Samantha almost choked. At that moment she could not bring one single incident to mind. Not one. There had to be some, of course. Otherwise, she’d have to admit that their lack of emotional connection since John’s return to Serenity was entirely her doing.
That could not possibly be the correct conclusion. She had been the one who’d been left behind. She was the injured party in all this. Wasn’t she?
Dr. Adams scribbled something on a clipboard, then told John he’d be discharged if no other symptoms appeared in the ensuing half hour.
Fifteen minutes later, Walt stuck his head between the curtains of the exam cubicle. Samantha took one look at the grin splitting his weathered face and guessed he’d come to gloat.
“Lose something, hotshot?” the older man drawled, clearly enjoying his chance to get in a dig.
“Temporarily misplaced my weapon,” John replied with a wry grimace. “Has there been any sign of it?”
“Nope. Not so far. The chief is still trying to get a straight story out of the doc who witnessed the attack. According to him, you egged Southerland on and the guy just snapped.”
Samantha’s ire rose. “That is so not true!”
“We figured as much. What none of us can understand is how a bean counter got the drop on you.”
“John was protecting a little boy,” Samantha insisted. “If he hadn’t turned aside when he did, that blow would have hit the child.”
“You don’t say.”
“I most certainly do say. I saw the whole thing.”
“Okay. Since you were a witness, too, we’ll need your statement. I’ll go tell the chief.”
“Fine. You do that.”
Samantha planned to keep some details of her involvement to herself rather than air them needlessly. When it came time to be specific, however, she was going to have to admit that she had only arrived in time to see Southerland hit John and had not been privy to whatever had occurred in the minutes prior to the blow.
“How are you really feeling?” Samantha asked him as a physician’s assistant began to check him over one last time and signed off on his head trauma.
“Dumb. Foolish. Inept. Clumsy. Careless. And I’m sure Walt could add a few more choice opinions. Shall I go on?”
“I think that about covers it. I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
“I’d trade it for my gun right about now.” He grimaced. “I can’t believe the guy got away with it. I’ve had hardened criminals try moves like that and fail. Now it’ll go on my record that an untrained civilian disarmed me. How will something like that look on my résumé?”
“Like you’re human.” Samantha sighed. Her own head was pounding and she’d missed supper, but there were more important things on her mind than personal comfort.
She laid a hand lightly on John’s forearm to make sure she had his full attention. “I really do need to know how you feel. As soon as the chief is done with me I still want to visit Bobby Joe, if you think you’re up to it.”
Sliding off the edge of the exam table, John grasped both her hands. “Of course. We can kill two birds with one stone. I’ll tell Levi you’ll stop by tomorrow and see him, unless he wants to follow us to the station and take your statement tonight.”
“Will I really be able to get into the jail? I know I was out of line before when I insisted you had to break the rules for me. I really don’t expect you to do that.”
“We’ll take a witness in with us. Somebody who’s impartial. As long as you don’t ask Bobby about his crime we should be okay. I figure the kid will have a court-appointed attorney once he’s arraigned but I don’t want to have to wait that long.”
“Neither do I. We’ve lost a lot of time already.”
Samantha felt him give her fingers a squeeze before releasing them. She knew she’d had her priorities straight when she’d put aside her search for Brutus to help Danny. It was just frustrating to be unable to do both tasks equally well.
* * *
The sun had set by the time they finished speaking with the chief and left the hospital. A waning crescent moon was masked by drifting clouds.
Samantha knew that Brutus’s dark fur would be almost impossible to spot unless he happened to be standing under a streetlight—and there were none of those anywhere near her farm.
Each moment that brought her closer to the jail also increased her nervousness. Every muscle was taut, every nerve ending firing. Her head pounded. Her palms perspired. She wasn’t afraid of the prisoner, himself; she was afraid he could not, or would not, help her.