Turkey Ranch Road Rage (38 page)

“Of course, I’m okay, and why wouldn’t I be okay, and don’t you be telling me what to do,” she said in a flash of belligerence. It left as quickly as it has come and she was muttering and rocking her head from side to side. “I hurt.”

“I know, but you’re going to be just fine.”

I continued to look her over closely to make sure I hadn’t missed something that needed immediate attention. She didn’t have major outward bleeding anywhere that I could see, but there had to be plenty of damage that I couldn’t. “You’ve got a few bumps and scrapes to be dealt with, but you’re okay.” I repeated it to reassure myself as much as her. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Oh, it is not okay, not one little bit. But I did what I wanted to and I’m glad I did it,” Lucille said, her face scrunched up in a mixture of pain and defiance. “You may not be, but I am.”

“What?” Was she talking to me or just talking out of her head still? I certainly wasn’t glad she’d just blown herself up and I didn’t figure she was either. She was clearly on a different subject in another time and place. “It’s okay,” I repeated because I didn’t know what else to say. “Everything is okay, Mother.”

“That’s right. I am your mother, Jolene, whether you like it or not,” she said. “That’s the way of it and don’t you ever forget it.”

“Never forget it,” I agreed.

“I ought not have to go through this,” she muttered.

“You’re going to be okay, Mother.”

She grimaced and sucked in a breath. “This just makes me so mad I could spit. I was supposed to be dead and gone,” she said, obviously still talking out of her head.

“You’re okay, Mother, help’s on the way.”

“There’s no help for it now,” she said. “It’s all in the papers.”

Two pickup trucks with flashing lights whipped into the drive. Volunteer fire fighters jumped from the trucks. One began tossing out flares along the road, the other ran toward us.

In the distance I heard the distinctive sound of a helicopter.

Time had both stood still and evaporated. On the one hand, it seemed like I had been watching my mother writhe in pain and talk out of her head for hours. On the other, it seemed like only a few minutes. Whatever the case, I was very glad that professional help was only seconds away.

When the first firefighter arrived, I gave him the condensed version of what had happened. I also explained why I had one hand on her good arm and the other on her undamaged leg. He nodded, gave her a quick look then put his hands next to mine and told me I could relax. I couldn’t, of course, but I did move and let him take over. As the second guy arrived, I scooted back out of the way. They kept talking to her and to me, emphasizing that she had to stay as immobile as possible until the medical crew arrived. She wouldn’t respond to their statements or questions, just kept saying how bad it hurt and kept closing her eyes.

The rotary cadence of the helicopter thumped louder as it landed on the road at the top of the driveway between the flares. Three people came hurrying toward us with an aluminum stretcher type thing with three straps on one half and a tubular scoop like thing making up the other half. Apparently that was the apparatus they would be strapping Lucille to so she wouldn’t move.

I stood and got out of the way, watching the surreal scene play out in front of me. There was a flurry of activity around her and I couldn’t really see what they were doing, didn’t really want to. I never heard her scream, but the noise of the helicopter could have drowned it out. Or, she might have just been unconscious, which was what I hoped for. Within minutes Lucille was safely onboard the helicopter and in flight to Redwater Falls.

I wanted to go with her, of course, but they wouldn’t let me. They’d also rejected my suggestion that they fly her on to Dallas where the odds at competent medical care were considerably higher. As I watched the helicopter disappear, I kept reminding myself that Jerry and I had both survived trauma care at the General Hospital so there was a glimmer of hope that she would too. My shoulder twitched its own reminder. To be fair, my arm had healed miraculously well, and my doctor in Denver said he couldn’t have done a better job himself. He could have just been lying to me, but I chose to cling to that statement.

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

I was almost back to the Expedition when Jerry hurried up beside me. “Jolene, I can’t go with you to the hospital right now. Bob Little’s in the crappie house. I have to stay here for a while.”

I processed his words a bit slower than usual, but eventually came up with the obvious conclusion. “He’s dead.”

Jerry shook his head to stop me from asking questions. “Later. You have enough to deal with. Fritz is already headed to the hospital and Leroy’s coming to take you. He should be here any minute. You need to go with him, understand?”

“No, Jerry, you have to take me,” I said, hearing the pitiful tone of my voice even as I said it. This time, I couldn’t stop my mind from dropping into all the old programming. Jerry was going to abandon me when I needed him the most. Tears welled up in my eyes and a sob lodged in my throat. He couldn’t leave me, not now, not like this.

“Jolene, you need to get out of here, okay? I’ll be there as soon as the forensics people get here to process the scene.” He took me in his arms and kissed my forehead. “I love you, Jolene,” he whispered. “I’ll be there for you. I will.”

Why would he? Not one man in my life ever had. Danny certainly hadn’t. Something—anything—was always more important than me. Even when the kids were born. He was there during both events, but he made sure he never missed a full day of work because of it. And I always made excuses for him. Of course, Mr. Nameless who came after him was even worse. I don’t think I could have felt less valued, and the excuses I made up for him and how he treated me were beyond ridiculous.

“Go on and sit in the car,” Jerry said, giving me another quick kiss. “It won’t be but a few minutes.”

I unwrapped my arms from around Jerry’s waist as three more pickups pulled up along the road. Two had the red flashing lights of volunteer fire fighters on the top. The third truck only had a row of yellow lights across the top of the cab. That particular truck also had A-frame poles on the back and a very large man climbing out of the driver’s side. I wiped my hands over my face and composed myself then nodded toward Gilbert Moore. “What’s he doing here?”

“I have no idea,” Jerry said.

“Well, I want to talk to him.”

Gilbert Moore must have read my mind because he was already walking down the hill toward us.

