Emma turned back to John and stared at the man who’d become so familiar. The crease spanning his forehead. The smattering of stubble across his chin. The scar marring his bicep. She wanted to memorize every inch. Every freckle, every healed wound. “Help me get him to the car.”

  “Emma, we don’t know if—”

  “He’s going to make it.” She uttered the words through gritted teeth. “That’s not in doubt.” She reached for him, digging her hands beneath his shoulder blades and heaving. She stumbled beneath his weight, and he fell, an oversized rag doll, too heavy for her to lift.

  Vince rushed forward and together, they lifted John upright. Vince whistled to the horse and after an awkward moment of maneuvering, they managed to hoist John, fireman style, onto the saddle. Emma took the reins. “I’ll lead Chestnut back to the Jeep. Can you help round up the animals?”

  She needed Vince to say yes. Needed him to be there for her at that moment, no questions asked. She wasn’t the expert at horses or what they would do with a man draped across their back, but she refused to leave John’s side. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  Vince stared for a moment before adjusting his hat and flashing her a tight smile. “Sure thing. Just let Chestnut lead, will you? She’s picky about where she places her feet.”

  Emma turned away before the rush of emotions welling up inside spilled out for Vince to see. Back at the cabin, she’d shut herself down when her thoughts strayed to John and what he meant to her. But now, with his unconscious body bouncing along beside her, she let the feelings wash over her. Gratitude. Forgiveness. Love.

  Somewhere along the line, she’d fallen in love with John Smith. She snorted as she thought of his full name. If he woke up, she’d ask him if it was real.

  With a shake of her head, she corrected herself. Not if he woke up. When.

  Chapter Fifteen

  GLORIA

  A horn blared and Gloria jumped off the couch to rush outside. Thank God! She’d been so worried when she woke to find Emma and Vince gone. Ever since she let it slip about the satellite phone, the cabin had been on edge. Ray barely spoke a word to her all night. Emma refused to look her in the eye.

  The Jeep skidded to a stop, gravel and dust flying, as Gloria rushed down the stairs.

  Emma almost fell out of the front seat. “Get Ray! It’s John!” She tore open the back door and one of John’s limp arms flopped out, pale and lifeless.

  Oh, no. Gloria turned and yelled for her husband. “Ray! Ray! Help!”

  Emma scrambled over John’s body, reaching inside the backseat to drag him closer to the door. Gloria hurried to help, lending her strength on the other side. His head bounced and bumped across the seat as they dragged. Was he even breathing?

  She grunted with effort as his feet thudded one, two, onto the ground. She turned to scream at her husband, but he was there, scowling at the edge of the porch. Now wasn’t the time to throw a fit. Now was the time to help. She leveled her gaze at the man she loved. “Raymond Sanchez, if you don’t want to sleep outside tonight, you’ll help your wife.”

  His feet propelled him down the stairs, but his face remained clouded with anger. With one, fluid motion, he reached beneath John’s slack torso and lifted him off both women’s arms. “Is he dead?”

  “Not yet.” Emma palmed her hips, sucking in a deep breath as Raymond hauled John toward the cabin. “We found him passed out in the middle of the field.”

  “Where’s Vince?” Holly called out from the porch.

  “Back with the animals. We found the goats and the chickens. They’d set up camp around John, eating the grass down in a little circle.”

  “We need to get them.”

  “As soon as John’s stable, I can go,” Gloria offered.

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” Raymond growled.

  “Let’s focus on John.” Gloria placated her husband with a tight smile. At some point, they would have to talk through all this, but not now. She followed her husband and Emma into the house.

  Ray spread John’s body out on the cabin floor and leaned over to listen to his chest. “He’s breathing, but it’s shallow.” He checked his limbs for fresh injuries, glossing over the healing bruises, cuts, and scrapes. The bullet hole to his torso was mostly healed, plastic stitches ready to come off.

  He scooted down to his legs and pulled up one section of pants.

  Gloria recoiled. “Oh, my. That’s... nasty.”

