Standard Disclaimer: None of this story or Virgin River or Glee situations and characters belong to me. Trigger Warning: Violence and threats of rape. Murder...Forgive all errors, I didn't proofread this, I may do it later, but right now trying to keep my mind on happy things...

Chapter 19

This was only Merce's second visit to the emergency room—the first was with Carol. She had taken Rory and Sugar to labor and delivery the night the baby came, so she didn't really know the staff in E.R. They all knew Doc, however. He'd been putting in regular appearances there for over thirty years. And they greeted Merce very enthusiastically, as if she were an old friend.

Doc was not one to allow fussing; he made it plain he didn't think he needed to be there. Merce and Sam were seated outside the exam room while the emergency room doctor checked him over. Then another doctor went into the exam room and Doc was heard to bellow, "Aw, for Christ's sake! Can't I get a better surgeon than you? I don't want to die on that damn table!"

Merce blanched, but she saw that some of the staff was chuckling. After a bit the surgeon came out to them. He had a smile on his face. He held out his hand. "Dr. Weston, Miss…?"

She stood and took his hand. "Rutherford," she said. "Merce Rutherford. I work with Doc. Is he going to be alright?"

"Oh, I think so. Doctors. Great patients, aren't we? I'm going to admit him and that gallbladder has to come out, but we can't take him into surgery until we get him out of this biliary crisis. That could take a day or week. Good call, Miss Rutherford. I assume he didn't help you out a bit."

"He tried not to. May I see him?"

"Of course."

She found Doc in a raised position in the bed while the nurse was fiddling with the IV. The E.R. the doctor was writing in the chart and when he saw her, gave a nod of hello. And on Doc's face was the unhappy expression she had come to view with fondness.

Merce looked around the E.R.—far smaller and less crowded than the one she was used to in L.A. Still, memories flooded back to her—the days and nights she had spent working in that environment. The adrenaline rush of emergencies; the edgy environment that had excited and stimulated her. At the nurses' station a young doctor was bent over a nurse, reading over her shoulder, making her laugh at some whispered remark. That could have been Merce and Matt a few years ago. She let her eyes slowly close as she realized that she had moved completely beyond that. That familiar pang of longing did not plague her anymore. Now the only man she longed for waited for her just outside this room, prepared to go through anything with her. Her hand crept absently to her tummy, resting there. It was all right, she realized. What I suffered was very bad; what I have now is very good.

"Young woman," Doc snapped. "Are you gonna be sick?"

"Hmm?" she said, coming out of the haze. "No. Of course not."

"For a minute there you looked like you were going to cry. Or puke."

She just smiled at him. "Sorry. I was on another planet there for a second. Are you feeling better?"

"I'll live. You'd better go. There might be patients back at the house."

"I'll come back for your surgery," she said.

"No! I'm probably going to die in surgery anyway with that incompetent young pup cutting me up—you're needed back in Lima River. Someone has to look after things. I guess you're in charge. God help us all."

"I'll call to see how you're doing, and I will come back when you have surgery. As far as I can tell I am the closest thing to family you have in Lima River. And Doc? Try to behave yourself. Try not to get thrown out of here."

"Argh," he scoffed.

She put her small cool hand on his wizened brow. "Feel better. I'll watch your practice, and I am your new emergency contact don't try to change it."

In an uncharacteristically soft voice, she heard him say, "Thank you. I appreciate all you do."

On the drive back to Lima River Merce said, "He's going to need time to recover before he can start seeing patients again. I suppose I'll be staying at his house for a while after he gets home."

Doc's age, weight, and high blood pressure put him at a disadvantage in both surgery and recovery. It was a week before the surgeon could operate, and while the normal hospital stay for a cholecystectomy was brief—a couple of days at most—they kept Doc for another week.

For those two weeks, Merce drove back and forth to Valley Hospital to check on him, plus managed the meager amount of patient care in Lima River. Quinn and Jeff offered assistance, should she need it, but she was holding up fine. She stayed at the clinic during the days, spent her nights with Sam across the street, and the only huge inconvenience was planning and executing a wedding.

