Angel's Rest(73)

“As well they should.” Celeste sipped her coffee, then said, “The script is pure conjecture. Margaret and I have pored over every book, journal, and letter in the library. We’ve found nothing to support the charge that Daniel Murphy murdered that poor woman. He went to his grave declaring his innocence, and I think it’s wrong for the theater group to take creative license in a way that disparages a man’s reputation. I have to say, Sage, that in my experience with creative personalities, you are the exception to the rule. The scriptwriter is—oh, look. There’s Nic coming out of the library across the street.”

“She looks happy,” Sage observed. “Considering that Gabe is coming home, that’s a good sign, don’t you think? I sure wish she’d been more forthcoming about the honeymoon. I worry that—oh, no!”

Sage surged to her feet, watching in horror as out on the sidewalk, Nic slipped on a patch of ice. She slid into a bench, then tumbled over it and the bicycle chained to it. She fell, the bike coming down on top of her.

Her head hit the cement curb, and she lay still.





THIRTEEN





Sage grabbed her coat and rushed for the door, shoving her arms into the sleeves even as she sent up a prayer. When she was halfway across the street she saw blood staining the snow, and instantly she froze. In that instant, she was back in stifling heat on a dusty dirt road.

Bullets whizzed past her head. Clouds of flies buzzed around her. Slick, sticky blood coated her hands, her arms, even her face where the spray had splashed it.

The gun swung in her direction.

“Nic? Nicole?” The sound of Celeste’s voice jerked her back to reality. “Dear Lord, we need a doctor. Sage, help!”

Sage shuddered. Her knees felt like butter. She had the weight of Murphy Mountain on her chest. Nic is your friend. You have to help.

She forced herself forward as Celeste pulled the bike off Nic, then knelt in the snow beside her. “Nic? Nicole?” The older woman placed a hand at Nic’s neck. “She has a pulse, thank God. Nic? Nicole?”

Seconds ticked by. Another minute. Too long.

As Sage drew near, Nic’s eyes fluttered and she moaned.

Bob Carson rushed from the bank, a first-aid kit in hand. LaNelle Harrison flew out of the quilt shop, asking, “Is she all right?”

Celeste repeated, “Nic?”

Sage stood just beyond the circle, her hands clasped in a white-knuckled grip. She willed herself to go forward, but her feet remained cemented in place even when Nic’s pain-glazed eyes opened and she rolled onto her side and threw up.

Celeste asked, “Where do you hurt, honey?”

“Ohhh,” she moaned. She rolled back onto her back and closed her eyes.

“Nic? Nic!”

She isn’t tracking.

“Where is the blood coming from?” the banker asked, setting the first-aid kit on the ground.

“Looks like she has a gash on her leg.”

Bob Carson said, “Let’s get her inside and we can tend to her out of the cold.”

“I don’t know,” LaNelle responded. “Maybe we shouldn’t move her.”

Nic’s eyes fluttered open again and she struggled to sit up, grimacing in pain. “Oh, that hurts.”

“What hurts, dear?” Celeste asked.

“My whole leg.”

“We need to get her to a hospital. Can someone call Alton Davis to drive the ambulance?”

That finally propelled Sage out of her stupor. “No!”

She strode the last few steps forward and all but pushed the banker out of the way, then knelt beside Nic. “Call for CareFlight.”

Celeste met her gaze with a wide-eyed look. “The baby?”

“I’m not as worried about the baby as I am about Nic. She was out for a couple of minutes. Nauseated. We need to make sure she doesn’t have a blunt force trauma injury, and time is of the essence.” Glancing up at Celeste, she said, “Will you make the call?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll do it,” Bob Carson offered. “I have the number posted in my office.”

While Bob hurried off, Sage first checked Nic’s head for a lump and was glad to find a large goose egg. Better that it swelled outwardly rather than inwardly. She studied her friend’s eyes and was gratified to see the pupils react to light. Next, with methodical, practiced motions, she went to work on the bloody injury on Nic’s left leg. Using the scissors from the first-aid kit, she sliced open the bloody pant leg, revealing a deep gash and a swollen knee and ankle. Sage winced. The cut would need stitches.