by Rita Herron
Reminding himself the police were still after him, he struggled to listen for sirens, but barring the quiet drone of the engine and an occasional car whipping past on the long deserted road, the night was blissfully quiet.
Weak and drained, he closed his eyes and let the steady rumbling of the car on the road lull him into sleep. He’d rest for a few minutes. Save his energy. They were safe now.
At least with Lester dead, Sadie was safe.
He wouldn’t be until the cops stopped chasing them. And he wouldn’t quit investigating until he discovered what Lester had meant about his old man.
But he had to let Sadie go. She would be better off without him. Safer. Free of the police.
Free to move on and have a life, the life she’d wanted before he and Lester had screwed it up. The life she deserved.
Only he couldn’t be a part of it.
WORRY KNOTTED SADIE’S STOMACH as she drove toward the reservation. Judging from Carter’s ashen pallor, the blood soaking the shirts she’d used as a pressure gauge and his shallow, labored breathing, he was growing weaker by the minute.
What if she couldn’t save him?
He had told her to go to his friend for help if he died, but she refused to believe that would happen. Carter had suffered too much already; she would not lose him.
Her heart squeezed, emotions welling in her throat. They had come too far to give up now.
Nervous tension riddled her body every time she passed a car, and she constantly scanned the area for the police, listening for siren sounds to approach any second.
She flipped on the radio, hoping to find a country station to soothe her anxiety, and was relieved to hear a Crystal Bowersox original. Her rich, honest melody flowed through the speakers, giving Sadie hope that her faith would help her through this ordeal.
Seconds later, a news report interrupted the music, and a sense of trepidation filled her as she listened.
“Police outside Laredo found the body of a man identified as Jeff Lester tonight. He was shot and was pronounced dead at the scene of the fatal shooting.” The reporter paused. “Police claim a witness spotted a man and woman leaving the scene. They believe the man was escaped prisoner Carter Flagstone, who was identified from a security camera at the liquor store close to the alley where the murder occurred.
“They have also identified the woman traveling with him as Sadie Whitefeather, an advocate for the Native American community. At this point, police believe Ms. Whitefeather is helping Flagstone and are also looking at her as a person of interest in the homicide.”
Perspiration trickled down the front of Sadie’s blouse as the reporter trailed off, relaying phone numbers for people to call in case they spotted her and Carter.
“Sadie,” Carter mumbled. “You should go to the police, tell them the truth, save yourself…”
“Shh, don’t worry about it,” Sadie said, as she crossed into the reservation. “We’re here now and we’re going to tend to that gunshot wound.”
Carter mumbled something she didn’t understand, then passed out again. Sadie whipped the car down the graveled road leading into the reservation, bypassing several houses and two hogans, and driving straight toward Jimmy Blackhorse’s.
She and Jimmy had grown up together, and he’d been a wonderful friend when she’d been assaulted. She pulled to a stop in front of his small adobe house, pummeled by memories of the two of them growing up together as children. Darkness bathed the front yard, yet a light burned low in the front room, and Sadie pictured Jimmy inside, reading, meditating, working on some environmental issue to help improve the farming on the reservation.
She cut the engine, then turned to check on Carter. He was unconscious, a fine sheen of sweat soaking his face and chest. She lifted her hand from the wound and felt the stickiness of his blood on her palm. “Carter,” Sadie whispered. “I’m going to get help. I’ll be right back.”
He moaned slightly as if he’d heard her, and she pressed his hand on top of the blood-soaked cloth. Knowing every minute counted, she jumped from the vehicle, jogged to the door and pounded on it.
A second later, the door swung open and Jimmy stood in the door frame, a surprised look on his face. “Sadie, what are you doing here?”
“I need your help.”
Disappointment momentarily flickered across his face. She’d known he wanted more from her when she’d stayed on the reservation, but to her Jimmy would always simply be a friend.
He crossed his arms. “What’s going on? I heard on the radio that you were seen with some felon. The police are looking for you.”
