Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(45)

“Has something happened to my dad?” Maggie’s green eyes were wide with fear. She was a perceptive child. It came as no surprise that she’d already guessed the truth.

“He’s been taken to the hospital, in Cottonwood Springs,” Grace said. “He was shot. The doctors will be operating on him to take the bullet out.”

“Will he be all right? He’s not going to die, is he?”

Oh, Maggie . . .

“I certainly don’t think so.” It was the best answer Grace could manage.

“I want to go to the hospital. Can you take me, Miss Chapman?”

“Yes.” Grace took the small, cold hand in hers. “I’ll take you and I’ll stay with you until your dad is better. Come on. Let me get my coat and purse, and we’ll go.”

They walked out to the parking lot. Maggie, pale and silent, had not shed a tear. Grace could imagine the little girl struggling to be brave for her father. She could only pray, silently, as she drove, that this was not the day when they would lose him.

*

Even before he opened his eyes, Sam felt the raw sensations in every part of his violated body—the sting of needles, the pull of tubes and bandages, the beeping monitors, the oxygen clip on his nose, the lights that penetrated his closed eyelids, and the deep, hard pain at the core of it all.

Like a scene from a bad crime show, the memory swam into focus—the crazed-looking gunman, the mother and her boys, Walt with a gun, the wounded, struggling young man, and then . . .

Stupid . . . Why hadn’t he checked for an accomplice? That was how cops got shot.

With a groan, he forced his eyes open. The doctor studying him as if he were a lab specimen looked young enough to be in high school. “Welcome back, Sheriff,” he said.

Sam was in no mood for chitchat. “Tell me everything,” he said.

The doctor nodded, glancing at the chart in his hands. “You were incredibly lucky. Clean shot. The bullet went in from behind the shoulder and out below the collarbone without hitting anything vital. We got you cleaned up, but you lost a lot of blood—that was our big worry. It took two pints to get your vitals up. We’ve got you on antibiotics and some morphine for the pain. You can expect to hurt a lot when it wears off. There’s a drain in the wound. If it looks good, we’ll take that out in the morning.”

Sam stirred, but moving hurt. He was propped up at a slight angle with pillows behind him. A thick dressing with a drain lay over his right shoulder. His arm was in a sling to keep the wound stable.

“What’s next?” he asked. “I need to get out of here.”

“We’ll be keeping you over the weekend, at least. When you do get home, you’ll need to take it easy for a few weeks while you heal.”

Fat chance of that. He had work to do and a daughter to take care of.

His heart lurched. Where was Maggie? He’d been planning to pick her up before he was shot. Had she walked home and gone to the McDermotts’? Had anybody thought to tell her what had happened to him? She had to be worried sick. He had to get a phone and make some calls. He needed to make sure Maggie was all right and that things were covered at work.

Sam could see the time on the wall clock. The hands said 10:15 but there were no windows in the room. He didn’t know whether that meant A.M. or P.M. He’d lost all track of time.

“Get me a phone,” he demanded. “I’ve got people depending on me. I need to make some calls.”

“Take it easy, Sheriff. It’s nighttime. The world can get along without you for a few more hours. Right now, you’re in recovery. First thing in the morning, we’ll be moving you to a regular room. But first, there’s a visitor in the waiting room who’s very anxious to see you.”

As the doctor stepped out into the hall, Sam lay back on the pillows and closed his eyes. Now that the shock of waking up had worn off, he felt exhausted. He began to drift.

“Daddy?” Maggie’s voice brought him back. She stood by the bed, gazing at him with her wise, worried eyes.

“Hello, honey.” He reached out with his left hand and touched her cheek.

“Oh, Daddy!” The tears began to flow, welling in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. “I was so scared that you might die.”

“Don’t cry, Maggie.” He brushed a tear away with a fingertip. “I’m going to be fine. I’ll just be here for a few days. Then I can rest at home.” He took her hand and held it in his. “How did you get here? Who’s taking care of you?”

“Miss Chapman brought me here from school. She’s going to take care of me until you’re home. Then I’ll take care of you. I’ll cook and everything.”

Sam looked past Maggie, toward the door. Grace was standing in the open doorway. She looked tired, but she was smiling like an angel.

“Thank you, Grace,” he said. “Coming here, bringing Maggie—it can’t have been an easy decision for you.”

“You’re wrong, Sam,” she said. “I knew Maggie would want to be here. I wanted to be here, too. It was an easy decision. The nurse said we could only stay a few minutes. Then I’ll be taking her home and bringing her to school with me tomorrow. If she’s not too tired, we’ll come back here later in the day.”

“I owe you big-time, Grace,” he said, beginning to drift again.