No.
Sammy was down there in the dirt, eyes open, only whites showing, a big-assed chunk of bone showing by his scalp. Heblinked once, shook his head, then Sammy started convulsing, feet and hands and head slamming into the dirt.
Coke grabbed Sam’s feet and Balta tried to pull him up. Jonesy and Shaun and Doc were there, grabbing Sam’s arms.
“No.” It came out low, desperate, and Beau threw himself at Sam, trying to get a hold of him somehow.
“You can’t.” Balta grabbed him tighter, tugged him up and over. “Cameras,amigo, sim? We go back now.”
Coke looked up at him and there was fucking blood sprayed over Coke’s face. Blood. Sammy’s blood.
“No.” No, he couldn’t just leave. That was his Sam, his. Jesus. Beau damned near puked when Balta yanked him up over the rail. “Sam…”
“We go. We go now.” Balta just manhandled him, picked him up, and suddenly AJ and Packer and about ten other cowboys were in the way of the cameras. “Now,sim?”
Balta walked him, snarling something at Joaquim on the way, and the kid nodded.
“Balta…” Beau knew he was begging, but he wasn’t proud. He had to know what was going on, had to be able to see and touch. “Please.”
“Beau. We go to the ambulance,sim? Joa will bring your things. We’ll go to hospital.”
“Okay. Okay.” His legs didn’t want to work, but he clung to Balta and let the man move him. David Donaldson’s voice boomed in the background, telling the crowd that they’d have an update later on Sam Bell and Beau Lafitte both.
They were already loading Sammy up, moving fast. That dear body was still shuddering and shaking and Coke was there, praying over Sam as they shoved the gurney up into the ambulance.
No one said a word to him when he climbed in, so someone had already cleared it. Maybe Ace, who stood off to one side of the alley, stony-faced and pale.
Coke’s eyes met his. “I’ll come, Cajun. Soon as I can.”
Balta hollered in. “We’re coming, amigo.”
Beau just nodded, waiting for the doors to close before reaching for Sam’s hand. “Is this okay?” he asked the EMT.
The girl met his eyes. “Yeah. Talk to him. It’ll help.”
Sammy jerked and trembled on the bed, and they had him strapped down but good, cutting at his clothes.
“Talk to…” Beau swallowed hard. “Okay. Poot? I’m gonna kick your ass when you’re up and about again. You hear me?”
“We’ve got head injury, convulsions, non-responsive. BP one eighty over one ten. Pupils nonresponsive.”
‘Non-responsive’. Oh, God. Bile rose in his throat, and Beau swallowed it down, trying not to let it get the better of him. Sam was gonna be fine. He had to be. That strong hand clenched over his fingers, hurting him, but for a second he thought he’d look up and Sam’d be staring at him.
It didn’t happen.
What happened was that alarms and whistles went off and the girl barked out, “He’s crashing. What’s our ETA, damn it?”
“Two minutes.”
“I’m intubating.”
Fuck him.
Sammy.
Beau clutched at Sam’s hand like he was the only thing holding the man on earth. “Don’t you do this to me, Sammy. Don’t you even think on it. You need to stay right here. You have puppies to deal with.”
They were shoving tubes down Sam’s throat, pumping him full of shit, but he kept talking. Kept telling that stubborn bastard to hold on, stick around. He’d damned near talkedhimself hoarse by the time that they got to the hospital and Sam was still with them, so maybe he was doing what he needed to.