  “His leg wound is infected. Pretty severely.’” Raymond leaned over John and placed a hand on his forehead. “He’s feverish, too.”

  Emma paced behind him, palming her forehead as she stared into the middle distance. “That makes no sense. You gave him antibiotics. He shouldn’t have an active infection.”

  Raymond leaned back on his haunches, balancing on the balls of his feet.

  Gloria knew that look. “What?”

  His eyes flicked up to meet hers. “He refused to take them.”

  “What?” Emma spun.

  Raymond kept his gaze trained on Gloria. “He didn’t want to waste them. Said someone else might need them later.”

  Beside her, Emma threw her arms wide. “That proves he’s on our side. He’d risk dying to keep us safe.”

  Her friend had a point. For all that Gloria didn’t trust John and thought Emma was too quick to lean on the man for support, no one who didn’t care would refuse antibiotics with an injury so severe. Her husband’s scowl deepened, and she leaned forward, pinning him with a be careful look.

  He needed to rein in his dislike for Emma’s sake. If John died, criticizing him now would only lead to resentment and bitterness. After a moment, his lips thinned, and he managed a nod. Thank goodness.

  Gloria turned to her friend. “Ray’s got this under control. How about we go back and round up the animals?”

  Emma tugged her lip between her teeth. “Are you sure you don’t need us?”

  Ray managed to sound neutral. “I’m going to clean the wound and shove some pills down his throat. Unless you can wake him up, I’ve got it covered.”

  Emma kept staring at John like the weight of her eyes would rouse him from the depths. Was there more going on between them than Gloria knew? She reached for Emma’s arm and squeezed. “There’s no point in standing here worrying when Vince needs our help.”

  Emma had always been conscientious to a fault and the mention of Vince needing assistance sagged her shoulders and broke her stare. “You’re right. He’s probably losing his mind wrangling that rooster.”

  “How are the chickens?” Gloria smiled over the makeshift fencing, a post and rail concoction of fallen trees and scraps of chicken wire. It had been three days of constant effort from sunup to sundown, fortifying the camp with lookout posts, trip wires, and what would hopefully be an animal pen.

  The work had been good for all of them, dragging Emma out of her worry and concern for John, soothing Raymond’s frustration, even helping Gloria focus on what mattered. They were all in this together and the past few days reminded her how much she needed this little group.

  Raymond might want to strike out on his own and drive far away from John, Emma, and the potential problems with Dane, but Gloria steadfastly refused. This was their home for now, and they needed to get used to it.

  “The rooster thinks he’s a dog.” Holly sidestepped and the rooster matched her, bobbing his head and scratching at the ground. “And I’m his person.”

  Pringles barked from across the clearing and Gloria watched as the little dog trotted over to Holly. He neared the rooster and the bird crowed before fluffing his tail feathers. “Better watch out, Pringles, or you’re liable to lose an eye.”

  Holly laughed and after a moment, Gloria joined in, the sound almost foreign to her ears. She caught herself before it morphed into a sob.

  “You okay?”

  No. Will I ever be? Gloria thumped her chest. “Something caught in my throat.” She focused her attention across the clearing where Raymond struggled with a reluctant tree trunk. He lifted the weathered mass and dropped it into the prepared hole, cursing when it seated crooked.

  One of the goats trotted up, shoving her little nose in between Raymond and the post as he stopped for a moment to catch his breath.

  Watching him shoo the stout little animal with his hand caught Gloria’s breath. Raymond didn’t want to stay; every quiet moment with no one else around, he’d leaned in and asked if they could take off. Leave this little group of people and animals far behind and strike off on their own. No matter how much her husband spoke about leaving, Gloria would never agree.

  Holly, Vince, Emma, and these animals were their family now. Especially if John didn’t make it. She glanced at the cabin, brow scrunched in worry. He’d been asleep for so long. She was beginning to doubt he’d ever wake up.

  “How’s the fence coming?” Vince caught Gloria off-guard, and she blinked him into focus.