Sam told his dad and sisters that he and Merce were marrying, news which was met with much approval and excitement. He saved the news about the baby; he wanted to see the looks on their faces when they found out. Since there were no inns or motels in Lima River, the couple decided they'd have a small, family-only wedding in Sacramento as soon as possible—at the Evans house. Sam told his sisters and asked her sister, Janey, to plan something simple, quiet and quick for three weeks from the date Doc had gone into the hospital. He and Merce would drive down, tie the knot, and hurry home. It was just going to be him, his father's pastor, his dad and sisters, and Merce and her sister. "What about her family and a honeymoon?" Dwight asked.

"Don't worry about that, we have discussed why we are doing it so quickly and quietly," Sam said knowing that this was Mercedes' second marriage, and she didn't really want to recreate the spectacle of the first with her being pregnant and all and moving on after her husband's death of only a year ago and to marry a white man at that would draw attention and that was publicity that neither wanted. Janey knew and was coming, but her husband and children were staying in Colorado since they had never even met Sam. And regarding the honeymoon he thought was, I'm going to be on a honeymoon for the rest of my life.

Stevie took the news of the pregnancy and fast approaching marriage with a bit of shock. "You okay with this?" he asked Sam.

"Oh, yeah. Big time. I'm ready for a family, Stevie." He put his hand around the back of the boy's neck and pulled him against his shoulder. "In addition to you and Preach, that is. You okay with it?"

"Hey, man. You're not too young, that's for sure." Then he grinned. "I really thought she was out of your league."

"She is, buddy. But you don't always get what you want, but there are sometimes that God smiles on you and you get what you both want and need."

The evening before Merce was due to pick up Doc at Valley hospital and bring him home, Sam asked, "Do you have to spend the nights at Doc's?"

"Probably just for a few days—long enough to make sure he's getting around all right. He's ambulatory at the hospital, but he's miserable. His grimace isn't just from being ornery at the moment. He'll need pain medication—and I don't want him administering his own. He could get confused and overdose."

Sam sat in the big chair in his room and said, "Come here," to Merce. She went to him and he pulled her down onto his lap. "I have something for you." He pulled a small box out of his pocket, shocking her into silence. It was definitely a ring box. "I don't know how practical this is in a place like Lima River. It might be a little too much bling. But I couldn't help myself. I want to give you everything—but this will have to do. No gemstone compares to you. One morning you woke up humming and then singing Lauryn Hill's "Can't Take My Eyes Off You." and those lyrics express how I feel about you. Pardon my singing voice: I need you Mercedes. And if it's quite alright. I love you pretty Cedes. Now that I found you stay. Let me love you forever and ever. Mercedes Jones Rutherford will you do be the honor of becoming my wife even though I don't deserve you, like Stevie constantly tells me you are outta my league, but I want you to know that you will never find another who will love, cherish, protect, and care for you the way I will do because I love you more than life itself. You mean everything to me baby, and I promise to listen when you want to talk and not be up in my feelings and will learn to communicate so that we never let walls build up between us."

She opened the box to find a diamond ring so beautiful it brought tears to her eyes. It was a wide platinum band with three large diamonds set in; classy and understated, yet very expensive and unique. "Sam, I already told you that I would marry you, what were you thinking? This is beautiful! The diamonds are huge!"

"I understand if you can't wear it often, given your work. And if you don't like the design—"

"Are you kidding? It's gorgeous! I love it but I love you more."

"I went ahead and got a band like it, no diamonds. Is that okay?"

"Only perfect. Where in the world did you find this thing?"

"Not the Lima River jewelry store, that's for sure. I had to drive over to the coast. Are you sure you like it and want to marry me?"

She threw her arms around his neck. "Yes. You are making my dreams come true. You gave me a baby and that is what I have been wanting most in the world," she said. "I wasn't expecting this beautiful ring, too!"

"I didn't know I was giving you a baby," he said, grinning. "This, I did on purpose."

She laughed at him and said, "People will think we're uppity."

"Merce—I got it a while ago. When I first thought you might be pregnant. Probably before you did. Even if it had turned out you weren't, I was set on this. This idea to marry you, to have my life with you… It's not something I feel like I have to do. It's what I want more than anything."

"Good Lord, how did this happen?"

"I don't care how, I just thank Him that it did," he said.

