44. Jesse
Chapter 44
Jesse
When a business associate asks you to have a nightcap with him, even if it’s late, you say yes. Or at least, we do when our reputations are on the line.
Charles is an important contact and not someone who knows us as well as some others, so we want to make sure that he understands all this bullshit the McAllisters have been spreading is well and truly horse shit. We can’t have him believing in any of it.
He does seem to be enjoying our company, and I think that we’ve managed to smooth the way. I glance at the clock. Christ, it’s late, and we have to be up early for the auction. I’m going to be miserable tomorrow when I’m operating on three hours of sleep but you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do—
Help!
I straighten in my seat.
It’s the weirdest thing, but I swear for a second it was like I could hear Grace’s voice in my head.
A second later a horrible cold wave of fear rushes through me, and I know that it’s not mine. I stand up, spilling my drink on the table.
Help! Help!
I can tell that the other men sense it too, all of them stiff in their seats.
“Everything all right?” Charles asks, looking at each of us in concern.
“You heard that?” I croak at my pack mates. I have nothing against Charles, but he literally doesn’t fucking matter right now. If Grace is really in trouble, nothing matters except for her.
My pack mates all nod, tense.
My heart drops as terror fills my bones. Not the terror that I felt from Grace, but my own terror. I know when an emotion is her, and when it’s me. It’s like it just makes sense, I just know.
“Our mate’s in trouble,” I explain to Charles as the other three hurry out of the booth we’ve all been sharing. “We have to go.”
Charles immediately looks concerned. “Of course, of course, whatever you need to do. I hope I’ll see you tomorrow and your mate is all right.”
Of course, Grace isn’t truly our mate, but that doesn’t matter. Whether it’s official or not, whether she chooses to stay with us in the end or not, none of it matters in this moment. We love her like she’s our mate, and she needs us.
And we’re going to fucking get to her.
I know that if we don’t show up at the auction tomorrow, there will be questions, but I’m sure Charles will straighten it out—and honestly, I’m not even thinking or caring about that in this moment. It can all go to hell for all I care. The only thing that matters is protecting Grace.
We rush out to our car, leaving everything behind. Hendrix is already trying to call Grace’s phone, trying to reach her that way, and Easton is calling her family.
“No one’s answering,” Easton grunts, frustration coloring his tone. “It’s late. They must have their phones off for the night.”
“Grace isn’t answering her phone either,” Hendrix reports. “It’s going to voicemail.”
A hundred horrible thoughts race through my mind as we pile into the truck and peel out. I can sense the grim mood in the car and I don’t have to ask to know that my pack mates are all thinking the same thing I am:
Maybe this whole auction business was a distraction.
We raced over here all full of fire and fury ready to protect our reputations, and we left the ranch undefended. We left Grace alone. How could we have been so stupid!
The idea that the McAllisters could be hurting her right now—it makes me see red. If they’ve laid a single finger on her, I’ll kill them with my bare hands, and I know that my pack mates will help.
We take back roads so that we can speed without contending with other cars, busting our asses. Thank fuck we have a full tank of gas because Easton’s responsible and made us fill up when we arrived. We unhitched the trailer to leave it at the auction with all the others so we’ve got nothing to stop us from going as fast as the pickup can manage the entire time.
There shouldn’t be a Sheriff’s car out in the country like this, but if there is, they’ll just have to fucking follow us until we get home to the ranch.
The entire time, I try to reach out to Grace in my mind. I’ve never tried to do that before, to speak to her in words like that rather than just letting her feel what I feel, and reacting to the emotions she gives to us in return. But I need her to hear me.
Hang on, Grace! We’re coming. Just hang on!
I don’t get anything in response, which is worse than feeling her pain. If I could feel her—I’d take anything. At least it would mean she’s alive. Getting nothing—
“She’s alive,” Easton says, as if he can hear my thoughts. Maybe he can. “We’d know if she was dead. We’d know. We’d feel it.”
Cade grunts, a combination of anger and distress. I’m sure he’s thinking about his father, and that just hurts me more. I don’t want to lose Grace, and not just for myself, but for my pack mates. I don’t want Cade to go through what his father did.
“Go faster,” I snap. “Easton, have you gotten through to her family yet? Anyone?”
“No.” He shakes his head grimly. “I’ll keep trying.”
