Divine Charity(Divine Creek Ranch 18)(59)

They rounded the back of the ambulance and found Charity strapped to a back board, trying to convince the EMTs she was okay as they prepared to load her. Justin wrapped his hand around her foot and said, “Pipe down now, woman. Let them do their work.” The relief was evident in his husky voice and the way he took a deep breath as though he’d been holding it. Ransome realized he’d been holding his breath, too, as he and Val exchanged relieved glances.

Charity turned at the sound of his voice and said, “I’m so glad to see you! Where are Justine and Grace? I woke up back here and they can’t tell me anything.” She yelped as one of the EMTs applied a swab to a cut on her forehead.

“Hank said Justine is on her way to the emergency room. They’re helping Grace out of the SUV right now.”

“Guys,” she said, a bleak expression transforming her face. “The accident was all a blur but I’m sure there was a biker behind me when I was waiting at the intersection. I noticed his headlight as he pulled up behind me. I don’t know who it was, but I’m pretty sure we were both rear-ended. Whoever hit him, also hit me hard enough to force my vehicle into the intersection.” Unspoken was the question of what happened to that biker.

“Fuck,” Val whispered under his breath. “I’ll be right back.”

A truck screeched to a halt at the curb and Jack, Ethan, and Adam jumped from the vehicle, all running toward the accident, anxiety and devastation written on their faces. Hank must’ve seen them because he reached them as they ran to the ambulance.

Jack’s hair was standing on end as if he’d been raking his fingers through it on the way there. He asked, “Where is she?” Ethan and Adam echoed his question at the same time. Hank pointed and they ran.

Charity looked at Justin beseechingly. “All I have are bumps and bruises, I’m sure. How about springing me from this thing?”

Seriousness was etched across his face as he said, “Uh-uh. You’re staying put and getting checked out. You haven’t seen your vehicle.”

“Seriously, babe. Listen to him,” Ransome said as he leaned in to kiss the uninjured side of her forehead. “It looks like it was used for demolition derby. You need to get checked out.” He let out a breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds and whispered, “Angel, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

She finally relented and reached up and cupped his cheek. “Me, too, babe. Will you go check on Grace? She wasn’t feeling too hot earlier. See if Val found out anything about that biker?”

“Sure,” He patted her hand and Justin came around to be close to her and kiss her. Ransome dodged the ambulance door and reentered the controlled chaos of the accident scene. Rubber skid marks marred the street, a visible testimony of what had occurred. Charity’s vehicle had been rear-ended and forced into oncoming traffic and been hit from both sides, although the damage to the driver’s side suggested it hadn’t been hit at high speed.

Jack, Ethan, and Adam waited on the other side of the SUV, looking distraught as EMTs, one of which was their friend Eli Wolf, worked at strapping Grace onto a back board. She had a cervical collar fastened around her neck and judging by the tear streaks on her face and the way she moaned she was in a lot of pain.

She reached out with a shaky hand, splaying her fingers protectively over her abdomen. “Eli, please check the baby first thing. Please make sure he’s okay. Please.”

Eli spoke coaxingly to her. “Breathe for me, Grace. We’re going to take good care of you and the baby. I’ll check him for you myself.” She whimpered as they moved her and the sound of her pain made him feel powerless.

Jack and the guys didn’t look like they knew any more than he did yet so he spun to go find Val. Following the sound of his voice, he found him standing next to the truck behind Charity’s vehicle. The bashed-in windshield was explainable, now that he knew about the biker. The impact had been hard enough to flip the biker back into the truck’s windshield. His Harley—what was left of it—was strewn on Crockett Street between the truck’s front bumper and the crushed rear end of Charity’s vehicle. Squinting at the scratched-up remains of the motorcycle’s fuel tank, he thought the blue and red paint job on it looked familiar.

Shit.

An EMT treated a man with a cut on his forehead while a deputy spoke with him next to the truck. The man looked like he was scared to death. On the sidewalk, two EMTs ministered to the biker who had already been loaded onto a gurney. Their backs blocked Ransome from getting a glimpse of his face and he didn’t think he wanted to know. He didn’t want to be right. Looking around, Ransome didn’t spot a helmet—the one thing he’d been praying to see in the rubble.