Aunt Carol ran her hands over her nephew’s scalp. “Mo, do you have anything to add to the conversation?”
Was she ... amused? Her tone made it seem like something was hilarious. But Bronwyn couldn’t think of what that might be.
“Let’s take this shirt off.”
Mo tried to move his arm but winced and hissed. Aunt Carol held his wrist. “Stop that. Don’t make it worse. I didn’t mean for you to pull it over your head. This shirt is destined for the burn pile now. I hope you weren’t particularly close to it.”
Cal snorted.
Mo chuckled. “No, ma’am.”
“Good.” She took scissors from her bag and cut Mo’s shirt off. Then she studied the wound on his arm. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry. Why wasn’t she more ... frantic? Aunt Carol reached over and patted Bronwyn’s hand where Mo still hung on to her. “It’s hard to put pressure on a wound like this, darling. You did fine.”
She looked down and saw the blood oozing from what looked like a five-inch gouge on Mo’s arm. It wasn’t spurting. That had to be good.
“That’s going to need some stitches. But we’ll fix you up so you won’t have a bad scar.” She winked at Mo, who grinned at her.
Grinned!
Bronwyn was very close to screaming at the top of her lungs. Why wasn’t anyone taking this seriously? Aunt Carol looked at Cal. “Hand me that dressing from my bag.” Cal did as requested, and she applied it to the wound with practiced precision. “Now, let’s take a look at this leg.”
She made small talk as she cut Mo’s pants off at the knee. Bronwyn bit back a cry when she saw the hole in his calf. “Is there a bullet in him?”
“Probably.” Aunt Carol was matter-of-fact, as if she saw her nephew riddled with bullet holes on a daily basis. She looked over her shoulder, then back to her son. “Cal, can you check to see where the ambulance is?”
“Ambulance?” Bronwyn’s voice shook.
“Mmhmm.” Aunt Carol had her flashlight in hand and was looking in Mo’s eyes. “He needs to go to the hospital.”
“You can’t take care of him here?”
Aunt Carol reached out and took Bronwyn’s hand. “Darling, he’s going to be fine. And yes, I could take care of him here. But I want him to have a CT scan. He may have a concussion. And while I could stitch him up just fine, if he’s going anyway, there’s a plastic surgeon in Asheville who will do a much better job with his arm and leg. He can minimize the scarring better than I can.”
“I don’t care about a stupid scar. Who cares about a scar?” Bronwyn bit down on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry, Aunt Carol. It’s just that ... they won’t let me stay with him if you take him to the hospital.” The words were a whispered cry. She couldn’t bear for him to be out of her sight. Not now.
Mo squeezed her hand.
“I don’t expect them to keep him, Bronwyn.”
She shook her head. “I can’t...” She swiped at her eyes. What was wrong with her?
Mo leaned his head against her side.
Aunt Carol pulled her into a hug. An awkward hug because Mo refused to let go of her hand. “The hospital is the best choice. If it were just the bullet wounds, I’d take care of it here. But we want to check his head. It’s hard. Goodness knows it is. Most stubborn child I’ve ever known, this one.” Aunt Carol released her and smiled at Bronwyn. “Well, look who I’m talking to. Maybe he’s the second-most stubborn. You take the prize.”
The ambulance pulled into the parking lot and stopped by the door. The EMTs hopped out but didn’t pull the gurney out. Mo was able to step inside and lie down without any fanfare.
He continued to hold Bronwyn’s hand, and she followed him inside the vehicle.
Cal spoke to one of the paramedics, but Bronwyn couldn’t hear what he was saying. She didn’t care. She would stay with Mo as long as she could. Then she’d follow them to the hospital.
The paramedics were talking to Aunt Carol when Meredith’s 4Runner came to a screeching halt in the parking lot.
“Mo!” Her panic mirrored Bronwyn’s own. “Mo!” Meredith ran straight to the back of the ambulance.
“He’s been shot and he might have a concussion. But he’s walking and talking,” Bronwyn told her, trying to stay calm for Meredith’s sake. “Aunt Carol wants him checked out to be safe.”
“Shot?” Meredith’s skin paled and she clambered into the ambulance. “Montgomery Douglas Quinn. What on earth do you mean, going and getting shot? That’s on the list.”
