Chapter 19 #2
More vehicles arrived. An ambulance, lights flashing but siren blessedly silent now that they were on scene. Two more patrol cars. A vehicle marked “Crime Scene Investigation.”
The ambulance disgorged two paramedics, two men Lydia didn’t recognize. They converged on Caleb immediately, gently moving Lydia aside so they could assess the wound.
“Possible skull fracture,” one of them said, already pulling out supplies. “Definitely concussion. Pupils unequal. We need to transport.”
Lydia watched them work with a detached sort of fascination.
They cleaned and bandaged Caleb’s head, checked his vital signs, and eased a cervical collar around his neck.
He protested through all of it—”I’m fine, just a headache, don’t need all this fuss”—but his words were still slurred and his eyes kept drifting closed.
“Mr. Byrne, you’re going to the hospital whether you like it or not,” the first paramedic said cheerfully. “You can come willingly or we can sedate you. Your choice.”
“Bossy,” Caleb muttered, but he didn’t fight when they loaded him onto a stretcher.
The kids reappeared at Lydia’s side, pressing close. “Is Mr. Caleb going to be okay?” Eli asked.
“He’s going to be fine,” Lydia said, hoping it was true. “They’re taking good care of him.”
Movement at the barn door drew every eye. Sheriff Wyatt emerged first, followed by two deputies flanking Tom between them. Her ex-husband was handcuffed, his hands behind his back, his face blotchy and tear-stained. He was still crying. Great, shuddering sobs that made his whole body shake.
Lydia instinctively pulled the kids closer, turning slightly to shield them from the sight. But they were watching anyway, their small faces serious as they saw their father led away like a criminal.
He had been one from the moment he had chosen to drink and drive with Rosie in the car, from the moment he had chosen arson over letting Lydia go.
Tom’s eyes found hers across the yard. Lydia saw grief and regret, and what was perhaps a plea of her to say something and give him some kind of absolution. That was between him and the Almighty.
She turned away as they put him in the patrol car. She heard the door slam shut and the vehicle pull away with her ex-husband sobbing in the back seat. The car’s noise faded around the bend, and all that was left was dust settling on the frost.
“Good,” Rosie said quietly.
Lydia didn’t correct her.
Another paramedic approached, a woman with short gray hair and a professional smile. “Ms. Harper? I need to check you and your children over. Just a quick assessment.”
Lydia submitted to the examination on autopilot and let the paramedic check her pulse, her blood pressure, shine a light in her eyes. She answered questions about pain (none), dizziness (a little), shock (definitely).
The kids got checked too. Eli submitted with patient resignation, answering every question as best he could.
Rosie chattered through her entire exam, asking the paramedic if she’d ever seen anyone get shot (yes), if it hurt (probably), if Michael was an angel (the paramedic looked confused by that one).
“Everyone’s physically fine,” the paramedic reported to Deputy Simmons. “But I’d recommend they see their regular doctor anyway. It will help to talk to a counselor as well. This was a traumatic event.”
Traumatic. That was one word for it. Lydia could think of about a hundred others, none of them appropriate for her children to hear.
Sheriff Wyatt returned, pulling off his hat and running a hand through thinning hair. “Ms. Harper, I’m going to need a statement. Everything that happened from the time you arrived this morning until now.”
Lydia told him about coming to the barn to look for documents, about asking Caleb to come along because he was worried. Tom had already been waiting with the rifle. That he had rambled about starting the fire.
“He admitted to arson?” Wyatt’s pen paused on his notepad.
“Yes. He said—” Lydia closed her eyes, trying to remember the exact words.
“He said he never meant for it to go that far. That he just wanted to scare me, make me realize I needed him. But the fire got out of control too fast. And he couldn’t—” She opened her eyes.
“He was waiting outside to rescue us. To swoop in and save us so we’d think he was a hero. ”
Wyatt’s expression darkened. “That’s a full confession to attempted murder. Multiple counts.”
“I know.”
“We’ll need you to testify. At the arraignment and likely at trial if it goes that far.”
Lydia’s stomach turned, but enough people had told her recently that she was brave. “Whatever you need. I want him locked up. I want my children safe.”
“They will be,” Wyatt promised. “I’m recommending no bail. Not with confession to arson, attempted murder, and now kidnapping and assault with a deadly weapon. The DA will push for maximum sentences.”
Lydia already knew what her children would say about that. Good.
She turned her attention toward the barn. Ethan was still inside, giving his own statement to another deputy. She could see him through the open door, standing with his back to her, gesturing as he talked, probably walking through exactly what had happened from his perspective.
This man had come into a barn with nothing to protect himself and faced an armed man. To protect them, Ethan had gone as far as to offer his life for theirs.
Ethan loved them. He loved her.