52. Pricks and Sticks
PRICKS AND STICKS
brAXTON
Where the fuck is Emberleigh?
Why isn’t Pop answering his phone?
Why is my truck at Pop’s?
Whose black SUV is that?
Is that another fucking ambulance?
It is. Followed by two police interceptors. The latter are a welcome sight. I’ll take the backup. I can’t keep up with whatever ambush this is, and we need the firepower. I sent them away and should have done anything but that.
The ambulance crosses me heading for the stables when Emberleigh steps out onto Pop’s porch and screams and drops to her knees. I run full bore when I see the glint of the gun aimed right for her.
No fucking way!
I want to say I handle it like a man. Tackle and disarm and take a shot to maim.
But when I see who can only be the cause of this mess and the smile playing upon her face, I grab my rifle, aim high above Emberleigh’s collapsed body, and pull the trigger. Not once. Not twice, but until she crumples inside Pop’s living room.
I run for Em, scoop her up, and make it to the couch when I see Pop.
“FUCK!”
I’ve taken out two threats today, but how many are still here?
I grab my phone.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I need an ambulance. Ranger ranch. One gunshot victim. Sixty-three years old. Belly wound. Lost a lot of blood. Will need lots of help. One victim, potential head injury. Unconscious. Big house on the west side of the property. Gates will be open.”
“Ambulance is already on site. In fact two. Two separate calls before yours for the gunshot victims.”
“Victims? As in two?”
“Yes. Is yours one of them?”
I drop my head and close my eyes when I admit, “I don’t know.”
I flip her to speaker and open the text app.
Me: You okay? Please God, be okay.
Bright: ….
Me: Colt?
Bright: Fine and so is he. Hell of a mess to clean up. Explain later.
Bright: Need those sirens to stop. Horses are freaking out. Strait is ready to make a break for it.
Me: Elias?
Bright: Pissed, but good
Me: Who’s in the ambulance?
Bright: Explain later.
Me: Pop’s not okay. Ambulance incoming.
Me: Do not come. It’s not safe.
Me: Do not leave the barn.
Bright: You can’t expect me to just sit here.
Me: I’m entrusting you with the most precious thing in the world to me.
Bright: I’m not okay not helping Pop.
Me: Same.
An ambulance siren dips as it rushes past the house heading for the main highway.
A second screams to a stop in front of Pop’s, kicking up a cloud of dust and no doubt spraying gravel everywhere.
“Gunshot wound. Sixty-three. Do everything you can to save him. Allergic to penicillin. I’m right behind you to the hospital…”
One of the paramedics is the smaller guy from earlier. Never caught his name. A silent look of understanding passes between us. “Save him. Please save him.”
He jerks his head in a curt nod, but moves quickly to Pop, looking to me after his gaze snags on Emberleigh. “What about her?”
“I’ve got her.” I lift Emberleigh into my arms, cradling her to my chest and move to my truck, opening the back door and placing Emberleigh behind the driver’s seat, laying her over on her side and jump in the still-running truck.
I rush to the gates, still left open from the ambulance comings and goings and wonder no longer about the black SUV. How it got onto the property is what stumps me. The cameras will have the details, but I’m less worried now.
I dial my phone, and Elias comes over the line.
“Eli, Pop was hit. He’ll be in the ambulance that’s still on the ranch. Have Bright close the gates behind him.”
“Shit. Okay. Where are you?”
“In the truck, heading to the ER. Emberleigh was vomiting and blacked out.”
“What’s the status of Kimp?”
I tell him before being unable to wait any longer and having to know. “Who’d we lose today?”
“No one.”
“The ambulance at the barn. A hand?”
“Him? I don’t know. Came in, full hood over his face, outfitted like a guy who spends all his time at the gun shop or watching tactical videos in his mom’s basement. Lifted a pistol on Brighton, who drew and dropped him within a flash.”
“That’s three.”
“Three what?”
“As my attorney, I may or may not have taken out two people today. I’ll only cop to one and that’s because the body is preventing Pop’s front door from latching shut.”
“Who was it?”
“Bronwyn Carrington.”
Emberleigh
“Where am I? Why am I so sore? Colt?”
“The hospital, baby. It’s almost eight and—”
My hand slashes out and I lever up from my prone position. Pain sloshes in my head as if my brain was knocked loose, and I steady myself before speaking. “Pop? Oh, God. Pop! Is he—”
“He’s out of surgery. Lost a lot of blood.” The worry creasing his eyes, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, the gravel in his voice tells me how worried he is. “He’s in a medically-induced coma due to the extent of his injuries. He was airlifted to Austin.”
