Page 61 of Rafe

Maggie looked toward the back doors to see Jack holding Frederick’s arm as he led him into the barn, his hands cuffed behind his back, but one arm was covered in blood. Jack stopped him beside Sam.

“Where’s Declan?” Sam asked.

“He’s putting Tank in the car and giving him a treat.” Jack grinned.

“That damn dog bit me,” Frederick snapped.

“You were told he would.” Jack shook his head.

Maggie watched as Sam ran his hand over his mouth to no doubt, cover a grin.

“Did you read Mr. Hancock his rights?”

“I did, Sam. He wants a lawyer.”

“Well, he’s definitely going to need one.” Sam stepped closer to Frederick. “You’d better hope he lives because I will charge you with murder.” Frederick shrugged and Sam clenched his jaw. “Get him out of here. This time there will be no early release for any reason.”

Maggie waited until Rafe was loaded on the stretcher, then she stood and hugged Fred.

“I’m going with him.”

“Alright, honey. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay, Fred.” She turned to face Sam. “Thank you.”

“No need. We’re just doing our job. I hope Rafe’s okay.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll be by the hospital in a little while.” Sam touched his hat then strode from the barn.

Maggie climbed into the back of the ambulance, took Rafe’s hand and watched as the EMT put monitors on him, the siren peeled as they drove toward the hospital.

****

Rafe’s eyelids fluttered open against a wash of harsh,fluorescent light. The steady beep of a heart monitor and the faint hiss of the ventilation system filled the small hospital room. He turned his head on a crisp pillow and groaned.

“Rafe?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing as every pulse in his skull throbbed. When he opened them again, Maggie stood beside the bed, her brown hair pulled into a loose ponytail, worry etched in the fine lines around her dark eyes.

“Hi,” he rasped, voice brittle. He cleared his throat, then croaked, “Could I get some water?”

“Of course.” She fetched a plastic cup from the bedside table. Tipping the cup, she held the straw to his lips. “Slow sips.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A teasing grin curved her lips. “You must be feeling better—your manners are showing.”

Rafe forced a laugh that tumbled out half cough, half groan. “Don’t make me laugh. Damn, my head feels like someone—”

“—hit you with a shovel?” she supplied; voice tight.

“Exactly. What happened?”

Maggie drew a chair close and sat. She described everything that had unfolded after he collapsed: the faces swirling above him, the frantic calls for help, the blur of sirens.

“I thought you were going to die, Rafe,” she choked out, voice quivering.