Page 7 of Montana Manhunt

Her heart turned over. She squeezed his forearm. “Noah, you’ll be more comfortable in the cabin.”

“Are you throwing me out?”

Violet’s cheeks burned. “You know I’m not.”

“Then I’m staying.”

Stubborn man. She went to the small closet, pulled out a blanket and pillow, and thrust them at him. “Here. At least be comfortable.”

He smiled. “I knew you cared,” Noah teased. He dropped a quick kiss to her mouth, dropped his blanket and pillow, and stretched out on the floor. Within seconds, he was asleep.

After checking the IV, Violet grabbed a book she’d stashed in her Go bag, sat at the small round table in the bedroom, and read.

Three hours later, Taylor moaned in her sleep.

Violet set down her book and crossed to her patient’s bedside. Taylor was restless and had broken into a sweat.

She checked Taylor’s vitals again and scowled. A fever. Not surprising, but unwelcome news.

Noah sat up. “What do you need?”

“Stay with her.” Violet hurried from the room to the drug cabinet at the front of the jet and grabbed a stronger antibiotic prescribed by Sorenson if needed. She also grabbed two chemically activated cold packs. No need to deplete the stash in her mike bag.

She returned to the bedroom, handed the cold packs to Noah, and quickly switched out the now-empty bag of antibiotic with the stronger one.

Noah shook the cold packs and placed one behind Taylor’s neck and draped one over her forehead.

“Thanks.” Violet turned toward Noah.

“Is she okay?”

“She has an infection. I’m giving her a stronger antibiotic, and I need to report the change to Sorenson.”

After a quick conversation with the trauma doctor, she settled in to watch and wait. Between them, she and Noah did their best to keep Taylor comfortable and the fever under control.

By the time they landed in Bayside, Texas, Violet was so exhausted she swayed on her feet as Sorenson’s med techs carried Taylor down the jet aisle on a stretcher.

Noah steadied her with an arm around her waist. “You good?” he murmured.

She nodded. “Thanks.”

Once the techs cleared the door, she turned back to get her gear and follow her patient to Sorenson’s clinic.

Noah took Violet’s Go bag and slid it over his own shoulder, then followed her from the jet.

When they stepped onto the tarmac, Violet and Noah came to an abrupt halt. A tall, broad-shouldered man with a buzz cut and icy blue eyes strode toward them, his expression grim.

“Brent,” Noah said, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

“Delivering a message from the Morrison Police.”

Violet gasped. “What is it? What’s happened?” As she spoke, she vaguely registered Noah’s hand pressing against her lower back in silent support.

Brent sighed. “There’s no easy way to say this, Violet, but your sister is dead.”

CHAPTER TWO

NOAH CAUGHT VIOLETwith an arm around her waist as her knees gave out.

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