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Her head came up. Son of a bitch. He was going to kill someone. He could feel the rage traveling through his system, heating his blood. She was white as a sheet, her whisky colored eyes nearly black with shock, dark circles lying thick beneath them. She was on the verge of hysterical collapse and all the fucking morons around her could do was try to get closer to her.
“Brock?” Husky from her tears, her fear, her voice shattered him.
“Get the hell out of my way.” He pushed at a reluctant EMT, going to his knees in front of her huddled form.
“God, Sarah-love,” he whispered desperately, his hand touching her white cheek. “Are you okay, baby?”
“Bastard shot me.” She tried to smile, but her lips trembled in violent reaction to the attempt.
“Is that all?” His hands went to the comforter at her shoulder, pulling it back enough to see the long, jagged gash in her shoulder.
A flesh wound. He wanted to close his eyes in relief. It looked bad, but it would heal.
“That’s all,” she whispered. “I was under the bed. He shot at the bed. He knew where I was.” The tears were falling down her cheeks now.
“Was it Mark, Sarah?” Brock fought to keep his voice gentle as he moved her hair back to get a better look at the wound.
He knew if Mark had done this to her, the man wouldn’t live out the night.
“No,” she whispered, her eyes flickering to the impatient men behind her.
The thread of wariness in her voice had him narrowing his eyes on her, watching her carefully.
“Who was it, Sarah?” he asked her softly.
“I don’t know.” The helpless fear in her voice had him fighting to contain his rage.
“What do you know, baby?” He knew Josh and Sam were listening carefully.
She did too. He saw it in her face, in that spark of nervousness in her eyes. She looked at him pleadingly. What did she want to hide?
“Sarah?” he questioned her softly. “You have to tell me what happened.”
Her glance went to the men gathered around her, shame and pain reflecting in her eyes.
“Josh, get these fucking men out of here.” He cast the sheriff a hard look. “Now.”
“They need to check her out, Brock,” Josh argued. “And I need a statement.”
“Evidently you didn’t hear him well enough, Josh,” Sam’s voice was a low, warning growl.
Brock glanced at his brother, seeing the untamed violence that rarely came to the surface in the other man. Josh saw it too. The sheriff paused, winced, then turned to the men crowded behind Brock.
“Outside, boys, before these two cowboys decide to piss us all off.” Frustration lined his voice.
“Doc Bennett will be here any time. I want him brought up here. He’ll check her out and see if she needs to be taken to the hospital.” Sam continued to direct the action behind Brock.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get you off of the floor.” Brock eased her into his arms, his chest tightening at the little sob that escaped her lips as he picked her up in his arms.
“He shot my bed,” she whispered, her voice forlorn as he carried her toward it. “He wanted to kill me, Brock.”
Brock knew if he found out who did this to her, the man wouldn’t live five minutes after he got hold of him.
“Damn. New bed too, hon.” He tried to keep his voice light. Tried to keep the violence out of it. “I hadn’t even got to share it with you yet.”
He stood aside while Sam grabbed pillows from the floor and propped them against the headboard.
“Here you go, sugar.” He settled her against them, sitting beside her. “Now, it’s nice and quiet in here. I want you to tell me what happened.”