I lift a hand and run it through his hair, over his stubbled jaw as if I can undo the worry etched there. “When can we go?”
“He’s a Ranger. He’s tough.”
“Not what I asked, Brax.”
He freezes before smiling. “Brax, huh? That’s the first time you’ve called me that.”
“Yeah. I’m not so sure about it. And you dodged my question. When can we go to see Pop?”
He lifts my left arm where an IV needle sits in the crook of my elbow.
“Stop stalling.” I attempt to throw my legs over the side of the bed to find my shoes. “Where’s Colt?”
Braxton comes around the hospital bed, effectively blocking me in. I dodge left and weave right, but never manage to stand. My small frame has nothing on the man’s body in front of me. I’d be distracted by the differences if my mind weren’t racing with thoughts and flits of things I need to know.
I lift my chin, hold his gaze dead on. “Answer me. Where. Is. Colt?”
“Emberleigh.”
“Don’t Emberleigh me. Tell me. Now.”
“Colt is fine. The ranch is locked down. He’s there and safe.”
“You sure?”
“The kidnapper or would-be kidnapper is dead. Colt is safe. He’s fine. I’m sure he’s none the wiser that his day was anything other than normal.”
“Has he eaten?”
“Baby.” The look on his face would register as pity if I didn’t know he’s just blessed my heart with his tone. “I’m not happy he’s separated from us either, but, yes, he’s fine. I’m sure he’s eaten. I’m fairly sure his Aunt Bright has spoiled him rotten today.”
“Kidnapper?”
“A car followed the first ambulance onto the property that held a man and a woman. The man went for Colt. He didn’t succeed.”
“Oh God. My mother!”
He nods.
My brain goes white, and my vision seems to widen.
“She aimed a gun at me.” I look down, feeling my body through my clothes.
I should know I’m not recuperating from a bullet wound.
“The last thing I remember was her pointing a pistol at me.” She started speaking, but one ear was ringing and the other tunneled in panic. “What happened?”
He squeezes where his hands rest on my body before dropping to a knee in front of me.
“It’s been a shit year, baby, and it’s about to get shittier.
” He drops his gaze before holding mine firm.
“She lifted a pistol on you. I lifted my rifle on her. I was faster. I’d say I’m sorry, but I only half am. But I am sorry that—”
At that moment, the door swings open and in pushes my father. “Emberleigh?!” He’s frantic and frazzled, and Wainwright Carrington never displays either. He rushes into the room, sheriff’s deputies in his wake, and spares only one glance at Braxton, before launching in.
“Is Colt safe? Were you hurt?” He assesses me, looking me over as if he has X-ray vision and can be assured of my health. He turns to Braxton. “Why is she here? Is Colt okay? Did I get to her in time?”
“Mr. Carrington,” a deputy begins.
“Get to her?” Braxton asks.
“Don’t,” he throws back at the deputy, “I’ve been in a cell for hours, not knowing how my family is. Not knowing if they survived, if they’re safe. I did absolutely nothing to deserve that.” He turns to me, eyes imploring, “You got my text? Did I warn you in time?”
Emberleigh, get to safety. Protect Colt.
“That was you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I left you two voicemails and sent a message when I got no response. Of course, it was me.”
I drop back onto the pillow, and the emotion that floods me rips through my body. The wracking in my body makes the pain in my head quadruple, and I groan.
“What’s wrong?” my father asks as Braxton scoops me up, accidentally tugging on my IV, before sitting on my bed and cradling me on his lap.
“Shit. Sorry,” he says, lips on my temple. “Let it go, baby. Get it out,” he whispers as if we’re the only two in the room.
“Emberleigh? Em— I’m sorry.” My father is diminutive in this room. His larger-than-life persona dialed back in what can only be panic or grief. “I tried to tell you. I tried to contain her… whatever you want to call it… manias since Em passed. She’s not handled it well.”
“That’s an understatement,” Braxton mumbles under his breath.
“Where is she, by the way? Were you able to reason with her?”
My tears aren’t reasonable or rational. I can’t stop the sensation as they fight to break free from my skin. My world goes dark and I fall into blackness. I know I’m in the cocoon of Braxton’s warm arms, but I’m unmistakably floating.
I hear sound and feel movement, hands on me. Pricks and sticks, jostling, followed by a growl.
I never lose the heat I’m bathed in. And my mind rests as I’m unable to surface.