She scoffs. “You think he wasn’t sticking it where it don’t belong, too?”
“Wow.” I don’t know how to respond but I think I’ve heard enough of their dysfunctional marriage to last me a lifetime.
However, for some reason, when I inhale again, some of the tightness in my chest disappears. A lot more makes sense, now. And, to be honest, but for the grace of God, their story could’ve been mine. I wasn’t real careful at the time I entered the military. What if one of my condoms broke? Hell, yeah, I can picture myself marrying a stranger so my kid would have a daddy.
Silver Moon may never be my favorite person but she’s no longer at the top of my most-despised list. As the conversation slows to an awkward halt, I stand, signaling we’re done here.
“I’ll be in touch.”
“I’d like that.” She starts to take my outstretched hand but I bend in and kiss her cheek.
“Thanks for stopping by and explainin’ your side of the story.”
“Sure.” She tucks a lock behind her ear and for a moment, I imagine her as a sixteen-year-old, star-struck by a handsome recruit, only a few years older than her.
Man, fate can be a fickle bitch. We wave goodbye to Silver Moon, then Sam and I pack our bags. This afternoon, my wife is scheduled to be murdered.
As I drive the twenty dusty miles, we discuss the plan one last time. Then, I turn the borrowed Chevy into the trading post’s busy parking lot.
“Ready?” Leaning over the stick shift, I adjust the bag of blood taped to the outside of Sam’s Kevlar vest.
“I’m too young to die. Will you miss me?” She smiles as I twist the key.
Ah shit.Her joking ain’t funny because it hits home. Too many times since we’ve met, I’ve wondered if I’ll ever see her again.
“Showtime.” Mouth grim, I kiss her hard and dash around the front to help her down. As her toes hit the ground, a rusty pickup races onto the gravel, and a man jumps out.
He places a pistol barrel to her chest. “Sam Russo?”
“Huh?” Eyes wide, my wife raises her hands in the air.
“Wait!”This is a fucking mistake. What if he screws up?
The gun’s blast sets my babe on her ass, she rolls into a pool of fake blood, and moans. “Oh God, that hurts like a bitch.”
“Sugar, you okay?” Dropping to my knees, my hands red, I pray.
She whispers, “The vest caught the impact and I’m fine.”
Fuck. Of course she is.He’s Wolf’s man and everything is proceeding on schedule.
“Someone help me. Please. She’s been shot.” I press on Sam’s chest while a tear trickles down my face.Hell, this is all too real.
“Mom! Come here.” The door to the tourist trap opens and a teenage girl outstretches her phone, no doubt recording the scene.
“Hang on. I’m calling nine-one-one.” The girl’s mother probably has no clue the rez has no emergency line.
Buck, the owner of the Trading Post runs outside. “You need to get her to the clinic. You know where it is?”
“Yeah. Can you drive? I need to keep pressure on the wound.” Like any distraught husband, I wail out my frustration.
“Got it.” He pulls down the tailgate and helps me place Sam in the back.
Then he shuts us in and jumps behind the wheel. About a mile down the road, I pound on the cab window.
“She stopped breathing. Hurry.”
Minutes later, we arrive at the small clay building where Coyote waits with the doctor. I rush her inside, place her on a cot, and lock the door.
