Page 43 of Untamed Hunter Daddy

She applies the butterfly closures carefully, tongue between her teeth in concentration. Then a gauze pad and medical tape, neat and even.

“Zoe.”

“What?”

“You shot a man.”

She pauses. The last piece of tape is half-applied. Her eyes meet mine from six inches away. “He was coming through the door.”

“I know.”

“I picked up the gun and pointed it and I didn’t think. My hands just knew what to do. Because you told me. Twice.”

“Your hands did good.”

“I shot a man, Ryker.”

“You defended yourself. There’s a difference, and the law agrees with me. We can talk about how it feels later, somewhere that isn’t a snowbank with two zip-tied suspects four feet away. Right now what I need you to know is you did the right thing. You were alone and someone came through your door and you stopped him. That’s not something to feel bad about.”

She finishes the tape and sits back on her heels.

“Nice shooting, by the way.”

“I was aiming for his chest.”

“Then your aim needs work. But the intent was solid.”

She laughs. Short, sharp, a little hysterical. I pull her against me with the arm that doesn’t ache and she comes, pressing her face into my shoulder. We sit in the snow while the two men groan and the snowmobiles tick as their engines cool.

Slowly, one by one, the birds start to return.

I call Mason.

“Two suspects in custody. Snowmobile approach from the northeast ridge. Coordinated assault, flanking pattern. One is the Ridge Auto associate from the diner. Second is unknown, early thirties, no visible ID. Both secured. One has a GSW to the left upper arm, through-and-through, fired by the witness in self-defense. I’ve got a laceration above the left eye and possible rib fracture. Requesting transport for the suspects and a forensic team for the scene.”

“Forensic team for what?”

“The snowmobiles. No visible registration. VINs may be filed or the machines stolen. Serial numbers will tell us where they came from. First machine is disabled about forty yards south of the cabin. My round went through the engine. There might be tool marks or aftermarket work that links them to a shop.”

“Like a mechanic’s shop,” Mason says. “Like Ridge Auto in Alpha Range.”

“Hypothetically, yes.”

“I’ll have the team there in two hours. And Ryker? The witness fired the weapon?”

I look at Zoe. She’s sitting in the snow with her arms around her knees, watching the birds come back. Pale. Steady. The sidearm is on the counter inside where she set it down because I asked her to.

“The witness defended herself,” I say. “Admirably.”

Mason’s quiet for a beat. “Copy that. I’ll document it accordingly. Get that eye looked at. And tell your witness she did good.”

I end the call.

“Ryker,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“Next time you tell me where the gun is, tell me where the extra magazines are too.”