Chapter 25 #2
“Mo!” she screamed as she ran straight for him.
He looked up and caught her reflexively as she barreled into him. The crack of the shot came a split second before Mo’s body jerked, and they fell to the ground.
Bronwyn heard the thunk as his head made contact with the asphalt. But they didn’t stay where they landed. His arms wrapped around her, and then he rolled until his body covered hers.
“I’ve got you,” his low voice whispered into her ear. “Don’t move.”
Bronwyn hissed, “Get off me. They could shoot you.”
“Does everything have to be an argument with you?”
Before she could tell him that arguing was a defense mechanism and she was only doing it because she was terrified, more shots were fired.
Somewhere behind them, Katrina screamed. Bronwyn might have screamed too. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that Mo covered her completely and then his body jolted again, and he let out a grunt.
The next sound she registered was the unmistakable squeal of tires as someone peeled out of the parking lot. Mo lumbered to his feet and did a weird shuffling run toward the fleeing vehicle. What was wrong with him? Did he want to get shot?
She turned her head enough to watch him, and that’s when she saw the bloodstain spreading across his left shoulder.
He’d already been shot.
Katrina’s low “Oh my word. Oh my word. Oh my word” registered in her senses, and she rolled to her feet.
“Get down!” Mo yelled at her. But she ignored him. If Mo could run after the shooters, she could at least get vertical. She turned to her friend and found her curled in a near-fetal position on the ground a few feet away.
Bronwyn stumbled toward her as Lionel ran out of the building and joined her. “Katrina? Are you hurt?” Had she been shot?
Katrina shook her head and wiped a hand over her face. “No.” It sounded like she’d been swallowing gravel.
Lionel helped Bronwyn pull Katrina to her feet, then he put his arm around her and led her back into the store.
Bronwyn watched her. She was moving, and there were no obvious wounds. Hopefully, she’d been on the ground because she’d dropped and made herself as small a target as possible, not because of any external force.
A strong body leaned into hers. Mo put his arm around her and hustled her inside before she could get a good look at him.
The cashier was on the phone. Lionel guided Katrina to a bench by the office door.
Bronwyn stopped and turned to Mo. “You—”
He placed his hand over her lips. “Bronwyn.” Her name was a growl. “Turn around.”
Turn around. Why? When she didn’t move, his hands landed on her shoulders, and he spun her, eyes on her body. “What are you doing? You’re the one who’s bleeding.”
Mo ignored her complaint. He pulled in a shaky breath as she faced him again. “You’re not hit.”
She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, but she answered him anyway. “No.”
He swallowed hard, his hands still on her shoulders. His breathing accelerated, and he pulled her against his chest. His hands slid down her arms and then around her. His breath tickled her ear when he spoke. “You saved my life.”
“I don’t think so. You saved mine. You’ve been shot. And I’m pretty sure those bullets were meant for me.” She tried to pull away. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
Mo’s arms tightened around her. “It’s just a graze. Please. Just . . . give me this.” His voice was rough. “I need to hold you.”
The desperation in his voice nearly broke her, and she answered with the full truth. “I’m not going anywhere, and . . .” Could she say it? Yes. She could. “I don’t want you to let go.”
He shuddered at her words and pulled her closer. She desperately wanted to sink into his embrace, but the horror of the past few minutes refused to give her any peace.
She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but she couldn’t take it any longer. She was certain he’d been shot at least once. He might be running on adrenaline, but at some point, that would disappear and pain would kick in. “Mo, I need to check your injuries.”
He didn’t release her, but he loosened his hold enough for her to lean back and look into his eyes. His pupils were . . . were they dilated? What size were they supposed to be? Why hadn’t she taken more first-aid courses? Or, well, any first-aid courses?
What were the signs of a concussion? What about blood loss? Shock? She had no idea. She should know these things. But if he was walking around after being shot, it couldn’t be too bad. Right?
But then she remembered the way it sounded when his head hit the ground.
What if he had internal bleeding? Brain swelling?
“Chief Ward is on the way. So is Dr. Shaw.” The cashier, a lovely girl whose name Bronwyn couldn’t recall, spoke from the office. “She’s on the phone with me and wants to know if anyone was hit.”
