Salvation in the Sheriff's Kiss(69)

“Dammit.” He shook his head; he would deal with that later. “I need the doc. I found Vernon in the alley. Think the shooter got him.”

“Is he—?”

Hunter gave a curt shake of his head. “He’s alive.” For now. He let the words hang in the air unspoken, but believed them nonetheless. He’d seen enough death to know what it looked like when it approached.

“The shooter?”

“Gone.”

“Get your father to Doc’s office. I’ll grab Doc and we’ll meet you there.”

Hunter nodded. “Bring Meredith.” He wasn’t letting her out of his sight from here on in.

He ran back into the cold, to his father. The tenuous hold Vernon had on consciousness had slipped away and he’d slumped against the wall. His hand fell away to reveal a dark stain spreading across his chest. Hunter hoisted the old man up onto his shoulder, struggling beneath the weight, and headed for Doc’s office. He could hear the others pouring out of the Town Hall behind him.

Part of him considered leaving the old man in the alley after what he’d done to Meredith and to her family. He deserved nothing better. His own father had lied to him, played him false. He’d never had any intention of ensuring Meredith’s safety and Hunter had been an idiot to think otherwise. Why he kept hoping his father would turn into the kind of man he could be proud of, he didn’t know, but it stopped here. No more. Now the man would answer for his crimes, whether to a jury of his peers or his Maker remained to be seen.



The evening took on a surreal quality as Meredith found herself rushed out of Town Hall and down the street to Doc Whyte’s office, surrounded by Caleb and Bertram at either side, their arms looped through hers to hurry her along. Doc Whyte flanked her and Mr. Kincaid walked in front, moving swiftly with his sidearm drawn and his gaze scanning the street. He’d done this before, she suspected, given the ease with which he moved, and a complete absence of fear. Perhaps she had used it all up and there was none left for anyone else to feel.

It didn’t take them long to reach Doc’s office, situated an equal distance between the jailhouse and the Town Hall. Still, the race there felt as if it took forever. Each time her foot struck the ground she waited for the next gunshot. It never came. The eerie silence only unnerved her more.

When they stepped through the door, she relaxed somewhat until Hunter turned away from his father’s prone body and motioned to her, blood staining his hand.

“Stay away from the windows.”

Up until that moment, she had hoped the gunshot had just been a few rowdies from the saloon who’d had too much to drink, but Hunter’s instruction erased any illusions to the contrary. The bullet hadn’t been a random thing.

The Syndicate had come for her.

Terror gripped her insides and squeezed. It became hard to breathe and all she wanted was to find a safe haven, crawl under the covers and hide until it was all over. But she couldn’t. Her father had lived with this fear for years, had done everything in his power to protect her from it and he’d succeeded. At least until she’d come back to this town and started poking around again. Well, now it was her turn. He had been unable to take the Syndicate down. To do so would have been to risk her life. Instead he had sacrificed his own.

And scared as she was, she would not—no, she could not let that go unanswered.

She would finish the job. She would find the evidence Pa had hidden and hold the Syndicate accountable for what they had taken from her.

She moved to where a narrow bench lined a portion of a windowless wall. It was a small office, equipment laid out in precise, orderly rows. In the adjacent room, Meredith knew from experience, there was an exam table, shelves of books, a bed and the doc’s desk. She had spent plenty of time here during the beginning of her mother’s illness, until she became too ill to make the trip into town.

In front of her was a high long table Doc used for mixing his medicines and herbs. Tonight it held a bloody and unconscious Vernon Donovan.

“How’s it look, Doc?” Strain pulled Hunter’s voice tight. Doc had wasted little time in cutting away Vernon’s shirt and jacket. Meredith only caught glimpses as Hunter and Doc shifted position, but it didn’t look good. His chest was covered with blood, smeared and soaked, and his weathered skin had paled considerably. His breath rasped and labored.

Doc Whyte glanced up briefly at Hunter, then returned his attention to Vernon. “I’ll do what I can.”

Bertram left his position by the door and came to sit next to her on the bench. He took her hand in his and held it tight.

“The bullet’s in deep,” Doc said. The low tone of his voice spread across the reverent quiet of the room. Mr. Kincaid and Caleb stood sentry on either side of the door, both sets of eyes resting on the table. A sense of inevitability drew lines across their cheeks.