Lone Star by Josh Lanyon Page B

Mamie found the address and the phone number, reading it carefully to Mitch. She finished with, “You mind your driving, Mitch. Web would have a conniption if somethin’ happened to you. And tell them to call me as soon as they know anything!”
    Later, Mitch remembered nothing of the drive although at the time he was conscious of keeping an eye out for deer or reindeer or anything else that might delay him.
    Web would have a conniption if somethin’ happened to you. That had to mean something if Aunt Mamie said it right out loud like that. If Aunt Mamie openly acknowledged what maybe everybody already recognized? That Mitch and Web belonged to each other? That they’d always belonged to each other?
     
    At last Mitch arrived at the hospital and strode up to the front desk in the reception area.
    “There was a Texas Ranger brought here earlier?”
    “Third floor,” the girl said, in the resigned tone of someone who’d been answering the same question for hours.
    “Is he—how is he?”
    “You can wait for news on the third floor with everyone. I’m sure there’ll be word before long.”
    He took the elevator to the third floor. The hall was crowded with people, some he recognized from the Engstrom party earlier that afternoon. He hesitated, looking for someone he knew. He spotted Mrs. Eisley talking to Gidget Engstrom. He started to make his way over to them.
    “Mitch!”
    Web stood in front of him. He had stitches in his hairline and a bruise on his cheekbone. His shirt was spattered with something dark that looked like blood. His jacket was torn. The main thing—the only thing—was he was alive.
    Alive and in one piece.
    “Mitch. I tried to call you.” His hands closed on Mitch’s shoulders. “What are you doing here?”
    Now there was a fool question. “I called the ranch and talked to Aunt Mamie.” Mitch steadied his voice. “She said the family had got word that a Ranger had been hurt but nobody knew who. I was sure it was you.”
    Web’s face changed. He pulled Mitch into his arms. Mitch hugged him back with all his strength, which was considerable. He heard Web’s gasp. Mitch wasn’t sure if that was because he’d just broken a few of Web’s ribs or because they were hugging right there in the hospital hallway crowded with family and medical personnel and Texas Rangers.
    Web drew back. His face was drawn with weariness. “I’m sorry you had that scare. I’m fine.”
    “What happened? Mexican drug dealers?”
    Web’s smile flickered. “No. Homegrown American lowlifes. We were in a high-speed pursuit of a pair of bandits when one of them turned around and plowed his monster truck right into us. Erik got the steering wheel in his chest. He’s in surgery now.”
    “Is he going to make it?”
    Web’s jaw hardened. “We don’t know yet.”
    It was a long wait. Eventually the hall thinned out. The older Eisleys said goodnight and left. Mitch sat in a hard plastic chair beside Web, prepared to wait for however long it took. It was after midnight when they finally received news that Erik was going to survive.
    “I’ll drive you home,” Mitch said.
    Web nodded, wearily following Mitch to his car.
    “What about this thing in Canada?” Web bucked his seat belt. If Erik had been wearing a seat belt he wouldn’t have been so badly injured, but they had been chasing bad guys and no one was thinking of seat belts.
    “What thing in Canada?” It actually took Mitch a couple of seconds to remember. “Oh.” Mitch had put the key in the ignition, but he didn’t turn it. He faced Web, although it was difficult to read his face in the greenish light of the underground parking lot. “Are we having this out now? Because I can’t drive and talk about this stuff.”
    “I’m not afraid to say it first,” Web said. “I love you. I guess I always have. I guess I always will.”
    “Whether I keep dancing or not?”
    “I’m not asking you to give up your career.”
    “What are you