Chapter Seventeen
Skylar’s fingers hovered over the keyboard as she typed the last period.
The words ‘The End’ glowed on the screen like a promise fulfilled.
A warm smile spread across her face, and she picked up her phone to call her editor, her voice brimming with relief.
Then she rose from her swivel chair and stretched, arching her spine and lifting her arms overhead until a satisfying pop loosened the tension in her shoulders.
She walked barefoot into the tiny kitchen.
Frost patterned the windowpanes outside, but inside the cabin the air felt snug around her.
She filled the kettle, set it to boil, and placed a tea bag into her mug.
Steam curled up in lazy spirals while she lingered by the counter, watching the sun streaming through the pine trees.
Tea in hand, Skylar carried her mug to the living room.
The cabin was simple, two small bedrooms, a single bathroom, and a fireplace dominated by a hefty stone hearth.
She knelt, stacked firewood on the grate, and struck a match.
Flames kindled quickly, crackling and sending waves of red, blue, and orange light dancing across the rough-hewn floorboards.
On the sofa, she curled one leg beneath her and clicked the remote.
The television flickered to life. She scrolled through her favorites movies until she settled on one.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Cosmo, stroll in and leap onto the couch, emitting a soft purr, then settled into a tight ball of fur.
“I have seen this movie so many times. I should find something new,” she murmured as she shifted on the sofa. Cosmo opened one eye and glared up at her before resettling. “Sorry, your majesty.”
A buzz from the arm of the couch startled her. Her phone vibrated, so she reached for it, and saw Rawley’s handsome face.
“Hey,” she answered.
“Skylar?” The voice was calm but clipped.
“Yes, who’s this? Where’s Rawley?”
“Agent Killian Doyle, with MDOL.” His tone made her pulse race. “Rawley’s in Clifton General hospital.”
Her stomach twisted. “Oh, my God! What happened?”
“He was shot last night during a stakeout. He took three rounds to his vest. They’ve diagnosed him with two cracked ribs and a collapsed lung. He’s conscious but in pain. They’re monitoring him around the clock.”
Skylar pressed her free hand to her chest, breath catching. “Could… could he die?”
“A collapsed lung can lead to internal bleeding, infection, even pneumonia. But we got him to the hospital quickly. They did a needle aspiration to remove the air, and a small tube was inserted for a few hours. He’s tough.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “He’s awake? He spoke to you?”
“He was lucid enough to insist I call you before he passed out.”
“Oh dear God.” She hugged her knees, the room spinning.
“Where are you now?”
“In the Sierra Nevada Mountains. I’ll book the first flight out.”
“We’ll meet you in Clifton,” he said. “Three of the five suspects are dead.”
“Good,” she whispered, relief and terror knotted together. “Thank you.”
“You were all he cared about. Be safe.” And with that, the line went dead.
Skylar set the phone on the sofa arm and sat with her face buried in her hands. The fire’s warmth did nothing to thaw the cold dread clutching her heart. She let herself cry, each tear a prayer for Rawley’s life.
After calling the airlines, she packed up her clothes and placed the suitcase by the door and looked at Cosmo. “You're going to hate being cooped up on a plane.”
Cosmo stared at her, then blinked and went back to sleep.
Her flight was at eight a.m. She hesitated, phone in hand, then called Ryan.
“I’ll need a ride from Kalispell when I get there,” she said, her voice catching.
“It's Rawley.” As Ryan's sympathetic voice filled her ear, Skylar's stomach twisted.
What if she arrived and it was too late?
By four she'd be in Clifton. By four-thirty, the hospital. She hung up, grateful for her best friend. Otherwise she’d have to rent a vehicle and with her hands shaking the way they were, she wouldn’t be able to drive.
****
Rawley shifted on the stiff hospital bed and swore through clenched teeth when a searing pain shot through his bruised chest like a lightning bolt. He looked under the thin cotton hospital gown and saw a white bandage wrapped around his chest. Damn, every breath felt like knives between his ribs.
“Relax,” came a trembling voice.
He turned his head to see his mother perched on the edge of a vinyl chair, her knuckles white around her purse strap, while his father stood against the sterile white wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest as if holding himself together. Their faces were ashen, drained of color.
“Mom,” he croaked, his throat sandpaper dry.
“Just stay calm, honey. You’ll be alright.
The doctor inserted a small tube to remove the air between the lungs and chest wall.
