The door opened and Jessie walked in. “How’s he doing?”
“Rocky but better.”
Jessie nodded and took another bite from the drumstick he held. “Want something to eat?”
“Not right now.”
Jessie walked to the window, pulled back the edge of the curtain, and peeked out. “Looks like the rain’s picking up. Feels like a storm’s brewing.”
“Who’s place is this?” Buck asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Lucky they weren’t home last night.”
Jessie shrugged. “I guess luck’s part of everything.”
“Until it’s not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What happens if the owners return?” Buck asked.
Jessie glanced toward the door, the window, and then back to Buck. He seemed uncomfortable with Buck’s line of questioning. Good. Maybe he’d say something he shouldn’t. Something Buck could use. No doubt he was the weak link. Dalton impressed him as the kind who made few mistakes. Seemed to always stay focused. But Jessie seemed more relaxed and not nearly as sharp.
Buck continued, “I imagine they wouldn’t be very happy with their dining room becoming a surgery suite and this bedroom an ICU of sorts.”
“That’s a fact.”
“But, like you said, luck’s part of everything.”
Jessie gnawed off another bite from the drumstick. “I suspect they’re gone for a few days.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
Jessie seemed to search for a response, finally coming up with, “This is pretty good chicken. You should have some.”
“Maybe in a few minutes.” Buck checked the IV flow rate, trying to appear casual, distracted. “What happened?”
“Happened?”
“How did Dennie get shot?”
“It was an accident.”
Buck looked at him, holding his gaze until Jessie looked away. How far could he go? Right now they needed him, and as long as he could keep that need alive he would be safe. Gave him a sliver of power. After he became expendable the story would definitely change. Pushing Jessie might not be smart but neither was doing nothing. Divide and conquer seemed his only viable strategy.
“Come on, Jessie. I’ve seen too many gunshot wounds. This was no accident.”
“Sure it was. He was cleaning his gun.”
“Then why not take him to the hospital? Where he could get the right care?”
“Seems like you did pretty good. Old Dennie looks to me like he’ll make it.”
“That your medical opinion?”
That caused a pause. Jessie glanced toward the open door. “Let me give you some advice—don’t go asking this kind of shit to Dalton. He ain’t as pleasant as me and he don’t like folks digging into his business.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I would if I was you.”
Time to change course. Maybe draw in Jessie a little.
“You did good last night,” Buck said.
Jessie shook his head. “I ain’t never seen nothing like that. That’s for sure. I mean, the way you just ripped that kidney right out of him. Sewed him right up.”
“He was lucky that’s the worst of his injuries. Had the bullet hit his liver or his bowel or one of the big blood vessels in there, we would be having a different conversation.”
“I guess luck does come in all sorts.”
“Sure does. Especially with gut shots.” Buck sat down in the chair. “But I meant what I said, you did a good job.”
Jessie tossed the chicken bone in the trashcan. “I just did what you told me to do.”
Buck smiled. “All without throwing up or fainting.”
Now Jessie smiled. “I guess I did do pretty good.”
“What’s going on?” Dalton said. He stood in the doorway. He had loosened his ponytail and his hair splayed out in a tangle behind him. His dark and dangerous eyes focused on Buck, then Jessie, then back to Buck. “What were you guys talking about?”
Jessie shuffled his feet, head down toward the floor.
Buck jumped in. “I was complimenting Jessie on his work last night with Dennie.” He smiled. “You did good, too.”
“I’m thrilled with your approval.” Dalton walked to the bedside and looked down at Dennie. “How’s my brother doing?”
“He had a few problems during the night. Low blood pressure, things like that, but right now he’s more or less stable.”
Dalton nodded. “When can he travel?”
“If you mean down to the hospital, we can leave right now,” Buck said.
Dalton glared at him. “You can give up on that idea. I mean to Memphis.”
Memphis? So they were from Memphis. A long way from home. Why were they here? What was Dalton’s agenda over here in this little spit of a town?
“Memphis is a long way from here,” Buck said. “That where you’re from?”
Dalton’s glare did not waver. “You ask too many questions.”
“You wanted to know when he could travel. I simply wanted to know where. How far.”
“And now you know. So, when?”
Buck looked at Dalton across Dennie’s bed. “Two or three days at best. And that’s if all goes well and a post-op infection doesn’t rear its head.”
“Ain’t that what all those drugs we stole were for?”
“Some of them. But they don’t guarantee anything. Just lessen the likelihood.” Buck waved a hand toward the living area. “The surgery wasn’t done in exactly the most sterile environment. A wound infection is a distinct possibility.”
Now Dalton looked uncomfortable. Laced with a hint of aggravation. Or was it fear?
“Not sure we can wait that long,” Dalton said. “We need to get on up the road.”
“I’d plan on a couple of days then.”
Dalton started to say something, but hesitated. He turned and walked toward the door. “I’ll make some coffee.”
Twenty minutes later, Buck, Jessie, and Dalton sat at the kitchen table eating the eggs and toast Jessie had made and sipping the coffee Dalton had brewed.
Dalton examined his cell phone. He shook his head.
“What’s the problem?” Buck asked.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but there’s no service up here.” He placed the phone on the table. “And I need to make a couple of calls.”
Buck glanced toward the kitchen area and the wall phone near the refrigerator. “Probably shouldn’t have cut the line on that one.” He nodded that way.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you? Give you a chance to call
