hurt another person—let alone his wife—like this and then just take off, leaving them to die . . . well, it set my blood boiling. Protectiveness surged through me, fierce and primal. This was my town, these were my people, and no one got to come in here and shatter our peace, putting my woman in the crosshairs like this.
“Did you see which way he went? Did he say anything?” I asked, trying to piece together the puzzle while keeping pressure on the wound.
She shook her head, her auburn hair catching the light, making it look like fire. “He kept trying to get inside, to get to her. Then the moment he did, he just . . . shot at her,” she paused, her voice cracking just slightly, “What if he comes back?”
“He won’t get past me,” I promised her, and meant every word. My life might have been a series of bucked broncos and wild nights, but in this moment, I knew there wasn’t a force on earth that could make me leave Caroline’s side. If danger came knocking, it would find me standing guard, ready to protect what mattered most.
“Stay with me, okay?” Caroline whispered to the injured woman, who was drifting in and out of consciousness.
“Sirens,” I said.
But as we waited for those sirens that seemed too distant, a chill crept down my spine. The silence around us was heavy, loaded with the unsaid. The man who’d done this was still out there, somewhere and I couldn’t shake the nagging thought that our trouble was far from over.
“Once the police get here, they’ll secure the place. But until then, I’m not letting you out of my sight,” I told her, my gaze scanning the room, searching shadows and expecting them to move.
“Feels like we’re sitting ducks,” she whispered.
“Maybe,” I admitted, “but we’re not defenseless. You’ve got your smarts, and I’ve got . . . ” I looked down at my callused hands, rough from years of ranch work, “ . . . these, and a whole lot of stubborn.”
“Quite the arsenal,” she replied with a faint smile.
I glanced out the broken door, squinting into the darkness. Somewhere out there, a threat lurked, a reminder that this night’s work wasn’t yet done. But here inside, there was Caroline, her strength mingling with vulnerability, and I felt it—my role was to protect, to serve as her shield against whatever chaos lay waiting.