Chapter 17

Less than thirty minutes later,I'm squeezed into the cab of Cal's pickup truck, doing my best to remember where I left Jimmy so I can direct the others to the right spot.

Cal is driving, and Rachel is sitting beside him. Then me and Mack. Four of us is one too many for a comfortable ride on this bench seat. If I weren't the only one who knows where to find Jimmy, I wouldn't be invited along on this rescue at all.

It's completely understandable. While Jimmy did teach me to use a gun, I'm not an expert by any definition, and I have exactly zero experience in gunfights. I'd be little help coming along no matter how much I would have insisted.

Ben and Greta even tried to get me to describe his location to them so I could stay at the house—they were anxious because they so clearly understood that Jimmy would want me to stay where it's safe—but I was so exhausted and flustered and breathless that I couldn't get out any clear explanations.

So I'm tagging along to give directions with a promise that I'll stay out of sight unless things go bad and I'm needed for backup. Ben, Greta, Amelia, her father, and Cy Santiago are in the bed of the pickup.

We're getting Jimmy back.

It's a miracle Mack and the others are here at the right time for us to use their vehicle in the rescue. Otherwise it would take us much longer, and we might be too late.

The moon is still bright in the sky, and thank goodness the landscape comes back to me as we drive so I can give appropriate directions on how to find Jimmy.

I'm so nervous about what's waiting for us that I can't stop trembling, but none of the others in the cab appear remotely anxious. Cal is tense and silent, but that's obviously his normal demeanor. Rachel is calm and matter-of-fact, and Mack is relaxed and encouraging, telling me that the numbers sound promising and that the bad guys won't have had time to call for reinforcements and that Jimmy knows what he's doing, so he was probably able to hold out.

It helps but not enough. There were more bad guys than just the three in the SUV, and I have no idea what happened to them. They could have found Jimmy already.

Anyway, nothing is going to fix me until I can see for myself that Jimmy is alive.

"Have you never done this before?" Mack asks after I direct Cal to skirt around a large cluster of trees and then ascend a grassy hill. I'm pretty sure I left Jimmy in the valley beyond it.

"Done what?" I'm still having trouble focusing after my extended physical exertion, and my throat is painfully scratchy. "Been in a gunfight?"

"Yeah."

I shake my head. "I've never done anything like it. I didn't even know how to fire a gun until Jimmy taught me earlier this year. I'm pretty useless."

"You aren't either." Mack's eyes are dark and kind. "You ran all the way back in record time, and you're still holding it together. Damn impressive."

I give him a wobbly smile. "Thanks for saying that. But I guarantee I'm not going to be any help once we get there."

"That's okay. You just crouch down on the floor here and stay low. Don't get out or do anything stupid. If things go bad, we'll need you to help then. But I don't think it'll come to that."

I hope not. I pray silently to anyone who might hear that it won't.

"It's just over this hill, I think," I tell Cal.

I sure hope I haven't led everyone in the entirely wrong direction.

I didn't. As soon as we crest the hill, the Jeep with the blown tire comes into view, exactly where I left it.

But nothing else looks the same.

There are a lot more men, positioned on various sides and all shooting at the SUV.

Jimmy is still in the back, but he must have at some point managed to get out to collect the weapons off the original three men whose bodies are now lying on the grass. He's got an assault rifle and keeps ducking out from behind the back hatch to shoot toward the men attacking him.

He's still alive. That's my first clear recognition.

But he's outnumbered by about ten.

The rest of the group who originally attacked us on the road must have been following on foot. They caught up before we could reach him and are scattered around, holding protected positions behind different trees and one big boulder. They must have just recently arrived because Jimmy couldn't have held out against so many for very long.

I didn't run fast enough.

In the five seconds it takes me to process all that, my body starts to shake even more.

"Get down now," Mack murmurs, moving his legs so I can fit better. "You stay here unless someone calls for you to help."

"Okay." The response comes out as more of a gurgle as I crouch down beside Mack's big work boots.

Because I'm curled up on the floor, I can't see what's happening. I can't see anything, and it's torture.

Cal stomps the gas of the pickup. Then it stops with a weird series of jerks and bumps. I wonder if he plowed into something intentionally.

Or someone.

I have no idea. All I know is that the others are all jumping out of the truck, and the night is filled with deafening gunshots. One after another.

Jimmy is in real danger. All these people—many I care for deeply—are in real danger.

And, me, I'm huddled uselessly on the floor of the pickup.

I'm desperate to peek out to see what's happening, but I resist the foolish impulse. That would put me in danger too. It would make me a possible target and a distraction to the others.

The last thing they need is to be worried about me getting hurt.

So I hug my knees and I shudder and I pray and I wait for the shooting to end.

It feels like it lasts a long time. Forever. I'm in no fit state to accurately measure the passing of time. There's a lot of shouting, but I can't really tell where it's coming from or make out the words.

