I considered my options. Not good to loll in the field where we housed the bulls. I’d rather take my chances with one three-quarter-ton truck than four one-ton pissed-off bulls. Since I’d landed only about fifteen feet away from the road, my best bet was to follow it back to the house.
I hobbled to the break in the fence line and did a three-limbed crawl through the ditch. The short walk was excruciating. I winced whenever I put pressure on my left foot.
Who had tried to run me over? A couple of punks screwing with me because I was dumb enough to be out on the road alone at night?
I made it to the mailbox. While I took a breather, a vehicle turned onto the gravel road, coming the opposite direction from the death squad. I froze. Listened. Even from a distance the engine didn’t sound the same. Then again, fear distorts things. I squinted. Couldn’t tell if the headlight pattern was familiar. One thing was for sure: this truck wasn’t going nearly as fast as the one that’d chased me.
In fact, it slowed about twenty feet from the turnoff to the house. When I tried to hide behind the post holding the mailbox, I lost my balance and fell right into the middle of the road.
My life flashed before my eyes. Just my luck. I’d survived combat situations in hell only to be run down by a redneck in a pickup a hundred yards from my front porch.
I felt the absurd urge to giggle.
Brakes locked up and gravel sprayed everywhere.
A door slammed. Footsteps pounded until they were right next to my head. I heard, “Jesus Christ, Mercy. What the hell are you doing laying in the middle of the road?”
I looked up.
Dawson.
That bitch fate has a cruel sense of humor.
He knelt down. His gaze swept over me. “What happened?”
“Hit-and-run.”
“Where’s your truck?”
“Wasn’t hit-and-run with the truck. Someone tried to hit me with their truck when I was running, and then they took off.”
“Where are you hurt?”
Everywhere. “Mostly my left ankle.”
“Can you walk?”
“Barely.”
“Hang on. I’ll help you up.”
He wrapped his hands around my biceps and lifted me. Once I was upright, I collapsed into him.
I hissed from the pain and humiliation. “Shit. Sorry. Give me a minute.” I tried to squirm away, but he wouldn’t let me.
“Stay still. Might be best if I carried you.”
“No.”
“It’s not that far to my truck.”
“No.”
“Dammit, Mercy, quit being so stubborn.”
I inhaled a deep breath. Let it out. He was being helpful for a change and I… wasn’t. “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Hold tight.” He muttered something else, then slid one arm behind my knees and the other across my back. One second I was airborne against a warm, hard body; the next I was nestled in a squishy leather seat.
We putted down the driveway. Without a word, he came around to the passenger’s side, picked me up, and carried me inside the house. In the living room he deposited me on the couch.
“Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“No.”
“Then I want to see how bad you’re hurt. Where’s the light switch?”
“Over by the doorway, halfway down the wall on the left side.” The fixture buzzed and fluorescent light glowed from the ceiling.
Dawson crouched beside me and propped my left foot on an embroidered pillow. “Can you move it?”
“Yeah.” I gritted my teeth and tried to twirl my ankle. Sharp pain shot up my shin. “Shit!”
“We need to get this shoe off.”
I struggled to sit up. My normally pliant body was strung so tight I couldn’t even reach my shoelaces.
“Here. Let me do it.”
I held my breath as he loosened the laces, figuring he’d rip the shoe off like an old Band-Aid. But Dawson gently eased the shoe off and peeled away my sock.
He prodded the swollen skin around my anklebone. “You think it’s broken?”
“No. I broke the right one a couple of years back, and it doesn’t feel like that. Just a sprain.”
“A bad one.” He slowly pressed his fingers in a straight line up my shin, watching my face. “Does any of this hurt?”
“A little.”
He stopped at my knee. Frowned at the scratches and scrapes on my left leg from my tumble in the pasture. Good thing the right side of my body was against the couch so he couldn’t see the shrapnel wounds on my right thigh. “Where else are you hurt?”
“Nowhere. That’s the worst of it.”
Dawson looked like he didn’t believe me.
I slumped back into the cushions. “Okay. My left shoulder took the brunt of my fall, and I smacked my head into a rock. Happy now?”
“No. Why would seeing you beat to crap make me happy?”
You tell me. For once I kept a smart comment to myself.
A heavy sigh. His. Not mine.
“You gonna let me look at it or not?”
“Look at what?”
He grinned.
Why did my stomach do a little flip at the sight of his devilish smile? Hell, maybe I had cracked my skull harder than I realized.
“Come on, Mercy. Let me look at the spot where your head hurt that poor defenseless rock.”
“Asshole.”
His grin widened.
I closed my eyes and dropped my chin to my chest so he could reach my neck.
Warm, dry fingers prodded the bump behind my ear. I sucked in a harsh breath when he pushed too hard.
“Sorry. Better get some ice on that.”
He rattled around in the kitchen. My head began to pound in time with the throbbing in my ankle.
“Here you go.”
I opened my eyes. He held out a Ziploc bag filled with ice and a kitchen towel. I put it behind my head. “Thanks.”
“Another one for your ankle.” He positioned the plastic on top of my foot, tucking it around the swollen area like a pro. Then he perched next to me on the couch. Close to me.
“Thanks, Dawson.”
“You’re welcome. I just wish I’d gotten here sooner.”
Why hadn’t I thought to ask why he’d been driving past my house? At nine o’clock at night? It seemed… coincidental. “There a reason you were coming out here?”
“Two reasons actually.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “First, to apologize for being a jerk this afternoon. I was having a bad day and shouldn’t have taken it out on you. But, God, I hate dealing with the tribal cops.”
My dad complained about the same thing. Ditto for the FBI and U.S. Marshals.
“They called me about a report I’d filed a month ago. They couldn’t fax me the information because their fax machine was broken. I get there and the officer who contacted me had a family emergency and wasn’t around. The other cops didn’t know what was going on and didn’t care. So, I sat there for two hours, twiddling my thumbs, while the receptionist sifted through file folders, only to hand me the same paperwork they’d sent me after the incident occurred. A month ago. Nothing new. Story of my life.” Dawson readjusted my ice pack. “Sorry.”
“Apology accepted. I wasn’t exactly Mary-fucking-sunshine today either.”
“We’re a pair, huh?” He relaxed a bit. “And before you turn back into that pit bull, my trip to Eagle River had nothing to do with Levi’s or Albert’s case.”
“Fair enough. What’s the second reason you stopped by?”
Dawson sighed. “It’ll sound lame.”
“Try me.”
“I had a bad feeling. A real bad feeling. With all that’s happened around here, I thought I’d drive by to see if everything was okay.”
He didn’t appear to be lying. In fact, Dawson looked embarrassed. For once, I cut him some slack. “You aren’t the only one who had a bad feeling. John-John called me right before I left the house and yelled about me taking unnecessary chances.”