Divine Charity(Divine Creek Ranch 18)(104)

“I have first aid supplies at home. I even know a thing or two about birthin’ babies.”

Grace whispered, “Ew.” Charity bit her lip to keep from grinning, which would be a life-threatening action, given that sweaty asshole’s state of mind.

“Help her in the truck,” he said, reaching for the gun.

“No.”

He got right in her face. “Do it now, bitch, or so help me—”

Bingo. “That’s Ms. Bitch to you, motherfucker.” Charity pulled back and popped him right in the nose with the heel of her hand, just as Hank had taught her and her friends, then shoved his hat down on his face, which had to hurt something fierce on his busted nose. She kneed him in the groin next. He didn’t have any nuts left but she figured she should cover whatever bases she could while she had the chance.

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted as he doubled over. Taking advantage of his incapacitation while it lasted, she jumped on him and screamed, “Run, Grace! Call 911! Help!”

“You fucking crazy bitch, get off of me!” He reached inside his jacket and she wrestled with him to keep the gun firmly lodged in his pants but he had his greater bulk and strength on his side and he fought hard to free the gun.

“You’re not taking my sister, or my nephew, you jackass. You thought you could just walk up to any pregnant woman and order her to do your bidding? I’ll show you—”

He got the gun free and she heard someone scream nearby and the sound of running feet as they fought for the gun in his hand. He gained the upper hand and pulled an arm back and slapped her in the side of the head, which made her see stars. She blinked and shook her head and jumped at him trying to grab for the gun again as he brought it down so the barrel pointed right at her.

“Not so clever now, are you?”

“Look around, nitwit, your prize is safely inside the store by now and the sheriff is likely on his way. You’re surrounded by witnesses. You shoot me and you just add to the list of charges. Are those sirens I hear?” Her heart beat so loudly it sounded like a drum in her ears.

He grimaced and growled as several people hid behind cars, either speaking into their phones or taking pictures with them. In her peripheral vision, she saw the black and gray uniform of a sheriff’s deputy, she wasn’t sure who, creep toward Trevor Dornan’s truck.

Dornan peeled back his lips and snarled at her as sirens wailed ever closer. “This is all your fault, you mouthy cunt.”

Keep him talking, Wyatt mouthed as he climbed into the passenger side door of the truck, out of Dornan’s line of sight.

“Well, I’ll give you points for adding a little variety, dickhead. ‘Bitch’ was getting old. Give it up, Trevor. You can’t win.”

“All women are bitches, only good for one thing, and it’s not over, not by a long shot, bitch,” he said as he backed toward the open door of his truck. He reached for the steering wheel, as if ready to jump up into the truck and at the last second, he reached back with the gun in hand.

“He’s gonna shoot!” someone screamed nearby. Charity turned and ran, shielding herself with her handbag, the only thing she had with her as Wyatt leaped at Trevor from behind. The gun went off.

She tripped over her own feet as she rounded the back of her car, landing hard on her hands and knees. “Ow. That stings.” She huddled as she listened to the scuffle taking place on the other side of her car until she finally heard Wyatt growl into his radio, requesting an ambulance and assistance. The sounds of renewed scuffling worried her and she curled into a ball, unable to crawl away because the strength seemed to have deserted her arms and legs.

“I’ve got him secured, Charity. You okay?” Wyatt called.

“Yeah.” She turned so she was sitting on her ass on the warm asphalt and looked down. When she’d fallen, she’d landed so hard that she’d ripped the knee of her blue jeans and scraped the skin beneath. Yeah, those jeans were definitely toast. Her hand shook as she examined the scrape and then she realized her whole right arm trembled.

She thought it was just shock and an overabundance of adrenaline in her system until she saw the blood coursing down her arm. As if seeing the source somehow flipped a switch, pain suddenly flared. “Whoa. That’s not just a scrape.” It dawned on her that she’d been shot. As a phlebotomist used to the sight of blood, she was more than a little put out with herself when her vision went fuzzy.

Bernadette reached her first, took one look at her arm and said, “The EMTs are on their way, honey.” She ripped off the cardigan she was wearing and wadded it up to press against the wound. Charity hissed in pain but held still.