Page 92 of Welker

“Stay put,” Hayden told her, laying a comforting hand on Moira’s shoulder. “I’m calling for an ambulance.”

“No.” Moira grabbed Hayden’s arm. “Blood’s not…mine. Wait for…team,” she managed. “I… Proof. Sheriff’s dirty. Can’t let him hear you call…” she trailed off.

There was no way, Moira growled to herself, that after making sure she had Gladstone gift-wrapped and tied, she was going to miss finishing him off with the biggest-assed bow she could conjure. If he heard the code three for an officer down at this location, he’d know exactly what that meant, and he’d be here, ASAP. And if he got his grubby mitts on her—not to mention getting a load of Mick and Pidge’s compromised positions—he’d no doubt manage to spin things exactly the way he wanted. The next thing anybody knew—with his word as law—Hayden and Boone would be in jail, and Moira would be on her way to the morgue.

“You mean to say you got the recording you needed?” Hayden asked with a satisfied glint in her eyes.

“Did,” Moira nodded. “And…I’m okay,” Moira went on to assure her. “Mick…?”

Hayden gave a huge grin. “Not to worry. Boone’s got him under control.” She winked in the direction of her husband. “I do love me a fine cowboy.” Hayden gazed down at Moira, concern filling her face again. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay to wait until your team gets here?”

Moira was breathing easier with every minute that passed.

“Yeah. This is nothing like last time.” Her words came out stronger as she dragged in a slightly deeper lungful. “If you could just help me get this vest off…”

Moira wanted the recording in Hayden’s hands, just in case—by the remotest chance—someone had heard the gun-shot and reported it, which in turn would trigger the arrival of the sheriff. The last thing Moira wanted was him finding and destroying the hard-earned evidence.

“Nope.” Hayden shook her head, remorsefully. “I heard all about your previous injury from Alvero, and how keeping pressure on the affected area probably saved your life. So, just in case things have gone a little wonky with your chest wall, I’m erring on the side of caution and we’re leaving your vest on. Consider it a big band-aid,” she quipped, trying to lighten up her refusal.

“Don’t let Gladstone get the tape.” Moira patted her chest.

“I’ll shoot him if I have to,” Hayden responded perkily. “Now, will you promise me you’ll stay put?”

“Don’t shoot the sheriff,” Moira snorted. “Maybe just the deputy.”

Okay. So maybe her brain wasn’t one-hundred percent on-line if she was badly quoting song lyrics.

Hayden laughed, momentarily forgetting the vow she’d attempted to extract from Moira. “Okay. You’re making jokes, which must mean you’ll be okay for a few minutes while I head over there and make sure the guy I shot doesn’t bleed out.” She pointed to where Pidge lay, several yards away.

“Go,” Moira said, internally cheering at the loss of a babysitter. In her head, she still worried about Margaret, and knew the woman would only come out for her. So…

Once Hayden became absorbed, Moira gingerly moved each limb of her body with…no adverse effects.

So far, so good.

She lifted her head.

Other than it pounding from the fist Mick had sent her way, that, too, wasn’t terribly painful.

Moira then dared roll her body gently to the right; her good side, and…nothing felt increasingly aggravated.

Bolstered by that, Moira propped her elbows underneath her and slowly lifted. Very slowly.

Yeah. Shit hurt, but it wasn’t any where near the level of agony she’d experienced before. Moira took that as a positive sign. Now if she could just…

“What are ya’ll doing?” Boone’s wry drawl interrupted Moira’s focus.

Dammit. Caught. She sighed. There was no need for subterfuge, now.

“I’m getting up so I can tell Margaret it’s safe to come out.”

Employing one finger under the brim of his cowboy hat, Boone tipped it back. “Darlin’, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” he told her. He raised his voice to Hayden where she was working on Pidge. “Sweetness? Didja hear that? What do you think?”

Hayden snorted, clearly having listened to the exchange. “I think she’s too much like me to take no for an answer.”

Hayden stood then, her shirt missing its hem. Clearly, she’d used the material as a torniquet to slow Pidge’s bleeding.

Where had she hit the man, anyway?

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