Then I hear Rachel's voice clearly from not too far away. She's loud. Urgent. "Cal's pinned down. Mack! Mack!"

"I got it!" That's Mack. His voice is unmistakable. There's a bump and the truck rocks slightly like he might have jumped into the back.

Cal has a huge transfer tank for extra gas in the truck bed and also a large built-in toolbox that's filled with weapons. It's like an arsenal. I saw it when we were getting ready to leave.

Maybe he's getting something out of there.

"Mack!" Rachel screams again. "We need to take out the guys behind that boulder. Shit, he's hit! Mack!"

"I got it! Heads down!"

I have no idea what's happening. What Mack is about to do.

A few seconds pass, and then there's an explosion that seems to rock the entire world.

Most of the gunshots stop after that. There are a few more, scattered with pauses between them.

Then a light tap on the window of the pickup startles me so much I gasp.

"We're all good now." Mack opens the passenger door and helps me out. "We got 'em all."

I'm so disoriented and dizzy that I can't even stand up. I lean against the seat after I get my feet on the ground. "What happened? What was that explosion?"

Mack glances over in what I assume is the direction it happened. "Threw a grenade. They had the better position, and we couldn't get 'em out of there any other way."

"So they're all dead?"

"They're all dead. Should be safe now." Mack nods toward the Jeep with the blown-out tire. "Your man made it through. He's still there."

That piece of information consumes me so entirely that nothing else matters. I run as fast as my limping will allow until I reach the Jeep. The hatch is swinging haphazardly, barely holding on after being shot up so much.

Jimmy has fallen back in an awkward heap, a rifle resting on his belly and his fingers still hooked around the trigger.

One leg of his jeans is entirely soaked in blood, and there's more on the side of his head.

I climb up, almost crying again. "Jimmy! Jimmy!"

With effort, he manages to open his eyes a slit. "I'm okay."

"No, you're not! What kind of thing is that to say? Did you get shot again?" I'm leaning over him now, trying to examine the wound on his head.

"Piece of metal ricocheted. Nothin' to worry 'bout there. Just my damn leg." He blinks up at me, his face softening when his eyes focus on my face. "Was that a fuckin' grenade? Seems like you brought back a whole army to save me."

"I did! Of course I did!"

"Musta run like the devil to get back to me so quick. You're pregnant. Shouldn't've had to do all that." He sounds so weak, but he's still smiling. So tender.

"Well, I shouldn't have had to leave you at all, but I did. Are you really okay? You must have lost so much blood."

"Think I did lose a lot, but don't think the leg wound is as bad as it coulda been. If the damn thing'll stop bleeding, I'll be okay."

I don't know if he believes that or if he's simply trying to make me feel better, but it works. I hug my arms to my chest and cry in relief.

He groans as he hefts himself up to a sitting position, leaning against one side. Then he says, "Come here, girlie."

"I don't want to hurt you more."

"You're not gonna hurt me. I need to hold you right now."

I move closer, and he puts an arm around me. I burrow into his shirt and finally, finally feel safe.

Safe.

And home.

* * *

It's a few minutes before I can focus on anything except Jimmy, but eventually I peer out to see what's happening.

Jimmy's parents come over to see how he is as soon as they can. His dad starts wrapping his leg with bandages we brought with us.

The others are checking on the bad guys and collecting their weapons. One of them must not have been dead yet because a scowling Cal shoots him in the head. Cal has blood all over one shoulder, but it must not be too serious because he's up and moving around.

Eventually I focus on Mack, who's now heading behind the boulder to where he threw the grenade. After a minute, I straighten up, leaning out more to see better.

"What is it?" Jimmy asks, turning away from the work his father is doing on his leg.

"I don't know. Something's wrong with Mack."

He's just standing there now, staring down at the ground. Unmoving.

But something has changed about his demeanor. I can see it although I can't explain it.

"Did he get shot?" Jimmy asks.

"I don't think so," Greta says, turning to peer at Mack too. "It's a miracle we all made it out of this alive."

"Cal got winged," Ben says. "And Cy got grazed in the side. But nothing else."

I'm still staring at Mack. Something is definitely wrong. I glance over at Jimmy. "Are you okay for now?"

"Yeah. Dad's got this leg. Go check on him if you want." He glances between Mack's back and my face.

I lean over to kiss him before I climb out of the Jeep. I'm not all that great with blood and wounds, so it's not like I'd do any good helping with Jimmy's leg anyway.

I limp over to Mack.

"Is something wrong?" I ask before I reach him.

He's still staring down at the ground.

When I'm standing beside him, I see why.

There are dead bodies on the ground. A couple are blasted to charred pieces, almost unrecognizable as human. But one must not have gotten hit with the full blast of the grenade because it's more intact.

