Art cut him off. “Let’s not go over the list of past sins or we’ll be here all day.”
The first responder took a look at the gash and shook his head. “You’re bleeding pretty good here, Art. I think we need to get you to Braswell.”
“Oh, don’t look so worried. I’m not going to bleed out.” Art started rewrapping the wound.
“We’re going to dress this a little better,” the first responder told him. “Let’s get you to the ambulance and we’ll be in Braswell before you know it.”
Art planted his feet on the porch. “I only called you young roosters because I thought you’d bandage it up. I didn’t expect you to haul me in.”
“Well, Art, there are just some things we can’t do in the field.” The first responder held his own, but the corner of his mouth flirted with a smile.
“I’m not in a field. I’m on my cotton-picking front porch.”
Daron laughed and earned himself a glare from the older man. “Art, I’ll call Emma. She’ll be glad you went to the hospital. Is she at Duke’s?”
“No, she had to take Jamie in to the doctor. I figured she’d be home by now, but you never know what the wait time is going to be.”
“Is Jamie still sick?” Daron asked as the first responder continued to look Art over. They had moved him to a chair.
Art glanced down at his injured hand and then back at Daron. He grimaced a bit as the first responder cleaned the wound. “Yeah, son, she’s still sick. But she’s strong and her mama has faith.” Art turned his attention back to the first responder, who now seemed to be trying to help him to his feet. “Son, I said I’m not going. I can drive myself if I need stitches.”
Boone walked up behind Art, his beat-up cowboy hat pulled low over his brow and a look on his face that told the first responders to take a step back. “Art, how about we drive you to Braswell to the ER? They can sew you up. Plus, you can check on Emma and Jamie while you’re there.”
Art pushed himself out of the chair. “Now, that’s an idea. Thank you all for coming. I’ll just take Boone’s offer and let you all go on back to your jobs, or whatever you were doing before I got you called out here.”
Daron shot Boone a look. “Really?”
Boone arched a brow and grinned. “We don’t have anything else on the calendar for today, do we?”
“No, nothing else. And we both love to get Emma riled up. Let’s go, Art.” Daron led the older man down the steps and to his truck. “You aren’t going to bleed all over my new truck, are you?”
Art stumbled a bit, but his voice, when he answered, was still strong. “I reckon if I do, you can get it cleaned up.”
Daron laughed. “Yeah, I reckon.”
The three of them crowded into the front of Daron’s truck, Art in the middle. Boone leaned back in the seat like he was in his beat-up old recliner and happy as he could be.
“Now that it’s just us,” Art started, “why don’t you tell me what you think Pete Shaw wanted the other night?”
Daron pulled onto the main road. “You knew that Pete was out there?”
“No, not at first. I heard Emma shout and then heard Pete mumble something about her trying to kill him. I was heading for my bedroom door when I heard you say something and I just figure you’re a few years younger, so you might as well handle things.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Art. And I’m not sure what Pete’s after.”
“I guess I just figured you had some idea, since you’re patrolling the place like an overworked guard dog.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Art shot him a look. “It isn’t like you can hide a pearly white Ford King Ranch like this. I’m old, I get up at night and I’ve seen you driving by like you’re keeping an eye on the place. Emma has seen you. I guess she told you to mind your own business.”
Daron kept driving. “I’m not patrolling. I’m just driving by on a public street.”
“Call it what you want,” Art said. “I call it patrolling. Emma calls it being a nuisance. I reckon you have your reasons.”
“I’d like to be able to help out, Art.”
“There’s nothing you can help with, Daron. I know you mean well, but we’ve got it handled. We’ve struggled a bit, but things aren’t so bad we can’t deal with it. This hand might slow down patching up that roof, but we got a tarp on it yesterday and that’ll hold us over until I can climb up there.”
“But what about Pete?” Boone asked, entering the conversation with a quiet question. “What’s he after?”
“He’s an addict who believes there’s more money than what he got. Emma has other concerns without Pete stirring up trouble for her. I told her to call his parents but she won’t. She doesn’t want anything to do with Andy’s family.”
“Don’t you think they’d like to know Jamie?” Boone asked, his tone casual.
Art guffawed at that. “They know they have a granddaughter. But they’re the kind that thinks they’re better than others, and that Emma wasn’t quite what they wanted for their son. They encouraged the divorce. I can’t say I wasn’t glad when the marriage ended, as Andy wasn’t particularly nice to my granddaughter, but I’m sorry his family lost him.”
“Art, what’s wrong with Jamie?” Daron tried to ease back into the conversation, but he saw from the corner of his eye that it didn’t work.
“Now, that’s something you’ll have to ask Emma. And I reckon if she wanted you to know, she’d tell you.”
“She’s been too busy telling him to leave her alone,” Boone added.
Daron didn’t thank his friend for his special brand of humor. He wanted answers, and this wasn’t getting him anywhere. He drove faster, telling himself he wanted to get Art to the ER a little quicker.
It wasn’t the truth. What he wanted was to get to Emma’s side, sooner rather than later. He could tell himself it was because he was worried about Jamie, which he was. Or he could blame it on a need to keep Andy’s widow safe.
He needed to keep a promise to a dying friend. When he’d made the promise to Andy, it was about a woman he didn’t know and a baby not yet born.
Now he knew them. He knew Emma as a woman of strength and faith. She loved her little girl. She loved her grandfather.
Unconditional love.
Watching her, being around them, it made him want to be a better man. The kind of man she allowed into her life.
Emma stood back as her daughter was examined by the on-call physician in the Braswell Community Hospital pediatric wing. The doctor smiled as he rubbed the stethoscope to warm it; then he winked at her daughter and told her she was brave and promised she’d be getting the best dessert once they were finished with the examination.
“She’s a strong girl, Mom.” The doctor listened, “Another breath, Jamie.”
Jamie took a deep, shaky breath. She was still pale. Her lips weren’t as pink as normal. It had been so frightening, that moment when Emma realized her daughter was gasping for air. She’d hit the call button, summoning a nurse as she tried to calm Jamie, telling her it was fine, to take slow, easy breaths.
A