Choices

Chapter 1

Egan & Mickela

By Elise and Rose

Nearly out of breath, Mickela reached out a shaky hand and stumbled against the nearest tree. She turned and as she pressed against it she could feel the rough bark, cold and hard against her back, further soaking her already wet shirt. Sometime in the last few hazy minutes it had started raining. The muddy earth beneath her feet was threatening to pull her down. She shifted her weight and fought to push some strength into her trembling legs. A knot in the tree bark scraped against her back. She pushed her wet hair from her face as she relaxed against the tree to let it have the burden of supporting her weight for a few minutes. Uncomfortable as she was, Mickela needed to catch her breath so she could find the capacity to think clearly again. That would be difficult to do if she were sprawled out on the cold ground with wet leaves sticking to her face. She blinked her eyes hard as she tried to focus. She needed to stay on her feet.

When her vision regained clarity, Mickela looked down at her abdomen. Warm blood continued to slip through her fingers and over the hand she struggled to hold pressed over the bullet wound. The quickly cooling blood trickled down her arm, pooled at her elbow then dripped to the ground. Each drop hit the leaves below with a soft, rhythmic, patting sound.

Mickela eased her hand around her waist to feel her back. Her fingertips gentled over the circumference of another hole. This one open, larger than first, bits of her blood and rained soaked t-shirt clinging to the edges of the exit wound. She exhaled a breath of slight relief as she rested the back of her head against the tree. A through and through wound meant no bullet to dig out.

She pressed her hand over the entrance wound again. Lucky shot, you bastard. Who the bastard was, why he was at her tiny little cabin, and why he was trying to kill her…were all questions that would have to be answered later. But they would be answered. She would make certain of that. But not right now. Right now, she was cold, wet, exhausted and sleepy. No matter how hard she fought it, the effects of blood loss would eventually consume all of her energy. Her shaky hand was already struggling to press over the wound with enough pressure to stop the flow of blood.

Mickela took a couple of deep breaths and looked around. This section of the woods was thick and completely unfamiliar to her. She scanned the near pitch-black area for any signs of light. Not seeing anything, she pushed herself from the tree and steadied on her feet. She walked further in the same direction she was already heading. For some reason, it seemed like the right direction to take.

She was able to walk for only another five minutes before she had to stop again. Her hand braced on a tree. She stood at the top of a small hill and took another deep breath then looked down. She sighed with relief when a light came into view. It wasn’t the light from her own cabin she had been hoping to find her way back to. It was a house. A large porch stretched completely across the front. From the faint line of smoke coming from the chimney, Mickela guessed someone was home. Good thing. In a few minutes, maybe she would have a phone, a few bandages, and a ride to the nearest hospital. The sooner she was able to figure out who had tried to kill her…the better.

She let thoughts of her next course of action fill her with renewed strength. Mickela let go of the tree and walked down the hill. The ground between her and the porch seemed to grow in distance right before her eyes. Her paced slowed as she neared the house. Exhaustion was winning the battle against her own will to stay on her feet. Her vision blurred. She could feel something hard against her hand. Wood, but not a tree this time. It was one of the wood posts of the porch. Her hand slipped over the chipped paint. Her feet stumbled against the steps. A worn mat near the front door was the last thing she saw as she collapsed.

Hearing the sound Egan set down his book and listened. Watching as the dog stood from his place at the hearth to sniff at the door. Scratching the dog’s ears he stood and opened the door. A hand fell on his foot. Eyes following the hand to a woman’s face, she appeared to be blacked out. Thinking her some drunken partier from the resort cabins he turned her over with his foot.

"Bloody hell." The font of her body was drenched in blood. Egan didn’t have a phone, kneeling he searched her pockets for one. Nothing, but from the looks of her there was no time to get outside help.

Scooping her up from the ground, Egan ran with her to the bedroom laying her down. Moving quickly to the bathroom he grabbed cloths and the med kit from the cabinet. He looked at her again as he filled a bowl with hot water. The girl was pale and her breath shallow. It would not do at all for her to die in his bed.