  “All right.”

  “Not how you imagined you’d be spending your time, is it?”

  Gloria snorted out a laugh. “Not exactly.”

  Vince crouched beside her. He stared out at Holly as she bent low to shoo the chickens, before glancing over at Raymond as he fought with the makeshift fencing. Dark circles framed the other man’s eyes and the grizzled stubble of his beard clung to the hollows of his cheeks. He was tired. They all were. “I’m grateful for your help, you know. You, Raymond, everything you all have contributed and done. We would be struggling if not for you.”

  A wave of guilt rose in Gloria’s chest, and she pursed her lips like she’d tasted something sour. “It’s my fault you’re even out here, roughing it. If we hadn’t been on the run, if we hadn’t volunteered to tell the world about CropForward,” she hung her head in a mix of fatigue and remorse. “If I’d known what was coming...”

  Vince waved her off. “No one could have predicted the grid collapse and what it would mean.”

  “I think about all the resources you left behind—your animals, your farm, Sandra.” Gloria reached out and held onto Vince’s forearm. “It’s not fair.”

  “Neither is being on the run from hired killers because you did the right thing.” He turned and nodded in Holly’s direction. “Or ending up an orphan. But it’s where we are.”

  Gloria stared across the clearing to her husband. “Ray’s been prodding me to leave. Thinks we’d be better off on our own, out there somewhere.”

  “What do you think?” Vince kept his tone light, but he didn’t look her in the eye.

  If she were being honest, she had no idea. “On the one hand, it’s appealing. On the other, definitely not.” Her chin wobbled as she exhaled. “You and Holly and Emma become more like family every day. I don’t know if I could leave even if I knew it was the best option.”

  “Holly will be safe with me. If you’re worried about her—”

  “It’s not that. I know you’ll do what needs to be done where she’s concerned. It’s—” Gloria struggled with the words. “We never had kids, you know. Just didn’t work out.” She cast a tight smile at the ground, forcing the pain and regret back down where it belonged. “But I’ve always wanted a big family. With you all, I’ve found it.”

  “I understand, and I’m glad to know I’m not just a sentimental old man feeling my age.” Vince smiled and rose with cracking knees. “It’s good to have you here. Real good.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  JOHN

  John opened his eyes and for the first time in ages, a fog of confusion didn’t occupy his mind. Emma hovered over him like a mama bird, fluttering and clucking.

  “What—what’s going on?” His voice came out hoarse and scratchy. He coughed. “How long have I been out?” He rolled to his side and took in his surroundings. Plywood flooring. Sleeping bags rolled in a row against the wall. What passed for a dry kitchen in the corner, with rough-hewn sawhorses supporting a plywood counter and a plastic basin resting in a cut-out. He remembered none of it.

  A mass of tan and black fur blocked his vision and a warm dog tongue scraped across his cheek. John groaned as Emma tried to pull Tank away. “It’s okay, boy. He’s awake. It’s okay.” At last, the dog retreated, and Emma smiled over his pointed ears. “We found you in the field three days ago, passed out. You haven’t done more than groan and roll over since.”

  He shifted his injured leg and pain didn’t lance his muscles and roil his stomach. He pulled up his pant leg. No swelling, no oozing pus, only healing stitches. “I told Raymond no antibiotics. To save them for an emergency.”

  Emma eased down to sit on the corner of the sleeping bag. “I think you, passed out with a raging infection, qualifies as an emergency.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but she reached out and touched his arm. Heat from her fingers arced across his skin and John fought the urge to pull away. She blinked her eyes, suddenly glassy with unshed tears. “I wasn’t going to lose you. Not after all we’ve been through. Not now.”

  John’s mouth turned to sawdust.

  She wasn’t? Did she— He shook his head to clear it of the ridiculous notion. He might have feelings for Emma Cross, but there’s no way she reciprocated. He was a tool. Nothing more. He swallowed down chalky spit and braced to stand.

