Texas Healer

by Jean Brashear

  A glance out the front window, though, showed his pickup still parked in front. Evita returned from her kitchen area, her hair curling more tightly from the kitchen heat. “Whew—busy lunch crowd.” She sank to the chair beside Diana, slipped off her shoes and rubbed one foot.

  “Where do all these people come from?” Diana asked.

  Evita shrugged. “The highway patrolmen and sheriff’s deputies often stop by for breakfast or lunch. Local ranchers, people in town for groceries. A few travelers, though there aren’t many who come down this road.”

  “Rafe’s truck is still outside. Do you know where he is?”

  “Probably in the back, seeing patients. Either that or at the new clinic.”

  Patients? “He has a clinic?”

  “Not a real one, no. Ramón and I cleared out a space in the back here so he could set up some equipment to do other things besides what Abuelita can handle and to see other people—Anglos who don’t want a curandera but don’t have the money to go to the doctor in Fort Stockton. It’s not much space, though, so he’s rehabbing an old house that burned and wants to turn it into a full-fledged clinic.”

  You could make rounds with me. “So he sees people here now instead of making house calls?”

  Evita shook her head. “Oh, no. Rafe still travels all over to see people who need him.” She nodded toward the outside. “That old truck’s got a lot of miles on it. He and Ramón keep it going, but personally, I think they need to shoot it and put it out of its misery.”

  Diana didn’t want to be curious, but it didn’t seem to matter. “What kind of equipment does he have?”

  “Not much. Not what he wishes he could get, but he’s proven to be quite the scavenger, our Rafe.”

  “Do people pay him?”

  She shrugged. “Like they do Abuelita. Chickens and eggs, milk from a cow. Some of them trade with work, helping him tear out the burned wood on the clinic. One of the ranchers came up with some lumber, but mostly that’s where Rafe’s savings and disability pay go. That and what he gets from renting the cabin.”

  Diana tried to picture Judd Carter taking a chicken in trade or driving an old pickup instead of his Jaguar.

  She didn’t want to see this nobility in Rafe, didn’t want reasons to find him more attractive than she already did.

  Didn’t want to feel ashamed of herself for refusing to help him.

  Just then the front door opened, and Evita’s eyes flared with welcome. Diana turned to see a heavily pregnant woman walk in with an older man beside her.

  “Mariela, cuando va a dar a luz?” a man at a table beside them asked.

  So this was Ramón’s wife.

  Mariela’s mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Going to be in the dark for a little while yet.”

  Diana glanced at Evita for translation. Having lived in Texas all her life, she recognized the words cuando—when—and luz—light—but the rest of the phrase meant nothing.

  Evita smiled. “Dar a luz—bring the child forth to the light.”

  Diana couldn’t help her sigh of admiration. “What a lovely way to say it.”

  “It’s lovelier when it doesn’t mean your ankles are as swollen as Papi’s and you have to pee every five seconds,” said Mariela, her voice cheerful.

  Evita rose. “I threatened Ramón, told him I was going to clue you in on how this keeps happening.” She hugged Mariela, then turned toward Diana. “Mariela Vargas, this is Dr. Diana Morgan.” She hugged the older man. “Papi, you come to let me feed you for a change? Tired of Mami’s cooking?”

  The older man held Evita close, but Diana could see fatigue in his face. She glanced down at his feet and saw the swelling above his shoes. She wanted to listen to his heart, run an ECG. She wondered if Rafe’s equipment extended to an electrocardiograph.

  “Diana, this is mi padre, Trini Vargas,” Evita said.

  The older man gave her a solemn nod. “So you are la doctora who is staying with Rafe.”

  “In his cabin,” Diana clarified. “Just for a month.” She waited for him to ask for her help, but he merely smiled.

  “Welcome to La Paloma—” He broke off, his face lighting with a broad smile. “Ah, there he is. Qué tal, Rafe?”

  Diana felt him even before she turned around. Needing more equal footing, she rose from her chair as Rafe moved up beside her.

  He was so tall, so… Qué padre, Evita had said, and she was right. Rafe was all man. But he was more.

