His arms tightened a little more, until she thought he would squeeze her right back into bits again. “I want to wake up with you, Madeline. You’re beautiful when you sleep. Just beautiful. And I’ll even make you breakfast, as long as the coffee makes itself.”
That was it—that was as good as it was going to get. Not perfect, but good enough. She smiled, just a little, and he smiled back. And maybe, just maybe, by the time February rolled around, he’d change his mind. “There’ll always be a mattress here for you.”
His smile got wider. She could still see the sadness at the edge of his eyes, but it was tempered now. He almost looked normal as he said, “Would you go to a funeral with me?” like he was asking for a second date.
It wasn’t going to be perfect. After setting up when he’d come get her for Albert’s funeral and extracting a promise that he’d swing by the clinic before then, just so she could see him, she kissed him goodbye, watched her cowboy ride into the sunset, and went in to open a can of soup for dinner.
It wasn’t going to be perfect. But then life never was.
Chapter Fourteen
So it wasn’t perfect. Madeline had never needed anyone the way she began to need Rebel, and it took her more time to get used to the sensation of longing than she was comfortable with. She went to sleep most nights craving his arms around her waist, his breath on her cheek. She woke up most mornings missing the sight of him parading around the cabin in her pink towel. When he came into the clinic, she had to fight the urge to haul him into the supply closet and kiss the hell out of him. Definitely not perfect.
But that didn’t make it bad. After a few weeks, they settled into an easy routine. When he came for her Friday nights, she practically swooned at the sight of him riding up in the summer sun, leading Tanka for her. With every weekend she spent camping, she got more comfortable with no fans, no automatic coffee and no hot showers. She still missed an enclosed toilet, though, but for two days at a time, she was willing to trade that for long trail rides and campfires. When she came home on Wednesday nights, he’d be sitting in her recliner on the porch, waiting for her. God, how she loved the sight of him there, waiting for her. They’d make dinner together and then spend the night wrapped in each other. She loved him with everything she had. And all the while, she counted the days until the first snow fell.
Madeline was pretty sure everyone knew she and Rebel were sleeping together now. Tara started greeting him by saying, “Hiya, Rebel. Madeline’s in the back,” or in the closet, or with a patient. Clarence seemed to wink a lot more when Rebel was around, and Tammy was prone to quiet giggling when Rebel would make Madeline blush—which he continued to do with alarming frequency. But no one, not even Nobody, said anything. The medicine man sleeping with the doctor was just another day on the rez, apparently.
The clinic wasn’t perfect either, but it kept going. She began to get used to Nobody Bodine just appearing and disappearing at closing time, and he picked up on how she liked things arranged pretty quickly. One corner of the desk at a time, Tammy got the files organized, and then took the initiative to work up some new patient forms. Madeline cut Jesse’s cast off while Tara held one hand and Nelly the other. She delivered four babies, only one of which was premature and showed signs of fetal alcohol syndrome. More people came through with flu-like symptoms, although she still had no lab results to prove Rebel right or wrong. Some people paid some bills. It was just enough. And Rebel still showed up at unexpected times to translate or drive someone home.
A few times, Rebel came for her in the middle of the afternoon. Someone was sick, too sick to even be carried in. She’d never considered house calls a part of her professional world, but wasn’t that what she’d done for Albert? Plus, it made her look at Rebel in a new light. When he took her to see someone who was sick—dehydrated, weak, bloody diarrhea—she realized more and more that he wasn’t trying to practice medicine, and he wasn’t trying to kill people. And what’s more, he trusted her. When she couldn’t get a frail old man to respond to the anti-diarrhea meds she now kept stocked in huge quantities, and he died in spite of her best efforts, Rebel was waiting on her porch that night. They sat in the recliner for a long time, discussing their different versions of heaven as the sun set on another day. He didn’t even reprimand her when she got a little teary, but instead kissed her tears away. The next day, he brought in another new patient with the same symptoms. He had faith in her. She was beginning to realize that the feeling was mutual.
