Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Hutch went through the last of the shotguns, unloading them this time without shooting, and it was only then I knew he shot them to get attention from his neighbors.
“Rifle, May,” he said.
“Which one shot Hannibal?” I asked, not giving him his rifle, nor taking it from the men on the ground.
“Rifle, May,” Hutch bit.
“Which one?” I screamed.
“Fuck you,” Enstrom spat, his voice angry, but tight with pain.
It was then I noticed his leg was a raw, bloody mess.
In the moonlight, I even thought I saw bone.
I turned the rifle around, strode to him and slammed the butt into his forehead.
He went down, out cold.
Hutch grabbed me around my belly and yanked me away, pulling the gun from my hands.
“Looks like you boys made the mistake of bringing shotguns to a rifle fight,” Paddy remarked.
Was I going to lose it and start hysterically laughing?
“Go, have a look at Hannibal,” he commanded. “Here’s my phone.” He put it in my hand. (Seriously, where did he keep that thing?) “Call Doc Simmons on her home cell. Tell her what happened and to meet us at her clinic.”
I nodded.
“Uh, Hutch, son,” the man with us, Paddy, called. “She needs to look at your feet. You’re bleedin’.”
My eyes darted down to his feet.
They were covered in blood.
They darted to his face.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Hutch—”
“Cut by the glass,” he explained. “Go look after our dog.”
“Baby—”
“Go,” he whispered. “I need you to check Hannibal.”
I stared in his eyes.
He needed me to check Hannibal.
And that was where I went.
THIRTY-NINE
The Universe’s Plan
Hutch
“Can you get her to stop scowling at me? It’s nerve-racking,” the doctor sewing the cut on the ball of his left foot said.
Hutch looked to his woman who was, indeed, hovering over the doctor’s shoulder and scowling at the back of his head.
“Babe,” he called.
Her eyes jerked to Hutch.
He pointed at the chair beside his bed. “Please sit.”
She scowled harder, then huffed, then stomped to the chair, turned woodenly and plopped her ass in it.
Although she sat, she kept scowling at the doctor.
“You’re gonna need to keep your weight off this,” the doctor said.
“Give me a boot,” Hutch replied.
“Save me from tough guys,” the doctor mumbled.
“He’s a goddamned SEAL,” Mabel sniped.
The doc’s startled gaze came to her.
Hutch tried not to laugh.
“Fix him,” she ordered. “We have to go to the vet. Someone shot our dog.”
The doctor turned to Hutch.
“Someone shot your dog?” He sounded pissed.
“Yeah,” Hutch said.
The doctor went back to his foot. “I hope you shot them.”
“He did. All five of them. Multiple times,” Mabel informed him.
The good doc’s gaze skittered to her face, and his own paled before he turned to Hutch.
“The gunshot victims who came in before,” he said. “That was you?”
Hutch shrugged.
“He didn’t kill them,” Mabel kept the information flowing. “Hark back to my mention of a SEAL. Flesh wounds.” She turned to Hutch. “We’ll be talking about that decision.”
Christ, his side hurt from not laughing.
“Baby, maybe play it more cool,” Hutch suggested.
She huffed again, slouched in her chair and crossed her arms on her chest.
The curtain opened.
“I’m working,” the doctor snapped.
Harry shut the curtain behind him and strode in.
“Oh, hey, Harry,” the doc greeted.
“Hey, Bill,” Harry replied, then he walked to the side of the bed Mabel wasn’t on.
“How you doin’, Mabel?” he asked her.
“I’m pissed as shit, that’s how I’m doing,” she returned.
Harry looked to Hutch and raised his brows.
Hutch’s body was shaking with laughter, so he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Hold still,” the doc ordered.
Hutch got a lock on it.
“So, I think I don’t have to tell you, they’re all fine. Bullets dug out. Stitched up. In recovery,” Harry reported.
“I will repeat we’ll be discussing this,” Mabel warned.
Hutch turned to her. “Baby, I’m not gonna shoot five men dead in my front yard.”
“Why not? They shot at you…and me,” she pointed out sassily. “They weren’t there to trick-or-treat Hutch.”
They were not.
He looked to Harry.
“Why were they there?” he asked.
“We haven’t been able to talk to them. Worst one is Enstrom. Hannibal chewed right to the bone. He might lose that leg. They got him stabilized, and they’re sorting an escort and prepping him for a trip to Seattle where there’s a specialist who might be able to save it.”
“Good,” Mabel spat. “Though, not the saving it part.” Then she went on like Harry was going to leave and slap the cuffs on their dog. “Hannibal was defending himself. He got shot. If you could gnaw the leg off a man who shot you, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe she needs some sedatives,” the doc suggested.
“I have a hurt dog and a hurt guy. I’m not taking a sedative,” she retorted hotly.
“May, baby, everyone is okay. It’s all fine. Cool it,” Hutch urged.
She glared at him and repeated her huff.
The curtain moved again, and Doc Riggs was there.
“Hey, Doc,” Harry greeted.
Doc leaned to the side and looked at Hutch’s feet.