Page 117 of Promised to the Cowboy

I hate them for it. I know they need space. I know every hand on Gabriel is trained and necessary. I know standing over them will not help.

I still hate every inch they put between us.

“Ma’am, I need you to step back.”

“I’m his—” The word catches. Girlfriend sounds too small. Partner sounds clinical. Family is the truth, but I don’t know whether it is enough for strangers with uniforms and rules.

Jacob straightens beside me as the paramedics work. “She’s his fiancée.”

I turn toward him. He doesn’t look at me. His eyes remain fixed on Gabriel while the paramedics cut away what’s left of his shirt and secure an oxygen mask over his face.

“His fiancée,” Jacob repeats. “And she’s carrying his child.”

The paramedic nods. “She can ride with us if she stays clear while we work.”

“I will.” I would agree to anything.

They fit a collar around Gabriel’s neck and slide a board beneath him. He groans when they lift him. The sound tears through me.

His eyes open briefly. “Evie.”

“I’m here.” I push past the edge of the medical kit until I can catch his hand.

One of the paramedics starts to object, then sees his fingers close weakly around mine and lets me stay.

Gabriel’s gaze is unfocused behind the oxygen mask. “Baby?”

“She’s okay.” I don’t know that. Not for certain. But she’s moving. A small, restless pressure beneath my ribs. I hold on to that. “We’re both okay.”

His eyes close again.

“Gabriel?”

“He’s conscious,” the paramedic says. “Let him rest.”

Rest.

As though he has fallen asleep. As though his heart didn’t stop beneath my hands.

They lift the stretcher. Jacob walks beside it. One hand rests on the metal rail, his knuckles streaked with Gabriel’s blood and dirt. His face has gone gray beneath his tan.

“Dad.”

Daniel’s voice cuts through the noise.

Jacob stops.

For the first time, I look beyond Gabriel. The runway is full of people. Federal vehicles crowd the eastern end. Men in dark jackets move between Alexander’s contractors, taking weapons and forcing them to their knees.

Wire has Falcon facedown beside the utility truck, one knee between his shoulder blades. Falcon isn’t fighting anymore. His head is turned toward us. Toward Gabriel. His face is empty.

I look away.

Alexander stands near the plane with his hands visible at his sides. He’s still composed. Of course he is.

Two federal agents flank him while another speaks into a radio. His coat is dusty now. One cuff is torn. It is the most disordered I’ve ever seen him.

He looks across the field and finds me. Even with Gabriel on a stretcher between us, even with armed officers surroundinghim, Alexander looks at me as though this remains a private disagreement he expects to resolve.