Quickly going back to her side Egan gazed at the blood soaked shirt. It had to be removed to find out where she was injured. It would be impossible, as well as do more damage if he pulled it over her head. With a twitch of his lip he reluctantly pulled out his knife and started to cut a line down the front to remove the bloody garment.

His figuring was that she had fallen over the barbed wire fencing in her drunkenness. That theory might have to be rethought as he leaned down to examine her closer. First he didn’t smell any kind of liquor on her. Second barbed wire didn’t leave a hole like that.

Egan wasn’t bashful exactly he just wasn’t the social type. Liked his quiet solitude that had been interrupted by this wounded woman. Still he hoped she didn’t wake up and scream that he was trying to do something tawdry instead of saving her life as he started to remove the shirt.

The cloth was cool and heavy with blood as he peeled it from her skin. Rolling her to her side slightly to pull the shirt all the way off he saw another hole bigger in her back. "It went all the way through eh. Small favors, shelia."

Egan went about the task of cleaning the wound and working to stop her from bleeding anymore. Soon he had the wound cared for as best he could. With a slightly nervous sigh he removed the rest of her clothing and carefully dressed her in one of his flannel button downs. Her skin was warmer to the touch now so whatever he had done must have helped. Her hair falling over his arm as he tried to gently move her was soft as silk. He shook his head pushing away any thoughts.

With no phone there was no way to call an ambulance from the city to come for her. Hopefully she would survive till in the morning when he could fetch a doctor for her. For now he sat in a chair leaning back and propping his feet up on the edge of the bed with a sigh. And a prayer she wakes up and can tell him how a lovely woman with a gunshot wound ended up on his porch. Maybe he can get the doc and be rid of her and go back to his quiet solitude.

The lightning outside surged into a full-blown storm. Mickela's eyes fluttered in the state of a dream. The night replaying in her thoughts. Making tea. Hearing a snap of a twig outside she knew was made by a person, not an animal. Pulling her weapon from the closet then going outside to investigate the noise. Seeing only an animal. A kangaroo. Her guard mistakenly dropped then followed by a loud noise.

The sudden sound of thunder echoed in her dream. The bullet piercing her side. Her breath inhaled sharply as she roused from sleep. Her eyes flew open as her hand went to her side. She sat up and winced, moaning loudly from the pain then fell back to the bed.

Her hand pressed over the wound. "Dammit."

Egan woke with a start at a feminine voice. The fog of sleep cleared quickly as he remembered the girl. Sitting up he looked over at the bed and her pain filled expression. Leaning over to the bed he picked up the now cooled cloth and gently dabbed her brow. "Easy there. You're wounded pretty badly, shelia."

Her breath inhaled again from the cold cloth against her head. The unfamiliar male voice startled her. It didn't sound like a doctor. The room didn't smell like a hospital. He registered as a possible threat. Her hand shot out and wrapped around his, squeezing his wrist.

She opened her mouth to speak and found her voice and her words struggling as they came out. "Who are you? Where the hell am I?"

Egan looked at down at her hand then to the woman questioning him. Not very grateful is she. "Egan Ballow pleased to meet ya. Found you foundering on my porch earlier."

Mickela tried to register the inflection in his voice. She could usually tell if someone was a threat. The inflection in his voice sounded passive. She released her grip on his wrist. His other words sunk in. A porch. He found her on the porch. Her memory searched until she remembered. Once it clicked everything else that happened surfaced. She braced one hand on her waist, the other on the bed as she struggled to push herself up. "I have to get out of here."

Gently he placed his hands on her upper arms. "No one's goin anywhere tonight miss. That storm has everything flooding right well. Best to just rest up and try in the morning to get the doc."

She looked down at the wound. Whether her movement made it worse, she didn't know. But it was bleeding through the bandage he must have put on. No doctor until morning. She couldn't wait that long. She needed to buy herself some time.

