Spurs and Lace (Lonely Lace Series Book 1) Page 16

Slate sidled into the kitchen, careful to keep his hands in sight. He didn’t want to bring Amelia’s attention to him and away from the men, if Mac really were in danger at their hands. But at the same time, he didn’t want to sneak up on her and catch a mistaken bullet in his flesh.

  Drawing abreast with Amelia, in her line of sight, he spoke to Tim and Ronan. “I keep hollow points in all my guns. I wouldn’t piss her off.” Slate nodded at Ronan, raising his eyebrows. “She’s much better at target shooting than she used to be, Ronan.” He pivoted enough on one foot to partially face his housemate. “Hey, Ames. Doc should be here really soon. She left before us. You got this or do you want me to step in?”

  Amelia didn’t answer, just stared at the men threatening her child.

  As if from far off, the front door slammed. “Slate? I’m here. I need someone to grab this bag. It’s heavy as hell.” In an instant there she was, speed-walking into the kitchen. She stopped and absorbed the scene. Hands up, she approached the table, addressing Amelia. “I’m not sure what’s going on with the gun, but tell me how he’s doing? His stomach doesn’t look too bad.”

  “I told her to let me look, Becky, but she refused. Pulled a gun on me. This boy needs to get to a hospital.” Tim pressed Amelia’s limits and moved closer to the table where Mac rested.

  Becky held up her hand. “That’s Dr. O’Donald, Tim. You don’t have the legal right to force attention on anyone, least of all another person’s child.” She motioned to Slate, all business. “Take that from Amelia, but keep it on them. She needs to be standing here by her son and that obviously makes her feel more comfortable.”

  He did as she suggested as if taking orders in his own house couldn’t be more normal. Yet, he didn’t care. She-Doc had brought a calm oasis into an otherwise tempestuous storm. He released the hammer, but held the muzzle at its initial target.

  “You don’t know how to use that, Slate.” Ronan crossed his arms. “You only get yourself into trouble with those things, don’t you, boy?”

  Slate ignored the pounding in his chest and the flush of heat swelling in his face. Ronan always knew where to sting, back up and sting again. Like a damn wasp.

  Grinning like he knew his effect, Ronan slid a foot closer. “You never did like to lose, MacAllister. And trust me, you’re going to lose.”

  How easy it was to recock the damn hammer, listen to the comforting click, accept that the simplest twitch of his finger would humble Ronan more than a slap in the face could. But Ronan just arched his brow. Challenging Slate’s instinct to shoot his ass.

  Chapter 25

  Finger to the carotid, Becky marked Mac’s pulse and breathing.

  Lowering her voice, she lifted the small child’s shirt and pulled the blanket close to his hips. “His vitals feel stable, Amelia. I’m going to check the surgery site and touch it, okay? He might feel it.” She ignored the drama surrounding the men. Really, their reality had nothing to do with the little boy immersed in emergency which meant she didn’t have any concern for it either.

  The skin around his stitches had puckered with an angry scarlet hue. Becky pressed on the outside rim of the swelling. Mac cried out, squirming in his sleep.

  A growl drew her attention. Ronan pushed past Slate, his arms outstretched, anger tightening his features. “Leave him alone. You’re hurting him!” Flailing with momentum to get to Becky, his fist connected with Amelia’s chin and she crumpled. He didn’t stop in his attack toward the table. Moving fast, he reached the granite countertop, grasping for something, anything, with clenching and unclenching fingers.

  “Holy crap. Slate get Ronan!” Becky pointed her finger at the PA who had started to follow his boss. “Don’t you dare move. I’m not dealing with this shit right now.” In seconds, Slate tackled Ronan and jerked him to his feet. Arm around the man’s neck and another jerking a hand behind his back, Slate waited for the next command from Becky.

  The uncle’s wide eyes searched for more damage to Mac than what he could see.