“I know.” Sadie sighed. “Please, Jimmy, you have to trust me.” She gestured toward the car. “Carter’s hurt, he’s been shot—”
“For God’s sake, Sadie, you brought a wanted criminal here to the reservation?”
Sadie winced at the condemnation in his voice. “I know, it’s dangerous. But he’s innocent, Jimmy. I…please just help me and I’ll explain everything.”
For a heartbeat, Sadie thought he intended to deny her, but then he pushed past her and strode to the car. “What happened?”
“We were attacked in an alley.” Sadie hurried along beside him. “Carter was shot in the stomach, and he’s lost a lot of blood.”
Jimmy opened the driver’s side, then felt for Carter’s pulse. When he looked up at Sadie, his expression turned grave. “We need the shaman, and that bullet will have to be removed. I’ll get some medical supplies inside, then we’ll take him to Spirit Eagle.”
He rushed inside and returned moments later with gauze and a medical bag. Sadie drove the car and followed Jimmy in his truck, then they parked at Spirit Eagle’s hogan.
Spirit Eagle was aging, over seventy now, with white hair and a beard. His leathery skin was wrinkled and sagging, but he was the wisest man she’d ever known. His calm, spiritual manner always comforted Sadie, and he had taught her the ways of their people.
He also had built a sweatbox in the woods on the hill behind his property and had erected a tent for spiritual ceremonies and prayer.
“I sensed you would be coming,” Spirit Eagle said, as he rested his gray eyes on her. “You are in much need of prayer, my child.”
“Yes, but first we have to take care of my friend. He’s been wounded and has lost a lot of blood.”
Spirit Eagle gestured for her to bring Carter inside, and she and Jimmy returned to the car to retrieve him. Carter moaned, incoherent, as they helped him into the small house.
Spirit Eagle’s moccasin-clad feet barely made a sound as he gathered herbs and plants to make a healing compress.
Carter collapsed onto the cot, and Jimmy hurried to heat water and tear some strips of cloth for bandages, while Spirit Eagle examined Carter. “The bullet is deep.”
“I know,” Sadie said.
“I’m afraid you must take over. My hands are no longer steady enough.” Spirit Eagle held out his hands, which had become even more gnarled with arthritis than when she’d seen him last. He also had developed a fine tremor, indicating Parkinson’s.
Sadie ached for him, but panic threatened her at the thought of cutting into Carter. What if she made a mistake?
Spirit Eagle laid a gentle hand on Sadie’s shoulders. “Breathe in deeply and have faith, my Sadie. You were born to be a doctor. You have healing hands.”
If she had healing hands, why couldn’t she have saved her mother?
“Your mother’s death was not your fault, my dear one,” Spirit Eagle said in that eerie way he had of reading her mind. “It was her time. Such is the cycle of life.”
Heat from Spirit Eagle’s palm seeped into Sadie’s back, comforting her, and she closed her eyes, summoning her faith and courage. If ever she needed to believe in herself, in the lessons Spirit Eagle had taught her and in the emergency medicine she’d picked up volunteering at the hospital, it was now.
Knowing Carter’s life depended on her, she opened her eyes and nodded at Spirit Eagle, indicating sh
e was ready. Jimmy brought a pan of steaming water and sterilized a scalpel, scissors, a needle and tweezers.
“Help me remove his jacket,” Sadie said.
Jimmy lifted Carter’s shoulders and she tugged at the sleeves, the two of them working quickly together to shed the jacket. She spotted the bottle of liquor tucked into the inside pocket at the same time Jimmy did.
Carter groaned and pulled at her arm. “Sadie—”
“I’m right here, Carter,” Sadie said, desperate to soothe him. “I’m going to remove the bullet, then we’ll dress the wound.”
Jimmy opened the bottle of whiskey. “Here, he should drink. It will help dull the pain.”
Sadie lifted Carter’s head at an angle and tilted the bourbon to his mouth. “I don’t have any anesthetic, Carter. Drink some whiskey before I start.”
