Page 83 of Trigger Happy

Sabrina dropped me a pin so it’s not hard to find the workshop, but the hatch door gives me hell. The lockpick set she makes me carry is not easy to use. I’m ready to smash the whole thing open with the butt of my gun when it finally gives.

“About time,” I mutter, propping it open with a rock so it doesn’t automatically close again.

The door opens to reveal a dark hole. All I see is a ladder. “Sabrina?” I call down.

“Here,” she says. Her voice trembles.

That tremble has me taking the ladder steps two at a time, and I almost slip on one of the ledges. “Goddamn slippery motherfucking cowboy boots.”

“I’ve been waiting years to hear you say that,” she says with a laugh, then a pained groan.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, jumping the last two steps.

I scan the barely lit room on instinct. It’s the first thing I always do in a new place. Wigs—everywhere. Awesome. Just what every ranch needs. There’s a shovel in a corner, an empty bottle of bleach, but no Sabrina.

Then I spot her.

And my entire body tenses up.

I’ve never seen her like this. Tough, confident, over-the-top Sabrina is huddled in the dark corner, clutching her arm as she rocks back and forth. She looks like she’s trying to squeeze herself into a ball. She’s covered in bleach, her shoulder’s at some sick angle, and… are those tears on her cheeks? For a second I’m murderous, because who the fuck did this to her? I’ll put a bullet in them. Then I remember no one, that’s why I’m here. Her big gray-blue eyes lock onto mine, and soften.

“You came,” she says. “I didn’t think you would.”

What kind of— “Yeah, I came. Christ, Sabrina.” My voice comes out rough and jagged. “What happened?”

She tries to shrug, but flinches. “Partially dislocated shoulder, but don’t worry, it’s happened before.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” I drop to my knees in front of her, already reaching for her arm before she can push me away. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me on the phone?”

“Because I knew you were with Arch, and you’re not the best at masking your emotions. It’s fine.”

I scowl. “You’re pale, sweaty, and you look like you’re about to hurl. Pick a different word.”

She squeezes her eyes tight to suck in a breath. “I just need you to pop it back in, and then we can get out of here.”

“All right, I’ll get right on that. Let me just finish up my decade of medical training.” I cross my arms. “You need a doctor.”

“I don’t see one in the wig dungeon, do you?”

If she thinks I’m going to laugh when she’s in this much pain, she’s wrong. I swipe a strand of sweaty hair off her forehead. “On a scale of nude granny panties to black lace G-string, how much pain are you in?”

“I’m like…” She thinks about it. “… a dusty-rose gingham boy shorts with a lace ruffle trim.”

“So a five, then?”

Her lips lift at the corners. That’s it, that’s all I wanted. “Impressive, Mr. Chastain. You peeking through my panty drawer?”

“A man’s gotta know what his wife likes,” I say, tugging off my black T-shirt.

She eyes my bare chest, and her gaze lingers on my stomach. “I’m not really in the mood for a striptease. We all know you have eight abs, Lawton.”

I rip my shirt straight down the middle so it’s one long piece of fabric. “I’m making you a sling. If I’m going to pop that back in, you’re going to need to immobilize it.”

“Oh.” She blinks. “That’s really thoughtful.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t act so surprised.”

“I’m not acting.”