side of the bed. She looked up and said, “Mr. Stone. My name is Jewel Washington.”
Noah smiled and nodded to her as he went to the bedside. Bandages wrapped Hank Soldado’s torso and upper left arm. He seemed asleep, and his arms and legs twitched as if he were dreaming. “How is he?”
She shook her head. “They say he’s stable.”
He knew that face, those bright blue eyes. “You were there, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. When he got shot.”
The sound of the shot echoed in Noah’s mind, and a flare of dread punched him in the belly. He shivered and fought it back. He’d been fighting it back all morning, and his stomach was in a knot. He feared that fear was winning and that years of work would shrivel and die when he became afraid do it anymore. He’d never had to think about whether his cause was worth dying for, but he did now.
He didn’t want to die.
He’d learned his rescuer’s name, but nothing more about the man other than that he had taken a bullet intended for Noah. He hadn’t even seen what Soldado had done at the rally. Had the woman? “Excuse me, Miss Washington, did you see what happened?”
She shifted her gaze to him, and he was again struck by her blue eyes, unexpected in a dark-skinned face. Freckles across her nose formed a band of chocolate dots on warm brown, and a scar slashed down her cheek. She said, “Yeah. That nut was aiming his gun at you, and then this guy charged him.”
“Why, I wonder.”
She shrugged. “He did something like that for me yesterday morning, helped me out of a bad patch, and I’d never seen him before.” She turned her gaze to Soldado. “I can tell you that he’s very good with a gun.”
Soldado clenched his teeth and lifted his good arm until it was straight out from his body, and then he curled his index finger. His trigger finger. Shooting a gun? Tears leaked from his closed eyes. He moaned and twisted. Soldado whipped his head back and forth as if to deny something with everything he had.
Jewel reached for the call button, but Noah saw Hank’s eyelids flicker. He held up a hand and said, “I think he’s coming around.”
Noah put his hand on Soldado’s shoulder and squeezed just enough to let him know someone was there.
• • •
The lovely woman laughs and swings the beautiful child back and forth.
Words come from Hank, but he can’t make them out because they are muddled and slow, as if made of molasses.
The woman frowns at him. She pulls the child close and says molasses words that make no sense. The look on her face is angry. Wild.
Insane.
The beautiful child is in danger.
He reaches for his gun, sooo sloooow . . .
His hand rises in front of him — the pistol he aims at the woman is dead steady.
She laughs and raises the child high in the air.
He pulls the trigger.
“No!”
The cry ripped out of Hank. He lunged upright in the bed.
It had been his voice.
He was holding his breath, his jaws clenched.
Again.
Why?
Pain stabbed him in the side and his arm, and he lay back in the bed. The rails of a hospital bed enclosed him. The stringent odor of antiseptic dominated the air. A vase on a tray next to his bed held a bouquet of yellow carnations.
He was alive. Good. He wasn’t ready to be done yet.
Noah Stone gripped Hank’s shoulder. “Mr. Soldado. You cried out.”
A pretty woman on the other side of the bed took a tissue from the hospital tray and wiped at his cheeks. She said, “You hurtin’?”
The tears again. More and more, they were there when he woke up. He touched a fingertip to a wet spot on his face and then tasted. Salty? Why?
His left arm was bandaged, and it ached. Bandaging wrapped his chest from under his arms to the bottom of his rib cage. Pain pulsed in his left side. He pushed the hurt down. He had thinking to do.
The woman said, “Should I call a nurse?”
He shook his head, then licked dry lips and croaked, “Who?”
Stone poured a glass of water as the woman answered. “I’m Jewel
Noah smiled and nodded to her as he went to the bedside. Bandages wrapped Hank Soldado’s torso and upper left arm. He seemed asleep, and his arms and legs twitched as if he were dreaming. “How is he?”
She shook her head. “They say he’s stable.”
He knew that face, those bright blue eyes. “You were there, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. When he got shot.”
The sound of the shot echoed in Noah’s mind, and a flare of dread punched him in the belly. He shivered and fought it back. He’d been fighting it back all morning, and his stomach was in a knot. He feared that fear was winning and that years of work would shrivel and die when he became afraid do it anymore. He’d never had to think about whether his cause was worth dying for, but he did now.
He didn’t want to die.
He’d learned his rescuer’s name, but nothing more about the man other than that he had taken a bullet intended for Noah. He hadn’t even seen what Soldado had done at the rally. Had the woman? “Excuse me, Miss Washington, did you see what happened?”
She shifted her gaze to him, and he was again struck by her blue eyes, unexpected in a dark-skinned face. Freckles across her nose formed a band of chocolate dots on warm brown, and a scar slashed down her cheek. She said, “Yeah. That nut was aiming his gun at you, and then this guy charged him.”
“Why, I wonder.”
She shrugged. “He did something like that for me yesterday morning, helped me out of a bad patch, and I’d never seen him before.” She turned her gaze to Soldado. “I can tell you that he’s very good with a gun.”
Soldado clenched his teeth and lifted his good arm until it was straight out from his body, and then he curled his index finger. His trigger finger. Shooting a gun? Tears leaked from his closed eyes. He moaned and twisted. Soldado whipped his head back and forth as if to deny something with everything he had.
Jewel reached for the call button, but Noah saw Hank’s eyelids flicker. He held up a hand and said, “I think he’s coming around.”
Noah put his hand on Soldado’s shoulder and squeezed just enough to let him know someone was there.
• • •
The lovely woman laughs and swings the beautiful child back and forth.
Words come from Hank, but he can’t make them out because they are muddled and slow, as if made of molasses.
The woman frowns at him. She pulls the child close and says molasses words that make no sense. The look on her face is angry. Wild.
Insane.
The beautiful child is in danger.
He reaches for his gun, sooo sloooow . . .
His hand rises in front of him — the pistol he aims at the woman is dead steady.
She laughs and raises the child high in the air.
He pulls the trigger.
“No!”
The cry ripped out of Hank. He lunged upright in the bed.
It had been his voice.
He was holding his breath, his jaws clenched.
Again.
Why?
Pain stabbed him in the side and his arm, and he lay back in the bed. The rails of a hospital bed enclosed him. The stringent odor of antiseptic dominated the air. A vase on a tray next to his bed held a bouquet of yellow carnations.
He was alive. Good. He wasn’t ready to be done yet.
Noah Stone gripped Hank’s shoulder. “Mr. Soldado. You cried out.”
A pretty woman on the other side of the bed took a tissue from the hospital tray and wiped at his cheeks. She said, “You hurtin’?”
The tears again. More and more, they were there when he woke up. He touched a fingertip to a wet spot on his face and then tasted. Salty? Why?
His left arm was bandaged, and it ached. Bandaging wrapped his chest from under his arms to the bottom of his rib cage. Pain pulsed in his left side. He pushed the hurt down. He had thinking to do.
The woman said, “Should I call a nurse?”
He shook his head, then licked dry lips and croaked, “Who?”
Stone poured a glass of water as the woman answered. “I’m Jewel