Mickela pushed against his arms as she turned and swung her leg off the bed. "Have to stop the bleeding."

He shook his head, this was one determined shelia. Even the mutt gave her a soft bark of warning. "You're going to make it worse by moving around."

She pushed out a heavy breath as she braced her hand on his shoulder and lifted herself to her feet. "I won’t be any better if I lay here bleeding until morning. Once you lose two liters, you're done for. Might as well call the man in black instead."

This was one area his knowledge didn't expand to. He know the general aid and care of a wound. But this was beyond a deep gash or broken bone. "I've done everything I can. If you know something else to do to slow it, I'll help. But there isn't anywhere to go till morning."

Mickela braced against the dresser then a wall as she moved. "Point me in the direction of the kitchen."

She paused a moment at the door jab. Leaned against it to regain her breath and her strength to move. "I need alcohol. Gin or whiskey if you have it. A knife. Something with a wide blade. And a clean bandage...please."

Eagan looked at her as she listed the items. Surely she wasn't that cracked. Shaking his head he walked over and carefully scooped her into his arms and carried her to the kitchen setting her on the of the bench seats of the table. Turning he pulled out a med kit with alcohol in it from under the sink. From the pantry he pulled a bottle of bourbon and looked though the drawer to find a wide knife. As he set the knife down he looked at her like she was on the mad side.

Perhaps with the blood loss she had loss some of her reason. "Now explain to me what you're going to be doing with all this?"

Mickela reached for the bottle of bourbon. "The alcohol will..." She hissed as she poured the liquor over the wound on her waist. "...will sterilize the wound."

She turned on the stove. Fortunately it was a gas range. She held the knife above the flame until the blade turned blue. Mickela panted. Her heart racing slightly and not looking forward to the next part. "I have to cauterize the wound. It'll stop the bleeding."

She held the blade flat over the wound and took a deep breath before she gently pressed the searing blade against the damaged flesh. Dipped her head. Her eyes closed and holding her breath as the bleeding vessels were effectively cauterized by the scorching metal.

The blade clattered heavily as she dropped it down onto the stovetop. Her hand on the counter, she braced herself, panting until the pain subsided. As she inhaled another deep breath, she stood and reached for a bandage. Positioned it over the sealed wound then turned to him. "I can't reach the back. You'll have to do it. Same as I did the front."

The expression on his face told her he thought she was out of her mind. Seeing the blood trickling down her leg to pool on his once clean floor Egan sighed deeply. Grabbing the bottle he took a deep breath and picked the knife up from the floor and washed it in the sink then set the blade to heat again.

As he watched the metal change colors a thought passed though his mind. If I'd known she was going to be this much trouble I'd have left her arse on the porch. But then I'd have that mess to clean up too.

Picking up the blade he turned to her and looked into her face. "I deserve at least the name of someone I'm going to torture."

"I'm bleeding all over your floor and you're holding me captive for a name?"

She grabbed the bottle of liquor and poured it over the wound at the back of her waist. The cold bourbon ran down her thigh. She set the bottle on the counter. "Mickela Powell. Officer Mickela Powell. NYPD. Now if you don't mind..."

Crass shelia couldn't she have stumbled on another porch somewhere. He thought as he pressed the blade to the wound. He could hear her hiss as the hot metal did its work. Shame to mark her soft skin but better that than dead he supposed. Pulling the knife away he saw that the wound was sealed burnt shut.

When she wavered he tossed the knife on the counter and caught her setting her down easy on the bench.

"Welcome to Oz, Mickela."

Her body trembled from the pain and exertion. She knew she'd begin to feel better once her body could replace the lost blood. She looked up at him. Smartass, she thought. She liked that. "Hell of a welcome. My travel agent is in for an ear bashing she'll never forget."

She sat quietly for another few moments until her mind cleared a little better. "Mr. Ballow thanks for your help." Mickela rubbed her hand over her face. She still felt weakened. Her wounds were taken care of as best she could. But now what? Hang out until morning?

