Page 15 of Waiting in Wyoming

And those three fools responsible for Brandt Barratt’s condition, as well.

Dale had never been one for loose ends.

Loose ends were just messy that way.

10

Meyra had just clockedout around seven that night—she’d only had a half shift after everything that had happened the night before, and only because no one else could cover the desk—when the doors opened.

And a man was wheeled in in a wheelchair. She froze.

She hadn’t thought he was getting out yet. His brothers and sister hadn’t even left for the hospital yet. She walked over to him—and her dad and stepmother. “What are you doing here?”

“The warden released me early, little one,” he said.

“Brandt signed himself out,” Rhea said. “He can be a bit stubborn, sweetheart. I am going to keep an eye on him myself. Dixie and Dr. Lowell will be helping me.”

Meyra nodded. Dr. Shane Lowell lived right across the street—like her dad and stepmother. They could help him if he needed something. But he probably should have stayed at the hospital.

She studied him now. The bruises were big and dark and made her want to cry. But he was alive. She was going to focus on that. “How do you feel?”

“Better now.” He reached one hand out to her. Meyra just instinctively grabbed his with her own. “Thank you for rescuing me, little one.”

“You’re welcome. Your brothers and sister are here. I put them on the second floor. They were going to the hospital to be with you.”

“Well, now they won’t have to. I’ll deal with them in a bit. They weren’t too overwhelming? I know how they can be.”

“They are just worried about you. I booked you a room already. So it would be waiting for you when you got out.” She’d wanted to take care of him, no denying that. She’d been worried about him constantly. “They are right next to yours.”

“Thank you.”

“He needs to find his bed,” Rhea said firmly. “Let’s get him up there. I’m sure his family will want to be with him, too.”

Meyra looked at Dylan, who was taking over the desk for her. “I put his sister in 306, Dylan. Can you call her and let her know he’s here?” She had not wanted Brandt in 304. She just didn’t. That room felt a little too spooky now.

“Of course. I take it you are going to be taking full responsibility for this guest?” Dylan had a curious look on her face.

“Brandt Barratt, this is my cousin Dylan. She’s my uncle Arthur’s daughter. Dylan, this is Marin’s friend Brandt.” Meyra performed the introduction quickly. Brandt hadn’t been in town since before Dylan had been found. “He’s from Finley Creek but bought the property behind us. Morris Preston’s. His sister is one of Charlotte’s best friends, too.”

“Nice to meet you, wish it was under better circumstances,” Dylan said.

“We’re going to take him upstairs,” Rhea said. Meyra’s father immediately headed toward the elevators. He almost always didwhat Rhea said now—Meyra and Marin and Miranda thought that was kind of funny.

Meyra just followed.

She didn’t really want to let Brandt out of her sight right now.

Brandthurt.But at least he was back in his head enough to be able to think a bit more than he had been. He still had to answer questions, but the sheriff and his chief deputy were going to meet them at the inn that evening. For now, he needed a damned nap. And now that he was back at the inn, with Meyra safe next to him, he was ready for it.

But first…

He had to deal withthem.

Powell was pacing in the hallway, right in front of the room he’d been given this time. She was definitely doing that little thing she did whenever she was truly upset and didn’t even realize it—she almost hopped from one foot to the other and back and forth, kind of like a little demon child throwing a temper tantrum but without any volume.

She always had, even when they were kids. He’d always hated when she was upset—she was his twin. His best friend in the entire world, and she always would be—no matter how many miles were between them.

His brothers were next to her. They always made her look even smaller. Powell hadn’t made it past five feet. Brandt and his brothers were all over six four and muscled. Mac had played football at FCU in his college days. Alex had played baseball. Brandt had been more into martial arts. They were big, strong Barratt boys. Powell, the only girl in their generation, was adefinite contrast. They’d played sports as teenagers—Powell had played the stock market.