Something Wilder

He made it inside the chopper and was situated in a seat near a window. The last thing he remembered before passing out was asking Lily whether he had anything in his pocket.

Chapter Thirty-One

LEO MISSED EVERYTHING that followed because he was essentially comatose for six hours.

Well, not really comatose; the doctors said he didn’t have a concussion but was in shock. Lily was glad he got to miss the odd bedfellows of tedium and stress over this reentry into society. While he was taken to the county hospital about thirty miles west of Hester, Nicole, Lily, and a subdued Walter gave their statements at the police station. Given that they’d already told the police they were out looking for Terry, they stuck to that story. Luckily, Bradley wanted to avoid outright murder charges and gave the same version of events.

It turned out to be a good thing Terry had signed the liability waivers for everyone. Less lucky for Bradley, though, was that he couldn’t avoid criminal charges altogether.

Walter, emerging from his final conversation with his handcuffed former friend, used his crutches for balance as he sat down heavily in one of the plastic chairs beside Lily and Nicole. He told them what Bradley was up against: two charges of kidnapping, two charges of conspiracy to commit aggravated assault, two charges of threat of violence, and one charge of aggravated robbery. “He’s looking at, at minimum, three to five years.”

With a quiet “Thanks,” Walter took his backpack from Nicole. “I declined to cover his bail but told him he was allowed to write us letters of apology from jail.” He cleared his throat. “I also told him he looks terrible in orange.”

Nic barked out a shocked laugh, gazing at him with fondness. “That’s right, sugar. Let him rot.”

“I don’t want him to rot,” Walter corrected, “but I wouldn’t mind knowing he has time to really think about what he did to Leo. I’m not sure I can ever forgive him. He didn’t uphold the Outlaw Code.”

Lily stepped forward then, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, mindful of his casted foot. “But you did.”

When Joe and the female ranger—Officer Pochuswa—came back several hours later to tell them they’d retrieved Terry’s body, Lily didn’t know why she started to cry. The finality of it all hit her hard. The relief, too, maybe. But also the realization that, even after everything that happened, nothing would really change. Even after Terry’s death, their failed attempt to find the treasure, the wild way that she and Leo crashed together, and the fact that she’d been held at gunpoint three times in a matter of days, she’d have to keep bringing people out to the trail to put food on her table and take care of her horses.

Nothing they’d done in the past week had made any difference. In fact, it had only made things worse. Because from that day forward—whether it was next week or ten years into the future—she’d always imagine Leo out there: his big hands loosely holding the reins while he coaxed Ace into a smooth lope; eyeing Lily knowingly over his tin coffee mug, flirting even in the cold shock of the morning; climbing over her in the sweet confines of a cabin, kissing his way down her body.

Lily assumed her meltdown helped convince the police that she was blindsided by the news, because Officer Pochuswa put Lily in her truck and personally drove her to the hospital to be with Leo.

She was directed to a sleepy ER bay with five beds, the other four of them empty. Bright light streamed through tall windows, and the entire space had the feel of a hospital from the past, plunked down in the middle of some quiet countryside. Leo was still asleep when she got there. It meant that Lily could take his hand and just… look at him.

As expected, he had stitches in his temple, some more in his cheek. He would have an impressive shiner under his right eye, and his bottom lip was cut and swollen. They’d taken his shirt off and his ribs were bruised but not wrapped; thankfully nothing seemed to be broken. There were wires taped to his chest and attached to monitors. She had to assume it was out of an abundance of caution, because his heart rate beeped steadily, his blood pressure an even 110/70. Despite the beating he’d taken, he looked healthy and sun-kissed. She loved this face. She loved him. She couldn’t imagine finding another face anywhere that she would love this much.

She looked at his hands instead. They were strong: long fingers, muscular, with prominent tendons that made her want to bend down and bite. Turning his hand palm up, she ran her fingertips over the paths of lines there. Except for random cuts and scrapes, his skin was mostly unmarred and smooth. His hands were only mildly calloused, nails meticulous. There was no sun damage, no scars. They were city hands. These hands belonged to a man who lived in a high-rise and jogged in an urban park and would get a promotion when he returned home.