He looked to Mabel.
The minute he did, she came to him and wrapped her hand around his ankle.
She searched his eyes.
He smiled.
And for the first time since they got to the hospital, her tone was her usual sweet, when she said, “Let me go see what’s happening with that boot.”
And then his woman left.
In Docand Nadia’s guest bedroom, Hutch lay in a line with Mabel tucked to his front, and Hannibal, his poor boy in a cone, tucked to hers.
Tonks was across the foot of their bed, but at Mabel’s shooing, not on their feet.
Moxie was curled into a ball at Hannibal’s gut.
Hannibal was snoring even if Mabel was petting.
“We’re very lucky,” she whispered.
She was right.
“Bad angle for Enstrom, good angle for Hannibal,” he murmured.
Even so, Hannibal had taken twelve pellets and had four more sear through his fur without entering flesh.Some of those twelve drove deep.None of them hit anything major.All of them had been dug out.
He’d been stitched up, given a shot of antibiotics and a heavy sedative.
As she did when he carried him out of his house, Mabel nearly went berserk when Hutch carried him from the vet to his truck.
Fortunately, Doc was there to carry him into the house so she wouldn’t throw another shit fit.
Now they were in bed, finally able to rest, and it was nearly eight o’clock in the morning.
“What was that about the thrill?”she asked.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“You’re tired,” she surmised quietly.
He was.
And he was relieved.
Content.
He had a long debate going on with himself about the question of God and faith.But he straight up didn’t believe in fate or destiny.
But he knew one thing.
Something drove him to the training he received in the military.
It was the challenge, for certain, along with loyalty to his country.Perhaps a son’s drive to make his father proud.
But that night, he knew, all of that had been trumped.
Because whatever drove him to become who he was—a divine hand or the universe’s plan—it did it so he’d be able to be right there, with Mabel and their animals, safe, sound and together.