  Speaking slowly, calmly, Becky met Ronan’s desperation head-on. “Look, I get that you’re scared and concerned. But first and foremost, you will not be allowed to be in here until I have the patient stable. Period. If that means we lock you in the damn closet, so be it.” She bit each syllable off with a tight clip. Her eyes never wavered. “Now, you help your sister up and act like a gentleman while you escort her somewhere away from here. Do you understand? As far as you’re concerned, this is my operating room. In my OR, I’m the damn boss.” Her gaze sliced to Tim. “If you interfere or don’t do exactly what I tell you, Tim, you’re going to find yourself in a county in North Dakota in twenty seconds flat, working for a damn mortician performing autopsies. Got it?”

  The PA’s Adam’s apple bobbed, perspiration popped on his forehead and he licked his lips.

  Ronan mumbled something to his sister. He reached down and lifted her up. Sharp glances over his shoulder as he walked with Amelia out of the kitchen guaranteed he’d hold Becky responsible… for anything. For everything.

  But no more than she held herself.

  Slate hadn’t moved and neither had Tim. Becky turned to them. “Guys, I’m going to reopen him and check for bleeding and to debride the site. I brought high-tier antibiotics, but I can’t be sure there aren’t any contaminants or other foreign objects causing the problem. You’ll both assist.” Becky trusted Slate and Tim had experience.

  “What’s his blood type, Slate?” Becky dug into the larger of the three medical supply boxes. She only had A positive on-hand.

  “Uh, I think AB, same as me.” He wiped a hand down his face, worry and weariness deepening the lines beside his mouth shadowed with dark-as-sin stubble.

  Becky passed Tim and tugged his sleeve, slipping in directions and taking advantage of Slate’s distraction. “You’re going to get some blood from him, no more than a pint. I don’t need a ton, it’s just in case. I really don’t think we have a serious bleed here, I’m just checking to make sure nothing’s out of order.”

  He nodded, apparently cowed by her assertiveness. Good. Then he’d take orders fairly well.

  She washed her hands at the sink, eyeing the room for anything out of place. At the sight of her dad waiting and watching in the corner of the room, she paused, offered a small smile, and allowed her hands to air dry as she prepared a sterile field.

