Page 5 of Protected By the Mountain Man

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.

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