Cade is already flooring it, but he tries to make the car go faster anyway. The way the pickup shakes it feels like it’s going to fall apart. We’re definitely pushing it past its limit.
I hate that I’m not driving, because at least it would give me something to do. But Cade’s our fastest and fiercest driver. It has to be him.
We get back to the ranch just as dawn is streaking across the sky in pinks and purples. It’s just enough light for us to see by, and we can immediately see what’s wrong.
The horses are out everywhere, some huddled by the house, others munching on the grass. One is eating Grace’s beloved daisies. I can hear other animals fussing, the chickens mad they haven’t been fed yet, the cows lowing for a milking.
And there’s the barn: a smoldering husk.
Cade slams on the brakes, and we all rush out of the car.
“Grace!” I yell. “Grace!”
The others all shout too, their voices carrying through the air. She could be anywhere. There’s no sound of anyone human, no sign of her. Just the animals and the embers of the fire.
“Grace!” I yell again. I rush for the ranch house.
She had been enjoying herself in bed when I last felt her. What if she was surprised in there, what if she’s lying in that bedroom we made all nice for her—
Easton rushes for the barn, while I search the house, Cade checks the fields, and Hendrix tries to round up the horses. I hope that none of the horses trampled her by accident in their panic. I hope she wasn’t beat up. I hope—
“I found her!” Easton yells. “I got her!”
I rush back out the door and to the shell of the barn.
Easton’s on his knees over by the exterior of the barn, and I see the crumpled, still figure at his feet. My heart leaps up into my throat. I can’t bear it if Grace is dead, I can’t handle it. I don’t think any of us could.
I reach them and see that Easton is patting her down carefully, checking for a pulse and any other injuries. She’s got her clothes sticking to her—just her pajamas and nightgown—from what seems to have been water. There’s ash and soot smeared on her, and her face is pale.
“She’s alive,” Easton says as Hendrix and Cade rush up to join us. He’s almost as pale as Grace is. “I can’t feel anything broken.”
There don’t seem to be any burns on her, either, but there’s still a concern for smoke inhalation. That’s the thing that gets people, that people who haven’t been around fires don’t realize. It’s not just the burning you have to worry about. You can get out without a single burn, and all the smoke that got in your lungs can still burn and scar them, and kill you if you don’t get oxygen and treatment.
And our poor girl was out here all night.
I scoop her up into my arms. I can feel her minutely trembling. As I look around, I see the charred remains of the rugs and blankets we keep for the horses, and the empty trough of water. Grace must have used that to try to put out the fire, and gotten water all over herself in the process. It probably saved her life, but now after being out in the cold all night after the fire died down, it’s left her shivering.
I hope she hasn’t gotten pneumonia, on top of everything else.
She feels so small and lightweight in my arms, and I hold her close, trying to warm her up. Grace is a small woman, petite for sure, but usually I only think about that during our more intimate moments. It’s sexy, then, how easily I can pick her up.
But the rest of the time, Grace carries herself with such elegance and energy, I don’t really consider how much smaller she is. And I know I’m a big guy. Someone being small to me doesn’t always mean they’re small in general.
Right now, though, with her completely unconscious as I carry her… she feels like she weighs nothing. I feel acutely, painfully aware of how light she is. How little she weighs. I can feel the shape of her bones under her muscles. It feels like carrying a bird.
It terrifies me.
“Call the doctor,” I say, my voice hoarse. Whether it’s from the screaming for Grace or the emotion, I don’t know, but I can’t fix it.
Hendrix digs out his phone while I get her inside with the others, and thankfully, I can hear him talking to someone, which means the doctor must’ve answered.
We strip her of the wet clothes and dry her off, then dress her in something dry and wrap her in some warm blankets before laying her on her bed. I tuck a few of the comfiest pillows from her nest around her, hoping that the familiar smells and textures will subconsciously reassure her.
She’s still breathing, I remind myself. She’s still alive. There’s still reason to hope.
Honestly, that’s the only reason I’m still breathing too.
“I got the doc,” Hendrix announces, hurrying over. “He’s on his way.”
Cade shoots Hendrix’s phone a dirty look, and I know what he’s thinking: Well, get here faster. The man looks ashen, all color drained from his face as he hovers over Grace.
The doctor arrives as fast as possible. In the meantime, we just try to keep her dry, warm, and comfortable. She won’t wake up, her breathing a bit ragged, but she doesn’t seem to be getting worse, either.
