Page 77 of Careless Hope
“Caroline, you’re doing great,” Walker offered from beside me, his voice a low rumble of support. His presence was a balm, but I couldn’t let gratitude distract me—not even for a heartbeat.
“Thanks, but don’t jinx it,” I shot back, a wry smile flashing across my face before my gaze returned to the wound. It was my attempt at humor, at normalcy, when nothing about this situation was normal.
Another gunshot went off, startling me so badly I nearly lost my grip on the fresh bandage. Jim was back, his eyes wild and bloodshot, the smell of whiskey rolling off him like the morning fog that sometimes blanketed the fields. He looked like a storm personified—unpredictable, dangerous, and utterly terrifying.
“Stay back,” I warned, feeling a protective instinct roar to life within me. My body angled over Lily’s, shielding her as best I could. Adrenaline surged through my veins, a jolt of electricity that readied me for whatever came next.
“Jim, you need to leave. Why don’t you come with me and we can wait for the police together,” Walker said, his tone calm but edged with a steely undercurrent that made it clear he wasn’t asking.
“Like hell I will!” Jim lurched forward, and every cell in my body screamed to action. I was no cowboy, no heroine from the novels on my nightstand, but in that moment, I would have stood against a stampeding herd to keep Lily safe.
“They’re almost here,” I called out to Walker, not taking my eyes off Jim.
“Come on, Jim, don’t make this worse” Walker said, his posture unyielding as he moved to intercept Jim, who stumbled closer, fueled by whatever demons drove him.
“Get away from her!” Jim roared, his fist raised.
“Over my dead body,” I muttered under my breath. Panic twisted in my gut, but I held my ground, ready to fight for Lily’s life as fiercely as my own.
The office air crackled with tension, a storm brewing in the tight space between Walker and Jim. I could see the muscles in Walker’s jaw clench, his stance firm like an oak rooted deep in Montanan soil. His blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were now icy shards aiming at Jim.
“Jim, don’t do this,” I pleaded, my voice barely rising above a whisper.
But neither man heard me; their focus locked on each other—two bulls in one pen, both ready to charge. Walker took a step forward, his hands balled into fists at his side. “You’re not welcome here, Jim,” he said, every word measured, but vibrating with a threat.
“Who’s gonna make me leave? You?” Jim spat, his face contorted with rage. The room seemed to shrink, suffocating with the weight of their anger. I started to move forward out of instinct but Walker held up a hand.
“Caroline, stay back,” Walker commanded without tearing his gaze away from Jim, who was now inches from him, chest heaving.
Jim swung first, a wild haymaker that Walker dodged with ease. But there was no grace in what came next—just raw, primal struggle. They grappled, arms flailing and grunts filling the room. Jim landed a punch, and Walker’s head snapped to the side, but he didn’t go down. Instead, he drove his fist into Jim’s stomach, and the thud echoed off the walls, a sickening testament to fury unleashed.
Their boots scuffed against the linoleum floor, the sound mingling with heavy breaths and curses. It was chaos,pure and terrifying, right here in the place where I’d bandaged scraped knees and soothed fevers.
And then—a gunshot, shrill and deafening in the confined space. Silence slammed into the room like a physical force, and for a heartbeat, everything stopped. My ears rang, my heart thrashed against my ribs, trying to escape my chest.
I stood frozen, staring at the scene before me—Walker and Jim, the fight drained out of them, the gun smoking in Jim’s trembling hand. I couldn’t move, couldn’t think—could barely breathe. It was only when Walker stumbled, a grimace tightening his face, that reality crashed back.
“God, no,” I gasped, finding my legs again. Time turned molasses-slow as I rushed to Walker’s side, my medical training kicking in over the scream of my own fear. My hands shook as I reached for him, ready to do whatever it took to keep him and Lily alive.
“Stay with me, Walker,” I whispered, my voice unsteady, my resolve anything but. “Please, stay with me.”
“Caroline,” Walker choked out, his voice strained as if every syllable cost him a piece of his soul. I barely registered the word before my gaze snapped to his abdomen—dark red blossoming across his shirt like some grotesque flower unfurling its petals. My breath hitched, panic surging like wildfire through my veins.
“He shot you.” The words tumbled from my lips in a rush of terror and disbelief. How had this gone so horribly wrong? One moment they were throwing punches, the next . . . blood.
But even with pain etching deep lines around his mouth, Walker’s determination was a force unto itself. He staggered, yet his blue eyes blazed with an intensity that rivaled the midday sun beating down on his family’s fields. With a growl that seemed to pull from the very depths of his being, he lunged at Jim once more, grappling for control of the gun.
“Get back, Caroline,” he spat out between gritted teeth, the cowboy who’d never backed down from a bar fight or a bucking bronco now using his last ounces of strength to protect me. His hands, strong and callused from years of roping cattle and mending fences, were surprisingly steady as they fought against Jim’s desperate grip.
It was surreal, watching him—the charming cowboy with the casual smirk—transform into this unyielding pillar of bravery.
The gunshot’s echo still haunted the room when Walker, with a final herculean effort, twisted the weapon free. A triumphant shout almost escaped my lips, but it died there as I saw the toll it took on him. His face turned pale, sweat beading on his forehead.
He threw a final, bruising punch against Jim’s right eye, causing his head to slam into the wall. Jim fell to the floor, unmoving.
“You’re safe now,” he said to me, a hint of that triumphant smirk of his resting on his lips.
And then, as if someone had cut the strings holding him up, he crumpled to the floor.
