Page 56 of Dairy and Deadly

Johnny couldn’t think of one blessed thing to say in return, so he leaped into the back of the ambulance without looking back.

The next couple of hours dragged on like weeks, months, and years. Ultimately, his assessment of Ashley’s condition proved to be right on the money. The ER doc ordered an IV to restore her fluids and nutrients. He also ordered a few images of her bullet wound. A sliver of shrapnel was discovered beneath an oozing, puckered stretch of skin. It had become infected. An antibiotic was injected into her I.V. to fight her fever.

Johnny parked himself on a silver stool beside her bed in the ICU and waited. And prayed. And waited and prayed some more.

It was much later in the evening before a very groggy version of Ashley cracked her eyelids open again.

Johnny felt like weeping from relief. There were no words. All he could do was reach for her hand and gently entwine their fingers.

“Hey, boss man.” Her words came out slurred from the anesthesia they’d administered for the procedure.

For once, he took no offense at the title. It was too good to see her eyes open again and hear her voice.

“Hey.” He rubbed her fingers, watching her face blur. It took him a moment to realize it was because he was close to breaking down. The last time he’d been at the bedside of a woman in the hospital, it hadn’t ended well. He’d buried his wife and unborn son a few days later.

“What happened?” Her voice grew stronger.

He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. “You collapsed. There was a piece of shrapnel in your arm. It caused an infection.”

Her eyes widened with comprehension. “No wonder I’ve been feeling so gross.”

“How are you feeling now?” He leaned closer, trying to convince himself that she was going to be okay.

“Sleepy,” she admitted with a hoarse chuckle. Her throat was probably sore from being intubated during surgery.

“Thirsty?” He angled his head toward the silver cart one of the ICU nurses had wheeled into the room. A silver pitcher dripping with condensation rested in the center of it beside an upturned empty glass.

“No. Just tired.” She smiled at him. “Are you okay? You look…” She caught her breath as he reached up to brush a tendril of hair away from her eyes.

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” he assured huskily.

A man cleared his throat from behind him.

Johnny glanced irritably over his shoulder and discovered the sheriff parting the curtains.

“May I?” He paused and waited.

“Come in, sheriff,” Ashley invited cheerfully.

Sheriff Luke Hawling was a tough-looking lawman with a heavily scarred face from a house fire. His dark gaze glinted with curiosity as he moved to Ashley’s bedside. “What a day, Miss Perkins! How are you holding up?”

“I’ll survive.” She offered him a weak smile. “Boy, do we have a lot to talk about!”

“I’ll say.” Caro’s voice carried quietly across the ICU bay.

Johnny’s shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her yet, but it looked like he was going to have to, anyway. To his surprise, Clint stepped into the bay behind her.

“Pretty sure we’ve exceeded the limit on visitors,” Johnny grumbled.

Luke held up a hand. “I spoke to the front desk, and they agreed to make an exception. That is, assuming you feel up to answering a few questions, Miss Perkins.” He pulled out an electronic notepad and tapped on it.

“I feel like I was run over by a train,” she admitted with another hoarse chuckle, “but this is too important to put off. People are dying, sheriff. If my testimony will save even one life…” She paused and coughed.

Luke nodded gravely. “Okay, folks. Here’s where we stand. The FBI appointed Special Agent Madison to investigate your alleged involvement in a Black Widow scheme.” He pointed at Ashley’s limp figure.

Her eyes widened in astonishment. “Me?”

“‘Fraid so.” His finger moved to Caro. “An investigation that eventually led her to Heart Lake, due to Martin Hobbs’ involvement. Shortly afterward, you followed her here.”

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