Page 57 of Shelter for Martina

“You know, babe, I think you just might be right.”

She reached out and Bud took her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

That feeling of disgust with himself reared its ugly head. “For letting you get shot?”

“Albert, that wasn’t your fault.”

“I told you I’d take care of you, that you’d be safe with me, and you weren’t.”

She shook her head. “Your only fault was underestimating the horribleness of that man and his cronies. He’s a terrible person.”

“Wasa terrible person.”

“What’s going to happen to SheriffYoung?”

“SheriffYoung’s going to jail. So is ArlenCole. Shame too. Nice family. He could’ve had a bright future. Hope that Harley was worth it.”

“Yeah. No joke. So I’m just wondering, where do we stand?”

Bud glared at her like she had three heads. “What the hell do you mean?”

“I mean, where do we stand? I can’t work anymore. I’m blind in one eye.”

“The doctor said that might come back. Besides, you’re not totally blind in that eye. Just can’t see worth a shit.”

“You and I both know it’s not going to come back enough for me to hold a job.”

Bud shrugged. “So?”

“You don’t really want a disabled partner, do you? One who can’t pull their weight?”

He sighed—loudly. “Seriously? I don’t think it’s going to impair your ability to cook, or clean, or feed the dog or horses. Do you?”

“I’m not sure I’ll even be able to drive.”

“The doctor has assured me you will be able to drive, even if they have to put a patch over that eye so you can’t use it at all while you’re in the car. You’ll still be able to get around, baby. Your life isn’t over. And your boss at the freight terminal told me he can give you a job that you can do. So if youwantto work, you’ll be able to.”

“Hmmm.” She sat there, mulling things over, and Bud smiled. Her doctor had warned him that her personality would be different, and it was, but only a little. She seemed to have trouble processing things, but that was about it. Once she finally got something straight in her mind, she was fine. “Am I ugly?”

“What in the ever-lovin’ hell kind of question is that? Ofcourseyou’re not ugly! God, Martina, he shot you in the head. He didn’t rip your face off and run it through a food processor. Which, by the way, wouldn’t make me love you any less.”

“Oh, hahaha,” she said dryly.

“So, no. You’re not ugly. You’re as beautiful as ever.”

“When can I see the girls?”

“When you get home. So, very soon.”

And what a homecoming it would be.

* * *

She’d beenhome for two days, and things were barely getting back to normal. Bud kept trying to shoo her back to bed, and she kept getting up and doing laundry or cooking something. He couldn’t keep her down. He’d caught her outside twice trying to feed the horses. When he’d complained to her doctor, he’d told Bud to let her do what she felt like doing. And she’d stuck her tongue out at him. Apparently she felt like doingthat.

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