  “Señor Vargas.” Rafe nodded. “You have brought Mariela for her checkup, I see.”

  Diana caught the worried look darting between Mariela and Evita. Evita’s stare at Rafe, Rafe’s brief nod.

  “Perhaps you will let Dr. Morgan listen to your heart while you are here,” Rafe continued. “She is a heart doctor. Her experience is far superior to mine.”

  He had no right—Diana saw hope flare in the eyes of both women and barely clamped down in time on the protest rising to her lips. Rafe looked down at her then, but his eyes begged no pardon. Instead, his expression dared her to refuse.

  She glanced again at the woman who already felt like a friend, seeing the plea in her gaze. She shot Rafe a glare that said they would hash this out later, but then she turned to the older man, holding up her hand. Only fair to warn him. “I’m not able to perform surgery just now, but I would be happy to do what I can.”

  “Con su permiso?” Rafe left the decision in the older man’s hand.

  Pride warred with concern in the older man’s gaze. Finally, he acquiesced. “After you have seen to our Mariela.”

  Rafe’s nod was solemn. “Of course.” He turned to Diana. “Dr. Morgan? Will you accompany us while Evita visits with her father?” Those seer’s eyes had never been less repentant.

  Diana’s own narrowed. “Of course.”

  Rafe’s gesture was all chivalry. “After you, ladies.”

  Diana refused to look at him as she followed Mariela. Despite her inner turmoil, however, excitement stirred.

  Rafe saw his small examining room through Diana’s eyes and wondered what he’d been thinking. She didn’t sneer, but her disappointment spoke volumes.

  She couldn’t know how hard it had been to assemble this poor assortment. The examining table and autoclave had come from a retiring doctor in El Paso. He and Ramón had bartered for the sink and done the plumbing; he’d built the cabinets himself.

  He’d been able to talk the hospital in El Paso into taking a tax write-off for donating their outdated X ray machine, and it would be arriving soon. He’d have to develop film the old way, but it was an important step. He spent nights working on the new clinic, hoping to have space ready as soon as it arrived.

  But he looked at everything anew through the eyes of Diana Morgan, and he saw the unfinished walls, the worn upholstery on the examining table. Saw the uneven concrete floor and knew the stir of shame.

  And close upon its heels, the anger. She had no right to judge.

  Forcibly, he blocked out her presence, wishing he’d never asked her inside but knowing that Ramón’s father needed more help than he could provide. He drew in a deep breath and concentrated on the only important person in the room.

  Mariela. His patient.

  “How are you feeling, Mariela?” He held her hand, in this manner a good student of his grandmother’s, understanding that the talking was as important as the examination.

  “Fine,” she said, darting a glance at Diana.

  “I should have asked you if it was all right for Dr. Morgan to be in here.”

  Diana leaped at the offer like a lifeline. “I’ll just wait outside—”

  “No, don’t go,” Mariela said. “Rafe and La señora work too hard. It’s good of you to help.” She smiled. “I don’t mind. Really.”

  Rafe saw the deer-in-headlights glance Diana shot in his direction. To her credit, she masked it and spoke to Mariela, holding up her hand. “With this, I can’t be much help.”

  Rafe realized that he was not alone in bei
ng troubled by shame. “Your knowledge is the only tool we need,” he said. “My hands can’t replace what’s inside your head.”

  “Tesoro,” Mariela murmured.

  Diana looked startled. “What does it mean? Evita used that word.”

  “Treasure,” Rafe supplied. “Your knowledge and experience are treasures.”

  Faint color bloomed in her cheeks. She stared at her hand as though seeing it for the first time. Then she glanced up at him, the green eyes not accusing him anymore but soft, instead. “Thank you.” She dropped her gaze. “I haven’t felt very valuable to anyone lately.”

  Rafe was moved by the vulnerability tracing the lines of her frame. “Your value to us is beyond price,” he said softly.

  Mariela turned to him, assessing.

  Rafe cleared his throat. “So now tell me truthfully, Mariela. Just how tired are you of waiting?”

  Mariela chuckled. “Today would be good. Yesterday would have been better.”

