"Lucy. Jesus Christ, Lucy."
She's half in the creek, body twisted at angles that make my stomach lurch. Blood paints her face in patterns that belong in horror movies, not on something so perfect. But when I drop to my knees beside her in the icy water, her eyelashes flutter.
"Hurts," she whispers, and it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard because it means she's alive, she's here, she's not gone.
"I know, baby. I know it hurts." My hands are moving on autopilot, veterinary training kicking in hard.
Check pupils. Responsive, that's good. Airway. Clear. "Can you feel your legs? Wiggle your toes for me."
A tiny nod, followed by the smallest movement under her boots. Good. That's good. Means her spine might be intact. But there's so much blood, and her wrist is bent at an angle that makes bile rise in my throat.
"Concussion for sure," I tell Gabriel as he slides down beside us, breathing hard. "Wrist is definitely broken, maybe ribs too. Need to stabilize her neck before we move her."
Gabriel nods, already shrugging out of his jacket to fashion a makeshift collar. Between my veterinary training and hisemergency response experience, we've got this covered. We have to.
"My truck's closest," Beau says, voice tight with controlled panic. "Four-wheel drive, can handle getting back up this slope."
"No." Gabriel's hands are gentle as silk as he positions the improvised neck brace. "Need speed more than anything. Emergency lights, radio, clear the roads."
For a heartbeat, we all freeze. Three men who've spent two years barely speaking, brought together by a broken girl who somehow crawled under all our defenses without even trying.
"Together," I say, voice rough as sandpaper. "We do this together."
Gabriel nods. Beau's already positioning himself to help lift.
Gabriel’s supporting her head and neck with practiced precision. Me cradling her torso, feeling every labored breath. Beau taking her legs, strong and sure.
Lucy whimpers as we lift her, and I murmur every reassurance I can think of. "You're okay, Shortie. We've got you. Not letting you go. Not ever."
The trip up the ravine is a nightmare of careful steps and held breath. Every sound she makes drives railroad spikes through my chest. But we make it, settle her as gently as possible in the back of Gabriel's patrol car where the radio crackles with dispatch chatter.
Gabriel is already behind the wheel, all sheriff efficiency. "Beau, shotgun. Call the hospital, tell them we're coming in hot with head trauma. Colt, back seat, keep her stable."
I slide in, gathering Lucy against me as carefully as handling newborn kittens. Her head rests against my chest, and I can feel each breath like it's my own. Beau's already on the phone, rattling off medical terms with the precision of someone who's dealt with enough ranch accidents to know the drill.
"Stay with me, Shortie." I press my lips to her hair, not giving a damn that the other men can see. "You don't get to leave. Not when I haven't told you everything."
Everything.
How she walked into my clinic and brought light to places that had been dark so long I'd forgotten they existed.
How her coffee tastes like forgiveness because she's the one making it.
How I've been sober for weeks because the thought of disappointing her cuts deeper than any whiskey craving ever could.
"Almost there," Gabriel says, taking a turn fast enough to make the tires scream. "Three minutes."
Three minutes. I can keep her here for three minutes. I tighten my hold, careful of her injuries but needing her to know she's not alone. Not anymore. Not if I have anything to say about it.
The hospital appears like salvation wrapped in concrete and fluorescent lights. The emergency team is already waiting, and they take her from my arms with professional efficiency.
The loss is physical, painful, like they're ripping out part of my chest. But I let them because she needs more than I can give right now.
"How long unconscious?" one of the doctors asks as they transfer her to a gurney that looks too big for her small frame.
"In and out during transport," I answer, following as far as they'll let me. "Alert but groggy."
"We'll take it from here," the doctor says, and then Lucy disappears behind doors we can't follow, leaving the three of us standing in a waiting room that smells like disinfectant and other people's fear.
