Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(36)

“God,” Preacher said. He got down on one knee and lifted her off the ground, into his arms. He stood with her against him.

“I’m okay,” she wept against his chest. “I’ll be okay.”

He pulled her hand away from her face, saw the blood coming from her nose.

“Aw, Paige, that should never have happened to you,” he said. He started to carry her to Doc’s.

Jack helped Mel to her feet. She brushed herself off and stood for him. “I’m not hurt,” she said. “I just got off balance….”

“You sure?” Jack asked.

She nodded and Jack turned toward Lassiter, still crumpled on the ground. His look of fear was gone and replaced with a narrow-eyed sneer that made Jack furious.

Rick bravely put himself between Jack and Lassiter. When Jack turned from Mel, Rick took one look at the storm gathering on Jack’s face, the way he clenched his fists open and closed, and stepped out of his way.

Jack walked over to Lassiter and stuck out a hand to assist him in standing. “Good thing you stopped him,” Lassiter said, putting out his hand for assistance. “I’d have had his ass.”

Jack pulled him to his feet with a snarl, and once he was upright, threw a punch into his face that blew him across the street four feet. He walked the few feet and stood over Lassiter, looking down at him. “Now you gonna have mine?” he asked.

Lassiter looked up at him, blood immediately spurting from his nose. “What the hell…?” He got clumsily to his feet and faced off with Jack, his fists up as a boxer would do. He shuffled his feet a little, dancing, ready to land a blow with a closed fist.

Jack actually laughed, completely loose, relaxed. “You’re kidding me, right?” he said. He wiggled his fingers. “Come on.”

Lassiter came at him, then retreated suddenly, whirled in a crouch and came up with a high kick aimed at Jack’s head. But Jack stopped the assault of Lassiter’s foot with a fast hand that grabbed his ankle. Jack yanked hard and Lassiter landed on his back, his ankle still in Jack’s grip. “What you going to do, buddy? Kick me?”

“Let go!”

Jack dropped the leg and reached down to pull him to his feet by the front of his expensive shirt. He threw a punch into his gut, doubling Lassiter over. Then another one to his face, reeling him backward onto the ground.

At Doc’s porch steps, Preacher turned around and looked over his shoulder at what Jack was doing, then continued on.

“You’ve had it now,” Lassiter said with a strained, breathless voice.

“I haven’t had it quite yet,” Jack said, pulling him up again. He delivered one more blow to the man’s face, sending him airborne a few feet before he landed in the dirt, rolling around, semiconscious. Jack brushed his hands together to remove the stain. “Now, I’ve had it,” he said. “Rick, tie his hands behind his back. I’m going to call the sheriff.”

“Sure, Jack,” Rick said, sprinting off to the bar in search of rope.

Mel shook her head. “Shame on you,” she said to Jack.

“I’m sorry, Melinda. But someone had to knock the shit out of this ass**le at least once, and if Preacher had done that, this idiot would never walk again.”

“Well, if you get into trouble, don’t come crying to me,” she said, and turned to follow Paige and Preacher into Doc’s.

Paige lay on the examining table in Doc’s clinic and Preacher held her hand in both of his. “I let you down,” he was saying, so softly Mel barely heard.

“No,” she whispered. “No.”

“Paige, were you afraid I was going to hurt him?” Her eyes shifted away from his face and he brushed a soft hand against the hair at her temples. “Paige, I could’ve hit him—but I don’t lose control. Paige,” he said, putting a finger and thumb on her chin, turning her eyes back to his face. “Paige, I don’t lose control. Okay?”

She nodded weakly. Mel put an ice pack on Paige’s face and told her to hold it there, then noticed that a dark stain was spreading in the crotch of her jeans. “Preacher, please step out of the room and call Doc so we can examine Paige.”

“I’m sorry,” he said to Paige. “I let you down.”

Paige put a hand on his face. Preacher put a light kiss on her forehead and left, hanging his head. Mel knew the only way this could have turned out differently was if Preacher had been strapped to Paige’s side twenty-four hours a day. Lassiter was quick and mean. Obviously crazy.

And Paige was bleeding, perhaps miscarrying.

Mel shook out a sheet to cover Paige. She leaned over her and said, “Help me pull off your jeans, Paige. We have a problem. You might be miscarrying.”

Although she cried softly, she was able to lift her h*ps enough for the pants to be removed. Blood immediately began to pool beneath her and Mel decided not to examine her; she didn’t want to aggravate a hemorrhage. Rather, she fixed her up with a Peripad, covered her with the sheet, and told her she’d be right back.

She met Doc in the hall before he came into the examining room. “We need to transport her, at least to Grace Valley—and maybe on to Valley Hospital. Will you call John Stone and have Preacher bring the gurney?”

“Spontaneous AB?” he asked.

“At least. I just hope it’s not a uterine hemorrhage. The girl is only twenty-nine. I’m not going to examine her. I’m going to leave that to John. Will you please tell him there was severe abdominal trauma? Bastard kicked her.”