  Rafe grinned. “Are you resting when the little ones nap?”

  “I try,” she said. “But Ramón Jr. thinks he’s too old for a nap now.”

  “At the ripe old age of four,” Rafe sighed. “I know it’s not easy with three children, but tell that big lug you’re married to that he has to help out.”

  “He does, really. Ramón works so hard, but at night he bathes the children and puts them to bed while insisting that I prop up my feet. He does all he can, Rafe—you know that.” She placed her hand on his. “Mami tries to help, too, but she’s so worried about Papi.”

  As was Rafe. He nodded toward Diana. “We have help now.” He squeezed her hand. “You just worry about this little one. Lie back and let me check you.”

  As he examined Mariela, he talked his way through it with Diana. Her questions proved that she hadn’t forgotten as much as she’d thought.

  “Will you come?” Mariela asked her. “When it’s time, will you come with Rafe?”

  Diana’s eyes went wide. “I don’t—”

  “Not because Rafe can’t do it. He’s great—he delivered our last baby. But he only has two hands, and as good a father as Ramón is, he gets a little—” Her glance at Rafe was filled with laughter as they both recalled Ramón’s getting woozy at the sight of blood. “Abuelita wouldn’t have to come if you were there.”

  Diana stared at her damaged hand. “I can’t—” She darted a look at him, then back at Mariela. “I might already be gone.”

  “You’d better not be. If I have to be pregnant for another month, no one around here is safe.” Mariela’s dark eyes danced.

  The uncertainty painting Diana’s face stirred protective instincts in Rafe, but he knew only too well that striving to break past limits was the only way to gain confidence in your impaired abilities. He hadn’t realized how deeply her faith in herself had been shaken. She needed to learn that whether or not she could do surgery again, she had value.

  So he remained silent and let Diana deal with her fears.

  Mariela was not only a good mother but a wise woman. “Whatever will be, will be. If you’re here, though, we would welcome you. We’d be grateful for any assistance you could provide Rafe.” Phrased that way, there was pressure, yes, but there was also acceptance of limits.

  Diana still looked worried, but she found a small smile. “I’ll try.”

  “Thank you,” Mariela said. Then she turned her attention back to Rafe. “Now, I’m begging you, tell me that I’m dilating and this is almost over.”

  Rafe stood and removed his gloves. “Will it help if I tell you there is some thinning of the cervix and the head is down?”

  Mariela closed her eyes and moved her lips. Then she opened her arms and grasped him in a fierce hug. “Gracias a Dios!” She kissed him smack on the lips. “If I weren’t married, I’d fall in love with you. Help me off this table. I’m going to go kiss my husband.”

  Rafe helped her down. “You might want to watch out for that kissing. It seems to lead to other things.”

  Mariela’s hair swung around her shoulders as she winked. “I know.” Moving surprisingly fast for a woman so pregnant, she disappeared.

  He and Diana traded smiles.

  Then hers faded. “Rafe, I—”

  He held up a hand. “It was wrong of me to force your hand, but I need your help. Please take a look at Trini. I’m worried about him, but he refuses to go to the doctor. He’s scared they’ll put him in a hospital, and in his mind, people only go to hospitals to die.” He held her gaze. “I’m past my limits on this one. I suspect chronic heart failure, but I just can’t be sure with no more equipment than this.” He glanced around the room, trying not to see it again through her eyes.

  “I’m not a cardiologist, Rafe.”

  “I know chronic heart failure can’t be cured surgically, but you’ve had the same cardiology training.”

  She studied him, then seemed to come to a decision. “No ECG nearby?”

  He shook his head. “I have a shot at buying one, but it will still be two months until the hospital in Fort Stockton replaces theirs.”

  “You can’t be sure it’s CHF without one. Even I can’t do that. What about an X ray?”

  “I talked a hospital in El Paso into donating one, but it will be two weeks—if I get the place finished to put it.”

  “I’m impressed,” she said. “How’d you manage the donation?”

  He smiled. “Good old-fashioned guilt.”

  “They didn’t want to send a site team? Investigate your credentials? Check out your back molars?”