He went with her the next day to pick up Doc and bring him home. Merce got him settled in his bed at home where he proved to be a very annoying patient; however, it seemed he would make a full recovery and be back to his old schedule in no time. He might not be seeing patients by the time Merce and Sam slipped down to Sacramento for a couple of days, but he'd be able to look after himself.

Meanwhile, with all Merce had to do, running the clinic and looking after Doc, Sam, Preacher or Stevie were bringing his meals, and Merce was able to escape to the bar for an hour here and there, just for a change of scenery. Nights she spent in the hospital bed down the hall from Doc. Alone.

After just a few such nights, she was startled awake by noise downstairs. She sat up sleepily and listened. It was unusual, but not unheard of for someone to come pounding at the doctor's door after hours, so when Merce heard the knocking, she rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 2:00 a.m., which implied an emergency and as she was shrugging into her robe, she began to form contingency plans if she had to go out on a call. Sam could come to the house to look after Doc—or maybe go with her, leaving Doc to sleep through till morning without her.

She remembered hearing about that near-fatal truck accident some years ago and thought, what if I'm not enough help? Who could I call?

When she opened the front door, no one was there. Then the pounding came again and she realized that whoever it was had come to the back, to the kitchen door. She looked through the glass to see the face of that man from the compound. Phil. If he was coming to fetch her out to that camp, she wouldn't go. She'd have to send him away. If he'd come to ask her for drugs, she thought she might have to call Sam.

She opened the door with an excuse on her lips when he rushed her, the back of his forearm against her neck. He shoved her backward with enough force that she knocked over a chair, crashed into the countertop and sent coffee cups that were drying in the dish rack hurtling to the floor. He had a snarl on his lips, a glazed look in his eyes, and a big hunting knife in his hand. She screamed, a noise that was quickly cut off as he grabbed her by the hair and put the knife to her throat.

"Drugs," he said simply. "Just gimme what you got, then I'm getting the hell out of these mountains."

"They're in there… I have to get the key," she said, indicating the drug cabinet.

"Forget it," he said. As he held her, he tried kicking the wooden door. The whole cabinet shook and wobbled; she could hear the contents bouncing around.

"Don't!" she cried. "You'll break the vials! You want the drugs or not?"

He stopped. "Where's the key?" he said.

"In the office."

He pulled her backward, flipped the lock on the back door and said, "Come on. Let's move it." With one arm around her waist and the knife at her throat, he walked her out of the kitchen. She had no option but to lead him to the office.

He held her in front of him, hostage style, as they slowly shuffled down the hall to the office. As she opened the drawer to reach for the key, he started to laugh. He grabbed her hand. "I'll take this," he said, pulling at her ring.

"Oh, God no," she cried, retreating. But he easily pulled her back by the hair and threatened her with the knife right in front of her face. She froze and let him pull off the ring.

He shoved it in his pocket and said, "Hurry up. I ain't got all night."

"Don't hurt me," she said. "You can have anything you want."

He laughed. "And what if I want you, too, some dark brown sugar that I have been feening for since I saw your big lips wanting to feel them on my dick, and that big ass and those big ole titties when you nursed me back to health when you came out with old Doc?"

She thought she might vomit on the spot. She willed herself to be brave, to be strong, to let this ordeal end.

But he was going to kill her. She knew who he was, what he'd done, and suddenly she knew—he was going to rape her and then kill her. As soon as he had what he wanted, that knife would slice across her throat.

Lying on top of the desk were the Hummer keys, obvious by the trademark and remote. He scooped them up, put them in his pocket with the ring and steered her out of the office back toward the kitchen. And he muttered, "Asshole doesn't pay me enough to sit in the woods with Kendra and a bunch of old bums. But this should catch me up." And then he laughed.

Sam rolled out of bed to answer the ringing phone. "Merce's in trouble," came Doc's gravelly voice. "Someone's trying to get in the back of the house. Downstairs. She's down there. Glass broke."

Sam dropped the phone and grabbed his jeans off the chair. No time for a shirt or shoes, he took his 9 mm handgun out of the holster that hung on a hook in the closet, checked to be sure it was loaded and that he had one in the chamber and bolted out the door. He crossed the street at a dead run. He didn't think—he was on automatic. His jaw ground, his temples pulsed and his blood was roaring in his ears.

There was an old truck at the clinic beside Doc's truck and Merce's Hummer. He knew exactly who was in there.

