Now that he was resting with some fluids in his system, Meg felt as if she could finally take a moment for herself. After a quick run to the miniature airplane restroom to freshen up, she made her way back to Evan and Sloan.
Alik, Farrow and Creed were already leaning against the cabin walls in the galley way where they’d laid her makeshift gurney on the floor and wedged pillows around her to cushion without interrupting the rigged version of “traction” they’d created.
Alik’s face was pale.
He and Farrow had been keeping vigil by Mom from the moment they carried her onto the plane. No one obeyed the seat belt rules and after a stern discussion, the pudgy older woman who acted as their flight attendant gave up trying to force compliance, especially after taking one look at Maze’s protective stance around the sick woman they’d brought on board.
“How is she?” Meg asked in a soft voice. The baby was sleeping only four rows up and she didn’t want to startle him, though the rumbling of the plane itself provided plenty of white-noise blocking other sounds efficiently.
Evan had been crouched over their mother, his stethoscope listening to her heart. A worried expression seemed permanently etched into his young face making him look so much more than thirteen-years-old.
“She’s a fighter.” He said cryptically while sitting back and rubbing his face with both hands—a sure sign he wasn’t telling them everything.
He turned his head and looked up at his older sister. His eyes were rimmed with red, probably from both exhaustion and unshed tears. He slowly shook his head sending her his true level of concern for their mother through their empath connection.
Tears welled up in Meg’s eyes instantly. Sensing her distress, Maze inched closer to Meg and leaned his ample, muscular body against her legs. With an efficient nuzzle of his head he had Meg rubbing his ears—soothing them both.
Watching the exchange between brother and sister made Sloan’s chest hurt. Trying to distract herself, she gathered a few supplies and walked the few steps toward Creed.
“We may as well clean you up, soldier.” She nodded to his bloodstained side.
When Creed didn’t move, Sloan found herself searching his face for a hint at what he was thinking. He had to slouch over a lot to fit in any sort of standing position on the plane. She wondered what it would be like to have to duck to fit places. As a petite girl, she’d never had that problem.
“Well? Please sit down and remove your shirt, Mr. Young.”
Creed sighed deeply and pulled his massive hands out of his front pockets. He shrugged out of the stained shirt and sat, complying with the little doctor’s orders.
Meg tried not to watch, but Creed’s chest was so chiseled, it was a thing of beauty. Even the gash where the bullet entered his skin just seemed to add to the sexiness Creed had no idea he wielded with mind numbing precision.
Wow, Meg. Get a grip. Now is no time to be ogling the poor guy. We have enough going on without you getting all sappy and smitten, she scolded herself.
Sloan was good. She had the bullet removed, checked for internal damage, the site cleaned, and sutured all inside ten minutes.
While she worked, everyone talked in hushed tones.
“I used the inflight emergency kit to supplement my medical bag.” Evan explained as he double checked the rate of flow in his mother’s IV. “Thank God I thought to throw in a couple bags of IV fluid and tubing. I have also given her a broad spectrum antibiotic that I’m hoping will help keep infection at bay.” Evan shook his head sadly. “If only I had an operating room at my disposal,” he said wistfully.
“You’re doing everything you can, Ev. You didn’t do this to Mom,” Alik reassured his little brother.
“Alik’s right, Evan. No matter what, we’re doing what Mom would have wanted us to do. We got everyone we could out of that horrible place. We helped Sloan exile and rescued the little boy—Danny Boy!” she blurted, snapping the fingers of her good hand. Her brothers looked up at her like she’d gone momentarily mad.
“That was the tune you were humming earlier,” Meg’s face brightened at the memory of Creed’s handsome voice.
Sloan was securing a bandage in place when Creed shrugged. “It’s one of the few songs I remember my brother whistling when we were kids.”
“It’s perfect,” Meg smiled.
“I’d like to call the little guy ‘Danny.’ No doubt he’s only ever been called by his meta number. He needs a name. Danny Winter.”
Evan and Alik smiled at their sister’s exuberance. “We’re adopting him.” Alik said matter-of-factly—the smile widening across his handsome, exhausted face.
“Of course, we are.”
“Um, don’t you want to talk to your mom before you make such an important decision,” Farrow asked logically.
“Are you kidding?” all three Winter kids said simultaneously.
Creed couldn’t help but chuckle at them.