Page 28 of Dirty Cowboys
By the time we reach the house and get Indie inside, all three of us are soaked again. Nash carries her straight to the guest bedroom while Walker grabs thefirst aid kit and I call Doc Henderson. Nash quickly strips off her wet clothes and pulls one of my old T-shirts over her head.
“Storm’s got the roads blocked,” Doc tells me over the radio. “But if her breathing is steady and her pupils respond to light, she should be okay. Keep her warm, check on her every hour, and let me know if anything changes.”
Nash hovers beside the bed while Walker cleans the cut on her forehead. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have used that as the fucking safe word.”
“Stop,” I tell him firmly. “This isn’t on you.”
“Isn’t it?” Nash turns to face me, his eyes red as he holds back tears. “She’s lying there unconscious because she thought Wyatt was one of us.”
Walker looks up from bandaging Indie’s head. “You think she would have been safe at home if you’d picked a different word? She was upset; Duke said she was crying. Storms don’t give a shit about safe words, Nash.”
“But she wouldn’t have been at our spot.”
“And then what?” I interrupt, crossing my arms. “She consented to everything we’ve done together, Nash. Regardless of who she thought was behind those masks, she said yes. She wanted it. And she came back for more.”
Nash runs his hands through his damp hair,leaving it sticking up at odd angles. “She trusted us. We were supposed to keep her safe.”
“And we did,” Walker says. “Every time. We gave her a safe word, we checked on her, and we made sure she got home okay. What happened tonight wasn’t about what we’ve been doing with her.”
I walk over to Nash and put a hand on his shoulder. “Walker’s right. She’s a grown woman who made her own choices. The storm was not something we could have prevented by picking a different word.”
“She could have died out there,” Nash whispers, his voice cracking. “Because of a fucking misunderstanding.”
“But she didn’t,” I remind him. “We found her, and she’s going to be okay.”
Nash slumps into the chair beside the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. “I keep thinking about what would have happened if we hadn’t gone looking for her. If we’d assumed she was safe at home.”
“But we went looking. We are not men who leave someone we care about to face something like this alone.”
The room is silent as we all look at each other; I don’t think any of us have stopped to consider that we care about this woman. It’s funny how something like this can make you realize how you feel.
“Her pulse is strong,” Walker continues, pulling a blanket over her. “And her breathing is steady.”
“Are we going to tell her it was us? If she confronts Wyatt, everyone will know,” Nash says.
Before I can respond, Indie’s eyelids flutter, and her breathing changes—she’s waking up.
“Hey,” Nash says softly, leaning forward in his chair. “You’re safe.”
Indie’s eyes open slowly, unfocused and confused. She blinks several times, trying to make sense of where she is. When her gaze clears, she looks between the three of us standing around her bed, and I can practically see the pieces clicking together.
“It’s you,” she whispers hoarsely.
None of us know what to say, so we simply stand there staring.
She tries to sit up, wincing as the movement sends pain through her head. “I need to... I have to...”
“Whoa, easy,” Walker says, moving toward the bed.
But Indie’s already swinging her legs over the side, trying to stand despite her obvious dizziness. “I can’t... this is...” She gets to her feet, sways, and takes a stumbling step toward the door.
Walker catches her before she can fall, his hands firm on her shoulders. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice is rougher than usual. “Don’tyou think you’ve caused us enough worry for one night?”
Indie looks up at him, and for a moment her lower lip trembles and tears gather in her eyes.
“I heard you,” she whispers. “I heard you talking about the masks, about keeping me safe. It was you all along.”
Chapter Eleven
