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still there.
    Without a word to her, he followed the gurney out the door, climbed into the back of the ambulance, and sped away.
    What now? Dakota prayed for wisdom while she locked the house and followed after the ambulance in Chance’s dust-covered pick-up. She arrived right behind the ambulance, parked in emergency parking, and scurried to the Emergency Room doors.
    The back of the ambulance burst open, with people shouting directions and rushing the gurney toward the Emergency Room. The only words she heard were “Code Blue.” Chance's face held sheer terror.
    He chased after the gurney, but whirled about right in front of the swinging stainless steel doors and pointed directly at her, his voice rising above the hubbub. “This is all your fault.” With the words ringing in her ears, he stiff-armed the doors and disappeared behind them.
    The waiting area grew immediately quiet, with all eyes trained on her, and the faces of the nurses and doctors behind the desk held cold contempt.
    Dakota lowered her head and moved to a dark corner of the waiting area where she could hide away, pray, and lick her wounds. Heavenly Father, please be with J.C. I know he's ready to go home, but please give Chance more time with him, according to Your will. Prayer always brought such comfort. God was always in control.
    She ran her fingers through her curls to brush out at least some of the tangles, her brain rehashing the tension of the past half hour. Chance’s tone and attitude had sliced through her more times today than she cared to remember. Yes, it was because he was scared and worried—kind of a ‘kick the dog’ mentality—but that didn’t make his actions and words any less painful.
    She closed her eyes and laid her head back against the wall, willing herself to breathe deep. It was a coping mechanism she’d learned years ago and practiced innumerable times since, and it would help her push the hurt into the darkness so she didn’t have to deal with it.
    A half hour later, Chance exited the double doors with a smile on his face. He didn’t look her direction, didn’t even check to see if she was anywhere around. Instead he sauntered behind the nurse’s station, where pretty young nurses lined up to hug him. Then he once more disappeared behind the doors.
    Had he forgotten she was even here? Apparently J.C. was okay, or Chance's disposition would've been very different. But what should she do now? Dakota gathered her courage, rose to her feet, and approached the desk.
    A young woman looked up at her with cold eyes. “Can I help you?”
    “Yes. I’m a friend of J.C. Watson, who was brought in a few minutes ago. Can you tell me his condition?”
    "Are you a family member?"
    "No, just a friend."
    The other woman shook her head. "Then I'm not allowed to give you any information because of medical privacy laws." Her gaze didn't waver.
    “Okay, thanks.” She pulled Chance's keys from her coat pocket and slid them across the laminate countertop. “Would you please give these to Chance Johnson?”
    The woman nodded. “Sure.”
    "Thanks." Dakota hurried outside. No use sticking around. Chance obviously had no need for her. As she traversed the black asphalt of the hospital parking lot, she shivered and pulled her jacket close. The day had started off fairly warm, but judging by the hovering dark clouds and increased winds, a cold front would soon be pushing through, most likely bringing thunderstorms along with it.
    She’d barely made it across the highway on her trek to J.C.’s house to get her truck, when rain and small pieces of hail pelted from the sky. She half-walked, half-ran through the ongoing icy rain. By the time she reached her rusty old rattletrap, she was soaked to the bone. Not even in Miller's Creek a whole day yet, and already she'd pulled a shot gun on Chance, gashed her leg open, caused an old man's heart attack, and managed to get drenched in the process. So much for the simple country life she'd