He watched as the copter flew away, taking the woman he loved.
18
Molly was suffocating under a blanket of darkness. She couldn't seem to swim through the layers of black on black to wake herself up.
Her thoughts came in broken snatches.
Cord.
Toby.
Pain.
The No-Name.
Cord.
In the awful conditions, it took Cord ten times as long as it should've to make it to the nearest hospital with a trauma center.
The hospital in Dallas was bustling, apparently catering to a whole host of people who thought it'd be fun to drive during an ice storm.
He stalked across the lobby, vaguely aware of everyone staring at him. At the information desk, he looked down at himself and realized he hadn't stopped long enough to wash Molly's blood off of him. It was smeared across his coat and jeans, staining his hands, maybe even on his face. He couldn't remember now if he'd brushed a kiss on the uninjured inch of her forehead or not.
Had she made it this far?
The person working at the information desk sent him up two floors to the intensive care unit. There, the nurse manning the desk asked him exactly what his relationship was with Molly. He knew enough about privacy laws that he'd been preparing himself for this during the last ten minutes of his drive.
The lie slipped easily off his lips. "She's my fiancée."
When Molly woke up, he'd make it true.
The nurse couldn't tell him anything except that she was in surgery for the bullet lodged in her abdomen. There wouldn’t be more information until Molly got out of surgery.
The nurse gave him a pointed look and urged him to visit the men's room to wash up, even offering him scrubs to change into.
He stood under the too-bright fluorescent lights, staring at the water turning pink as it washed Molly's blood down the drain.
Toby had shot her.
And they'd crashed.
Which one had come first?
Had Molly forced the accident to try to escape?
What had she been thinking? His imagination ran wild, trying to figure out how it had happened, why she might've thought causing an accident was her only escape route.
She wouldn't have trusted the cops to find her. They'd failed her before.
She couldn't have known that Cord was out looking for her. Or how far behind he was.
She'd done the best she could in terrifying circumstances.
He'd fought to stay emotionless on the drive here. The weather was so horrible that he'd needed every ounce of attention to get himself to Dallas in one piece. To be here for her.
Now that he had nothing left to do but wait, the emotions he had held at bay overwhelmed him.
He bent his head to rest on his forearms as the tears came hard and fast.
Molly might be dying on the operating table right now.
What would he do if he lost her?
In the short weeks he’d known her, she'd become the light in his life. She'd guided him from the painful past that haunted him into a present where he could find joy. She’d helped him finally see a future. A future that he wanted.
He pulled himself together by sheer force of will, returning to the waiting room. He wanted to go to Molly the moment he was allowed. He'd be ready for whatever she needed.
If she survived.
She had to survive.
He was still waiting over an hour later when two familiar figures stepped off the elevator and walked down the hall toward him. Iris and Jilly.
He didn't even have the strength in his legs to stand and greet them. "What are you doing here?"
Jilly sat beside him, putting her arm around his shoulders without asking for permission. Iris sat in the chair at his other side, balancing a paper cup carrier with three to-go cups of coffee.
"Sally is the emergency dispatcher for the county," Jilly said. "We've been friends for years."
"She called us right after your 911 call," said Iris.
And they must've left almost immediately and battled the weather all this way. To be with him?
He didn't deserve it, and tears swam in his eyes again. He pressed his thumb and forefinger into both of his eyes. Cleared his throat.
"Isn't that against the law or something?"
"Probably." Iris shrugged. "But it's Sutter's Hollow."
And for the first time, he was glad to be a part of the tiny community.
He was halfway through the coffee when a doctor in scrubs and a surgical cap pushed his way through a set of double swinging doors.
Cord jumped out of his chair.
"You the fiancé?" the doctor asked.
Cord didn't glance at his friends. "Yes."
"She got lucky the bullet struck where it did. It hit in the fleshy part of her side. No damage to her internal organs that we can tell."
Relief flooded Cord, but it was short-lived.
"I'm more worried about her head injury," the doctor continued. He glanced at his phone, and Cord wanted to shake him. "There's a lot of pressure inside her skull. If it doesn't resolve itself, we may have to do surgery."
Cords stomach dropped to his toes. Brain surgery? He didn't know the risks, but he knew it had to be dangerous.
The doctor added, "She's got at least one broken rib and the fracture on her wrist. Assuming the best, she's got a long road of recovery ahead of her."
"When can I see her?" Cord’s voice was hoarse.
"Soon." And the doctor was gone.
Cord sank back into the seat between his two friends. He ran his hands up and then down his face, trying to shake off the weariness that had descended over him.
Molly was out of surgery, but not out of danger. And even if she got past the danger of her head injury, what were the emotional ramifications?
She'd been frightened of Toby. Now the man was dead, but after what she'd suffered, she had a right to jump at every shadow, every sound.
Molly awoke surrounded by machines and a dim light.
A hospital room?
Her head pounded fiercely, and she couldn't remember what happened.
Across the room, the window blinds were open. It was pitch black
