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She nods her head. “I’ll take care of it.”

I nod, making a mental note to call Settler’s Pantry and have someone deliver a couple day’s worth of food. I don’t want to step on any toes. No doubt Tillie and Buck had plans. Likely, Tillie. She’s sixteen going on sixty.

Tillie was six when Ava died. She had a pulmonary embolism. My Clyde, who’d lost his mom six years previously, took Tillie under his wing. He unofficially adopted her as his little sister. He talks on the phone more to her than he does with me. Not surprising. They’re closer in age and have a bond that most people don’t understand.

Oh hell. In all the fuss, I haven’t called the parents. I wonder if Jessi has? They normally spend the holidays on a cruise. A tradition they started five years ago. Mom wanted to go someplace tropical for the holidays. Pops took her on a cruise.

“Is he ready, Debbie?”

“He is. I ordered a van. It’ll be easier than putting him in that big ass truck of yours.”

I laugh. “True. I’ll follow you. All squared away here?”

She smiles and nods her head. “I am. Let me get the orderlies. Center rules. They have to put him in a wheelchair. He’ll likely nod off as soon as we move him. He’s on some good meds.”

Debbie picks up the phone in the room and speaks to someone. A few minutes later, two burley orderlies come in. One of them is pushing a wheelchair. Debbie steps to the bed and gently wakes up Buck.

“Mr. Bennett, are you ready to go home?”

“Ah, yep.” Is all he said before his eyes closed again.

“Debbie. If you have this, let me head to Buck’s and give Tillie a heads up before she sees her dad.”

“Good idea. We have his address on file.”

“It’s pretty easy to find. Call me if you need anything.”

I hand her a card with the official cell on it. Right now it’s routed to my phone. Makes it easier for me. I hate carrying two cell phones.

“See you soon, Sheriff, and thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome. Believe me. You’re doing me the favor.”

She smiles and waves me out of the room. I head outside, knowing the twenty-minute drive may not be long enough to talk to my parents. I put it off until later.

Lost in thought, the drive went by in a blur. Tillie was out the door, across the porch and down the steps before I could open the door of the truck. She throws herself into my arms, tears streaming down her face.

“Is he dead?”

My heart plummets. I hug her fiercely.

“Oh no, sweetheart. I should have called first. I’m so sorry. He’s hurt. Broken leg.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. His leg is broken in three places. Debbie Goodwin is staying here for two weeks to get your dad through the worst of it.”

“I can take care of Pops, Uncle Eff.”

“I know you can. But do you want to?”

I hold up my hand when she started to talk.

“Do you want to help him use the bathroom? Help him get in and out of the shower? Scratch that. The first two weeks, he’ll likely get sponge baths. How do you feel about washing, EVERYTHING?”

“I’m so glad Debbie’s going to be here to help. Does she cook?”

“She does. I didn’t ask, but her mom is likely keeping her kids.”