Collision Course (13 page)

CHAPTER 14

A
s clean as he'd been in over a week, DJ took the time to shave, brush his teeth, and comb his hair. Putting on fresh clothes, he felt like a new man. He stepped out of the bathroom, and his mouth watered. The smells coming from the kitchen were heavenly. He walked to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. Nancy was on her knees in a chair on the far side of the table, vigorously using crayons on a coloring book. When DJ sat down, she turned the book around.

“Do you like my picture?” she said.

DJ looked down and saw a blue dinosaur eating some orange trees. “I like it a lot,” he said, sneaking a peak at the backside of the cook. “That's beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Nancy said. She beamed as she pulled the book back to her side of the table.

“That sure smells good, Crystal,” DJ said.

“It's just chili.”

“Well, that's a lot better than what I've been eating.” DJ saw that the pantry was open and that the shelves were packed with food. “Did you just go to the store?”

“No. I haven't been for several weeks. Why?” she asked.

“I just noticed that your pantry's almost full.”

“Well, the trucking business isn't always steady work. Roger and I buy lots of food when he's working, so we don't have to worry if he doesn't have any jobs for a while.”

“That's pretty smart.”

“Just practical,” she said.

A minute later, she set a steaming bowl in front of DJ. He leaned over it and took a big sniff. His face broke into a smile, and the woman seemed pleased. It didn't take long for him to devour the bowl of chili, and Crystal refilled it for him. He took more time finishing the second helping. When he was done, he pushed the bowl away and leaned back in the chair. Patting his stomach, he smiled. “That might be the best chili I've ever had.”

“You're just saying that,” Crystal said, “but I appreciate it. I can see you're tired. Would you like to take a nap?”

“Yes, I would.”

“The guest room is the door just past the bathroom. There are extra pillows and blankets in the closet. You make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, Crystal.”

“Don't mention it. It's the least I can do after what you did for us.”

DJ agreed. It was the least she could do. He made his way to the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

* * *

Gabe was well on his way to feeling no pain. The bottle was almost a third empty, and the anger he'd felt had subsided in proportion to the level of liquid in it. As he poured another glass, he heard pounding on his door.

“Mr. Horne! Mr. Horne! My mom's been shot!” Robby yelled.

Gabe sprang to his feet and ran to the door. Pulling it open, he saw Robby breathing hard.

“What happened?” Gabe demanded.

“Someone was stealing chickens, and Mom tried to stop them, and they shot her,” Robby said, tears streaming down his face.

“Is she okay?” Gabe asked, immediately realizing that it was a stupid question. “Where did she get hit?”

“In the leg.” Robby touched his thigh about eight inches above his knee. “She says she's okay, but there's a lot of blood.”

“Wait right here,” Gabe said as he spun and headed for the bathroom. He prayed the bullet hadn't hit the main artery in the leg. If it had, Jane would be dead by the time they got back to her. Gabe noticed a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he hadn't felt for a long time. He opened the bathroom cabinet and pulled out the tackle-box-sized first aid kit Hannah had assembled when they'd first moved to the country. Walking back to Robby, he wished he hadn't had so much to drink tonight. He felt as though he was forgetting something, but there was no time to stand around and wonder what it might be. “Let's go.”

They ran to Jane's truck, and Robby drove quickly down the road to his house. Gabe thought he should make himself puke whatever alcohol was still in his stomach before it made its way into his bloodstream, but he didn't want to do it in front of the boy. When Robby stopped the truck in front of the house, he reached for the door handle. Gabe grabbed the boy's arm. “Robby, I want you to stay in the truck until I come to get you.”

“No way. I have to help my mom.”

“Robby, please. Just wait here for a minute. I'll be right back to get you,” Gabe said with the most authority he could muster. He tried to think of a reason to give the boy that wouldn't scare him to death. “I want you to stay in the truck, so that, just in case the bad guys are still around or something, you can go get more help. If you see or hear anything out of the ordinary, or if I'm not back in three minutes, I want you to take off.”

