2. Gabe

TWO

Gabe

These weren't exactly the perfect circumstances for a reunion…especially considering the last time Ben Martin had been this hurt, I'd been the one who'd done it.

I rounded the front of my beat-up Ford, heart pounding. Kat Martin, blonde hair wild and unkempt and her face tight with worry, was holding onto her brother Ben like he was the only thing left in her world. The guy was slumped over the horse, shirt soaked in red, painting a grim picture I hadn't seen since Afghanistan.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath. This was Ben—big, brash Ben who'd sooner spit on my shadow than share a beer with me. And why not? Last time we crossed paths, fists flew and he had ended up in the ER.

Now here he was, hanging onto his sister, looking like death warmed over.

For a second, I froze. My mind rushed back to a time when sand stuck to blood, and cries of the wounded filled the air instead of Montana's whispering winds. But hell, I wasn't that man anymore. I blinked hard, the images blurring, then I snapped back to the present, to Kat's desperate eyes boring into mine.

It was time to rally.

"Kat!" I called. "Hold on, I got you."

She flinched, her stance going rigid, eyes wild and haunted—like a cornered animal ready to bolt. In that split second, I could see it all—the history between us, the hurt, the hate. She held onto Ben like I would eat him alive, given the chance.

"Did you do this?" Her words were sharp, biting. "Did you shoot him?"

"Jesus, Kat, no!" My hands lifted in defense. "I just came around the bend and?—"

A whine cut through the tension and I looked down to see a dog padding toward me, tail tucked and ears back. "Bandit, don't!" Kat burst out—but the dog didn't waste any time nuzzling into my palm, leaving a wet trail across my skin.

It was like he was telling me, "Help them."

And telling Kat to let me .

Kat's fierce gaze faltered, flickering down to where the dog—Bandit, I guessed—pleaded for aid. Kat's body language shifted, her shoulders slumping.

Then she nodded once, sharply, and I took it as my cue.

We moved in tandem to lower Ben from the horse. My arms slid under his limp form, the weight of him heavy and telling. Blood soaked through the fabric of my shirt as we eased him down, the metallic scent thick in the air.

"Careful, careful," Kat murmured, her voice strained with a terror she was trying too hard to mask.

"Got him," I grunted. He looked worse up close—too pale, like he already had one foot out the door. I'd seen this before; too many times, too many friends. The wounds…they were bad. Real bad.

"Jesus," I whispered under my breath, not wanting Kat to hear the dread lodged tight in my throat. She was sliding down from her horse, which—to its credit—stayed put despite the chaos.

"Talk to me, Ben," she urged her brother, her hands fluttering over him, desperate for a response. "Please."

"Kat…" I started, unsure how to break it to her that hope wasn't on our side.

But before I could find the words, she turned on me, eyes blazing. "Why aren't you taking him to the hospital?"

"Did you call an ambulance?" I asked, keeping my voice calm. An ambulance meant better medical care right away, a mobile emergency room. My truck wouldn't be nearly as helpful.

"Yes, damn it!" Her fists clenched, her entire body coiled with tension.

"Then we wait." I kept my voice level. "They've got the equipment, the meds. If we move him wrong, it could…"

"Could what?" Her voice broke, a crack in her armor I hadn't expected.

"Make things worse."

I didn't have to spell it out. Ben needed professional help, and all I could do was try to keep him stable until it arrived. She stared at me, understanding dawning.

I had to stop that line of thought before it dragged her under.

"Help me stop the bleeding," I said instead, because action—any action—was better than standing still. I pulled off my flannel and folded it, then pressed down on the wound, feeling the warm sticky press of his life ebbing away beneath my fingers. "Hold this. Just like that."

"Okay," she whispered, doing as instructed. "Stay with us Ben."

I dashed to my truck, yanked open the back door, and grabbed the first aid kit I kept stowed under the seat. Basic training might be years behind me, but it was etched into my bones. I knelt beside Ben, ripping open a package sterile pressure dressing.