He looked into the front door window in time to see Phil pushing Merce into the office, and they had come from the direction of the kitchen where the drug cabinet sat. He ran around to the back of the house and looked into the kitchen door window; they were still out of sight. Then they came back into view from down the hall and Sam ducked—but not before he saw that Phil had a big, serrated knife against her neck. He waited; he wasn't going to give him the time or opportunity to flee or to do any damage to Merce before fleeing. It was a long few seconds as he waited for them to get back into the kitchen. He could hear their movements, the man's hostile voice as he held Merce.

They were almost to the drug cabinet when Sam kicked the door. It crashed open and bounced off the opposite wall, but he was already inside. Legs braced apart, arms raised, pistol pointed at the man who held his woman, he said, "Put down the knife. Carefully."

"You're gonna let me out of here, and she'll come with me to be sure," Phil said.

Knife against her throat, Merce looked at Sam and saw a man she had never seen before. The expression on his face should be enough to terrify the man who held her. Bare chested, barefoot, his jeans zipped but not buttoned, his shoulders and arms frighteningly huge, big tattoos on his swollen biceps, he looked like a wild man. He looked over the barrel of the gun, his eyes narrow, and a set to his jaw told her he was going to act. There was no question. He did not look at Merce, but at Phil. And for a woman terrified of white men with guns, she was unafraid. She believed in him. She knew, in that instant, that he would risk his life for her, but he would never put her at risk. Never. If he was going to make a move, she wouldn't be in danger. Her expression went from frightened to trusting.

Sam had less than a four-inch target—the left side of the man's head. Right next to that was Merce's head, Merce's beautiful face. At her throat, the blade. He didn't even have to think about it—he wasn't going to lose her like this.

"You have one second."

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw her cast a look his way, a look that in that split second told him she loved him, believed in him. Then her eyes dropped closed and her head dipped ever so slightly to the right with her going limp in the creep's hold.

"Back off, man—"

Sam took his shot, blowing the man backward, the knife flying out of his hand.

Merce ran to Sam. The arm that held the gun was dangling at Sam's side and his other arm went around her. Sam held her close as she let out a long slow breath against his bare chest, clinging to him. He never took his eyes off the offender. A nice, neat hole was bored right into his head, a growing pool of blood spreading under him as he lay motionless.

They stood like that for a while, Merce trying to catch her breath and Sam watching. Ready. She pulled away enough to look up at him and was nearly startled anew by an expression so fierce, so angry. "He was going to kill me," she said in a whisper.

His eyes remained on the man as he said, "I will never let anything happen to you."

The sound of running footfalls came up behind them, but Sam didn't turn.

Preacher stopped suddenly in the doorway, a hand braced on each side as he leaned in, panting. He looked into the kitchen, saw the man on the floor, Merce in Sam's protective embrace, the gun dangling at Sam's side. And Preacher's expression went dark, his brows drawn close, his mouth turned down in a scowl. He walked into the kitchen, kicked the knife across the floor and bent to the man. He felt the man's neck for a carotid pulse. He looked over his shoulder at Sam and shook his head. "It's okay, Sam. It's done."

Sam put the gun on the table and, with Merce still protected against him, turned to the wall phone. He lifted the receiver, punched a few numbers and said, "This is Sam Evans in Lima River. I'm at Doc Remington's—I just killed a man."

It took the sheriff's deputy, Henry Saunders, longer to arrive in Lima River than it took him to determine that Sam had acted in defense of Merce, whose life was in danger. Just the same, Sam's second call that night had been to Artie Abrams, Quinn's husband. That background in law enforcement could come in handy. Artie was there faster than Henry. And, Sam learned that night, Artie was a former DEA agent who had actually worked in the area prior to being shot.

"We better have a little look at Phil's camp," Artie said. "If it's just a little compound of vagrants, I don't see that as a problem. But I suspect it might be more than that. If so—we'll want to tell the sheriff."