Something about the guy just rubbed me the wrong way. I had nothing specific to call him on, but it seemed like he was guilty of something—or would be if he got the chance. Whatever the case, I had plenty of questions for him, starting with why he always showed up whenever some kind of drama was in play. Like tonight. I stepped away from car and marched up the hill toward him, figuring now was as good a time as any to get to the bottom of all of it.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Gilbert Moore jerked forward. “What the hell?” he yelled, grabbing his left shoulder. He hesitated for only half a second then crouched and ran toward us. Jerry grabbed me, dragged me to the far side of the Expedition then pushed me to the ground. As Gilbert Moore stumbled toward the back of the car, Jerry grabbed him too and shoved him toward me then pulled out his gun as he scanned the area.

Gilbert slumped down beside me. “I’ve been shot,” he said, leaning back against the tire and panting. “Who the hell would do that? What the fuck’s going on here?”

“I have no idea,” I said, my breath still coming in quivery gasps. I scooted around to where I could reach his shoulder better. His tan tee shirt was already soaked with blood. A lot of blood. “We need to get some pressure on that,” I said, trying to sound as calm as possible.

Jerry opened the car door, grabbed a first aid kit and tossed it to me. “Use the gauze packs.” He then grabbed the radio and began issuing more orders.

I didn’t need a close look at Gilbert’s shoulder to see that major damage had been done. There had been three shots, so it was possible there were three wounds in the same area, which could be why there was so much blood. Whatever the case, I had to deal with it, like it or not. My hands were shaking, of course, but so was my whole body. Still, I managed to open the kit, put on the gloves then open the packages of gauze so they’d be ready to pack the wound once it was exposed. “Can you take off your shirt?”

Pain was etched on his face, but he still managed a fake little grin. “I will if you will.”

“Oh, for godsake.”

Pop. Ping.

Jerry ducked out from inside the car and crouched beside Gilbert Moore, giving him a quick assessment. “Get pressure on that. Right now. Ambulance is on the way.” And with that, Jerry raised up, moved toward the front of the car. He fired in the general direction of where the shot had come from, which was down toward the lake and to the left of where we were. Whoever it was had probably been in the trees between the properties when he shot. But now he was on the move and we were easy targets. Other than on the property line, there was only one small cluster of trees on Lucille’s property. Jerry eased out from behind the car and ran toward it, firing.

I waited for more gunshots, fearing the absolute worst was coming for all of us. I felt myself starting to panic for about ten thousand reasons.

“Calm down, he knows what he’s doing.” Gilbert paused for a moment, panting a little and swallowing down a wave a pain. “Besides, if you hurry,” he said, trying to grin, “we can get naked and fool around before he gets back.”

What’d he say? I shook my head as his asinine suggestion captured my attention, which I figured was the point. It was far better for me to be annoyed than panicked and hysterical. “You really are an ass,” I said, reaching for his shirt and tugging it out from his pants as fast as I could. “Just sit there and shut up.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he muttered, trying to be funny but looking very near to passing out. “A woman who knows what she wants.”

Nothing that was occurring was what I wanted. “Alright, Smartass,” I said, keeping the banter going as much for myself as for him. “I’m going to pull your shirt off over your right side and head first,” I said, doing exactly that as quickly as I could.

He sucked in his breath and clenched his jaw.

“Now, lean up just a little.”

He did, moving just enough to where I could get the shirt the rest of the way off, pulling it quickly off his left shoulder. He cursed through gritted teeth and beads of sweat broke out across his face as I pulled it the rest of the way off his arm.

I hurriedly put one large stack of gauze against the wound on the front side of his shoulder and had him hold it with his right hand. He wasn’t doing a great job, but it was good enough. He was slumped so I could access the back side, which was probably worse than the front although I was really trying hard not to really think about it. I put two stacks of gauze there then folded his tee shirt behind that and had him lean back against the car to put pressure that way. It wasn’t fully effective so I put one hand over the top of the wound on his back and took over holding pressure on the front as well. As I did, his hand dropped to his lap with a thud.

“That’ll ruin your day,” he muttered.

“You’re going to be okay,” I said, hoping it was true. Then, realizing that if I went soft and coddling on him he’d probably crack, I added, “But I’m guessing it’s gonna leave a scar.”

“I’ve had worse,” he muttered, closing his eyes, “on my heart.”

“Oh, please,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I wouldn’t have figured you for having one of those things.”

He didn’t even try to respond to my comment, which was not a good sign. He’d lost a lot of blood and I could only hope that I had stopped the majority of the flow. I knew I had to keep him conscious if I could, so conversation was essential. Only a few minutes ago, I’d had a whole list of things I wanted to chat with him about. Now, I couldn’t remember any of them.

I caught a glimpse of movement up on the road. From where I was sitting, I could only see two pickups off to the left at the top of the driveway. Red lights still flashed on both and I could see someone moving behind and between them. I figured the volunteer firefighter guys had wisely retreated from the line of fire and had no idea that anyone else down here needed help.

The faint sound of a siren in the distance told me some kind of emergency vehicle was on the way. I sincerely hoped it was an ambulance since Gilbert Moore needed to be heading to a hospital very soon. He was trying really hard to be tough, but he was wearing down fast and I knew he could easily slip into shock. He wasn’t my only worry, of course, since I’d just watched a helicopter speed away with my badly injured mother, and the man I loved was out there in the dark somewhere with a killer. I also conveniently glossed over the fact my hiding spot was in no way a safe zone and kept my mind on the task at hand, which was keeping the big man next to me conscious.

“My mother says you’re a liar,” I blurted out, the words coming without thought.

That got his attention and he cracked his eyes open a little. “So do my ex-wives and former girlfriends.”

“Then I’d say there’s probably some truth to it, Mister Moore, your character being the common denominator in the equation.”