How do you survive being shot and left for dead in the Chihuahuan Desert? By being found by a beautiful wildlife photographer willing to risk her life to save yours.
A bitter ex-cop fights for his life after he runs to the sound of gunfire on the Ri...
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Her stomach emptied of its contents, Bobby followed as April was transferred by ambulance to the hospital in Alpine. Her blood had been drawn. What was her blood-alcohol level? What drugs did she take? They warned him she might never wake up.
He sat beside her in a private room, alone. Pops had heard by now. He was certain. Some moments exist solely between a man and a woman. No one else belonged and he was equally certain his father understood.
Bobby leaned back in the recliner, staring at the ceiling, his arms clasped behind his head. The hits just keep on coming. He recalled standing over John David's mutilated body, numb, staring in revolting horror. He'd known no real peace since that day.
He'd been so relieved when he learned April wasn't behind drugging Gust, that she didn't pay Sartain to kill John David. Then Bam! She put his face in the dirt with that confession. He peered at her. Damn, April. Ed Sartain?
He envisioned them together, picturing John David waiting in his truck. Why didn't he bust into Sartain's house then? Why did he wait?
Bobby slammed shut the recliner footrest, standing over her, rage surging again. If he'd been John David, he'd have killed them both. In the bed together. John David, you were always too nice. Had to be the gentleman. Wouldn't make a scene in front of her. John David was going to handle it and never let her or anyone else know. It was just who John David Watson was. Bobby plopped back down in the recliner, burying his face in his hands. His chest ached.
He wanted to slap her, shake her, and hold her all at the same time. Instead, he left the room.
At the nurse's station, he asked, "Any chance I could get a cup of coffee? Without going all the way to the vending machine area? I, uh, hate to get that far away."
The woman nodded, returning with a steaming cup. "If you need more, Mr. Watson, just ring the buzzer." She smiled. "One of us will bring it to the room."
He nodded. "Thank you."
Returning to April's room, he noticed one of Tillie's big, framed photographs displayed in a waiting area, a spotlight on the big print. How had he missed that earlier? He stopped, standing in front of it. Blue Norther. He remembered that day. She wanted him to go with her. He'd begged off. Covered up with work, he'd told her. He scoffed. Yeah, covered up all right.
Starring at Tillie's photograph, a wave of nausea washed over him. He was drenched in a bucket of putrid water. How could he judge April? He never even tried to be faithful to Tillie. Anytime she suspected, he denied it.
He bedded April, knowing John David was in love with her. Yeah, it was before they married but still, who did that to his best friend?His own blood?
A muscle twitched just beneath his left eye. It kept twitching as he returned to the room, sitting back in the recliner, sipping the bitter coffee. His mind wouldn't stop scrolling through his own infidelities, one after another, and with each memory, his throat tightened.