Maybe it was ridiculous, but she started to think of them as a team. The yin and yang of the White Sandy Clinic and Hospital, she thought with a smile as she hooked up another IV one day. He was good at the bedside manner thing, the caring and understanding thing, and the translating thing. He literally spoke the language. And she was good at the medicine. She knew what to expect now, what her patients could realistically be expected to afford and, beyond that, do. She began to understand on a fundamental level what Rebel and Nobody had meant by a good death. She began to understand what Rebel meant when he talked about being right with the world.
She began to understand what it meant to be a Lakota. As much as an outsider could, anyway.
July had long since turned into August when Rebel woke her up with a hard shake one Thursday morning. Immediately, Madeline knew something was wrong. Instead of wet hair, a pink towel and languid laziness, he was already dressed, and he was moving so fast he was almost a blur of agitation. “What’s happened?”
His eyes snapped up, and she saw his terror. “Are you okay?”
She was not the one having a panic attack right now, but she doubted he would see the humor in that. “Yes, fine.” She looked at him more closely. His pupils were dilated and he was breathing so fast that he was almost hyperventilating.
“What’s wrong?” she asked more carefully.
He began pacing, the heels of his boots hitting the wood floorboards so hard she was afraid he was going to take the whole house down. “I—I don’t know. Something. Something’s wrong. I don’t know what.”
“What did you see?” She’d only seen him go into a trance once since the night of Albert’s party, and all he would tell her when he snapped out of it a few minutes later was that Jesse really would have gray hair, which made him laugh and laugh. But this was different. This was no laughing matter.
“It was the same thing—the same thing I saw before you came here. The horse was sick, the people—” He shuddered, almost as pale as she was. “The people were all dead. And you—” He stopped—really stopped. He didn’t even blink as he stared at her with wild eyes.
Her blood went ice cold in her veins. “What about me?”
“You—I think it’s you, but I don’t see you, just footprints in the snow—you tried to save them again, and it was too late. They were all dead.” He spun on the balls of his feet and grabbed her by the shoulders. His hands were downright chilly. “It’s not like these things happen in repeats. This means something. Something’s wrong.”
Irrational relief flooded her system. She forced herself to take a breath, forced the air to move through her lungs. It wasn’t like she would have really believed he’d seen her dead—would she? Of course not. That was just not possible. But he was frantic. One step at a time, she thought as she said, “Have you talked to your brother?” in her calmest voice. She’d taken Jesse’s cast off three weeks ago. According to everyone, that meant it was just about time for him to hurt himself again.
His eyes widened with dread. “Can I use your phone?”
Madeline dressed quickly as Rebel called just about everyone in the phone book. And everyone had the same thing to say. They were fine. Everyone was just fine.
“I’m coming with you,” he said as she got her keys. He clutched her in his arms, and his current of terror shot through her.
Damn, in this state, he’d probably scare everyone, even Clarence. For the first time, she wished Albert was still here, not because she missed the old man, but becau
se she was pretty sure he was the only one around who could talk Rebel down right now. But she was also pretty sure that telling him to go home and get over it—whatever it was—would push him right over the edge. “Okay. Come on. But I’m driving.”
On the way in, he grilled her. Had more people been getting sick recently? No, the number of people experiencing flu-like symptoms had been holding steady. Had she heard any chatter from the medical supply people? No, nothing.
“How about the samples?” He was a little calmer now, but the terror that had held sway earlier was now becoming a laser-like focus on finding something—anything—that was actually wrong. “You said four to six weeks, right? It’s been six. Have you heard anything about them?”
“No. I had Tara call a few weeks ago and nothing.” Open Diagnostics Laboratories was no different from the rest of the world. The White Sandy is a non-entity to them, she thought with disgust. Some days, she felt like she needed to sacrifice a chicken or something in order to get the ball rolling.
His lips disappeared into a thin line. “We need to know. What if that’s it?”
