“Lucky for you, I did,” Melba agreed. “I was about a mile behind you, on the highway. When I stopped by the office earlier, Connie said you forgot your briefcase, so I was bringing it to you.”

“Sara tells me I have a hole in my head,” he told his best deputy.

“Well, homey,” Melba replied, borrowing a term from Dan, “that’s not exactly breaking news.”

He laughed. And damn, it hurt. The pain was vast, echoing.

Surprisingly, Melba rested a hand on his shoulder. “Take it easy, okay?”

He had more to say, though the effort was monumental. “How long am I going to be out of commission?”

“You’ll have to ask Marisol Storm about that. My guess would be, around six weeks.”

“Six weeks,” Eli repeated, feeling glum.

“I guess you’ll need to appoint an acting sheriff,” Melba ventured, unusually cautious. She was rarely subtle—or diplomatic. “Cut to the chase,” that was Melba’s motto.

Eli’s voice felt like gravel in his throat. “Guess so, Deputy. Tag, you’re it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. You’re the best officer on my team.”

“Geez. Thanks.”

“Just don’t forget—I have two years left in my current term. This is temporary, Summers, so don’t be plotting to overthrow me, okay?”

“I won’t be doing that,” Melba said, unable to hide that she was happy about the appointment, temporary or not. She paused, turned solemn again. “Actually, I’ve got some news on the job front, but it’ll keep.”

“Tell me.” It was an order, not a request.

“Chief Porter is retiring on the first of May,” she answered, with some reluctance and a hint of pride. “I’ve been offered his job. Melba Summers, chief of police, Painted Pony Creek, Montana.”

Eli smiled, though his feelings were mixed.

Losing Melba to the local police department was a blow—she was one of the best cops he’d worked with in his entire career—but he was glad for her, too. She’d earned this opportunity, and she more than deserved a chance to flex her leadership muscles.

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

She squeezed his hand, and he saw that her eyes were glistening again.

“Brynne’s turn,” she said, after a few moments of silence. Except, of course, for the beeping of that infernal machine.

BRYNNE PAUSED IN the doorway of Eli’s room in the ICU, taking in his prone form, the bandage wrapped around his head, the IV needle and the monitors. She was deciding whether to cross the threshold or turn on one heel and run.

Run and run and run.

Then Eli turned his head, and she saw that his eyes—his beautiful, expressive eyes—were nearly swollen shut. His face was a mottled mix of purple, a weird shade of yellow and pale green.

He actually smiled.

“You should see the other guy,” he said.