"Come on," I muttered as I worked, trying to staunch the flow of blood. I knew in my gut it was a stopgap at best. The wounds were too serious, and Ben's labored breaths were a countdown I didn't want to hear.

"Livy…" His voice was a hoarse whisper, gasping and choked with blood. "Livy…"

"Who's Livy?" I couldn't help but ask, looking up at Kat for just a second. Her face was stone, but her eyes betrayed her panic.

"His daughter." She swallowed hard, and I cursed silently.

A kid shouldn't have to grow up without their father.

"Shit." There wasn't much else to say.

Kat hovered over us, her silhouette outlined against the bright sky, looking more like an avenging angel than anyone I'd ever seen. I tried to draw her attention away from the blood, the panic. "What happened, Kat?"

"We were riding the fence," she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. "Checking for breaks. Then…there were gunshots."

"Gunshots? You think it was a hunter?"

"I don't know." Her gaze darted around the expansive fields surrounding us, mistrust written all over her. "Could've been anything. This is Montana, Gabe. People shoot their guns for fun."

"Right."

"Damn it, Ben, hold on." Her voice broke again, and she reached out, her hand hovering over his chest like she could will him back to strength.

"Hey," I said, meeting her eyes. "We've got this."

"Yeah, about that…" Kat's voice was sharp as her gaze locked onto mine. "What the hell are you even doing out here, Gabe?"

"Delivering groceries to my dad." I kept my tone steady. "I drive the backroads to avoid traffic. That's all."

Suspicion clouded her eyes, but before she could drill me with more questions, the distant wail of sirens cut through the air.

"Thank God," Kat muttered.

She seemed relieved. I wasn't sure if she should be.

The ambulance barreled down the dirt road, kicking up clouds of dust. It skidded to a halt next to us, EMTs spilling out. They moved fast to load Ben onto a stretcher, then into the ambulance. I stepped back, giving them room, watching Kat's face.

"Can I ride with—" she started, but an EMT gripped her shoulder.

"You'll need to meet us at the hospital," he said.

She nodded, mute, her tough exterior cracking just enough to let tears glisten at the corners of her eyes. She swiped at them angrily, refusing to let them fall.

"Get in my truck," I said. "I'll drive you."

A moment passed, maybe two, while I'm sure she considered telling me to go to hell.

But then she just nodded, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Help me with the horse first," she said. She moved towards the animal, which stood calm despite the chaos.

"Sure." I followed, grasping the reins from her unsteady hands. "What will you do?"

"Owen needs to know…and Livy." Her voice broke on the name, and a chill ran through me despite the heat. "Owen can take care of the horses and drive Livy to meet us at the hospital. Bandit will herd the horses home."

"Okay," I nodded.

She fumbled for her phone, swiping at the screen with fingers smeared red. Her hands trembled so violently she couldn't type. Without a word, I took the device from her, gentle so she didn't startle. "What's the message?"

"Tell Owen…tell him he needs to wrangle Shadow and Sundance, then drive Livy to the hospital." Her breaths came out in short rasps, barely controlled. "Tell him Ben's hurt."

I typed swiftly, sent the text, and handed her phone back. The anguish in her eyes was something I had seen too many times before. It tore open old wounds, memories of brothers-in-arms who didn't make it home. As I texted, Kat knelt and held Bandit's face in her hands, whispering something…then sent both the horse and the dog home.

"Come on," I murmured, taking her elbow.

She let me. It came as a shock…but I guess she was too scared to protest.

Kat climbed into the passenger seat without a word, her body language screaming defeat. I started the engine, the rumble insignificant against the pounding of my heart. As I drove down the winding road towards Silver Ridge, Kat sat silent beside me, staring blankly out the window.

The thirty-minute drive felt like an eternity. Her silence filled the cab, heavy and suffocating. I wanted to say something—anything—to break the oppressive silence, but there were no words for this. No words that could patch the gaping wound of impending loss.

I'd been here before, stuck in the helpless void between life and death. I'd watched strong men crumble under the weight of grief, helpless as their world shattered. Here I was again, watching Kat's world teeter on the brink, but this time it was personal. This wasn't some distant battlefield; it was home.

