My hands trembled, my breathing hitching in my throat.Oh my God. Please let him be okay.On legs that felt like jello, I raced forward, Brandy hot on my heels.
A medic was already strapping an oxygen mask to his face, tearing his burnt shirt off as they checked for injuries. I gasped as I took him in. Burns coated him. Canyons and crevices of all shapes and sizes, spanning from his wrists to his chest. The left was worse than the right, but not by much.
“A-are those from now?” I gasped, my hands muffling the sound.
The medic didn’t even deign to look at me as he shook his head and responded. “No, ma’am. These don’t look fresh.” And then he was back to working, pulling things out of his pack, cleaning and wrapping Maverick’s wounds. All the while, Maverick lay unconscious, the only sign of life being the rise and fall of his chest.
I ran a hand over his close-cropped hair, eyeing the deep cut slicing through his eyebrow.
“Is he gonna be okay?” I asked, casting a worried glance at the medic.
He met my stare this time at least. “He inhaled a lotta smoke, but aside from that it’s mostly cuts and bruises…” he glanced at the cut above Maverick’s eye. “Well, except that one. May need a couple stitches.”
I blew out a sigh of relief. Not completely in the clear, but I’d take that verdict for the moment.
“I don’t know whether your boyfriend’s just plain stupid or incredibly brave,” the medic went on, gaze flicking back to his task. “Likely a bit of both.”
I didn’t bother to mention Maverick and I weren’t dating. It seemed such a trivial thing in the moment. Not when he still hadn’t woken up. My heart hammered in my chest. I know the guy said he was okay, but…what if he wasn’t? What if he ran in there and saved Brandy and ended up seriously sick or hurt or dying?
Panic gripped my stomach, twisting it in knots and making me tremble. Fuck, I hated this feeling. So…so out of control. He had to be okay. I couldn’t take that guilt. Not like I’d had any control in stopping him, but I’d all but begged him to do something. Anything.
Please let him be okay. Please let him—
He fell into a coughing fit, his chest crumbling in on itself as he fought and flailed to pull the oxygen mask off. I pressed my hands to his shoulders. “Maverick! Maverick, it’s okay!”
Panic—pure, undiluted panic—shone in his light gaze as it settled on me. “Cheyenne.” his voice was raw, his breath ragged. His chest rose and fell as the paramedic spouted off something, but I wasn’t paying attention.
“Hey,” I breathed out, my voice a broken squeak. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
His wild gaze flitted around, searching for something. “Brandy?” he choked out from behind the oxygen mask.
I glanced down at her before settling on him once more, my hands still holding him steady. “She’s okay. You…” my throat closed in on itself. A lump forming. “You saved her.”
I don’t think I could ever thank him enough. Could ever repay the kindness and bravery he’d shown me. Brandy was my everything. My good girl. My road dog. My best friend. Without her…God, I didn’t even want to think about that possibility.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until he raised a shaky hand to my cheek. “I couldn’t—” another coughing fit “—let her die.”
My heart squeezed. And thank God the paramedic interrupted me, or else I might have done something incredibly stupid like rip the mask off and kiss him. Or even worse, tell him I loved him. Because I just might be in love with him after that selfless act.
The next few hourswent in a blur after that. They got the fire under control, and finally out. All of my stuff was ruined though. Everything I owned, aside from my tack, in that trailer. Thank God, I’d left it in the back of my truck.
At some point, a couple Sheriffs showed up, asking a whole bunch of questions I had zero answers to. No, I hadn’t left anycandles on. No, I hadn't left the stove or oven on. No, I hadn’t left my curling iron on—I didn’t even own one. Had they seen my hair?
Each question felt more like an interrogation, making me frustrated and defensive. I hated that I felt like the suspect. I hadn’t done anything wrong, and I wasn’t some dumb idiot who just left something on and forgot to turn it off.
“Do you have any problems with anyone? Someone who’d wish you ill will?” one of the deputies asked.
I frowned. That gave me pause. Would Nate be that much of a dick? He was certainly fucking capable of it… But, arson?
You did chase him with a cattle prod,the traitorous little voice in my mind offered.
But chasing off someone with a cattle prod and arson were on two completely different levels. And if he had done it, why the hell would I tell the sheriffs? He’d likely just retaliate more in the end. Even if he did do it, I honestly just wanted nothing to do with him.
With a shake of my head, I said, “No, sir.”
They interviewed Mr. and Mrs. Perkins, who hadn’t seen anything. But they had heard Brandy bark once—though that wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for her. With nothing else to really do, they talked about getting security footage from the trailer park, but that’d likely take a day or two, so until then it was just sit and wait.
I’dhave to call and file an insurance claim on the trailer tomorrow, but that would do me little to no good in the here and now. Basically, I was homeless and broke. Cool.
