Nobody answered Dominic Rossi.
For three long seconds, the only sound inside Mercy’s house was the stove.
Then Mercy said, “You tried to turn your leg into a medical emergency worse than the one it already is.”
Rossi stared at her.
His eyes were dark, focused now.
Dangerously focused.
“And your wrist?”
“You grabbed it.”
His jaw tightened.
“Did I break it?”
“I can move my fingers.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Mercy almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because she had spent the night keeping a feared crime boss alive, and apparently his first coherent concern was whether he had broken the wrist of the woman treating him.
“I’ll survive.”
Rossi looked at Nathaniel.
“Doctor.”
Mercy immediately said, “No.”
Every head turned.
Nathaniel frowned.
“Miss Callahan—”
“You’re not moving him.”
Rossi’s gaze returned to her.
Mercy stepped closer to the bed.
“Your lower leg has two closed fractures. I got the alignment stable, but the swelling is increasing. Your circulation is still present, but I’m watching for compartment syndrome.”
Nathaniel’s face hardened.
Rossi said nothing.
Mercy continued.
“If pressure builds inside those muscle compartments, blood flow gets compromised. Nerves get damaged. Muscle dies. You can lose the leg.”
“How long?” Nathaniel asked.
“That’s the problem. There isn’t a clock hanging over his head telling us.”
“We can get a surgeon.”
“Here?”
“If necessary.”
Mercy studied him.
He meant it.
Not boastfully.
Practically.
As though arranging for a surgeon to travel into an ice storm was no more complicated than ordering groceries.
“You can’t bring an operating room into my kitchen.”
Nathaniel glanced around.
“No. But we can bring equipment.”
Rossi shifted slightly.
Mercy immediately touched his shoulder.
“Don’t.”
His eyes met hers.
For a moment, the room disappeared.
He was simply an injured man.
She was simply the person trying to keep him alive.
Then she remembered who everyone claimed he was.
She removed her hand.
An older man stepped forward.
Emmett Hale.
Mercy had barely noticed him enter.
He crossed the narrow room slowly, eyes fixed on Rossi.
“Dom.”
Rossi’s expression changed.
Only slightly.
But Mercy saw it.
“Emmett.”
The older man stopped beside the bed.
His eyes reddened.
“You miserable son of a gun.”
Rossi almost smiled.
“Good morning to you too.”
Emmett lowered himself to one knee.
For a moment he looked as if he might touch Rossi’s shoulder.
He didn’t.
Instead, he rested one hand on the blanket.
“We thought you were dead.”
Rossi closed his eyes.
“Not yet.”
Emmett’s face tightened.
Then he stood and turned toward Mercy.
He noticed her bruised wrist.
His gaze sharpened.
“He do that?”
“Not intentionally.”
Emmett looked back at Rossi.
“You nearly break the woman who saved you and I’ll finish the job myself.”
“Emmett,” Nathaniel warned.
Rossi opened one eye.
“I’d deserve it.”
That surprised Mercy.
Emmett held out his hand.
“Emmett Hale.”
Mercy accepted it.
His hands were large, dry, warm.
“Mercy Callahan.”
“I know.”
She stiffened.
He immediately understood why.
“Everybody within thirty miles knows who you are. Silas told us whose house this was.”
That explanation helped.
A little.
Emmett kept her hand between both of his.
“Miss Callahan, I’ve held that boy since before he could walk.”
Mercy glanced at the forty-year-old man on her bed.
“Boy?”
“Don’t encourage him,” Rossi murmured.
Emmett ignored him.
“Taught him to fish. Taught him to drive stick behind the old mill. He burned out my clutch.”
A tiny laugh escaped him.
It vanished quickly.
“Now I’m going to tell you something. From this moment on, if you need anything, you tell me. Medicine. Firewood. Gas. Somebody to sit watch. Generator if the power stays down. Anything.”
Mercy didn’t know what to say.
In six years, people had thanked her with pies, vegetables, repaired fences, and promises to pay later.
No one had ever entered her house after she saved somebody and asked what she needed.
“I have enough.”
Emmett shook his head.