And she wasn't just anyone.

She was Kat Martin—fiery, fierce, and in pain. Once a gawky girl I'd bullied relentlessly…now a strong, proud woman.

"Kat," I finally said, my voice rough around the edges. "I'm sorry. About all of this."

"Just drive, Gabe," she whispered.

That whisper gutted me. It wasn't the retort I'd expected, just a hollow plea that echoed with exhaustion. So, I shut my mouth and focused on the road as the truck ate up the miles to Silver Ridge Medical Center.

When we got there, I pulled up to the emergency entrance and came to a stop. She didn't wait for me to say anything else, just muttered a terse "Thank you" before sliding out of the truck and hurrying towards the hospital doors. I watched her go, her shoulders squared despite the tremble in her step, and felt something gnaw at my insides—a sense of duty, maybe, or guilt.

She'd truly believed I might have been the one who shot her brother.

She thought I was a monster.

So, maybe because I wanted to prove her wrong, I parked my truck and followed her.

The front desk directed me toward the emergency waiting room, which was fairly empty. People tapped feet, bit nails, whispered prayers. I found Kat talking to Sheriff Callahan and Deputy Chris Langley, who looked up when he saw me. The grim set of Chris's mouth spoke volumes, but Kat was too caught up to notice the exchange.

Chris excused himself and came over to me. "Gabe," he said with a tilt of his chin.

"Chris." I nodded, my gaze flicking between him and Kat. What was there to say right now? How did you ease a pain like this? Hell if I knew. "What's the verdict?"

"Not good," Chris said. "That poor family…I swear, they've got to be cursed. First the parents, then Ben's wife…now Ben? Jesus."

The doctor chose that moment to step out, a small woman with an unreadable expression on her face. Kat's head whipped around, her eyes latching onto the doctor like a lifeline. For just a second, there was this flicker of hope in her gaze, bright and desperate. Like she thought sheer willpower could rewrite reality.

I think we all knew that wasn't the case.

"Miss Martin," the doctor started. The words that followed were clinical but delivered with a weight that made my chest tight. "I'm so very sorry…"

Kat shook her head, already in denial as she barked out an incredulous laugh. "No—no, don't even say it?—"

"I'm sorry, Miss Martin, but your brother's wounds were too severe," the doctor went on, her voice gentle. "We lost him."

Time stood still, Kat just staring.

Then her face crumbled, her chin wobbling as she fought to keep herself from falling apart right there. Her hand rose to her mouth, a feeble attempt to stifle the sob that never came.

"Thank you," she whispered, though what she was thanking the doctor for, I couldn't fathom. Maybe for the finality, the closure. Or maybe it was just something people said when they didn't know what else to do.

Kat shook her head, once, sharply, as if she could deny the truth away. But the world doesn't work like that, and death doesn't heed your denials.

"Kat…" I stepped forward without thinking, but she didn't need me crowding her space.

Not now.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and I whipped my head around to see Kat's cousin, Owen. He was lanky and lean, his face flushed. "Stay the hell away from us," he snarled, then stepped past me to Kat's side.

It should've been me, I thought. But then again, why? Because I felt guilty? Because I wanted to be her savior?

"Is he…" Owen was saying. Kat was nodding, sobbing now, crumpling.

And I couldn't do a damn thing.

I stood there, useless as hell, while Kat Martin faced the worst news of her life. And I hated that the only thing I could offer was the same silent presence I'd given since I'd stumbled upon her and Ben out there on the road.

I turned around, suddenly desperate to get out of there, only to see a girl that looked just like Ben standing in the waiting room. She looked…hell, I didn't know—like she'd seen too much already. Her eyes darted toward me, toward Ben's blood on my shirt, and her expression tightened.

"My dad's dead, isn't he?" she asked, her voice timid.

I couldn't answer; instead, I brushed past her, practically racing back to my car.

I didn't belong here…and I wasn't entitled to mourn Ben Martin.