I want to wake her up. I want to make sure she’s okay. But Easton points out that we shouldn’t do too much in case that makes her worse. We need to wait for the doctor, as much as we all hate it.
Dr. Hazlett has been serving the area since… well, since as long as I can remember. He’s the same age as Easton’s grandparents, but he’s still spry and in good health. He rushes in through the door and begins to work on Grace immediately.
We all hover for a bit, until the doctor snaps at us to get lost. I snarl at him, teeth bared, but Dr. Hazlett isn’t fazed. He’s had to deal with a lot of upset Alphas in his time.
“I said,” he snaps back at me, “ get lost. ”
Damn it. He’s probably right that we should stop hovering, so he can focus on Grace. I hate it, but I force the other three to go outside.
If nothing else, we can assess the damage to the barn and make sure the horses and other animals are all right. They seem to have survived just fine, no injuries, but they’re understandably skittish.
When the doc calls us back in, we all practically barrel into Grace’s room upstairs.
“Good thinking, keeping her warm,” he tells us as we enter. “She could’ve gotten pneumonia, lying out in the cold night, wet like that. I’ve given her a fever reducer, just in case, but her fever is very mild. It’s mostly the smoke inhalation I worry about. I gave her oxygen, and her lungs sound all right, but if she’s in a lot of pain tomorrow, I’d recommend taking her to the hospital in Clifton for some chest x-rays. For now, let her sleep. I know it’ll be tempting to wake her up, but she needs her rest to heal up.”
The idea that keeping her asleep for now will help her get better is what has us agreeing to the doctor’s wishes. I want to see those beautiful blue eyes open and hear her speak to us, to confirm she’s all right, but I don’t want her to be awake and suffering.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask, not wanting to be a bad host.
“Coffee would be great, thanks.”
Easton gets up to make it. The doc sits down with a sigh. “She’ll be okay. She’s young, with a lot of energy and fighting spirit. We just need to monitor her carefully. I couldn’t find any signs of concussion, but if she doesn’t wake up soon, call me. Make sure she’s in a well-ventilated area and that she avoids any further exposure to smoke or other irritants. Watch her closely for any signs of distress or complications.”
“We can do that.”
“I want her eating clear soup. Chicken noodle, that type. Not too much dairy, and nothing spicy. It’ll clog her throat if it’s dairy and spice will irritate her further. Lots of liquids, and electrolytes and protein.”
We get the doc his coffee, and as he sips it, I feel my stomach slowly unclench. I know Dr. Hazlett, we all do, and we know that he wouldn’t be relaxing with a cup of coffee if he thought his patient was in any danger.
Grace might actually be okay.
Dr. Hazlett finishes his coffee, gives us a few more instructions, and adds as he walks out the door, “And make sure you four get some damn sleep, you clearly need it.”
I glare, but I can’t argue with him. We are exhausted. The adrenaline’s wearing off now, and we need to be rested to take care of Grace if she needs us.
The doctor leaves, and I troop up to check on Grace in her bedroom. By unspoken agreement, I know that none of us are going to leave her alone.
I hear the shower start up as one of us hops in, and I think I hear Hendrix groan and the springs on a mattress squeaking. We’ll take it in shifts.
Grace is so still and small in her bed. I fall to my knees at her side, the weight of my fear crashing down over me like a wave.
She looks so fragile. I never would’ve thought of Grace that way before. She’s small, and elegant, and I know she likes to look pretty. But she’s never been the sort of woman you describe as a China doll, the sort of person you picture sitting high up on a shelf. Grace forges her own path and isn’t afraid of hard work.
To think of the woman I’ve gotten to see every day helping out with farm work, growing stronger every day as she lifted equipment and hay bales, learned to work tractors and plows, caring for the calves and chickens and managing the skittish horses… to picture that, then compare it with the woman lying so still in the bed next to me… it breaks my damn heart.
I take her hand in mine. It’s still a bit cold, but far warmer than she’d been when we found her. I kiss the back of her hand, and her knuckles. She doesn’t stir.
I let my forehead fall to the bed, still clutching at Grace’s hand.
“Please be okay,” I beg in a hoarse whisper. “Please come back to us. Please. We need you.”
I once would’ve hated to admit it. But now I feel like it’s a truth that she must already know—and if she doesn’t know, then she should. It’s a truth I need to speak.
Please.