“All right, Mr. Horne, but you better come right back.”

Gabe opened his door and ran into the house. “Jane! Jane, can you hear me?”

“I'm in here, Gabe.”

Gabe was relieved to hear her voice. “Where?”

“In the kitchen.”

Gabe dashed into the kitchen. The room was barely lit by a single candle. Gabe rushed over to Jane. She was holding a blood-soaked dishrag around her leg.

“Let me see,” Gabe said as calmly as he could.

She pulled the towel away from her leg. Blood was oozing from both the top and bottom of the outside of her thigh. Gabe was thankful there was no spurt. He remembered reading that the big arteries were on the inside of the thighs. He took her hands in his and placed them back where they held the small towel tightly around her leg. “I promised I'd get Robby as soon as I checked on you. Will you be all right for a minute?”

Jane nodded, and Gabe went back out the front door. The boy was slumped over the steering wheel, his body quivering. “Robby?” Gabe called.

The boy sat up and was out of the truck in an instant. “Is she okay?”

“She's gonna be fine, son,” Gabe said as reassuringly as he could. “I need more light. Do you have a big flashlight or a lantern?”

“We have both.”

“Go get them for me.”

Robby ran into the house. Gabe went to the far side of the driveway and bent over. He stuck his finger down his throat and gagged, but nothing happened. He had to do it three more times before the contents of his stomach took the wrong trip. Once it started, Gabe wasn't sure that it would ever end. The alcohol burned much more coming up than it had going down. Finally it was over, and he made his way back to the kitchen.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Jane. He noticed that her face appeared pale, but he couldn't tell if it was from the bleeding or from the flickering light of the candle.

“I'm okay,” she said.

“I need a drink of water,” he told her.

If she knew why, she didn't give any indication. “The glasses are in the first cupboard.”

Gabe filled the cup and took a small sip. He swished it around in his mouth and spat it down the drain. Then he pulled a long drink out of the mug, and it quenched the fire in his esophagus.

“You should be lying down,” he said, putting the cup in the sink.

“I don't want to get blood on the furniture,” she said.

“Let's put you up on the table, then. We can clean and disinfect it when we're done.”

The woman nodded, and Gabe took her hand and helped her up onto the veneer table.

“You need a new towel. Where are they?”

“Second drawer down next to the sink.”

Gabe opened the drawer and pulled out a neatly folded dish towel. He removed the old towel and replaced it, throwing the bloody one into the sink. “Robby, where's my light?” he called.

“I can't find the flashlight,” Robby yelled back.

“Then just get the lantern. It'll be better anyway.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me what happened,” Gabe said, turning his attention back to Jane.

She quickly relayed the whole story.

“I dropped the flashlight out back when they shot me,” Jane whispered. “It went out when it hit the ground.”

Gabe patted her on the shoulder. “It's okay. We can fix it or get another one. You're lucky they didn't kill you. I hope you now know never to threaten to shoot someone, especially if you don't have a gun.”

Jane nodded sheepishly. Gabe had started toward the back door to get the flashlight when it occurred to him that the guys who'd shot Jane could still be there. He realized that he'd left his guns at home and mentally kicked himself. That's what he'd forgotten in his haste, or was it his impaired condition? “Jane, did the chicken thieves leave, or is it possible they're still outside?”

“They just fired the one shot and left. I heard them running off toward the east. You don't think they'll come back, do you?” she said.

“No, I don't think so . . . at least not tonight. They already got what they wanted. You don't have to worry about them anymore,” he said, hoping he was right. He placed his hand on her face to reassure her and noticed she was cold. “Where are the blankets?”

“In the chest at the foot of my bed,” she answered.

“I'll go get you one.”

Just as Gabe turned, the boy came in with a kerosene lantern. He set it on the counter next to the candle and grabbed a box of matches out of a drawer. A moment later, the room was bathed in a soft yellow light.

“Thanks, Robby. Will you go get your mother a blanket?”

