Lori Armstrong - Merciless

I smiled and reached for the hand he’d held out. I threaded my fingers through his and brought his arm to my chest, wrapping my other arm around and giving his knuckles a soft kiss.

The doctor said to Lex, “The nurse mentioned ice cream. Let’s have you pick some for you and your dad.”

After they were gone, I said, “How do you feel?”

“Confused. My throat feels like I swallowed a pound of glass and chased it with a gallon of lemon juice. My head… hurts. My eyes… are happy to see you.”

“Just your eyes?”

He smirked. “The one-eyed monster is happy to see you, too.” Dawson tugged on my arm as a signal he wanted me closer.

I leaned close enough to feel his minty breath on my cheek before I lowered my mouth to his for a chaste kiss.

He murmured, “Kiss me like you mean it, woman. I damn near died.” And he promptly blew my mind with a kiss so hot, yet so full of love, that those pesky tears filled my eyes again.

But I didn’t stop kissing him. Couldn’t, actually.

Finally, I eased back and peered into his face. “You ever scare me like that again, Mason Dawson, and the hurt I’ll inflict on you will be ten times worse than any two-thousand-pound bull, got it?”

“Loud and clear, Sergeant Major.” He frowned. “Your mouth is bleeding.”

His enthusiastic kisses had opened the cut on my lip, but I’d ignored the pain. I grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the spot.

Then his focus narrowed on my face. “Jesus. Is that a bruise? What the hell happened to your cheek?”

“Would you believe I walked into the barn door?”

“No.”

I forced a laugh. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You seem a little… off.”

You have no idea. “Been rough having my man in a coma. I’m better now that you’re better.” I let my fingertips brush the bristly growth on his cheeks and jaw. I just wanted to crawl in bed with him and surround myself with everything that was him.

“Mercy. What’s really goin’ on? Something happen at work this week?”

“Nothing that I can talk about.” Not a total lie.

Dawson closed his eyes. “You want to know what woke me?”

If he said some kind of woo-woo shit, like he’d had a nightmare about me being in danger, I’d freak the fuck out. “What?”

“I dreamed about that weekend I visited you at Quantico. We hadn’t seen each other in two months.”

“And we didn’t leave the room for the first twenty-four hours. After that we barely left the hotel.” I remembered thinking the state’s slogan-VIRGINIA IS FOR LOVERS-was apt. “Why do you think you dreamed of that?”

“Because that’s when I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“We were solid.” His breathing slowed. “So you’re really gonna marry me?”

“Yes, if you ever produce a ring.”

“It’s been in my sock drawer since the week you came home. If I’da known a head injury was the way to convince you to become my wife, I’da climbed on a bull a lot sooner.”

I resisted my impulse to whap him on the chest. “I’m not changing my name.”

“I don’t care. Just as long as you don’t change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” A long pause. “I’m so tired.”

“Rest.” I brushed his hair back from his damp forehead. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Dawson and I were solid. It’d just taken a little trip over shaky ground to get me to believe it.

Two weeks later…

I woke to the smell of bacon frying.

What the hell? Mason was still asleep next to me. I squinted at the clock on the nightstand. I doubted Lex was up at 6:30 cooking breakfast for us. But then again… the boy had been so helpful since his father had come home from the hospital that I really didn’t know what I would’ve done without him.

I slid free from being pinned beneath Dawson’s leg and arm, patting his shoulder when he scowled that I’d somehow escaped his hold.

Pulling on my robe, I yawned and headed to the kitchen. “Lex, if you want help-”

But it wasn’t Lex standing at the stove. It was Sophie.

Although her eyes were sad, she smiled at me, even when I continued to gape at her as if she were an apparition. “Good mornin’, takoja. I’m thinkin’ of whipping up some omelets.”

I wanted to ask what she was doing here. But I just stood there, like an idiot, with my mouth hanging open.

“You’re always grumpy until after you’ve had that first shot of caffeine. Luckily, I made a pot of coffee, eh?”

A few weeks away hadn’t changed her bossy ways. I marched up to her and hugged her, ignoring her warnings about bacon grease splattering us. And I kept right on hugging her until she hugged me back and sighed.

Then she patted my shoulder. “I missed you, too, Mercy. Now sit.”

I sat. Sophie brought us both a cup of coffee and took the chair across from mine. If she noticed the ruffled place mats were gone, she didn’t mention it.

“How’s the Sheriff?”

“Really good. He’s working half days through this week. If his arm is more responsive to the physical therapy on Friday, he’ll go to full shifts next week.” The only lingering effect from the coma was Dawson’s limited mobility on his left side. It frustrated him not being 100 percent. A feeling I was familiar with.

“He’s lucky. I prayed to Wakan Tanka when I heard about his accident.”

“Thank you. Every day I realized how blessed we are.”

“I prayed for you, too, Mercy. I prayed you’d find peace. I prayed you’d discover the power in forgiveness.”

Not likely. Especially since I knew she was talking about forgiving John-John. I lifted my cup to drink.

Of course, Sophie’s sharp gaze focused on the diamond engagement ring on my left hand. “I’m assuming you finally said yes to the Sheriff?”

“He was being a pain in the ass about it, so I agreed to marry him just to shut him up.” I set down my cup. “So you coming back to work for me or what?”

Sophie harrumphed. “Yes, you need a caretaker. I saw that you hadn’t cleaned the laundry room at all while I was gone. I’m gonna need a bigger vacuum, hey, to get them dust rhinos under the couch cleaned up.”

“So noted.”

“I ain’t gonna work full time. Mebbe just two days a week here. Hope and Jake don’t need me meddling at their place. Jake said you took time off. Are you back to work at the FBI now?”

“No, I’m on personal leave until I know Dawson’s recovery is complete.” After that? Who knew? I wasn’t sure if I expected Director Shenker and Agent Turnbull to beg me to stay, or if I’d feel relief if they let me go. Either way, I would have to make a decision soon.

Every day I read the paper and listened to the news, expecting to hear a breaking story about a bullet-riddled body found in the woods on the rez. But after two-plus weeks… nothing. The tribal police hadn’t made a statement about what they’d discovered at Sheldon War Bonnet’s house, either. Rollie’s warning- All the sick stuff most people, even the cops, on the rez turn a blind eye to -had proven true. It was easier sweeping evil under the tipi. Or denying its existence altogether.

“You could always go back to work at Clementine’s,” Sophie suggested, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“I doubt that’s an option, since John-John and I aren’t speaking.”

“He’s sorry, Mercy. You have no idea how sorry he is.”

“That is true. I have no idea how sorry he is, because I haven’t heard from him or seen him at all,” I retorted.

“He’s grieving.”

“I know. So are you. Just… don’t make excuses for him, okay?”

Sophie lifted her stubborn chin. “My grandson is going to apologize. Mebbe the question should be: Will you let him?”