Sam was invited to spend what was left of the night with Merce at Doc's. She saw a side of him she didn't know existed. This gentle, tender giant was gripped with fury, and it was a silent and impressive fury. He held her through the night, both of them in one small hospital bed. Sleep was difficult for her and she was fitful, but every time she opened her eyes and looked at him, she found him awake, watching over her. She would look up at his face, his tense jaw and eyes narrowed in anger, but when she put her hand against his cheek, he would relax his features and turn soft eyes on her. "It's all right, baby," he said. "Try to get some sleep. Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid while I'm with you," she whispered, and this was the truth. She wasn't there when Matt was shot. She only watched the video over and over. Sam had only shot Phil Giardi to save her and their unborn child's life. Yes, she was scared of Sam dying and leaving her like Matt, but this incident showed her how it could be her that died and left him and weirdly took some of her fears away.

The next morning, early, Quinn and Artie arrived in town. Quinn came over to the clinic while Artie went to Sam's. "I just wanted to make sure you aren't having any stress-related problems with your pregnancy," Quinn said. "Any cramping, spotting?"

"Everything seems to be fine. Except for those frequent shudders I feel when I think about what might have happened."

"I'm just going to spend a couple of hours in town," Quinn said. "If you have patients, I'll help. Do you need to rest?"

"Sam was here last night. I don't think he slept, but I got a little rest. Where's the baby?" Merce asked.

"Bree has him, and Jeff and my dad have the clinic." She smiled. "We country folk have to be flexible."

"What's Artie doing?" Merce asked.

"He's with Sam and Preacher. They won't be long. They're going to have to take a look at that place the man came from, Merce. Be sure there's no one else out there that will come into town and want revenge."

"Oh, God, please no," she said.

"I think they can handle it," Quinn said. "I guess it has to be done."

"That's not it, Quinn. I've been out to that camp a dozen times. I didn't see Phil Giardi there except the very first time, when I went with Doc to help him treat some injuries. But I went, though I'd been told not to. And I was a little nervous and scared, but it never once occurred to me that someone from there might hold a knife to my throat and—" She stopped, unable to go on.

"Good Lord," Quinn said. "What were you thinking? I thank God nothing happened to you."

Merce shrugged. Her voice was small when she answered. "They looked hungry."

A slow smile grew on Quinn's face. "And you thought you weren't one of us. You are more of one of us than people who have lived here their entire lives."

Sam, Preacher, and Artie piled into Sam's truck and drove back into the woods. The compound was less than twenty miles away, but traversed by so many old logging roads and concealed roads, it took almost an hour to get there. They were so buried, one would never be inclined to worry that these people would pose a dangerous threat.

The man with the knife, Phil Giardi, hadn't been with them long. He wasn't just a vagrant, but a violent felon. It hadn't taken Henry Saunders long to learn he had a long drug-related criminal record from other California cities and had been hiding in the forest to dodge felony warrants for his arrest. It was likely that Kendra had brought him to her father's hideaway in the forest.

When they got to the camp, Artie said, "Yeah, that's what I figured." He pointed to the camouflaged semitrailer, a generator beside it. The three men from Lima River got out of the truck, brandishing rifles of the caliber that would kill a black bear with one shot. Rifles that would cut a man in half. Of course there was no one in evidence. "Menkins!" Sam called.

An ugly, wasted-looking, bearded man came out of a hut. A shack. Behind him was a stringy-haired, unkempt younger woman. Slowly a few more men came around from the back of dilapidated trailers. This small crowd didn't display arms, but they stayed back, having knowledge of the firearms Sam, Artie and Preacher carried.

Sam approached Menkins. "Are you growing?" Sam asked.

The man shook his head.

"Did Giardi bring that operation in here?"

The girl made a sound and covered her mouth with her hand. Menkins gave a nod.

"He tried to kill a woman last night. For drugs and property. He's dead. Who brought in the trailer?"

Menkins shook his head. "We don't exchange names around here."

"What'd he look like?" Artie asked.

Menkins just shrugged.

"Come on, man. You want to go to jail for him? What'd he drive?"

Menkins shrugged again, but Kendra stepped around her father, tears on her pale cheeks. "A big black Range Rover. Lights up top. You know the kind. He paid Phil to watch the grow."

"I know who he is," Sam said quietly to Artie. "Don't know where he is, but I have a good idea this isn't his only grow. And I happen to know the license number on that big SUV."

"Well, that could come in handy."