Part of her wanted to tell him to snap the hell out of it, because everything was fine. He’d just had a bad dream or eaten something he shouldn’t have, or maybe he was having a nervous breakdown. Nothing was wrong, and he was starting to freak her out.
But another part of her knew he wouldn’t just make something like this up. That part of her knew that it didn’t matter how much or how little she believed in his visions or the spirit world or any of the Lakota stuff she didn’t understand. What mattered was the fact that he did believe.
“I’ll call the lab myself when we get to the clinic, okay?”
He nodded even as he shot her a disapproving look. She must have sounded unconvinced. “You think I’m nuts.”
The giggle was out before she could stop it. Lord, what she wouldn’t have given for a little more coffee. “No, I know you’re nuts. But,” she added quickly, “it’s clearly important to you. And you’re important to me. So I’ll call.” Calling was one thing, though. Convincing was another thing. How the hell was she going to do that? What she needed was some backup. Her wheels began to turn.
“Okay, good,” he said, seemingly not the least bit insulted. “Just to be safe. Just to be ready. Just in case.”
By the time she pulled up next to the clinic, Rebel was considerably calmer, and that made her feel good in a new, different way. She had the sneaky feeling that Albert, wherever he was, would be proud that she’d talked Rebel down all by herself.
First, she called Mellie. If she was going to exert a little pressure on the lab people, she needed to know as much as she could. Mellie was an expert at getting people to do what she wanted them to do and making them think it had been their idea in the first place. Mellie had never needed the Mitchell sneer.
“Open Diagnostics?” Mellie said with a yawn, even though it was almost eight in Columbus. “What for?”
Would Mellie ever grow up? Sheesh. Madeline had been up for over an hour already. “Just look them up online. Where they’re located, who the manager of the lab is—see what you can find and call me back in fifteen minutes, okay?”
“Whatever, Maddie.”
“Mellie, this is important.”
There was a long pause. “Does this have anything to do with a cowboy? Or an Indian?” At least she sounded more awake now. “Well?”
Madeline rolled her eyes, which was wasted on the telephone, but old habits die hard. “Both,” she finally admitted.
“Two men? Maddie!” She gasped in melodramatic shock. “I had no idea.”
This whole conversation was rapidly spinning out of control. “One man,” she said through gritted teeth over the sound of giggling. “Now, can you help me out or not?”
“Ooh, I gotta meet this guy. I’ll call you back in ten.”
Hanging up, she turned to find Rebel looking almost normal—for Rebel, anyway. Something close to his normal wolfish grin was on his face, and he was lightly shifting from one foot to the other. But the strain was still written large across his face.
“You look like you could skin a cat right now,” he said.
She rolled her eyes again, which made him laugh. “You haven’t met my sister.”
“But I will.”
Her heart jumped like it was playing hopscotch. In the month they’d been doing this not-perfect thing, neither one had said anything else about any part of the future that didn’t involve a trip to Rapid City on the weekend. But that—meeting her family—that sounded a whole lot like long-term planning. February could not get here fast enough.
But they still had to get through this week.
She couldn’t just stand here and stare at him and the phone, so she got to work. She got the coffee going, checked to see if Nobody had gotten everything out of the autoclave, and then, because she didn’t know what else to do with herself, she began flipping through the files Tammy had put in immaculate order.
Which was a mistake, because her back was to the phone when it rang, and Rebel picked it up before the first ring was done.
“Clinic, this is Rebel speaking.” His grin was more wolfish all the time. He looked just like he had on her first day here. Heck, Madeline half expected him to go mix up some plaster at the rate he was going. “How may I help you?”
“Damn it, Rebel.” She lurched at him and tried to grab the phone, but he neatly sidestepped her. “Give that to me.”
“Why, yes, I am a cowboy and an Indian, thanks for asking. And you are? Melinda Mitchell.” He sounded like he was selling used cars. “You must be Madeline’s sister. It’s so nice to talk to you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Rebel!” She managed to catch him by an elbow, but he twisted so she couldn’t get to the phone.