  Disinfecting the small surgical site and closing without incident would be the easy part. Understanding why her father occupied the far side of the kitchen when she’d left him in Spokane would be much more difficult.

  ~~~

  The suture tightened nicely, tugging the jagged flesh together. Using the same line, Becky wrapped an extra loop across each previous suture in a cross-stitch pattern. She double-knotted the ends and nodded toward her reluctant assistant. “Tim, don’t forget to grab a couple vials of blood for tests. I need to make sure Mac isn’t anemic or low on anything else.”

  Wiping the entire area with more betadine and covering the repaired wound with thick gauze and medical tape, Becky overcompensated for the non-sterile environment. She’d escaped infection before, but with the odds she faced, she couldn’t be too careful. She stripped her gloves and tossed the entire pile of surgical discard into the plastic bag hanging from the drawer.

  After ensuring Tim’s cooperation with her orders, she stepped into the laundry room and promptly threw up the water in her stomach. She hadn’t eaten much in days. At least the surgery had succeeded in wiping her mind of her mother’s funeral and the presence of her father so far from home. For a little while at least.

  Wiping her mouth, Becky waited for the adrenaline to subside enough her legs would stop shaking. Out the window the rest of the world continued to spin under a blizzard. Anticipation she’d have to stay the night mixed with anxiety over the possibility.

  A double rap on the door and Tim pushed it open. “Hey, Dr. O’Donald, I have the samples. I’ll deliver them to the office tomorrow.”

  She n
odded. “Thank you. If the office isn’t open, send them by courier to Missoula.” Becky waited for him to leave before turning from the window. He didn’t need to see her nerves raw and ragged after the last few weeks summed up into the hellish terror of the last thirty minutes.

  Unable to put off facing everyone forever, Becky breathed deep and pulled back at her sour breath. Crap. Rinsing with water, she dug into the pockets of her pants. Usually she carried gum or mints – something she could chew on while she worked. The situation had been more urgent than a standard procedure and she hadn’t had a chance to pop anything into her mouth.

  Two warm sticks of gum, molded and bent together, hid in her back pocket. She gratefully unwrapped one and enjoyed the refreshing cool filling her mouth, replacing the remnants of her nerves.

  Abandoning the safety of the room, Becky stopped by Mac and his mother. She placed a hand on Amelia’s arm and looked down at the still-sleeping child. “Everything went smoothly. His stitches had only torn on the muscle layer and superficially. Internally, his sutures are all intact. What we thought was infection was actually just irritation. So there’s that.” Becky paused, unsure what else to throw out there for the distraught woman.

  “Thank you so much. I’m sorry for what you walked in on. But Ronan wanted to take him to his place and I couldn’t allow that.” Amelia’s calm exterior cracked and a glimpse of vulnerability ruined the over-strong façade she’d adopted while holding a gun on her brother and PA Tim.

  “Are they still here?” Becky crossed her arms, leaning her hip against the granite counter. She’d give Mac a few more minutes before having him moved carefully to his bed. The last thing they needed was motion sickness without access to an intubation tube or other breathing-aid apparatus.

  Amelia shook her head. “Not Tim. He left almost immediately after he told me you were finished which is weird because he and Ronan showed up together.”

  Offhandedly, Becky answered while she focused on the pulse of the little boy. “It is weird. Where’d my dad go, did you see him?”

  Amelia wiped the soft place above her cheeks just under her eyes. She sniffed and nodded. “Yeah, he followed Slate and Ronan into the library. I’ll take you there.”

  Leading away from the front of the house, a long hallway meandered under a catwalk trimmed with hunting trophies – antlers, mounts of elk and deer, and a bear skull. Intricate wood designs led the way to a collection of doors. Amelia blushed at the loud yells coming from a door which must belong to the library.

  “Damn you, Ronan, I’m doing my best.” Slate’s velvety tones had boiled to a brisk yet controlled shout.

  Becky paused in the hall, unwilling to interrupt or eavesdrop, caught in a conundrum to which she beseeched Amelia with widened eyes. The woman shrugged with an eyebrow arched and lifted her hand to knock.

  “Your best isn’t good enough. It’s never enough. I want that money and I want it now. Or you can get your sorry ass off this land.” The clipped words betrayed Ronan’s amused tone.

  Pushing past Becky, Amelia thrust the door open, displaying the threatening scene like stage drama behind a sweeping curtain. Each man had claimed a position on the floor in the center of the square room. The desk against the side wall gave an asymmetrical sensation to the layout, crowding Slate’s side.

  Taking another step in, Becky had a clearer view of Slate’s face. The crease in his forehead and the lines around his mouth were more sinister than any hatred Becky had ever seen in the eyes of anyone else.

  Becky would have to look for her dad in a minute. More importantly was viewing the confrontation between the two men. Staying nearby would be the smartest thing at the moment, given that she’d be the one to stitch up any wounds. The wounds on their faces from their last altercation hadn’t even had time to discolor into old bruises.

  Men.

  Chapter 26

  Amelia jumped between Slate and Ronan standing mere feet from each other, arms held out at their sides, fists tight. High-pitched and desperate, she pointed at the ground, arm tight. “You’re not taking this land Ronan. That’s final.”