As aggravated as he was over the invasion of his privacy Egan couldn't help but have a bit of admiration for the woman. To be badly wounded yet keep going then to stand here and take what she had just done. He nodded at her thanks. In the morning he would get her to town and a proper doctor getting his quiet back. For now she was a mess and needed rest. "Couldn't very well let you pass on my porch now could I? My luck you'd haunt the place"

Standing he grabbed a towel and wet it with warm water then grabbed a dry one. As he did last night he cleaned her up a bit surprised that the shelia hadn't raised a fuss about being dressed in one of his flannels and not much else but her lacy under things.

Once she was again bandaged and un-bloodied he carried her back to the bedroom. Sitting her down on the edge of the bed he pulled another shirt from the closet. Laying it next to her he pointed to it a bit embarrassed that he had changed her before. "Uh... There's a clean dry shirt. Now that you're up... you can um.... I'll just give you privacy to change."

Quickly before he actually blushed he moved to the door and was closing it some to shield him from her more than her from him. "Just give us a shout if you need help..... Not with dressing ....with... uh... I'll be right here." He ran a hand though his hair at his sudden nervousness. It had been quite a while since he'd had a woman near the house. Much less a half naked one.

Mickela watched him curiously as he mumbled a few words and excused himself. She looked down at the shirt in her hand then back at the one she was wearing. She hadn't realized he must have undressed her. And now he was shy about seeing her unclothed? She shrugged then attempted to stand but her weakened legs just weren't strong enough. She managed to pull off the old shirt then slip on the fresh one with minimal pain and pulling at her wounds.

Now that her injuries were not life threatening, Mickela could further assess her situation. Starting with where she was. He'd neglected to tell her. She glanced around the room and saw no trace of femininity. Of course her place in New York could have been mistaken for a bachelor pad. She decorated with modern but comfortable furniture. Lots of polished wood and dark colors. No flowers or lace curtains in sight.

His place was a simple cabin. It was obvious from the decor and the feel of the place, that Egan was a bachelor. A man with a quiet nature, a dog, and a cabin in the woods. Definitely a person of solitude. Mickela wondered if a woman had ever actually stepped foot in the house.

She would lie back down but she needed a few answers. Mickela was wounded, but careful not to leave tracks of her movement through the woods. However, the possibility always existed that her assailant could find her.

She got up slowly and steadied herself. Finally making her way to the door, she opened it and made her way down the short hallway to the living room where he sat. The dog at his feet. Mickela glanced down with a soft smile at the dog as she lowered herself to a soft armchair across from the man and his dog. "Mr. Ballow...I need to know where we are. How close is the nearest town?"

Looking up surprised as he set the book to the side, didn't she know when to slow down. "It's a 15 mile trek the Glen. Mr. Ballow is my dad, please call me Egan. You really should be resting. No one's going to be able to chase you in this muck."

Fifteen miles. Mickela wasn't one for sitting idle. Not when someone had attempted to kill her. Who knows where he could be or if she would be able to catch up to him. Time was important. She hated to waste it. But, with the flooding and the furthest town fifteen miles away, she was stuck here and wounded with a man who apparently wasn't going to offer a small measure of conversation.

She nodded and sighed as she got up from the chair. In the silence he seemed determined to keep, morning felt even further away. Well, she could handle it. She'd get some rest and unburden him in the morning. Mickela walked back down the hall to the bedroom the slipped back into bed.

Egan watched her as she walked down the hall. The dog sat up and laid his big head on his master's knee. He felt like a bit of an ass. Looking at the dog apparently he thought so too. "Alright, I'm going."

Going down the hall he knocked on the door jamb not really sure what to say. When she looked over he gave her a shy grin. "Are you hungry or anything I can bring you back some tucker?"