“Yes!” Bronwyn tried to keep the panic out of her voice, but it wasn’t working. “Mo’s been shot. Tell her to hurry.”
“Bronwyn, I’m fine.”
She ignored his words. “I think you should at least sit down.” Should he lie flat? No. That would hurt his arm. Should she do something with a rolled towel? Put it under his knees? His head? Feet? That was it. Right? Elevate his feet?
She walked around him and stifled a gasp when she realized he was bleeding from more than one place. “There’s blood on your shirt and your pants. Please sit down.” She couldn’t stop herself from pleading with him.
“It’s just a scratch.”
“It’s a bullet wound. That’s not a scratch!”
“Sometimes it is.”
“Argh!” She threw up her hands in frustration and turned to the cashier. “I don’t know what to do with him!”
“Dr. Shaw says she’s two minutes out. Hang tight.”
Bronwyn closed her eyes and inhaled. The Lord is my Shepherd.
Exhale. I have everything I need.
It was the first breath prayer she’d learned and now it was the only one she could remember.
She didn’t feel like she had everything she needed.
She needed medical knowledge, which she didn’t have.
She needed safety, which she didn’t have.
She needed Mo to be okay and she needed him to hold her again.
But now was not the time because he was bleeding.
Her mind skittered again.
So this was it. She could handle anything at work. Snooty actors, entitled billionaires, even corrupt politicians. But Mo bleeding? Nope. She couldn’t do this.
Inhale. The Lord is my Shepherd.
Exhale. I have everything I need.
Two more breaths and her panic began to ease. It wasn’t gone, but she could think more rationally.
She didn’t have any skills that would help this situation, but she did know the Great Physician. So maybe she did have everything she needed?
Inhale. Jesus, please don’t let him have a brain injury.
Exhale. Jesus, please don’t let him lose too much blood.
She didn’t try to change the prayer. She continued until Gray and Cal ran into the grocery store with Dr. Carol Shaw on their heels.
Gray was all business.
But Cal came to a stop beside her and reached a trembling hand toward Mo. “What happened?”
Bronwyn answered the question without hesitation. “He’s been shot. And he hit his head hard. But he’s been talking.”
Dr. Shaw—or Aunt Carol, as Bronwyn had known her for most of her life—set a bag beside Mo. “Cal, out of the way. Bronwyn, darling, I need you to move back so I can figure out where this blood is coming from.”
“His shoulder, I think.” Bronwyn dropped her head. “I could have put pressure on it. That’s what I should have done.”
Aunt Carol ran her hands over her nephew’s scalp. “Mo, do you have anything to add to the conversation?”
Was she . . . amused? Her tone made it seem like something was hilarious. But Bronwyn couldn’t think of what that might be.
“Let’s take this shirt off.”
Mo tried to move his arm but winced and hissed. Aunt Carol held his wrist. “Stop that. Don’t make it worse. I didn’t mean for you to pull it over your head. This shirt is destined for the burn pile now. I hope you weren’t particularly close to it.”
Cal snorted.
Mo chuckled. “No, ma’am.”
“Good.” She took scissors from her bag and cut Mo’s shirt off.
Then she studied the wound on his arm. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
Why wasn’t she more . . . frantic? Aunt Carol reached over and patted Bronwyn’s hand where Mo still hung on to her.
“It’s hard to put pressure on a wound like this, darling. You did fine.”
She looked down and saw the blood oozing from what looked like a five-inch gouge on Mo’s arm. It wasn’t spurting. That had to be good.
“That’s going to need some stitches. But we’ll fix you up so you won’t have a bad scar.” She winked at Mo, who grinned at her.
Grinned!
Bronwyn was very close to screaming at the top of her lungs. Why wasn’t anyone taking this seriously? Aunt Carol looked at Cal. “Hand me that dressing from my bag.” Cal did as requested, and she applied it to the wound with practiced precision. “Now, let’s take a look at this leg.”
She made small talk as she cut Mo’s pants off at the knee. Bronwyn bit back a cry when she saw the hole in his calf. “Is there a bullet in him?”
“Probably.” Aunt Carol was matter-of-fact, as if she saw her nephew riddled with bullet holes on a daily basis. She looked over her shoulder, then back to her son. “Cal, can you check to see where the ambulance is?”
