“I told you this was a bad idea!”
“Shut up, John!”
“Doc!” Cody yelled, and he turned in time to see Summer convulse. Her muscles constricting, her limbs stiffened, her back bowed, and with her body functions held in suspension, her breathing stopped.
“Fuck!” He couldn’t move fast enough as he rounded the table, taking Cody’s place at her head. “Come on, buttercup.” He brushed the tangled curls from her face. “Don’t give up on me now. Fight, baby. You can do it. Take a breath for me.”
She went limp, her head coming to rest in the crook of his arm, but only for a heartbeat before a second convulsion slammed into her. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and with her skin turning even bluer, Jamie started to panic.
“I know it hurts, baby. I know. But you have to fight.” He pulled down the bottom half of his mask and kissed her unresponsive lips, begging her in a steady stream to breathe until it occurred to him to get bossy. “I said breathe, Summer. Come on now. Do as you’re told and show me how much you love me.” He rubbed his knuckles over her sternum, trying to elicit a response. “Breathe, God damn it. Your daughter needs you.”
Her body sagged, a dead weight in his hands.
“Stethoscope,” he demanded, rolling her onto her back and feeling around her neck for a pulse. Shallow and thready.
“Here.” Cody slapped the scope into Jamie’s hand.
He jammed the ends into his ears and slid the bell inside her sweater, listening for breath sounds. “There’s my good girl,” he mumbled, relief swamping him at the flow of air passing through her lungs.
Main crisis over, he focused on the next. If her blood sugar had dropped low enough to cause a seizure, she probably needed a second dose of Glucagon to prevent another. But wanting to be sure, he took out the glucometer, and using the auto lancer, he pricked her finger.
Her body in the early stages of hypothermia, he had to rub her hand to warm it and then squeeze hard to get a drop of blood onto the test strip. It took less than ten seconds for the results. 3.1 mmol/l with a dose of Glucagon already on board.
She needed a second shot.
The blankets arrived while he prepared the needle, and accepting the bundle from Grant, Cody covered her over before folding her coat and putting it under her head. Instead of moving her again, Jamie tugged her sleeve off her shoulder and injected the medicine into her arm.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said, pulling the needle free and looking up at Adam. “If she’s not awake by then, kill them both.”
“Roger that,” Adam said, no inflection in his voice as he aimed the muzzle of his rifle at John Wagner’s forehead. “Start talking.”
* * *
Awareness came backto Summer through the endless march of pins and needles across her skin. Her feet, her calves, her thighs pricked and pringled under the hands massaging some warmth back into her.
She recognized those hands.
Broad. Strong. Long fingered.Jamie’s hands.He’d found her. Come for her. She’d known he would—and she’d hung on—for him.
Her whole life, she’d hung on, hoping, watching, waiting for her person. The one. Her soulmate. And he’d found her. In the middle of the night. Asleep in his bed. Talk about fate.God!She loved him so much her chest hurt.
Well, in truth, her whole body hurt. Every muscle stretched and pulled beyond comfortable movement seemed like an impossible dream. Not to mention her brain had been cracked in half, each thought sending a zap of electricity zinging through her neurons.
Didn’t matter. She was back, and she wanted to see him. To tell him she was sorry. Tell him she hadn’t meant to put him or the JTT in danger. Tell him she hadn’t given the Wagners any information. Nothing about him or Halia, where she lived, or with who.
She tried to open her eyes, moaning with the effort. Nope. Too soon.
“Shh, I’m here.” He took her hand in his before brushing his lips against hers. A gentle kiss. Reassurance coupled with a promise. He had her. He’d found her. He always would. Because she belonged to him. “Take it slow, baby.” He squeezed her fingers.
She squeezed back, and relieved she still had some motor functions, she wiggled her toes and discovered her boots had been removed. Her wet socks too. But the cold couldn’t reach her. Covered by a heavy blanket, the weight pressed her into the table, and she felt safe and secure.
Her mind drifted, and she heard voices. One—assured, demanding, precise, clipped. Adam. The other—weak, trembling, faltering, terrified. John. She fought to pay attention.
“Brucellosis? You knew the cattle were infected, and you sold them anyway?”
“We had to!” John cried. “If we culled the herd, we would’ve lost the ranch. We’re talking millions of dollars!”
“Isn’t there mandatory testing and reporting for this kind of thing?”
