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Bridger’s gentle question only made Jane want to moan.
Pain pulsed behind her eyes, making the drab walls of the tiny exam room in the Buttermilk Valley ER vibrate strangely. Every muscle ached. She felt like she’d been bucked from a horse.
Despite her discomfort, she offered words of thanks to her Savior. She and Pastor Zack were essentially unharmed.
A miracle, given that the explosion probably wasn’t an accident.
No one had said it directly, but she wasn’t an idiot. The deputy who questioned her was obviously worried about the possibility that the blast had been man-caused.
A bomb.
The thought made her stomach cramp. Could this have something to do with Jason’s disappearance? But how? And why would a blackmailer try to kill his target? None of it made sense.
Hushed voices rose just out of view. She turned her head. The movement sent pain shooting through her skull. She gasped. Her forehead pulsed strangely. She raised an arm to check, but a strong hand stopped her.
Bridger stared down at her, watchful. “Take it easy,” he ordered, and released his grip.
The doctor who first examined her stepped back into the room. With her steel-gray hair and no-nonsense demeanor, the woman instilled confidence.
She caught Jane’s eye. “Your CT scan came back clear. So far, there’s no abnormal bleeding, but you’ve got a whopper of a concussion.” She turned to Bridger and Tai. “I don’t want her alone for at least twenty-four hours. Seventy-two would be preferable.”
“We’re on it, Doc.” Bridger answered the woman, but his gaze was on her.
“We’ve seen more than our share of concussions,” Tai added. “Nausea, dizziness, slurred speech.” He ticked off symptoms of head injuries on his fingers.
“We’re former special forces,” Bridger added. “We got this.”
The doctor studied the men. If she wondered why they were so concerned for Jane, she didn’t let on. “Works for me. I’ll get the discharge papers started.” She headed out.
No. Wait.
Jane tried to catch the doctor’s attention, but she felt like she was moving through molasses. Bridger and Tai in her house? Not a great plan.
They set her on edge—well Bridger did. She couldn’t handle all that energy. All that bossiness. She’d kill him before dinner.
“Who’s going to stay with Pastor Zack?” she asked, to have something—anything—else to focus on. If the blast was purposeful, he was in danger.
“The assistant pastor arranged for him to stay with a couple from the church,” Tai told her. “Can’t remember their names, but they live up in the foothills, I think they said.”
“The Creighton’s,” she guessed. An older couple with a ranch high up toward the base of the mountains. He was a retired cop from Los Angeles.
Tai snapped his fingers. “That’s the name. The sheriff’s office has already set up a regular patrol around their place. Just in case,” he added quickly.
His slip confirmed her suspicions. The blast was no accident.
A deputy had taken her statement the minute they wheeled her into the ER, but she hadn’t had much to offer. She didn’t see a thing. Nobody but the pastor. No strange vehicles. Nothing amiss at his home.
Bridger sat on the foot of her bed and folded his arms over that impressive chest. “Once we’re sure your head’s not busted, we’ll make a plan.”
“I don’t need babysitting.”
Bridger shot her a hard look. “Yeah, you do.”
A hard glare from a battle-hardened man. It might intimidate most people, but she wasn’t most people. Between spending her life in a hardware store in a working ranch town, and practically being raised by a brother tough enough to become a Green Beret, she didn’t scare easily.
Bridger sighed. The slow, deep sound made her stomach flutter.
He pointed at her head. “Even with a clean CT scan, you’re not out of danger yet. You could develop a brain bleed. That would be all kinds of trouble. Unless you know someone with emergency medical training, you’re stuck with us.”