“Ambulance?” Bronwyn’s voice shook.
“Mmhmm.” Aunt Carol had her flashlight in hand and was looking in Mo’s eyes. “He needs to go to the hospital.”
“You can’t take care of him here?”
Aunt Carol reached out and took Bronwyn’s hand.
“Darling, he’s going to be fine. And yes, I could take care of him here.
But I want him to have a CT scan. He may have a concussion.
And while I could stitch him up just fine, if he’s going anyway, there’s a plastic surgeon in Asheville who will do a much better job with his arm and leg.
He can minimize the scarring better than I can. ”
“I don’t care about a stupid scar. Who cares about a scar?” Bronwyn bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Aunt Carol. It’s just that . . . they won’t let me stay with him if you take him to the hospital.” The words were a whispered cry. She couldn’t bear for him to be out of her sight. Not now.
Mo squeezed her hand.
“I don’t expect them to keep him, Bronwyn.”
She shook her head. “I can’t . . .” She swiped at her eyes. What was wrong with her?
Mo leaned his head against her side.
Aunt Carol pulled her into a hug. An awkward hug because Mo refused to let go of her hand.
“The hospital is the best choice. If it were just the bullet wounds, I’d take care of it here.
But we want to check his head. It’s hard.
Goodness knows it is. Most stubborn child I’ve ever known, this one.
” Aunt Carol released her and smiled at Bronwyn.
“Well, look who I’m talking to. Maybe he’s the second-most stubborn. You take the prize.”
The ambulance pulled into the parking lot and stopped by the door. The EMTs hopped out but didn’t pull the gurney out. Mo was able to step inside and lie down without any fanfare.
He continued to hold Bronwyn’s hand, and she followed him inside the vehicle.
Cal spoke to one of the paramedics, but Bronwyn couldn’t hear what he was saying. She didn’t care. She would stay with Mo as long as she could. Then she’d follow them to the hospital.
The paramedics were talking to Aunt Carol when Meredith’s 4Runner came to a screeching halt in the parking lot.
“Mo!” Her panic mirrored Bronwyn’s own. “Mo!” Meredith ran straight to the back of the ambulance.
“He’s been shot and he might have a concussion. But he’s walking and talking,” Bronwyn told her, trying to stay calm for Meredith’s sake. “Aunt Carol wants him checked out to be safe.”
“Shot?” Meredith’s skin paled and she clambered into the ambulance. “Montgomery Douglas Quinn. What on earth do you mean, going and getting shot? That’s on the list.”
Bronwyn didn’t know what list Meredith was referring to, but Mo must have.
He pulled his sister down to hug her. Meredith’s eyes zeroed in on his other hand.
The one still holding onto Bronwyn. And her eyes, which had been filled with fear, shifted to confusion and then a wary happiness.
Cal leaned into the back of the ambulance.
“Mo, man, I’m just going to say it since no one else has. ”
“What?”
“If I’d known getting shot was what it would take to get Bronwyn to start talking to you again, I’d have shot you myself.”
“Cal!” Meredith and Bronwyn both yelled at him, but he was laughing so hard, he had to hold on to the side of the ambulance.
“Come on, Meredith. He’s tough. He’ll be okay.”
“I’m going.”
“Not alone, you’re not.” Gray appeared behind Meredith and pulled her into his arms.
“Gray!”
Gray leaned toward Meredith and whispered something in her ear. She relaxed into him and nodded.
Cal had gotten himself together enough to speak.
“Come on, I got it cleared for Beep to ride in the ambulance. Although if you ever tell anyone, we’ll have to deny it.
Let her go with him, Mer. Gray has to stay here, but you can ride with me.
We’ll follow them to the hospital and then drive them home. How about that?”
Meredith conceded. She gave Mo another hug and sent Bronwyn a wide-eyed look that said, “Girl, you have some explaining to do.”
“Thank you, Cal.” Bronwyn didn’t know how he’d done it, but she wouldn’t complain.
He gave her a small salute, and he and Meredith hurried to his truck.
A paramedic climbed in on the other side of Mo. And then they were headed to the hospital.
Mo still hadn’t let go of her hand.