Chapter 27
twenty-seven
“ I ’m going to get as close as I can,” Tuck said as they raced down the side of the barn, past where they would normally park to get to the goat enclosure. Tarr hadn’t bothered to buckle his seatbelt, and he already had both hands on the door handle as Tuck gained the corner of the barn.
“Let me out here,” he said, and he opened the door while Tuck was still moving. Tuck slammed on the brakes, and that sent Tarr catapulting out of the truck. A hard jolt moved through his ankle, but Tarr didn’t care. He kept running.
“Briar! Where you at?” he yelled as he fumbled with the latch on the front of the Goatel.
Behind him, he heard the slam of a door and the cock of a gun, but he barreled into the enclosure in a much more irrational way. Briar hadn’t said where she was, but a scream rent the air on the other side of the building.
“Briar!” he called, already running again.
So many things streamed through his mind. Snatches of movement. Sounds. But the moment he rounded the front corner of the building, he could see all the way to the back fence.
Briar was currently wrestling with a full-grown coyote. She kicked and scratched and screamed at it again.
Tarr’s heart fell right out of his chest. He was a country boy from the South, but he hadn’t had to deal with wild animals in a while.
“Hey! Hey!” he yelled, clapping as he ran forward.
The back gate stood open, and Tarr watched as another coyote—this one with a limp lamb in its jaws—ran out of the enclosure.
Briar gave the coyote one final kick. It yelped, fell back, and followed its companion.
Tarr skidded on his knees at her side, hands hovering above her, unsure of where to put them.
“Hey, hey, I’m here,” he said. “Briar, look at me. Look at me.”
She panted hard, tears streaming down her face. A smudge of blood marred her chin, but her eyes finally came to his.
“Hey, hey, you’re all right,” he said. “You’re all right.”
“It bit me.” She fell back limply to the ground. “Somewhere on my leg.” Her voice shook, and her eyes closed.
“No,” Tarr said. “Stay awake. Briar, look at me. Talk to me. Tell me all the things, sweetheart.” He spoke in a commanding voice, hoping to keep her awake and with him.
“The baby goats were crying,” she said, the words barely a whisper. “All the other goats were upset, so I came in here, and there was a coyote….”
His eyes scanned down over her chest and torso. She had one hand pressed to her left side, and Tarr carefully placed his fingers over hers.
“Does it hurt right here, sweetheart?”
“It bit me,” she said again, her chest and stomach rising and falling in rapid breaths.
“Tarr,” Tucker called. “The ambulance is four minutes out.”
“We’re back here.” Tarr didn’t dare look away from Briar. “There were two of them,” he said. “Did you see more?”
She shook her head slightly. “He caught my right leg,” she said. “Then on my side. Right here. On the left.”
Right, left, right.
“I’m gonna look,” Tarr said. “Okay? But you’re all right. The ambulance is almost here. You’re all right. Look at my shirt and tell me what color it is.”
Her right leg was actively bleeding, and Tarr swallowed hard and looked away from the wound. On second thought, he didn’t want to move her hand. Instead, he knocked his cowboy hat off, then pulled his T-shirt over his head.
“I’m just going to put some additional pressure on here. Can you lift your hand?”
She did, and through the blood and dirt, in that split second of time before Tarr folded his shirt and pressed it to her side, he saw that she had an old wound there.
Scars. Lots of little but prominent scars.
He pushed back her shirt to reveal more of her stomach and wiped the blood carefully with the corner of the fabric—but he did not find a wound.
“I think it’s just down on the side,” he said.
“Two minutes.” Tucker arrived. “They’re gone.” A pause filled the air, and then he added, “Oh, this is bad.”
“Tucker,” Tarr chastised. “Be quiet.”
Briar whimpered, and Tarr’s eyes drifted over the trail of scars that started about an inch from her belly button and ran down her left side. They disappeared under the waistband of her jeans and beneath the shirt he now used to stop the bleeding.
“Hey, look at me, baby,” he said gently. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s not that bad.”
She closed her eyes, and panic reared inside Tarr. “Hey, Briar, honey. Come on,” he said. “You never told me what color my shirt was.”
“Not wearing a shirt,” she whispered, her voice faint and fading fast.
“Briar, stay awake now, sweetheart. What’s your full name? First, last, middle.”
“Briar…Heather…Prescott,” she said, a long pause between each word. “I represent the County of Winnipeg,” she added suddenly. “And I’m here to show you around to all the rodeo facilities.”
Tarr frowned, utterly confused. “All right,” he said carefully. “What are you going to show me first?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, despite everything.
Tuck had knelt on her right side and was currently cutting back her jeans, using the discarded piece as a wrap. She didn’t seem to feel it as she didn’t flinch at all.
“You kids will really like the sheep,” she said dreamily. “How many of you are going to do Mutton Busting?”
Tarr looked over at Tuck, who met his gaze with the same worry and wonder. Briar was speaking like a rodeo ambassador. And Tarr, once again, let his eyes drift across the scars on her side even as the sound of a siren pierced the air.
“I’ll go get them,” Tuck said, hurrying away.
Tarr stayed right at Briar’s side, these new pieces of her not making sense to him yet.
“I’m going to do the Mutton Busting,” he said, keeping his voice as calm and even as possible.
“Great,” Briar whispered. “And make sure your parents get your tickets to the Stampede when we’re done with the tour.” She took one big, shuddering breath, and her head fell to the side as she passed out. Her chest rose nice and even after that.
Tarr only moved out of the way when forced to by the paramedics. He stayed right at her side while they checked her vitals and loaded her onto a stretcher.
“Where are you taking her?” he asked.
“Deerfield General,” one of the medics replied. “You can ask about her in the emergency room.”
Tarr nodded and watched as they took Briar away, one of them still pressing his T-shirt to her wounded side.
“Come on,” he barked at Tuck. “Let’s go.”
Tucker followed him silently back to the truck, and they tailed the ambulance down the side of the barn. But when it came time to turn right toward the highway, Tucker turned left toward the house.
“Where are you going?” Tarr growled.
“You don’t have a shirt on, brother,” Tucker said. “And you’re covered in blood. Let’s take five minutes and get you cleaned up before we go. It’s not going to make a difference.”
Something snapped back into place inside Tarr. He looked over at his best friend, everything in the world now different.
“You’re right,” he said, suddenly relaxing. He looked down at his hands and closed his eyes against the dried blood there. “Did you see all those scars on Briar’s side?”
“No,” Tucker said. “Did she have a lot of scars?”
“Almost looked like she’d been burned.” Tarr tried to picture them again. “But not quite. Burn scars are almost wavy. This was more like…single, straight slashes.”
“Healed, though, right?” Tuck asked, looking over. “Not coyote claw marks?”
“No.” Tarr shook his head, wondering how a person could get scars like that. He looked out the windshield as Tuck came to a stop in front of the mansion. “These were old wounds,” he said quietly, the realization hitting hard.
Briar carried many more wounds than Tarr had even imagined, and he wanted to know the story behind all of them. Physical. Mental. Emotional.
Everything. He wanted to know everything about her.
He vowed to himself, right then and there, that he would be at Briar’s side for every step of her recovery.
After all, she had called him .
And Tarr, once again, felt like God had kicked down one of Briar’s walls and allowed Tarr into her life…whether she liked it or not.