“Already done,” Matt said as another patrol car arrived, lights spinning. “Hey, Sheriff. You missed all the excitement.”
“Looks like.” Luke Saxon climbed out of his car and beelined for Frankie. “You okay?”
“Never better.” Her chest hurt. Her arms ached. She wanted a shower more than she wanted oxygen, but the adrenaline continued to surge. She planted her hands on her knees and focused on breathing. “Oliver’s still out here somewhere. Fletcher’s already searching, but we need to get a move on.”
“Grandpa went to get help.” Parker turned his head against Roman’s shoulder. “He said he’d be right back.”
“How long ago was that, little man?” Roman asked.
Parker shook his head. “I don’t know. I felled asleep.”
“Over here!” Fletcher’s voice echoed from across the road on the other side of the engine. “There’s a blood trail.”
Frankie followed Matt across the gravel road and found a line of brush that had been broken through. “Here!” She dived into the trees even as she felt the mud drying and stiffening her clothes. A good twenty feet off the road, she found Fletcher crouching over Oliver Hideman who was lying facedown. She touched his neck, felt for a pulse. “He’s alive,” she told Fletcher, who nodded. “But it’s thready. Going to need help getting him out of here.”
“I’m here.” Roman dropped down beside her. “Luke has Parker. What do we have?” He helped roll Oliver over onto his back.
Frankie fell into the routine she’d been trained for. She checked Oliver’s extremities, looking for signs of broken bones, contusions, and stopped when she got to Oliver’s chest. “At least one broken rib. Here. Low. I don’t think it’s punctured a lung.” She ripped open his plaid flannel shirt and trailed her fingers lightly over the skin. “No bruising. Looks like the blood loss has slowed. We need a backboard to get him out of here.” She looked up at Roman and found him nodding in agreement.
“He’s got at least two good wounds on his head. I don’t want to risk a back injury, too. We’ll wait for the ambulance.”
“Ten minutes out.” Fletcher pushed to his feet and looked around. “Must have been disoriented to come this way. All he had to do was stay on the road and he’d have found help.”
“Mrs. Mulvaney lives just half a mile down the road.” Frankie leaned down to sniff. “I don’t smell alcohol. Could be this was just a freak accident because of the deer Parker told us about. Fletcher, can you get my medbox out of the SUV? I want to check his vitals.”
“Sure thing.” Fletcher returned to the SUV.
“Nothing accidental about the hazard those ravines pose,” Roman said. “This entire area should be hacked back. Barriers put up.”
“Hard to justify the cost when only a handful of families and people live up this way,” Frankie told him. “But you’re right.”
“I know I am.” Something akin to anger flickered in his eyes. “Should have waited before I talked to the mayor, but you can bet we’re going to have another conversation. I did get things settled about Jasper, though. So.” Roman shrugged. “That’s something.”
“Yes,” Frankie said, swallowing her surprise and wondering what that odd expression was on his face. “That’s definitely something. Thank you.”
The unreadable expression vanished under surprise. “You’re welcome. You did great, Frankie. Really great.”
“I guess that’s a truce called then?” Matt called from a distance away. “I can tell Lori there won’t be bloodshed at the firehouse any time soon?”
“Can’t promise that indefinitely, but for now?” Frankie nodded at Roman. “Yeah. Truce.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHAT’S THIS?”
Roman, reaching up into the top cabinet for an oversize stock pot, glanced over his shoulder and found Frankie standing in the doorway of the kitchen, a piece of paper clutched in what looked like a white-knuckle grip. He pulled the pot down, set it on the back burner of the stove and faced her. He didn’t need to be a mind reader to see the truce he and Frankie had called just a few days ago was teetering. The heat in those eyes of hers could spark a forest fire. “New duty schedule.”
“Why?”
“Because in my experience, three ten-hour shifts followed by forty-eight hours off better suits this kind of environment.”
“In your experience. Remind me, please.” The sweet tone of her voice didn’t match the expression on her face. “How long has that experience been for, exactly?” She looked to the scribbled-on calendar hanging on the wall.