Page 3 of Protecting What Is Mine

2

Hank

I cut the wheel hard, swinging the truck into the lot closest to the emergency room. Too much adrenaline coupled with too little information have questions bouncing in my head and my stomach twisting in knots.

What happened to Chet?

Is he going to be alright?

What happens to the ranch if we lose him?

What happens to our family if we lose him?

It’s all too much to process. I need answers. Soon.

As if I don’t have enough on my plate, filling in the cracks between worry and nausea, is a growing sense of guilt. Guilt for failing—again—to prove that I’m a man of my word by taking that beautiful woman out. The girl is perfect. Or, as close to it as a guy like me could ever hope to find. But after so much time, and so many missed opportunities, I’m not sure she’ll ever speak to me again. Maybe in a more rational state I’d relax and trust that she understands. But not now. As upset as I am, I doubt I could spot the difference between common sense and crazy town.

The tires squeal when I fishtail around a curb, and again when I slam the truck to a stop in the first empty spot I come across. I kill the engine, hustle across the lot, and push through the doors under the emergency sign. I slow to a fast-paced walk to try and catch my breath before reaching the front desk. Still collecting myself, I word-vomit the grand total of my available vocabulary at the woman seated on the other side. “My brother—Chet Wilde—emergency.”

The young nurse nods in understanding and begins typing into her computer. “Looks like he’s been taken into surgery. If you follow those signs”—she points toward the hallway to my right—“they’ll lead you to the waiting area.”

As I follow the signs, I wonder how many times a day that poor girl behind the desk is confronted with similar situations. Grim or dire circumstances—most of them likely ending in heartache or loss for someone. Does she go home at the end of the day worrying for strangers she may never see again? How does she handle it? The thought is a welcome distraction from the truth that brought me here until I turn the corner and find Gabe at the far end of the waiting room, anxiously pacing back and forth between Mom and Chet’s wife, Christy.

I breathe a sigh of relief, perhaps the first full breath I’ve taken since answering Gabe’s call. I look at the members of my family, distracted by their own thoughts and worries. Without thinking, I extend my arms to the side and speak. “So?” The sound of my voice is louder and more frantic than I intend, especially for such a quiet space, which causes my family—as well as several strangers—to look up.

Worry and fear cover my mother’s face. Her eyes, bloodshot and puffy, lighten a fraction when she recognizes another of her clan. “Henry! Thank heavens you’re here.”

Gabe turns, acknowledging me with a nod. “Hey, bro. Thanks for dropping everything to get here.”

I nod and ask again, this time focusing on Gabe and with a more muted and deliberate tone. “So? What happened? Is Chet alright?”

Gabe shrugs as he walks toward me. “We don’t know yet. The ER doctor told us he’d lost a lot of blood, and the next thing we knew, he was being rushed into surgery.”

“But why? Surgery for what?”

Gabe wraps an arm around my shoulder but stares at his feet as he explains. “I don’t understand how, but…he’s been shot.”

I fall back half a step. “Get the hell out of here. Seriously?”

Gabe looks up, and there’s something about his face. Something I don’t recall seeing in him before. Fear.

He looks me in the eye. “Seriously. But…it doesn’t make sense. I mean, the last I heard from him, he was riding out for a final check on the cattle around dusk last night. I’m sure he had a rifle on the saddle with him, you know…in case he ran across coyotes, or whatever.”

I rub at my temples while I process the words. “There is no fucking way…no way on this planet Chet shot himself. Come on man.”

“I can’t figure it out either. I keep trying to work out some way that it could have happened. Did his horse spook? But even if it had, his rifle would’ve been secured…unless. Unless he had it in his hand. But why would he?”

“Even still, unless he had the barrel aimed at himself…”

Gabe nods. “It just…none of it makes sense.”

My eyes wander the room as my brain searches for the answer. Something obvious, something we’re overlooking, something that even resembles logical reasoning. I glance at Christy, with her feet curled tightly under her seat and her face buried in her hands, and an image of my nephew, Logan, flashes to mind. I bob my head in her direction as I whisper to Gabe, “How’s she doing?”

“About like you’d expect—not good. Meredith stayed back at the ranch with Logan and Gabby. But Christy hasn’t made a peep since they took Chet to the O.R. I’m not sure she’s so much as opened her eyes since we sat down.”

“What about the others? Do they know? I mean, have you been able to reach everyone?” I ask, thinking of the three Wilde brothers not already at the hospital.

“Sort of. I spoke to Frank. He and his girlfriend, Sarah, are booking a flight tonight. Probably be in tomorrow morning. I sent Jack a message to contact me ASAP, but he’s been out of reach the last couple of weeks. I’m sure whatever he and his unit are into over there, he’s got his hands full. Besides, what can he do from half a world away, you know?”

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