  Emma swooped in, ducking beneath his arm and using her shoulder to help hoist him into the air. He tested his leg, gingerly easing his heel down to the floor. It didn’t buckle, so he took a tentative step. As they walked across the cabin, Emma’s body pinned against his side, vague memories filtered back. “This is Vince’s place.”

  She nodded. “We came here after leaving the farm.”

  “I remember.” The drive. The cabin. His arguments with Ray. The ambush in the road. He stopped cold. “When I found the Explorer. I thought—”

  “They caught us on the road. We fought them off.”

  “Everyone’s okay?”

  She nodded again and John sagged a bit against her weight. “I should have waited.”

  “It’s okay. What matters is you’re healing. You’re going to be okay.” Her voice rose on the last word, but before John turned to catch her eye, she pointed at the door. “We’ve made some improvements to the place. Want to take a tour?”

  “A slow one, if that’s okay.” They hobbled out of the cabin together, Emma supporting a bit of John’s side. They walked the perimeter in slow-motion.

  A makeshift fence consisting of twine and tree limbs and a bit of scrap lumber ringed the cabin. A mound of dirt at the edge of the clearing served as a partially concealed look-out. John raised an eyebrow as he motioned toward it.

  “After the run in with those guys on the road, we thought we should keep watch. We’ve been rotating shifts, using the walkie-talkies to communicate.”

  John blinked, surprised they would even think to shore up a defensive position. “Have you seen anyone?”

  “Not yet. But I don’t think those men were with Dane. They seemed local, unprepared.”

  John agreed. “They weren’t his.”

  Emma stopped. “How do you know?”

  John squinted at the ground, remembering the call he’d placed to Dane through the haze of sickness and fear. He rubbed his forehead as he tried to make sense of the bits and pieces. “I found the men on the road, didn’t see you anywhere. At first, I was convinced it was Dane, that he’d found you and—” He paused. “I called him again on the sat phone.”

  Emma stiffened beside him. “What did he say?”

  “They weren’t his.”

  She relaxed, but John turned to face her. He waited until she looked up. Beautiful green eyes. Adorable freckles. He’d never tire of staring at her. If only he had better news. “I don’t think this is about the hit anymore.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  “Me. Willy.” He exhaled. “Dane is never going to give up. Not as long as we’re both alive.”

  Her cheeks paled. “What are we going to do?”

  John flexed his calf and a bit of the pain returned. “For now, I work on recuperating. You train. Learn some more defensive skills.”

  “And then?”

  John swallowed. “We fight off whoever he sends next and then... We take the fight to him.”

  Emma’s lips parted but she didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. The thought of going up against Dane, the weapons at his disposal, the men, if any were still left by his side. It was daunting, even to John.

  They picked their way along the fence line until a goat cried out. John stopped short.

  “What is it?” Emma cast a worried glance in his direction. “Is it your leg?”

  He snorted. “The goats. They sound just like people.”

  One bleated again and Emma scrunched up her face as she listened. “I guess they do, now that I think about it.”

  “That’s why you found me in the field. I heard the goats. Thought it might be you or Holly.”

  She broke into a laugh and John stood there with a grin spreading across his face, not minding he was the butt of the joke.

  “What’s so funny?” Holly emerged from behind a wild blackberry bush with the pair of little goats trundling behind her.

  Emma wagged a finger in John’s direction. “He followed the goats into the field. Thought they were us.”

  Holly glanced at the goat beside her and then back at Emma. “Last time I checked, fifty-pound pygmy goats don’t look anything like people.”

  One of them stamped its little hooves, cried at her, and all at once, Holly understood. A laugh bubbled up her throat and John stared as both Emma and Holly shared a moment of mirth and humor. How many opportunities to laugh had there been in the past few weeks? He could count them on his hand.

  He waited until Holly composed herself before turning to her. There was no good way to break the news. “When I found the Explorer on the road, I called Dane. I’d thought the worst about you, Emma, and Gloria. I needed to confirm you weren’t dead.”