Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99604 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Eventually, the crowd grew with first a few more deputies, then the mayor, then neighbors from the outskirts of town. Word had clearly spread fast.
Then the cavalry arrived.
Nonna bustled in first, wrapped in a raincoat three sizes too big, clutching a foil-covered tray. “Nobody should sit and wait on an empty stomach,” she announced. “That’s how people faint and make extra work for nurses.”
She set the tray on the counter. The scent of almond and sugar wafted out immediately. She’d brought her famous Italian cookies.
Behind her came Nana O’Shea, holding a small canvas bag and looking both fierce and exhausted. “I brought my healing oils,” she said, like that settled everything.
Patsy blinked, then smiled indulgently. “You can leave them right there, sweetheart. I’m sure they’ll come in handy.”
Nana gave her a sharp nod, then turned to me. “He’ll be fine, Anna. I lit a candle on the way here. Two, actually.”
“I believe you,” I said, because right now, I needed to. Both of my sisters arrived, then the rest of my family, the Basanelli family, and more people from Silverville moved inside.
The two grandmothers settled in like they owned the place with Nonna passing out cookies, and Nana rubbing eucalyptus oil on anyone who didn’t duck fast enough. Within ten minutes, the sterile waiting room smelled like lemon, lavender, and vanilla. Somehow, it helped.
Even the deputies seemed to relax a little. McCracken took a cookie without hesitation.
The rain beat steadily against the windows, and somewhere down the hall a machine beeped in sync with my heartbeat. The sense of suspended time thickened, until I almost didn’t notice when the doors swung open.
Dr. Rodinsky stepped out, still in his scrubs, his hair damp with sweat and his glasses fogged. He’d been the on-call surgeon there for at least forty years and was solid as a rock with kind eyes behind wire frames.
Every head in the room turned toward him.
“All right, everybody,” he said, his deep voice carrying through the quiet. “The sheriff came through surgery fine. We had to remove three bullets—two from the leg, one from the arm—but he’s stable. You can all go home and get some rest. No need for extra blood tonight.”
The collective exhale from the room could’ve powered a windmill. Nonna crossed herself, and Nana whispered something that sounded like a prayer.
I just closed my eyes for a second, the tension finally unspooling from my chest.
Aiden reached over and took my hand, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. “He made it,” he said quietly.
For the first time all night, I let myself breathe.
The doctor looked around. “The sheriff doesn’t need visitors, and y’all can pray somewhere else other than here.”
Yeah, that was Dr. Rodinsky. He was cranky, blunt, and exactly the kind of doctor who made everyone secretly feel safer. I liked that about him. The man could yell at a patient for breathing wrong while saving his life in the same breath.
He turned a hard gaze on Deputy McCracken. “You can stay and take his statement. He’s already asking for you. Stubborn as a mule.”
McCracken straightened, his normally easygoing face drawn tight. “Yes, sir.”
I knew that Dr. Rodinsky and Sheriff Franco not only played on the same softball team but also had an ongoing poker rivalry that probably cost them more pride than cash. The thought of the doc having to cut bullets out of his buddy made my stomach knot. Still, the fact that Franco hadn’t been airlifted to Spokane meant he’d live. And if Rodinsky was yelling, things weren’t dire.
The doctor’s gaze cut toward Aiden. “You too, Devlin. He said you and Anna were the ones on the phone with him when it went down, right?”
“Yes,” Aiden said simply.
“Then you stay. Everyone else get out. Go home before I find something for you to mop.”
That scattered the crowd. Nonna started gathering empty cups and napkins with military precision, while Nana handed out tiny bottles of “healing oil” to anyone too slow to dodge her. She pressed one into my palm before she left. “For calming nerves, dear,” she whispered.
“Thanks,” I said weakly, clutching it like a talisman.
My parents hugged me. My mom smelled like rain and peppermint tea. My dad patted Aiden’s shoulder, silently approving of his quiet steadiness. My sisters and cousins waved as they trickled out, the low hum of conversation fading until only McCracken, Aiden, and I remained.
The doctor exhaled hard. “All right. He’s in recovery now. We’ll move him to a room in a bit. You can all stay for questioning once he’s settled.”
Aiden nodded. “Appreciate it.”
The doctor turned on his white sneaker and disappeared down the hallway.
We waited another half hour, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
McCracken looked at Aiden. “I guess I should interview you.”
Aiden’s reply was smooth, almost casual. “You could, but I think this overlaps with my case. Franco called from near Blarney Pass, and that’s close to where we detonated the dynamite from the O’Shea robbery.”