His eyes opened to slits, the pain glazing them over, and he wheezed a breath but sipped from the bottle. When he’d had a couple of long drinks, she handed the bottle to Jimmy, then took the scissors and began to cut Carter’s shirt.
As the bloody fabric fell away, she peered at the wound to determine how deeply the bullet was embedded. If it was a through-and-through, it would have been simpler, but the bullet had lodged a couple of inches in his abdominal wall.
Hopefully it hadn’t damaged any major organs, but she couldn’t be sure. He needed to be in a hospital, tests run, an experienced doctor, a transfusion, antibiotics…
All the things lacking here on the reservation.
“You okay, Sadie?” Jimmy asked.
Perspiration beaded on her forehead, but she murmured yes, then grabbed the scalpel and eased the point into Carter’s belly. His muscles clenched, and he moaned, then ground his teeth in an effort to control the pain. A second later, he passed out.
She peeled back layers of tissue, then finally spotted the bullet. Using the tweezers, she carefully removed it then dropped it into the aluminum pan Jimmy held for her.
Then she wiped her brow with the back of her arm and methodically pressed gauze to his wound to soak up the fresh blood.
Jimmy acted as her assistant, passing her hydrogen peroxide to clean the wound and discarding the bloody gauze, then handing her fresh gauze as needed. When she had the bleeding under control, she stitched up the wound and dressed it.
By the time she was finished, her legs felt shaky, and she was drenched in sweat. Jimmy set a pan of cool water on the bedside table, then left the room, and she used it to wipe Carter’s face and neck. He moaned and tried to open his eyes, but he was too weak to do anything but mumble her name.
“The bullet is out now,” Sadie whispered.
But the next few hours, maybe days, would tell. He needed fluids and IV antibiotics, but they would have to make do with herbal remedies and what they had here.
Spirit Eagle had slipped outside while she was dressing Carter’s wound, and he returned with herbs and plants, and she realized he’d made a poultice to prevent infection.
“We must perform a sing,” Spirit Eagle said.
Sadie nodded at the idea of a healing ceremony. She took her place by Carter while Spirit Eagle began to chant. At the same time, he created a traditional Navajo sandpainting by trickling sand from his hand, sand made from fine grains of crushed pollen, cornmeal and charcoal from a burned tree to depict the Holy Ones.
When he was finished, Sadie left Spirit Eagle to apply the poultice, and she stepped outside the hogan. The night air felt hot and stifling, but she breathed it in, desperate to rid herself of the scent of Carter’s blood and his near death.
“You were wonderful in there,” Jimmy said quietly.
Sadie clenched her hands and glanced up at the moon and sky, willing her faith not to abandon her.
And praying that she had done enough to save Carter.
Chapter Twelve
Carter faded in and out of a deep and restless, pain-induced sleep, his mind bombarded with images of prison life, of beatings, then random images of endless miles of nothingness. Dried, dead shrub brush, cacti, desolate heat, roads that went nowhere, other roads that led into a dismal abyss that enveloped him into the darkness.
But occasionally the image of a beautiful wildflower interceded, a sea of purples and reds and yellows. Then there were vibrant Native American woven blankets and Indian beads, and Sadie’s deep, dark, mesmerizing eyes.
During his foggy state, his fever spiked and he heard Sadie’s worried voice talking to the medicine man. They’d carried him into some kind of sweatbox. Sadie had whispered in his ear, something about the heat cleansing his body and drawing out the poisonous toxins. That infection had set in, and his life depended on them ridding him of the toxins through a combination of herbal treatments and the sweathouse.
He had no idea if it was hours or days that he spent inside while the hot coals filled the small space with steam. His body shook and convulsed, perspiration pouring off him like a river. He passed in and out of a delusional state, dreaming about bizarre, dark forces coming for him.
And knowing he was all alone.
In those desolate, bleak hours, he yearned for Sadie’s voice. For her touch. For a future with her.
Then confusion clouded his brain again. He had some place he needed to be. Something important he had to do.