Tucker. That was a word she was unfamiliar with. Aussie vernacular. English and a different language at the same time. He asked if she was hungry. She assumed ‘tucker’ is food, in some form or another. Mickela grinned softly and nodded and hoped whatever he brought didn’t have vegemite anywhere near it. She’d been warned early on about that salty muck the Aussies seemed to enjoy spreading on everything. "Yeah. If you don’t mind." Whatever he brought, she needed to eat and get her strength back as quickly as possible.

Seeing that sweet grin he was reminded that even though she may have stood in his kitchen as the brave police officer in New York. She was also had to be a frightened injured woman. Grinning back he nodded and fixed them a couple of sandwiches with thick slices of real ham, a couple of different cheeses, lettuce and tomato, light on the mayo. He did remember that shelias always fussed about condiments and calories. After pouring a couple of glasses of iced tea he carried the tray to the bedroom.

Gently he set the plate with the thick sandwich on her lap then the glass of tea on the night table before setting his own on the other side and sitting back in the chair. He couldn't let the shelia eat alone and besides he was a bit famished himself.

Looking up at her as he picked up his sandwich he grinned softly. "If there's somethin’ there you don't like I'll make you another."

Mickela took a bite of the sandwich then washed it down with a long sip of the tea. The sandwich didn’t have too much mayo. The tea was light, without too much sugar. She was surprised. Most men had enough condiments on their sandwich to make it drip onto your plate when you took a bite. And enough sugar in the tea to make you think of whether or not you should be drinking it or pouring it over your pancakes.

She wiped her face with a napkin and shook her head with a grin. "No, this is really good. Thank you, Egan."

That brought something that hadn't been around in years. A real smile appeared on his face. Swallowing he nodded. "You're welcome."

Egan had manners, he just didn't have to use them often. It wasn't that he was shy, just not social. He didn't care for crowds and unnecessary chatter. He would glance at her as they ate every so often. Even if he did have a conversation she was from New York what would he have in common with her. Mutt pawed at the top of Egan's shoe. With a soft grin he pulled off a piece of the ham and handed it to him.

She watched the dog carefully pull the piece of meat offered to him. "What's his name?"

Watching the dog lay back down at his feet Egan thought about that a moment. "Well he doesn't have one really. Mutt is usually what I call." The dog looks up his ears perked as he chews his treat. "The old boy answers to it anyway."

Mickela grinned. "As long as he knows to come when he's called." She finished her sandwich then sipped on the last of her tea."I'm supposed to be on vacation. Not sure why I chose Australia. It just seemed to be the furthest away from New York I could get on my dime."

She exhaled as her fingers absently played with a button on the flannel shirt. "I don't have my service weapon. And I have no clue yet who could have tried to kill me. If he's intent on finishing the job, he could find me here. Hopefully, I'll be gone before he does and you won't be in any danger."

Setting the plate aside Egan felt the need to reassure her. It was an odd compulsion for him. "Don't worry about that right now. That bloke will be hard pressed to find himself in this torrent."

She nodded. "Yeah, I know. It's second nature for me to be overly concerned and cautious. Comes with the job." It's also why she needed the vacation. After two years of non-stop work, her nerves were a little frazzled. "I'll be out of your hair in the morning, Egan." She grinned softly. Now that she was more coherent, Mickela was beginning to like his quiet, soft-spoken manner. She covered a yawn. Feeling mentally and physically exhausted and having a full stomach were all pulling her towards sleep.

With a soft grin Egan stood gathering her plate and glass. Oddly he felt a kind of kinship with her as she mentioned being cautious. "I understand what you mean, about a cautious nature. I'm not used to company and such. I avoid a lot of people. A bit of a loner I guess."

Seeing her stifle the yawn he nodded to her. "You should get some rest. Give a shout if you need anything."

Turning he whistled for the dog to follow as he took the tray back to the kitchen. As he cleaned everything up and tossed the knife they used on her skin in the can Egan thought about the shelia in the back bedroom. He wondered if she was a city girl. They might have to take the ponies to town. Looking at Mutt he grinned. "What a hoot, eh? A pretty shelia in my bed and I'll be sleeping on the sofa."