Then to Cooter Menkins, Sam said, "You have twenty-four hours to clear this camp and move out. The sheriff's deputy will be out here to close down this spot real quick, and if you're here, you'll be arrested—that shit's in your possession now. You have to move on now. I don't want you around. You hear and understand me?"

Menkins just nodded.

"That woman was my woman," Sam said more quietly. "I'm going to look for you, and if I can find you, you haven't moved far enough, you understand me?"

Menkins dipped his chin once more.

The differences in the men—those from the camp and Sam, Artie and Preacher, left no doubt as to who would be the winners in any kind of conflict. Just to drive the point home, Sam raised his 30-06 caliber, bolt action rifle, aimed it at the generator beside the half-buried trailer in the compound, and fired, decimating it. The report was loud enough to shake the trees. The men in view flinched, raised their hands to cover their faces or cowered back.

"I'm coming back tomorrow," Sam said. "Early."

When they were back in the truck, Sam asked Artie, "What do you make of them?"

"Vagrants. Just living in the forest. They didn't have the means to put that trailer in there—that was arranged by whoever Phil was working for. They'll go, most likely. Deeper in the forest, where they can set up camp again and be left alone. We'll let Henry know where to find it. But you should make good on your advice just the same. They can't be here anymore. If they're not dangerous, they're willing to be taken advantage of by dangerous people."

"I didn't see any guns. They have to be armed."

"Oh, sure—but they're not armed with much. They saw what we're carrying—none of these old boys are going to be shooting at us. The ones to worry about are guys like Phil's boss, and his boss's boss. DEA cleared out a whole town in the Trinity Alps several years ago while I was an agent—and now those boys had 'em some guns." Artie gave Sam a shot in the arm. "I'm for staying out of their business. If Forestry runs across them, they'll report them to the sheriff's department or maybe to the DEA."

The spirit of the town was tense and worried. Sam had become their town's favorite son, and his chosen woman—the woman who had come here to help people—had had a brush with death.

Throughout the day, neighbors came to Doc's bearing food and offering conversation. There were no patients, only friends. Doc got out of bed and dressed, coming downstairs to visit. With the exception of a short nap in the afternoon, he stayed up the entire day.

Artie and Quinn only stayed a couple of hours, but Sam was a presence on and off throughout the day, which worked well because people who came by the house to check on Merce were anxious to talk to him. "Shot him while he held her at knifepoint, they're saying." Sam merely nodded and reached for her hand. "How'd you dare? How'd you know you wouldn't be off by a half inch?"

"I didn't have that much to spare, she was smart enough to pretend to faint and lean away from him" he said. "I wouldn't have pulled the trigger if I thought there was any chance I'd hurt the love of my life."

Another matter of great interest was the shining ring that graced Merce's finger. The engagement was met with happiness and affection, though not surprise. There were many questions about the wedding,There were many questions about the wedding, and a serious protest when it was learned that there would be a small ceremony in a few days for family only in Sacramento.

Sam, Doc and Merce ate a dinner made up of the food brought by well-wishers and when it was done and the dishes cleaned up, Doc said, "I'm going to bed, Mercedes. You should go back to your man's bed. Those hospital beds are no place for the two of you." And up the stairs he slowly trudged.

"Yes, you should," Sam confirmed, taking her with him across the street.

Having slept so little the night before, once she was in Sam's bed, curled up against his warmth, she nearly passed out from exhaustion.

Before the sun was even up the next morning, she was awakened by the sound of amassing vehicles. She looked at the clock and saw that it was barely 5:00 a.m. She rummaged around for clothes and went through the bar onto the porch to see what all the commotion was about. There in the street were trucks, campers, AWD vehicles, SUVs, cars. Men were standing around in the street, checking their rifles, even putting on flak jackets and bulletproof vests. Some wore jeans and work shirts, some wore fatigues. She recognized faces among them—Jake Puckerman, Corny Porter, and Ryder Lynn. There were also neighbors and ranchers and farmers from Virgin River. She saw that Stevie was with them, looking for all the world like a grown man.

She watched them for a while before Sam noticed her standing there, her hair all mussed from sleep, her feet bare. He handed his rifle off to Jake and went to her. "You look like a girl," he said. "A little pregnant girl, but I know better." He grinned. "I thought maybe you could sleep a little while longer."

"Through this? What's going on?"

"Scavenger hunt," he said. "Nothing for you to worry about."