It's dead. Definitely dead.

But it looks like a child.

A boy. It's hard to tell the exact age because malnutrition is so prevalent, but I'd swear the boy was no more than eleven or twelve.

He must have been working with the bad guys, shooting from behind the boulder, and he's dead now.

Mack killed him.

He was a child.

My stomach churns and I grow cold. "Oh no," I breathe. "Oh no!"

Mack still doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just stares.

"You didn't know," I murmur hoarsely. "You didn't have a choice. They were trying to kill us."

Finally Mack wrenches his eyes away from the body. He meets my gaze, but his expression is empty.

Empty.

All the warmth has gone out.

He still doesn't speak.

"You can't blame yourself," I say, grabbing his big arm in my urgency. "Mack, innocent people were in danger, and you were protecting them. You were protecting all of us."

Still no answer.

No reaction at all.

I have no idea what to do. It feels like Mack is broken, and I'm the only one who recognizes it.

Where the hell are his friends? They need to help him through this.

I look around frantically until I find Cal and Rachel. He's scowling as she's trying to wrap up the wound on his shoulder.

Cal sees me staring. With a question on his face, he nudges Rachel, who looks over at me too.

I gesture toward them and then at Mack.

To my relief, they both come immediately. I don't have to explain. They see it as clearly as I do—both in the boy's dead body and in Mack's frozen stance.

I like Mack. A lot. He seems like a genuinely great guy, and he might have saved all of us by throwing that grenade. But Cal and Rachel are his people. Not me.

I've got enough to do trying to take care of my own people.

* * *

Morning is dawning by the time we get back to the farm.

I've been awake all night—much of it spent in sheer terror—and I also took that long, frantic run, which was probably the most strenuous activity of my entire life. I'm in the bed of the truck next to Jimmy on the ride back home, and the bumpy ride combined with my physical and mental state is not good for my stomach.

I throw up twice on the short ride.

Jimmy, who should be more worried about the bullet wound in his thigh, keeps trying to fuss over me the whole time. I tell him over and over again that I'm simply carsick, but I don't know that for sure.

These seem like ideal circumstances for me to lose this baby.

There's nothing I can do about it. I did what I had to do every step of the way tonight. But I'm relieved when we finally reach the Carlsons' house.

Jimmy is given the single bed in a tiny storage area that's often used as a sickroom. I want to stay with him, but he won't let me squeeze in the minuscule space between his body and the wall, so I collapse instead on the bed in the big room that used to be mine.

Despite all my worries, I fall asleep almost immediately and don't wake up until early afternoon.

Jimmy is restless when I go to his room, clearly in pain even as he tries to doze. He settles some when I pull a chair up beside him and grab his hand.

His wound isn't serious. The bullet didn't even hit bone. But if it gets infected, he could die from it anyway. We have no antibiotics.

The rest of the day passes in a kind of haze. I'm sore and still weak. I've got bruises and pulled muscles I wasn't even aware of last night. And Jimmy is really out of it. He doesn't have a fever, but that doesn't mean he won't get one. I keep brooding on nightmare scenarios as I wait for him to really wake up.

Eventually I fall asleep in my chair. I'm not sure how long I sleep—it couldn't be very long—but when I open my eyes, Jimmy is awake and gazing at me.

I've never seen that particular expression in his eyes before. Nakedly tender.

"Hi," I say groggily.

"Hi."

We smile at each other for a minute until I remember that he's still injured. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good considerin'. Damn leg hurts like hell, but that's to be expected. But kind of on a high at the same time."

"You're on a high?" I giggle a little because his words are so surprising.

"Sure am." He extends a hand, and I lean toward it automatically. He cups my cheek. "You did say you love me, didn't you?"

My cheeks flush hot. Ridiculous but true. "Yes. I said that."

"That's what I thought you said. You love me, and we both survived when all odds were against us. Hard not to be thrilled out of my damn mind 'bout that."

Laughter spills out of me. He sounds tired but not sick. He's certainly still in pain, but he's not sweating or feverish. Maybe he'll be okay. "And you love me too, right?"

He gives me a disapproving frown that only lasts a few seconds. "Damn right I do. Loved you for a real long time."

"You should have told me before."

"I know. I shoulda opened my damn mouth. But I didn't. I was scared." He pauses for a minute before he continues in a different tone. "I did try to show you. It was easier to say stuff about it in bed, so that's when I tried the most. But I been thinking 'bout that and can see that maybe you were assumin' it was just the sex I was wantin'. When I was really wantin' you. I shoulda done better. Put myself out there more. Guess I been operatin' in self-protection mode lately."

"I think all of us have been. I know I was too. I wouldn't even consider the possibility that there might be more between us because I was so afraid of getting hurt and rejected."

"Still… It was more my fault than yours that you couldn't read my mind like I was hopin'."

