Page 92 of Ransom
The Cruz kid was on the bunkhouse porch and Mateo had got him there. Sierra was kneeling in front of him with his sleeves shoved past the elbow and both hands working: pad, pressure,the second bandana already tied tight above the wound. The blood was still coming down off the kid's elbow and onto Sierra's wrists in a slow, steady line. Cruz was holding the bad arm against his ribs and not moving it. His face had gone past chalk into something gray.
Mateo was at his shoulder. Coyote was at the south end of the porch with Nimue across his shoulders and his hands on his hips. He hadn't sheathed the knife.
"Bonney Ranch," I said. "They were taking him to Bonney."
Mateo nodded once.
"Rex'll want him alive long enough to put on a show. That's my window. It's closing every minute Galahad's not under me."
I started walking toward the cut.
Rafe stepped into my path.
He must've come off the porch when I turned. Sierra was at his shoulder, blood on his hands and forearms up to the elbow, the kid's blood. Pearl was at Sierra's side with her head down and her ears pinned. Coyote pulled up a few feet off, watching.
"Move," I said.
"No."
"Rafe. Move."
"You're not going."
"The fuck I'm not."
"My barn is gone. My horses are dead. The Cruz kid took a round through the arm. Sierra's hands are still wet from packing it. Rex Rawlins came onto my land for your Ranger and he came through my barn to do it."
"I know all of that, Rafe. Move."
I tried to sidestep him, but he put a hand on my chest.
Ten years, and Rafe had never put a hand on me.
I looked down at it. Then at him.
"Take your hand off me."
"You're not going."
"Take it off, Rafe."
His hand stayed where it was. That was worse than if he'd shoved me.
"You ride out that gate, the rest of these boys are on their own. Cruz is half dead on the porch. Mateo's eighteen and just shot a man for the first time. Coyote's running on fumes. I've got a barn that's still burning and one I can't put out and a fence line Rex can come back through any minute he wants. I need my right hand."
His right hand. That's what he called me. He'd called me his right hand since the first year, when I'd asked him what he wanted me for and he'd said what a man's right hand's for.
"I can't, Rafe."
"You can. You will. You always have."
"Not today."
His grip tightened on the front of my shirt.
"You walked onto this ranch ten years ago with a mountain of rage and nowhere to put it. I gave you a name, a roof, a horse, and a brother to look after. I gave you work that made sense of what you were. And now you're telling me one man with a badge has come through here and you're done? Is that what you're telling me?"
"I'm telling you I'm going."
