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“Quinn!” Mr. Harper came forward on his crutches.
“I’m okay, Dad.”
It was a lie, but Quinn loved her father. His girl was putting on a brave front, but he didn’t think she had too much more in her.
“We need to get her to the ambulance, Mr. Harper. You get in the front beside Joe.”
Luke got in beside Quinn, and then they were moving.
“Slow and easy, Joe.”
“Got it.”
He held her good hand on the trip, feeling each bump and rut for her, and stayed with her through the transfer to the ambulance and to the hospital, making sure she knew he was there. By the time they put her on a stretcher and wheeled her away from him, she was near to unconscious with pain.
He paced the waiting room with his brothers. The Harpers sat in a corner, ashen faced, holding hands.
“I have coffee,” Mr. Goldhirsh said, walking in. “Good stuff.” He poured out cups from a flask. The kick to it was whiskey, and Luke didn’t mind the burn it gave him as it slid down his throat.
What had he missed? Was she bleeding internally? The bullet and injuries he’d found were bad enough, but maybe there were some he missed.
“Hey.”
He moved away from the window he’d been staring out of when Nixon approached.
“Hey.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“I think so. I hope so.” Luke blew out a breath.
“At least you found her.”
“Yeah.”
“I made this for you.” He handed over a container.
Luke opened it and found a brownie.
“You made this?”
“Yeah. Aunt Jess and I baked.”
Luke had no appetite. In fact, he felt like food would make him puke, but he took a bite.
“This is good,” he said, forcing himself to swallow.
“How come he gets that?” Jack said. “Give it to me.” He took the container Luke held.
“Thanks, Nixon.”
“Thanks back.”
“For what?”
“For saving me.”
“That’s what brothers are for,” Luke said, grabbing him and pulling him close for a hug. “We look out for each other.”