“No one ever has enough.”
He released her hand.
Nathaniel stepped closer.
“Tell me exactly what you need.”
Mercy stared at him.
“A hospital.”
Silence.
Rossi opened his eyes.
“No hospital.”
Mercy looked down at him.
“That wasn’t a request.”
“No hospital.”
“You’re not in charge of this conversation.”
Nathaniel actually looked uncomfortable.
Rossi stared at Mercy.
“People usually disagree with me more carefully.”
“People usually come into my house with fewer broken bones.”
Emmett covered what might have been a smile.
Nathaniel didn’t.
Rossi studied Mercy for several seconds.
Then he asked, “Can you keep the leg?”
“If nothing changes.”
“And if something changes?”
“You need surgery.”
“No hospital.”
“Then you could lose it.”
“I heard you the first time.”
Mercy folded her arms.
“Then maybe try understanding it.”
Nathaniel stepped between them verbally before either could continue.
“There are reasons a public hospital presents complications.”
“What reasons?”
Rossi answered.
“People want me dead.”
Mercy looked around the room.
“That doesn’t exactly narrow things down.”
Emmett coughed.
This time Mercy was certain he was hiding a laugh.
Nathaniel wasn’t amused.
“Mr. Rossi’s vehicle was forced off the road last night.”
Mercy’s expression changed.
“Forced?”
Rossi looked toward him.
“Nathaniel.”
“She needs to understand the risk.”
“No.”
Mercy said, “Actually, I do.”
Nathaniel hesitated.
Then spoke.
“Someone knew his route. They knew his vehicle. They knew the weather would slow response. We have reason to believe the crash was deliberate.”
Mercy looked toward Rossi’s leg.
“You told me truck accident.”
Silas stared at the floor.
“It was.”
“You left out the part where somebody caused it.”
Silas rubbed his face.
“Figured you had enough to worry about.”
Mercy wanted to be angry.
Instead, a colder realization arrived.
“Who knows he’s here?”
Nathaniel and Rossi exchanged a look.
“That,” Nathaniel said, “is what we’re trying to determine.”
Mercy walked toward the window.
Men were positioned around her property now.
One near the shed.
One beside the SUVs.
Another scanning the tree line.
Her humble home had become a fortress before breakfast.
“You brought danger here.”
Rossi’s voice came from behind her.
“No.”
Mercy turned.
He was trying to sit higher.
She gave him a look.
He stopped.
“I brought it,” he said.
There was no defensiveness in his voice.
Only fact.
“You didn’t know who I was.”
“No.”
“If you had?”
Mercy thought about it.
“Would your bones have been less broken?”
Something flickered across his face.
“No.”
“Then I would’ve treated you.”
Nathaniel stared at her as if he couldn’t decide whether she was brave or stupid.
Rossi seemed to reach the same conclusion.
“You should be afraid of me.”
Mercy pulled the blanket higher over his chest.
“You have a fever of a hundred and two, you’re stuck in my bed, and you nearly passed out trying to sit up. Maybe save the terrifying-mafia-boss routine for after breakfast.”
Emmett laughed.
A real laugh.
Nathaniel looked horrified.
Rossi stared at Mercy.
Then, impossibly, the corner of his mouth moved.
“Emmett.”
“Yes?”
“I hate her.”
“No, you don’t.”
Mercy turned away before either man could see her smile.
For the next hour, the house changed.
Nathaniel made calls using a satellite phone.
Supplies began arriving from the SUVs.
Medical cases.
Blankets.
Bottled water.
A compact generator.
Fuel.
Mercy protested until Emmett ignored her.
Then another vehicle appeared.
A physician stepped out.
Dr. Gabriel Warren was in his fifties, gray-haired and visibly irritated by the weather.
He entered carrying two cases.
Mercy felt relief for approximately twelve seconds.
Then he looked at her and said, “You reduced the fracture?”
“Yes.”
“Three attempts?”
“Yes.”
“You understand how dangerous that is without imaging?”
“Yes.”
“You licensed?”
“No.”
His expression cooled.
Rossi noticed.
“Doctor.”