I want to hug him but I'm afraid of hurting him, so I grab one of his hands instead. He uses the grip to pull me over onto the bed, scooting over so I can curl up beside him.

There's not a lot of room, but I don't care.

Neither does he.

He wraps an arm around me. He smells pretty strong—he really needs a bath. But I don't care even a little bit right now. I probably don't smell all that fresh either.

"I did…" I pause so I can kiss his bare chest. He's wearing nothing but his boxers right now. "I did hope sometimes you were feeling more for me. You made it clear that you wanted me to be happy too—that it wasn't supposed to be all one-sided. But every time I tried to… to encourage you to open up, you didn't. So I kept assuming that was the limit. I got to share your life and your body and your… your responsibility, but I didn't get to share your heart."

He's obviously thinking as he's silent for several seconds. "When did you try to get me to open up?"

"Lots of times."

"Like when?"

"I'd ask you about Mary or whatever, and you wouldn't answer except to say you loved her."

"Oh." He's frowning and staring up at the ceiling. "I always felt weird talking 'bout her."

"Why?"

"'Cause me and her were married. It was a normal relationship. I loved her. Course I did. But what we have—you and me—is… is different. It always felt weird. We aren't married. Weren't even supposed to be in love. And I always felt awkward and guilty 'bout makin' comparisons."

"Guilty toward me or toward Mary?"

"Both, I think. I don't really know how to describe it. Just that it feels like I was a different person back then. That I was a different guy—the one who loved and married Mary and hoped to start a family with her. The man I am now is… is different. And that's the man who somehow fell in love with you. The man who loves you more than anythin' in the world."

I kiss his chest again. Stretch up to nuzzle his beard.

He tilts his head to meet my lips, and we kiss slow and gentle and sweet for a long time.

When we finally pull away, he murmurs, "You think the baby is okay after all that last night?"

"I don't know. I hope so. I haven't started bleeding yet. Although, to tell you the truth, we still don't know for sure that I was pregnant to begin with."

"Course you are. Why else are you throwin' up all the time? And hasn't it been like two months since you had your period?"

"Yes. Almost." I take a long, deep breath. "Do you… do you think we'll be okay? If I really do have this baby?"

"Yeah. We'll be okay."

Mary died because her baby came too early and there were complications. That has to be on his mind. How could it not be? Childbirth has always been dangerous—more so now than it used to be. But he doesn't sound worried. He sounds happy.

Excited.

So maybe I can be excited too.

"You scared 'bout it?" he asks after a minute, twining his hand in my messy ponytail.

"A little. But now that it's happened, I do want this baby. I'll be…" I get choked up unexpectedly. "I'll be sad if I lose it."

"You might not. And either way, we can keep tryin'. I wanna have lots of babies with you."

"Lots?" I'm giggling again. "Surely two or three will be enough."

His mouth is twitching with a hidden smile. "We'll see."

* * *

An hour or so later, I come back into the little room to tell Jimmy that I'm leaving. Our animals won't be okay if one of us doesn't get back to feed and tend to them today, so I talked with the others to figure out a plan to take care of them until Jimmy gets well enough to go home.

"You sure 'bout it?" Jimmy asks, frowning and bristling slightly in that protective way he has. "We don't know him all that well."

"Jimmy, please. Mack saved your life. He saved all our lives. He's a really good man, and accidentally killing that boy hurt him really bad. He hasn't been himself since. He said a few days alone sounds great to him. So he can stay at our house for a little while and take care of our pigs and chickens. He said he'd do some work in the garden too. It will be fine."

"Don't they need to be getting home soon?"

"Rachel said they could stay another week. Hopefully by then we can get you home, assuming your leg is healing good."

"Okay," he mutters. He doesn't appear thrilled, but he's obviously not going to argue with what everyone else believes is an excellent plan. "It should work, I guess. Just don't like another man in my house doin' my work." He narrows his eyes at me. "And don't you be gettin' any ideas 'bout him doin' it better. I'm still your man even if I'm stuck in bed for a while."

I burst into laughter at the final comment, and it evidently reassures Jimmy. His face softens.

"I know you're my man." I lean down to kiss him. "You're the only man I ever want."

"Good. That's the way it's supposed to be. So you're goin' with him?"

"Yes. We'll walk there, but Amelia is coming too so I don't have to be alone on the way back."

"Okay, good."

"And I was thinking I'd drive back the ATV. That way you can get home sooner since you won't have to make the long walk."

"Oh yeah. That's a great idea. Maybe I could even go back tomorrow if I don't gotta walk."

"Not tomorrow. Don't get ahead of yourself. But once it's clear your leg is healing without infection, we can head back home."

He mumbles to himself, but it's mostly for show. He's smiling when I get to the door and glance back over my shoulder.

"I love you, Jimmy," I tell him.

"Love you too. Forever."