He could not die until he finished that goal…
He had to save Sadie…
Clear his name…
The reality of the past crashed around him, and he jerked up, searching the darkness. The walls closed around him, the fire from the heat swirling in a cloudy haze.
Then voices floated to him from the outside.
A man’s voice and a woman’s.
“Sadie, you’re an innocent in this situation,” the man said. “Let me call the sheriff and we’ll clear this up. If Flagstone is innocent like you claim, the police can sort out the mess.”
“No, he tried the legal way before and it didn’t work,” Sadie said.
“But the cops are looking for you. They think you’re an accomplice to murder,” the man said gruffly. “You might go to jail—”
“I told you the truth about what happened,” Sadie said. “I have to help Carter through this, Jimmy. I owe him that much.”
“Why?” the man asked. “You could stay at the reservation and let me take care of you, Sadie.”
A pause and he realized Sadie must be considering it. That this man meant something to her. That he wanted her.
“Jimmy,” Sadie whispered. “I…can’t.”
“Why not? Don’t tell me you’re in love with that criminal?” Jimmy asked angrily. “That you’d throw away your future for a convicted felon?”
“I…Jimmy, I told you Carter is innocent,” Sadie said in a low voice. “And I can’t move on until this is over. I…feel too guilty.”
Guilt. Carter understood about guilt. But he didn’t want Sadie to risk her life for him. She was safe here.
Somehow he had to find a way to leave her at the reservation and finish the investigation on his own.
Even if he had to convince this guy Jimmy—the man who obviously shared a past with Sadie and still loved her—to help him.
SADIE SHIFTED UNCOMFORTABLY under Jimmy’s scrutiny, then pulled him away from the sweatbox. Carter had been unconscious for three days now. But she’d heard him stirring and hoped he hadn’t overheard their conversation.
Jimmy rubbed her arm. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt over some loser.”
Sadie gritted her teeth. “He’s not a loser, Jimmy. He’s a good man. He just hasn’t had any breaks in life.”
“So you’re making excuses for him?”
Anger flared inside Sadie. “No, I’m telling you the way it is. I’m the reason he went to jail for a crime he didn’t commit. If I’d spoken up and testified, he wouldn’t have been convicted. I have to fix it now.”
“Then go to the police.”
Sadie sighed. “You think they’d believe me? I’m on their wanted list.�
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A rumbling from across the plains made them both pause, and Sadie’s stomach knotted as she spotted headlights in the distance. If anyone else discovered they were here, they might turn them in. “Who is that?”
Jimmy squinted through the darkness. “Jonas Buffalo. He’s the head of the tribal police.”
Sadie jerked her head toward Jimmy, betrayal gnawing at her. “You called him and told him we were here?”
Jimmy shook his head. “No. But the police have probably been investigating you. It won’t take them long to track you back to the reservation.”
Panic zinged through Sadie. “Carter and I have to leave.”
Jimmy caught her hand as she started to run back inside. “Don’t, Sadie. Stay and let me help you explain. We…” His voice thickened. “I need you around here. I miss you.”
Her anger melted at the concern in Jimmy’s eyes. But she knew he wanted more, a deeper relationship, and she had hurt him once before when she’d left. She couldn’t lead him on this time. “I’m sorry, Jimmy. But Carter and I have to find evidence to exonerate him first. Then we’ll go to the police.”
The SUV’s lights bounced over the hill, still a mile away but growing closer. Disappointment tinged Jimmy’s eyes for a brief second, but he gave a resigned nod. “There’s a storm cellar out back where you can hide in case Jonas insists on searching the hogan.”
Sadie stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, Jimmy. You’ve been a good friend.”
He frowned, then reached inside his pocket and handed her a key. “Take the old truck in the barn. The cops are looking for that station wagon.”
In fact, he’d hidden it in the woods when they arrived.
She thanked him again, then rushed to Carter. He was trying to sit up and he looked weak, but some color had returned to his cheeks. The sweatbox seemed to have drawn out the infection, and his eyes looked clearer.
“We have to hide,” Sadie said. “The tribal police are on their way.”