“Well, yeah?—”
She yelled at a burly young cop down the block, “Quakenbush, call another ambulance.”
Quakenbush? Unfortunate last name. I waved my hand at him. “It’s Arthur’s blood. I’m okay, I swear. Although if I could get something to wipe it off..." I took a good look at my wrist, remembering the feel of his hand on me. I’d bet he was normally a strong guy, but he’d felt weak as he’d asked me to stay. As he’d listed off all those things that needed tending to.
“I’ve got a first aid kit with disinfectant wipes.” Quakenbush gestured for yet another police officer to help hold back the gathering crowd, then strode off toward one of the cop cars.
A thin voice that was meant to be strong echoed in my brain. “Call his dads, and…and… yeah, the shelter. Tell them I’ll be late for evening feeding.”
Arthur’s instructions for me flashed back in an instant.
Call his dads. Check. Well, I hadn’t actually been the one to call them, but Kevin had. And I’d have offered him physical comfort while he waited, if that’s what he’d needed. Along with Kevin’s fear, though—appropriate given Arthur getting shot—I’d sensed a whole pile of righteous indignation and independence from the young man that didn’t invite a hug from a stranger.
Kevin’s dads kept murmuring things to him.
I couldn’t hear, which was probably their intention, but I was impressed they were keeping it together. If my baby sister Cheyenne had pulled this crap? I’d be hollering my head off at her stupidity. Bravery…and stupidity. Kevin could’ve got himself killed. For a dog. My sister likely would’ve done the same thing.
Call the shelter.
“Uh…?” I was about to stick my hand in the air to get their attention when Quakenbush approached wearing gloves and carrying a first aid kit.
He laid the zippered kit on the patrol car trunk and started rummaging through it. While he was busy…
“Hey? Kevin?”
“Yeah?” He eased out of his dad’s hold and stepped toward me, straightening his shoulders and jerking his chin up although I could see his face was flushed and his eyes glossy.
A protective hand landed on his shoulder. The slimmer guy I assumed was second dad Alec met my gaze. “You said your name was Brooklyn, right? And you helped?”
How much I’d helped, I wasn’t certain. Questionably, I’d run toward the gunshot. Still… “Yeah, I tried to help.”
“You kept our son from getting killed.” The taller dad offered a tiny smile. “Thank you.”
I cleared my throat but then the police officer grabbed an alcohol-wipe and set about cleaning my wrist. I spoke past him. “Really, no thanks necessary. I’m just sorry—” An image of Arthur’s jeans going dark with blood filled my mind. “I wish things had ended differently. Oh, meaning that no one got shot.” Lest they think I’d somehow meant their son should’ve been killed…
“Well, we’re grateful,” the big guy said.
“I might need your help.” Frustration welled within me. I would’ve been happy to clean myself—given there wasn’t any injury—but Quakenbush seemed determined. As long as that meant he finished quickly, I was okay with that.
“Whatever it is, you just ask.” The dad winced. “I should introduce myself. Apologies. I’m Joe, and this is my husband, Alec.”
I waved with the arm not being tended to. “Better circumstances, right? I’m new in town, and this wasn’t how I envisioned meeting people.”
Joe offered a sheepish smile. “That’s true. How can we help? Is there something you need us to do?”
“Arthur said something about a shelter? Did he mean Safe Haven Animal Rescue? I’ve heard about it, of course, but I haven’t had time to go there myself.” One item on my long to-do list was to take my brochures there and see if they would stock them. Once I had better brochures for my doggie daycare. A redesign was even higher up on that to-do list.
“Oh, of course, Arthur’s dogs will need to be fed and walked. And all the shelter pets too.” Kevin grabbed his father’s arm. “We can go, right, Dad?” His gaze passed between his two dads—almost like he figured if one said no then the other might agree.
“I promised Arthur I would go.” I eyed Quakenbush. “If you’re done with me for now.”
“Statement.” That came from Officer Branson.
“Surely you can take my statement at the shelter.” I glanced over to Frank’s house. “And what about the chickens?”
Officer Branson pursed her lips. “They’ll be fine for a few hours. I can call Pam. She organized fosters before Safe Haven opened. I’ll see if she can take care of the chickens. And I’ll call Shane. He’s the manager of the shelter?—”
“Shane’s in Europe with Theo and Mimsy.” Kevin jutted his chin as if daring any of us to argue.