  Easing into a more relaxed stance with a touch of cocky by the angle of his head and the slant to his shoulders, Ronan jerked his chin toward Amelia. “You don’t have anything I want, little sister. You don’t get a say here.”

  Slate stepped forward, taking Amelia’s shoulder in his hand and pulling her softly back. His rasp filled the library, echoing off the dark wood of the shelves. Each word sank into the cream of the carpet. Anger rippled through him, clenching his muscles. “You’re not taking my ranch. Not while I have blood in my veins, dammit.”

  Another eyebrow arched and Ronan’s smile dripped insult. “Spilling your blood is something that can be arranged, Slate. Don’t. Tempt. Me.” He hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his pants. “You screwing my kin, MacAllister? That’s another slight against me to add to your debt.” And against his best efforts, red flushed Ronan’s face, giving away his rising emotions.

  Shoving back into Ronan’s space, Amelia grabbed his shirt front. “You think I don’t have anything for you? What about that little boy in there? You ever want to see him again, you’ll back off Slate and his business.” She swallowed, the ache in her offer evident in the shake of her words.

  “No. Amelia. You don’t have to do this.” Slate dropped the tension in his muscles and stepped to his should-be-sister-in-law’s side. He placed a hand on her upper arm, his insides roiling. “I’ll find the money. It’s not a big deal. We’ll figure it out.”

  But Ronan’s face paled. He moved forward, dropping his hands. “What do you mean? You’d give Mac to me?” He shifted his gaze between Amelia and Slate. “I’ll take him. You can be free and clear of all debts owed me and the bank… if I can have him.”

  “No!” Amelia shook her head, biting her lip. Tears welled in her eyes. “Ronan, you can’t have him. I meant to offer visits, chances to see him. But you will not get custody rights. I can’t be apart from him like that.”

  “He shouldn’t be away from his mother, Ronan, and you know it.” Slate clenched his jaw, an ache spreading down his neck from the tightness.

  A shocked silence blanketed those present. Bartering over a child – like a price tag could be easily attached to the small boy.

  Shallow gasps moved Amelia’s chest. Slate would have given anything in that moment for Robbie to be there. He’d never stand for the crap that Ronan attempted time and again. There was only so much Slate could do to protect Amelia. What she needed was her man, the father of her child. Until he came back – not if, but when – Slate had to do his best to help his brother’s family. He wrapped his arm around Amelia. “Breathe, sis. You’re okay. No one is going to take Mac. He’s going to be good. Just breathe.”

  Ronan stared, the horror of what he’d suggested holding his features prisoner. “Of course. I didn’t mean…” He shoved the confusion away. “Visits? Are you sure, Amelia? Maybe at Lacey Caverns? He needs to see his inheritance. Get to know the land.”

  Slate held his breath. Simple visits could get him a break? He’d been trying so long to get some kind of reunion between the siblings to occur, but he’d been shut down every time.

  Amelia glanced at Slate. “No, I think we need to keep them in a neutral place. But…” Her head bobbed slowly. She studied Slate, the ground, everywhere but at her brother for the longest time until everyone in that room waited breathlessly. Unable to look Ronan in the eye, she finally focused on Slate, careful with her words. “I would agree to visits, in exchange for a break for Lonely River.”

  “How long?” Ronan squinted at his sister, wariness in his stiff shoulders and lifted chin.

  Amelia fell back a step. “How long? I don’t understand.”

  He rolled his eyes. “How long are the visits? How often?” Ronan crossed his arms and refused to acknowledge Slate or Becky. He only focused on Amelia as if releasing her from his expectations would relinquish her from the conversation
and the possibility of seeing his nephew.

  She shrugged. “Can’t we figure that out later?”

  Emphatically, Ronan shook his head. He adjusted his foot forward, thrusting his finger toward the ground. “No. We figure it out now, or it’ll be like it never happened.”

  “Okay. Let’s write it down, then. We can use Slate and Dr. O’Donald for witnesses. It won’t be notarized or anything, but it will be binding enough for us.” Amelia thrust her hip to the side, hand planted firmly on the curve.

  A small part of Slate filled with pride. Normally a seemingly quiet lamb, Amelia had spunk that she’d show, but only in extremely dire circumstances. Oh, the things Robbie missed.

  Ronan tilted a slight nod in his sister’s direction. “Alright, Amelia. I can see you’ve learned a few things since you were home.” He didn’t move as he watched her go to the desk and retrieve pen and paper. She scribbled and crossed to him, holding out the missive like she offered a snake to her enemy. He took it, scanning her writing before lifting his eyebrow. “Once a week? Two hours? That’s extremely generous. Why?”

  “You’ll be generous in return, Ronan. Don’t think for a minute that you won’t be chaperoned. I’ll be there. You won’t be left alone with him. Do you understand? And as long as we’re meeting and you’re visiting with your nephew, you’ll give Slate leniency. Just like it’s spelled out there.” Amelia poked the paper brandished in Ronan’s grip.

  “Yeah, I can read, Amelia. Even your handwriting.” He studied it again, slower and with intent. “We agree it’s loose and fairly simple, right? I don’t need to have this fine-toothed with my lawyer, do I?” He cast a sideways glance at Slate, but didn’t address him.

  “Pffft.” Amelia’s skepticism colored the room. “I should be the one worried about getting a lawyer, I’m sure.” She raised her hand. “And you won’t be allowed to get a sample of anything from him, Ronan, not for any of your tests. Do you understand?”