Warren looked at him.
“If your next sentence is going to insult her,” Rossi said, “make it your last sentence in this house.”
Mercy stared at him.
Warren swallowed.
“I was going to say she did a remarkably good job under the circumstances.”
“Better.”
Mercy almost rolled her eyes.
The examination took twenty minutes.
Warren’s conclusion did not make anyone feel better.
“The alignment is acceptable,” he said. “But Mercy’s right about the swelling.”
Mercy caught the use of her first name.
Progress.
“Compartment pressures?” Nathaniel asked.
“I want equipment before I make that call.”
“How fast?”
“As fast as you can get it.”
Nathaniel walked outside.
Warren looked at Mercy.
“You’ve been checking neurovascular status?”
“Every thirty minutes.”
“Pain response?”
“Hard to judge. He’s been delirious.”
“Temperature?”
“Peaked at one-oh-two-point-four.”
Warren nodded.
“You kept records?”
Mercy handed him a notebook.
He looked at the pages.
Times.
Pulse.
Temperature.
Circulation.
Mental status.
Medication.
Fluids.
Every change.
He looked up.
“You said you never finished nursing school?”
“Life had other plans.”
Warren closed the notebook.
“You should have.”
Mercy didn’t answer.
She had learned years ago not to touch that particular wound unless she had time to bleed.
Around noon, Rossi woke again.
This time Mercy was alone with him.
Nathaniel and Warren were outside.
Emmett had gone to coordinate supplies.
Rossi watched Mercy change the cloth on his forehead.
“Why didn’t you finish?”
She froze.
“What?”
“Nursing school.”
“Were you eavesdropping?”
“I was lying six feet away.”
“Still rude.”
“Why?”
Mercy looked at him.
“You interrogate everybody who saves your life?”
“Only the ones who refuse payment.”
“I haven’t refused anything.”
“You refused Emmett.”
“He offered me a generator like he was offering a cup of coffee.”
“He likes you.”
“He doesn’t know me.”
“He knows enough.”
Mercy checked his pulse.
“You talk too much when you’re sick.”
“You avoid questions when they matter.”
She released his wrist.
“My mother got cancer.”
Rossi went quiet.
“I came home to care for her. She died eleven months later. By then I had debt, a house, and half the valley knocking on my door.”
“You could go back.”
Mercy laughed softly.
“With what money?”
Rossi’s expression became unreadable.
“Money is fixable.”
“For people like you.”
“Yes.”
Something about the simple answer irritated her.
“Not everything is a transaction, Mr. Rossi.”
“Dominic.”
“No.”
His eyebrow moved.
“No?”
“I’m not calling a mafia boss Dominic while he’s half naked in my bed. My life is strange enough already.”
He almost smiled again.
Then his face changed.
The muscles around his eyes tightened.
Mercy saw it instantly.
“Pain?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m fine.”
“Dominic.”
He looked at her.
She had used his name without thinking.
Neither mentioned it.
Mercy pulled the blanket aside.
His leg looked worse.
Much worse.
The swelling had increased.
She touched his foot.
“Can you feel this?”
“Yes.”
“This?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“This?”
Longer pause.
“Dominic.”
His eyes met hers.
“No.”
Mercy’s stomach dropped.
She stood so fast the chair tipped backward.
“Dr. Warren!”
Footsteps thundered toward the room.
Warren entered.
“What?”
Mercy looked at him.
“He’s losing sensation.”
Warren was beside the bed instantly.
Nathaniel appeared in the doorway.
The examination lasted less than two minutes.
When Warren stood, his face had changed.
“We’re out of time.”
Nathaniel’s voice was quiet.
“How long?”
“Hours, maybe less.”
Rossi stared at the ceiling.
“No hospital.”
Mercy turned toward him.
“You’re going.”
“No.”
Warren looked between them.
Nathaniel closed the door.
Then he said the words Mercy would remember for the rest of her life.
“We can’t take him to a hospital.”
“Why?”
Nathaniel looked at Rossi.
Rossi said nothing.
Nathaniel finally answered.
“Because the person who put him on that road last night is already waiting for him there.”