"Come on, Sam."

"We're going to check, see if the woods need to be cleaned out," he said.

"With weapons? Vests? My God, Sam."

He pulled her against him briefly and said, "I doubt we'll have any trouble, Merce. But we should be prepared for whatever we run into. We're just going to cut a wide circle around the town—be certain there are no drug farmers or criminals close by. No camps like the one Giardi came from. No camps for people like Giardi to hide out in."

"How will you know whether there are dangerous people in ordinary camps? I'm told there are plenty of those kinds of camps scattered around. Squatters, vagrants, mountain people."

He shrugged. "Then we should know who's out there. Look for what's in their camps, check their weapons so we know what they have. Pot's pretty easy to spot—it has a real distinctive green color and it almost always comes with camouflage and a generator."

She put a hand on the vest he wore. "And you need this because—"

"Because I'm going to be a father soon, and I don't take foolish chances. One of these idiots could misfire."

"You're taking Stevie with you?"

"I look out for Stevie. We'll all be looking out for him, but believe me—he's up to this. I taught him to shoot myself. He wouldn't be left out, because it's about you. Shoot he tells me if he was a couple of years older, he would have tried to woo you before Maddie came to town, and he still loves and respects you."

"Is all of this absolutely necessary?"

"Yes," he said, and looked down at her with the expression she had learned meant he was all about business.

Artie Abrams was beside Sam, grinning. "Morning," he said.

"Does Quinn know you're doing this?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"And what did she say?"

"Something like, 'You better be careful; you've already been shot once and survived don't make it a second.' The hard part was convincing old Doc Fabray he couldn't come."

"Isn't this better left to the police? The sheriff?" Who would imagine that fuck the police Merce Rutherford was actually wanting to defer this mess to the pigs.

Artie put a foot up on the porch step. He shrugged. "We've already told Henry about Menkins's camp and gave him the description of the vehicle being driven by the man who probably had it set up. Hopefully, the Menkins camp is deserted and their plants left behind. We saw 'em, Merce—and there's no question—those old squatters didn't bring a semi in, bury it, camouflage it and set up a grow. But someone did—and there could be more of those. There's real trouble way back in there—on federal land. We're not going that far back. We'll stay out of their business. We'll leave that up to the professionals."

"It just seems so vigilante-like," she said. She still couldn't wrap her mind how much she had changed.

"Naw, we're not going to do anything illegal, Merce. We're just going to send a little message. You don't want to give our women, our towns, any reason to feel they have to fight back. Understand?" She didn't answer. "If there's anything like that near enough to threaten Lima River, we'll give them a chance to run for their lives before we disclose their location to authorities. It'll be fine. We'll be home by dark."

She said to Sam, "I'm going to be scared to death all day. You know my history you bastard."

"Do I have to stay here with you, so you won't be scared?" he asked her. "Or can you believe in me one more time?"

She bit her lip, but nodded. He slipped an arm around her waist and lifted her up to his mouth, kissing her deeply. "You taste so good in the morning," he said, smiling down at her. "Is that normal?" he teased.

"You'd better be careful," she said. "Remember that I love you."

"I don't need any more than that," he said, putting her back on her feet.

Preacher came to the porch. He nodded at her, bushy brows drawn together in a frown that made her almost shudder. "Just send him in looking like Shaft mixed with the Incredible Hulk," Merce said. "That'll scare them all away." And to her surprise, Preacher smiled so big, for a moment she didn't recognize him. She knew his body was hot, but he was very handsome when he smiled.

When they had finally left in a grand parade, Merce called Quinn. "Do you know what your husband is doing?" she asked.

"Yes," Quinn said, sounding annoyed. "Not babysitting."

"Are you worried?"

"Only that one of them will shoot off a toe. Why? Are you?"

"Well… Yes! You should have seen them—in their vests and with those big guns. I mean, big guns!"

"Well, there are bears out there, you know. You don't want a peashooter," Quinn said. "You don't have to worry about Sam, honey. I think it's been established he's a good shot, if he needs to be."

"What about Artie he only just got back to walking months ago?"

"Artie?" She laughed. "Merce, Artie used to do this for a living. He won't admit he misses it just a little bit. But I swear I heard him giggle when they were planning this."