He said you’ll be fine but very sore for a while.
You also have two cracked ribs,” his mother whispered as a single tear carved a glistening path down her weathered cheek. “Would you like some water?”
“Please.”
She stood, picked up the Styrofoam cup with a bent straw and held it for him to take a sip.
“Damn, this pain,” he murmured, each syllable an effort.
“I’ll get a nurse,” his father announced, his usually commanding voice now brittle as he strode from the room.
His mother’s fingers enveloped his hand, squeezing gently. “You scared us to death.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just glad I had my vest on.” He wheezed out as he traced his fingertips over the rough fabric of the gown, remembering the weight of the Kevlar that had saved his life.
“I am too,” she breathed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
His father returned, followed by a nurse in purple scrubs. She approached with a syringe in her hand. “On a scale of one to ten, with ten being the worst pain imaginable, where would you rate yourself?” she asked.
“Twenty,” he said without hesitation.
“I’ll give you something for the pain.” The nurse inserted a syringe into his IV port, the clear liquid disappearing into the tube. “That should help within minutes.” Her lips curved into a smile as she pivoted on her white sneakers and disappeared through the doorway.
“You’re going to have to stay with us for a while. The doctor said it could take one to two weeks to recover. You’ll need someone to help you get around,” his mother said, her voice tight with worry as she smoothed the starched hospital blanket over his legs.
Rawley shook his head. “I have someone,” he said between breaths.
“You do? Who?” His mother’s eyebrows arched in surprise.
“Me.” The familiar voice drew his gaze to the doorway where Skylar stood, sunlight from the hall window catching in her hair.
She stepped into the room, her stride belying the concern in her eyes.
“Hello, I’m Skylar McCoy and even though he’s one of the most stubborn men I’ve ever met, I’ll make sure he does what he should and not do what he shouldn’t. ”
Rawley’s father chuckled, crow’s feet deepening around his eyes. “Looks like she has you pegged,” he said, then extended his hand to Skylar. “I’m J.B. Bowman, Rawley’s father. This is his mother and my wife, Darla. We’re happy to meet you.”
Skylar shook his hand, then Darla’s, before crossing to the bed and lightly kissed his lips. The plastic hospital chair squeaked as she pulled it closer and took Rawley’s hand, her thumb tracing small circles on his skin.
“You’re staying with me,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
He shook his head. “I want to be at my house.”
“I don’t think you should climb stairs,” she countered, one eyebrow raised.
“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” His jaw set stubbornly.
Skylar’s lips curved into a knowing smile as she glanced at his parents. “See? Stubborn man.”
His parents laughed, the tension in the room easing slightly.
“I think she’s the boss in this relationship,” his mother said, as she adjusted her purse strap.
Rawley nodded. “Yes,” he admitted, then took a deep breath that ended in a pained groan.
“Do you need a nurse?” Skylar asked.
“She was here a few minutes ago and gave him something for pain, so it should be kicking in soon,” his mother said.
“Good. You need to rest, Rawley.” Skylar squeezed his hand.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he slowly said.
“Me too, now get some rest. I’ll be here,” Skylar said.
Rawley could feel the drug taking effect and he had trouble keeping his eyes open. He held Skylar’s hand as he drifted off.
****
“He’s out,” Skylar whispered. The fluorescent overhead light cast a pale glow over Rawley’s still form, and she turned to his parents.
“Well, since you’re going to stay here, we’ll head to dinner. Maybe we’ll see you tomorrow, Skylar,” Darla said, brushing a hand through her carefully styled hair. Her smile trembled.
Skylar sank onto the vinyl chair beside the bed, its legs squeaking on the linoleum floor. “I’ll be here until they run me off this evening,” she promised, rubbing her thumb over the back of Rawley’s hand. “But I’ll be back tomorrow. Do you know when he can go home?”
“The doctor said not for a few days.” J.B.’s deep voice rumbled with worry. He shook his head, his stern features softening. “I know his job is important, but this is what always worries us.”
“It scares me too,” she admitted, “but I know he loves it.”
“That he does,” J.B. agreed with a sigh that seemed to carry a lot of weight. He fished for a business card from his jacket pocket and slid it into Skylar’s hand. “Let us know if there’s any change.”
“I promise I will.” Skylar managed a slight smile, and they exchanged one last hopeful look before Darla and J.B. slipped out, the door closing behind them.