“Did you like the green bag? You did?” That man had the damn nerve to wink at her. “Yes, I made that. Your sister must love you a lot, because she dropped a couple of grand on that. How much did you spend on her present?”
That did it. She elbowed him in the gut and managed to get a hold of the phone cord. “Do you want me to call the lab for you or not?”
“I love it when you fight dirty,” he whispered before returning to his conversation. “You’ll have to come out and visit sometime, Ms. Mitchell. Oh, okay. Melinda. I’d love to meet you in person. That’d be great. Yes, she’s here.” Finally, he held the phone out to Madeline. “It’s your sister.”
“I know that,” she snapped, grabbing the phone from him. “You’ll regret that later, mister.”
“Promises, promises.”
“Maddie. Who was that?” Mellie’s breathless wonder pulled her attention away from that man.
“The pain in my ass,” she grumbled. Rebel blew her a kiss from across the waiting room. She could not figure him out right now. Manic depressive, maybe? “What did you find out?”
“Does he look as good as he sounds?” Excellent. Now her sister was gushing.
Part of her wanted to say, no, he looked way better than that, but she’d rather eat nails than say that in front of him, and that wasn’t the point, anyway. “Focus, Mel. The lab. What did you find out about the lab?”
A hushed silence cascaded down the line. Oh, shit, Madeline thought. Here it comes. “You’re sleeping with him? Oh, my God, Maddie. You really are. Is he good?”
As soon as she got off this phone, she was going to lose it. Possibly before then. “Mellie.”
“Better than Darrin?”
“Mellie.” Count to ten. One, two, three...
“Wow, that good?” She whistled in appreciation, a sound that hammered itself right between Madeline’s eyes. “I am so coming out there to see this for myself. Does he have a brother?”
Seven, eight, nine...“Mellie!” Across the room, Rebel snickered.
“Sheesh, and I thought getting laid would make you less uptight. All right, all right. Fine. The lab. Open Diagnostics is headquartered in Baltimore. They’re a
publicly traded company on the NASDAQ whose stock price is up $0.33 this year alone.”
“And?” Baltimore. She dug a pencil out of the desk and wrote it down.
“The director of the actual lab is a little troll named Leon Flagg.”
“Mel, be serious.” She wrote it down, and then added troll after it.
“I am serious, Maddie.” She sighed in frustration. “This would be so much easier if you had the Internet out there.”
“I don’t need the Internet. I have you. Why is Leon Flagg a troll?”
“Aside from the name?” Mellie snickered, and for a brief second, Madeline was homesick. She actually missed her little sister, irritation and all. “Well, he is. From his Facebook page, he seems about five feet tall and two hundred pounds, with red hair that looks like he stuck his finger in a socket. I friended him,” she added with another giggle. “Not only has he already accepted my request, but he’s already sent me a slimy message.”
The feeling of homesickness grew, just a little. Madeline had never gotten on Facebook—never had the time—but back in Columbus, finding out that the director of the lab at Open Diagnostics was a troll named Leon took less than fifteen minutes. Out here on the rez, it would have taken her weeks to dig up that kind of information. Madeline looked at Rebel, which was no help. She doubted the man even knew what Facebook was. “Really? What’d he say?”
“Oh, the usual. If I’m ever in the Baltimore area, he’d love to show me a good time, etc. etc. etc. Total slime ball. Which is good.”
On the other hand, out here on the rez, one didn’t just randomly friend slime balls for fun. A little insulation was a good thing, Madeline decided. “How’s that?”
“Maddie, I have no idea what’s going on. But you need this Open Diagnostics to process something for you? Something they’re in no hurry to do?”
Hell, even if Mellie knew what was going on, she still probably wouldn’t have any idea. Madeline barely knew what was going on, and she lived here. “Right.”
Mystic Cowboy: Men of the White Sandy, Book 1 Page 19