“Yes, sir.”

Gabe turned back to Jane. “Let's have a good look at that leg.” He pulled her hands away. The flannel pajama pants were soaked with blood from her knee to her hip. Gabe pulled out his large pocketknife and cut a slash in them about four inches above the entrance hole. He stuck his fingers inside and pulled, neatly ripping the material. Jane moaned.

“Did that hurt?”

“No.” She smiled weakly. “It's just that these are my favorite pajamas.”

“Sorry. That sure is a good young man you're raising,” he said, trying to take her mind off her leg. Jane smiled and nodded. An instant later, Robby reappeared with the blanket, and Gabe wondered if the youngster had heard what he'd said. Robby gave no indication as he draped the blanket over his mother's torso.

The entrance wound was small and clean. There was almost no blood coming from it. Gabe figured it might have come from a .22-caliber weapon. He shuddered to think about what the exit wound might look like, but he had to check it.

“Jane, I need you to roll over on your side. Robby, you help her.”

The pair did as instructed. Gabe was surprised that the exit hole looked much like the one on the front of Jane's leg. It was bleeding a little more, but it appeared there was little tissue damage, at least from what he could see. He grabbed some large bandages out of his first aid kit and a roll of wide medical tape along with a tube of antibiotic cream and a bottle of alcohol. He poured some alcohol on one of the dressings and carefully wiped around the wound.

“This is going to sting a little,” he said as he got closer to the perforation.

Jane tensed, but she made no sound. Gabe leaned over to where he could see the front of her leg and quickly repeated the procedure. Next he dabbed a liberal amount of ointment on both sites and covered them with clean dressings. Tape was wrapped around the leg and over the bandages several times.

“That should hold you until we get to the hospital.”

“Is that really necessary?” Jane asked. “I feel fine.”

“Mom, Mr. Horne is right. You've been shot. You have to go to the hospital.”

“All right, I'll go,” she said weakly. “I can see it's two against one.”

“Robby, go pull your truck up as close to the front door as you can get it,” Gabe said.

The boy nodded once and disappeared. Jane started to get up.

“Whoa, there,” Gabe said. “You're not going to put any weight on that leg until it gets properly checked out.”

He put his arms under her and lifted her off the table. She was surprised. It wasn't just that she hadn't expected it, but also that he'd done it so easily. It felt good to have a man's strong body next to hers, but the smell of alcohol brought unpleasant memories.

Gabe carried her through the front door. Robby had opened the passenger door on the truck and was standing next to the idling vehicle.

“Go ahead and get in, Robby,” Gabe said.

The boy started to climb in on the passenger's side.

“The other side,” Gabe added. “You're driving.”

“But, Mr. Horne, I don't have a license. Mom lets me drive on the gravel roads around here, but I can't drive to town.”

Gabe thought he'd hurled up most of the alcohol before it had gotten into his bloodstream, but he knew some had made its way into his system. He would never allow himself to drive unless he was stone-cold sober.

“Yes, you can,” he told the teenager. “Driving on pavement is easier than driving on gravel. You can do it. Just keep your speed down. Now get in, and I'm going to slide your mother in so she can lay her head down on your lap.”

“Yes, sir.”

The boy climbed behind the wheel, and Gabe put Jane in the truck. He placed a pillow underneath Jane's feet and carefully closed the door. He instructed Robby to stop at his house so he could get his rifle, then climbed into the bed of the truck and knocked on the back window twice to tell Robby he was ready.

When they stopped at Gabe's, it took less than a minute for him to remove his rifle from his truck. Back in the bed, he stayed on his knees, looking through the glass for any sign of trouble ahead. Occasionally, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was closing in from the rear.

The drive to town was uneventful. Gabe noticed lights in a few houses. Probably from candles or lanterns, he thought, but most homes were dark. He wondered if those people were already asleep or if they just didn't have any way to illuminate their homes. It was eerily quiet as they drove down the dark farm-to-market road.