She was very pale and her heartbeat seemed faint and thready when he took her hand in his. Her hand was cold. A chill went through him. He’d been with wounded men in this condition, in combat overseas; men who had these symptoms and hadn’t survived. No wonder Dr. Coltrain was worried.
“I’m here, Meredith,” Ren said softly, leaning down close to her ear. “Come on, honey. You can beat this. You’re tough. I promised to show you branding in the spring on Skyhorn, remember? You have to stick around for that.”
She didn’t move, but her eyelids flickered, just a bit.
He brushed his cheek against her cold one. “I’ve got so much to make up to you, Meredith,” he whispered deeply. “I don’t even know where to start. I’m sorry, for what I did, for what I said. I want a chance to replace those bad memories with better ones. So you have to live. You have to, Meredith.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll help you fight. I won’t leave you. Not ever again.”
He heard her breathing strengthen. He brushed his lips tenderly across hers, feeling the life surge in her, feeling hope reborn.
“I’ll be waiting, when you wake up. I’ll be right here, honey.”
Her eyelids fluttered again. And suddenly, they opened, ever so slowly. She looked at him.
“Meredith,” he whispered huskily. His voice broke. He felt the sting of moisture in his eyes as those beautiful, pale blue eyes that seemed almost gray in the light looked back into his black ones. “My own,” he whispered, his voice rough with feeling, as he bent once more and touched his mouth against hers. “Come back to me.”
She blinked. There was a lot of pain. It was hard to breathe. “Ren?” she asked in a thready voice.
He lifted his head. It was hard to see her, through the hot mist in his eyes. “Yes. I’m here.”
“Don’t...leave,” she managed.
His fingers contracted around hers. “Never!” he breathed. “I’ll never go away again!”
She tried to smile, but the anesthetic still had a hold on her. “Okay,” she whispered, and her eyes closed again.
Dr. Coltrain walked back into the room.
“She opened her eyes,” Ren told the redheaded doctor. “She looked at me and spoke.”
Coltrain let out a breath. “Thank God,” he whispered.
Ren was conflicted. He looked down at the sleeping woman with turmoil in his heart, in his eyes. “I haven’t talked to God in years,” he said roughly. “I thought he was a myth.” He shook his head. “I’ve prayed more in the past hour than I have in my whole damned life.”
Coltrain put a hand on his shoulder. “There are no atheists in foxholes,” he mused. “Or in surgery.”
Ren managed a smile. “I want to sit with her.”
“She’ll be here in ICU overnight, at least. But if she keeps improving, we’ll move her out into a regular room tomorrow.”
Ren nodded.
“Go tell the others,” Dr. Coltrain prodded. “There’ll be confetti and noisemakers, but remind them that this is a hospital,” he added, chuckling softly.
“Thanks, Doc,” Ren said with heartfelt gratitude.
Coltrain smiled at him. “Get out of here. I’m busy.”
Ren chuckled. He let go of Meredith’s hand. While Coltrain was bending over her with the stethoscope in his ears, Ren went out to tell the others.
*
“THANK YOU,” SARI said to Ren when they’d absorbed the news. She searched his black eyes quietly. “I’m sorry I was so unwelcoming, at first.”
“I don’t blame you for feeling angry,” Ren replied. “I’ve kicked myself mentally all the way here from Wyoming.”
“If she’d stayed, she might be dead now,” Sari told him. “Mikey said the man probably had studied every possible site to set up with a sniper rifle on your ranch.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it, but if he did, he’s in for a few surprises. You remember J. C. Calhoun?” Ren asked Barton.
Barton whistled softly. “Do I remember Calhoun,” he agreed. “He works for you?”
“For six years,” Ren replied. “We’ve had a couple of attempts on my purebred bulls. But word gets around. He turned two rustlers over to the sheriff’s department, and they were spilling their guts about the operation before they were even questioned.” He chuckled.
“Yeah, he has that effect on a lot of people.” Barton nodded.
“I don’t remember Calhoun,” Mikey commented. “I guess he was after my time.”
“He came in about the time they transferred you from Afghanistan to Iraq,” Ren replied.
“Wasn’t a willing transfer,” Mikey said. “Even my general couldn’t pull enough strings to keep me on the base. I hated Iraq,” he added. “They put my squad in charge of ferrying political heavyweights around the city. We didn’t lose any politicians, but we lost two of our best guys in an IED attack.”
“Nasty business,” Ren said. “I was in charge of a sniper unit in Iraq.”
“Which is where we met him,” Barton said.
“Shots rang out and I called on a live frequency to ask who was the SOB who almost shot my head off when I was headed to base.” Ren smiled sheepishly. “Turned out the SOB—” he indicated Barton “—took out a sniper I didn’t even see who had me targeted from behind. I apologized profusely.”
“You did not,” Barton argued.
Ren shrugged. “I said that I might have said a few things I shouldn’t,” he hedged.
“Coming from him, it’s an apology.” Mikey chuckled.