Waiting on a Cowboy - Jennifer Ryan Page 0,98

of the firefighter and landing on her knees next to Tate. He rolled to his back and put his hand beneath his head. He pulled his red-soaked fingers away and stared at them. “Fuck.”

Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she thought it might crack her ribs and pop right out. “Stop moving.” She ran her hands over him, trying to make him stay still.

He looked up at her, his eyes filled with shock and pain. “I’m okay, sweetheart.”

“N-no y-you’re not.” Tears slid down her cheeks. She grabbed his wrist and showed him his bloody hand, even as he squinted his eyes in pain.

Three firefighters squatted around him. One gently laid Tate’s head back on the pavement. “Lie still. You took a hard hit to the head. Let us check you out.”

One of the guys had Paramedic emblazoned on his back. He took the lead, pulling stuff out of a big bag he carried, and pressing a thick gauze pad to Tate’s head. It quickly turned red.

“You’re bleeding so much.” She didn’t want to believe what her eyes saw. She wanted to go back two minutes and tell Tate not to worry about the truck alarm and stay with her.

She wanted Tate to be okay.

“Head wounds always bleed a lot. He’ll need stitches. Probably has a concussion.” The paramedic glanced at one of the other firefighters. “Anyone get the license and call it in yet?”

“Already done,” a fourth guy walked up to them. “That guy didn’t even slow down.”

“It’s probably the same guy who set my place on fire,” she volunteered, rage ringing in her voice. “I’m going to fucking kill him.” She meant it all the way to her soul.

Everyone stood there staring at her.

“Please. Help him!”

She held Tate’s hand, but he kept pressing his elbow to his side.

The paramedic noticed. “Ribs? Bruised or broken?”

“Fuck if I know. They hurt like hell.” Pain etched every line on Tate’s pale face.

The paramedic started poking and prodding, prompting Tate to expel a whole slew of colorful swear words.

They got the backboard ready to roll Tate onto it.

“Step back, miss. Let us get him ready for transport to the hospital.”

She didn’t want to let him go. She kissed the back of his hand, sorry to have pulled on his arm and making him wince with pain at the movement.

“I’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He didn’t look it. His face had gone deathly pale. Every breath seemed to cause him more agony.

She knew he’d eventually heal, but still, it took everything she had to release his hand and step back.

Every wince and moan made her stomach turn and her heart break. She hated seeing Tate in this much pain, knowing she was the reason for it.

Clint would pay for this. One way or another, she’d make him sorry he ever met her.

Her old phone dinged with a text. She pulled it out of her purse and stared at the picture, her mind not registering what she saw until clarity returned and horror filled her heart and mind.

“No.”

Trinity, face pale and eyes wide with fear, lay in a heap in the trunk of a car that was the same color as the car that just hit Tate.

She covered an agonizing cry with her fingers to her mouth, but it lodged in her throat when the next message popped up.

UNKNOWN: If you want her to live walk out to the main street by the sign and get in the car

She stared down at Tate who’d closed his eyes as another wave of pain washed over him when the paramedic checked out his leg where the front end hit him. She didn’t want to leave him, but she couldn’t risk Trinity’s life and not do what Clint wanted.

The police would find her. They had a plan. It didn’t include Trinity’s kidnapping, but ultimately, she knew what Clint wanted and what he’d do.

She backed away, hoping no one noticed while they worked on Tate.

They’d take care of him.

He’d want her to do whatever she had to do to save his sister.

Tate would never forgive her for bringing this destruction into their lives if something happened to Trinity.

She needed to take out Clint once and for all.

Hidden behind one of the big fire engines, she sent Drake a text to help Tate, found her new cell in her purse, tucked it into her sock at her ankle, pulled her jeans over it, and sprinted out of the parking lot and toward the main road. The sign was only

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