  “Well…” He shrugged. “It’s the base hospital. A retired general there seems to think he owes me.”

  “Ah.” Mischief sparked in those green eyes. “Connections.”

  He nodded. “The military is a family. It doesn’t forget its own.”

  Something faint and sad tripped across her delicate features, and he wondered what it was.

  She shook it off the way a dog dispels water. “Well, we’ll just have to make do with what we have. Let’s take a look at Mr. Vargas.”

  Inside him, a burden eased. He loved Trini Vargas like a father. He’d tried everything he knew to get him to more specialized medical care, and the failure to accomplish it weighed on him every day. Maybe she would have a better answer than his own diagnosis.

  “Thank you,” he said, looking down at her. Wishing he dared to touch her.

  Her eyes went dark; her voice, crisp. “Don’t thank me yet. They used to call me Miracle Morgan, but I’ve been out of miracles for a long time now.”

  “I don’t expect one.”

  “Yes, you do,” she said. “Just remember, I warned you.” She walked to the sink to wash her hands.

  Before he went to fetch Trini, he turned. “Do they know you’re not so tough as you pretend?”

  “I do my share of pro bono work,” she admitted, her stance turning to challenge. “But don’t ever assume I’m pretending. I’m as tough as I have to be.”

  He wondered how many times in her life she’d had anyone on whom to lean. He kept his voice soft. “You don’t have to be tough here, Diana. We won’t hurt you.”

  Leaving her staring at him, he left the room.

  After Trini Vargas departed, Rafe shook his head. “I’d hoped I was wrong.”

  “I can’t be sure,” Diana said. “I need more tests. We’ve got to get him to a hospital. I want ECG and an echo test—”

  “He won’t go, I told you.” The pale eyes had turned grim. “Abuelita makes him a dandelion tea. It seems to have helped with the swelling.”

  “What is that—some form of diuretic?”

  “Yeah. And she’s convinced him to alter his diet. But it’s not enough.”

  “He may need beta blockers. I want to run an angiogram—damn it.” She saw the same frustration in his eyes and pushed harder. “Rafe, this is barbaric. We can’t just let him—”

  “Die?” One dark eyebrow rose. “He’s going to die anyway. All of us are.”
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  “How can you just—” She whirled away, then back, glaring. “Why did you ask me if you weren’t going to do something about it?”

  “Life has seasons, Diana. It’s always changing its rhythms. Only man tries to bend life to his will, but in the end he’s doomed.”

  “Do you really believe that?” She stared at him. “Why did you fight so hard to come back, then?” Watching his eyes narrow, she pushed again. “Maybe Rosaria has reached that level of serenity, but you haven’t, have you?” When his eyes widened, she knew she’d hit a nerve. “That’s why you’re still here. Why you want to build a clinic. You’re a warrior, Rafe, no matter where you are.”

  “No—” he snapped. “I’m not. I can’t be—”

  “The best healers are fighters,” she said, the truth of it sinking in. “We take on death hand to hand. With our teeth and nails, if need be.” Power surged through her as it had so many times when she’d held a human heart in her palm and brought it back to life.

  The sweet memory of triumph lifted her head, straightened her spine. She looked up at Rafe with a certainty she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. She gripped his hand. “You know that feeling, don’t you? You’ve beaten back death, too.”

  Memory sparked hot in his eyes. Power flared between them. She felt his strength and her own.

  Just as quickly, sorrow smothered the sparks. Despair settled over his shoulders like a shroud. He pulled his hand from hers, and his strength with it. “I don’t fight anymore, Diana.” He turned away, moving toward the door. “I’ll give you a ride back to the cabin.”

  She stared after him, her first instinct to let him go. That something troubled him so should be no concern of hers. Prying wasn’t like her. She wasn’t the sympathetic-shoulder type.

  But it bothered her, this sense of some great sorrow inside him. It was more than just losing his career, she thought. More than physical scars.

  He hadn’t made his peace with this life, no matter how everyone obviously needed and wanted him here. The destiny Rosaria was so sure of hadn’t settled inside him; it still clung to a precarious balance on his shoulders, more weight than blessing.