Mercedes grabbed it. “Duane, get an ambulance out here—quick! I think it’s a heart attack.” Dropping the phone, Mercedes took her husband’s pulse. Still there, though erratic, but his head was wet with sweat, and he was struggling to breathe.
“Lie down on the floor.” She helped him stretch out and began to knead his chest, checking his pulse every few minutes and praying for all she was worth.
“It’s feeling better,” he said after a while, giving her his crooked smile. “I guess I’m just tired.” He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down with one hand.
“Don’t move.” Scooping up the phone, she dialed quickly. “I had a friend call emergency. I think my husband’s having a heart attack. Is someone on the way?”
“Is it for Wayne Johnson?” asked a woman.
“Yes.”
“We’re on the way. You live so far out that it will be some time before they can get there. But I can help you until they get there. Is he breathing?”
“Yes. But he doesn’t look good.”
“Is he conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have a pain in his chest? A tightening? Or numbness in his arm?” The woman on the other end of the phone sounded calm and reasonable, but Mercedes wanted to yell at her for asking so many stupid questions.
“He did have something in his chest, but it seems better now. I don’t know about numbness in the arm.” Mercedes looked at Wayne, who shook his head. “No. I don’t think he had numbness. But please hurry. Please.” Wayne was far too pale.
“Don’t worry. They’re on their way. Just keep him lying down. If he starts having problems breathing again, I want you to have him cough and then try to breathe deeply, repeating until he can breathe. That sometimes helps.”
“Cough. Breathe. I got it.”
“Now I’m going to ask you a few more questions.” Her voice droned on, and Mercedes answered without really thinking about what she said. She had a vision of Wayne dying in front of her eyes before the ambulance arrived.
The minutes ticked by: five, ten, twenty. How fast could they make the drive that usually took her an hour? Drive faster, she told them silently. The woman on the phone was talking to her about CPR. Mercedes was only half listening, her eyes fixed on Wayne, feeling if she looked away, even for a moment, she might lose him.
“I’m fine, really.” Wayne reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek.
She covered the receiver. “You’d better be.” But the next minute, his eyes fluttered closed.
“He’s shutting his eyes,” she said to the woman on the phone. “I think he passed out.”
“Ma’am, they should be there in five minutes. Where are you in the house? Should they come in the front door?”
“Yes, please.”
“Can you feel a pulse?”
She checked his heartbeat and couldn’t find it. “Oh, no!” She started to sob. “I can’t find it!” Her breath came fast and sounds emerged from her mouth that she didn’t recognize. Desperate, strangled cries.
“Calm down, ma’am. We just talked about CPR, remember? It’s time to do that. Put the phone down and start now.”
Mercedes dropped the phone and began pushing on Wayne’s chest. She felt an odd sense of déjà vu, though doing CPR on him was far different than on Geraldine’s baby. Or on her own little Lucy. Wayne was so large, she hardly made any impression on him. Were her efforts useless? She wished someone were here to help share this burden. If the attack had happened even thirty minutes ago, Brandon would have been there. As a heart surgeon, he would have known what to do.
But Brandon was never around when she needed him.
“Please, Wayne!” Tears wet her face and blurred her vision, dripping onto Wayne’s inert form. Her arms began to ache, but she’d die before she’d give up. She was grateful now for the hours of hard work on the farm, for the many times she’d milked the cow. All this helped her endure the fire burning up her arms. I can’t lose him!
Endless minutes passed before the ambulance workers raced into the house and took over. An older, dark-haired man began compressions, while the other strapped an oxygen mask over Wayne’s face. He was hardly more than a boy, Mercedes saw, his thin face as pale as his blond hair. After the mask was in place, he gave Wayne a shot in the chest. Mercedes huddled on the floor some distance away, feeling weak and useless as the adrenaline rush faded.
Unreal. Everything was completely unreal.
“Mr. Johnson, can you hear me?” This from the man doing compressions. His build and dark hair reminded her of Austin, but his face was pockmarked, as though he’d had terrible acne as a teen.
“Should we use the defib?” asked the younger man.
“I think I have a pulse. Mr. Johnson?”
A moan came from Wayne’s throat. Giving a sob, Mercedes scooted closer, and the men parted to let her in. “Wayne?”
His eyes moved in her direction. “I’m okay.” He didn’t look okay.
“We have to take him now,” the boy-man said. He’d been scared, and only now was the color returning to his face.
He thought Wayne was going to die, she realized.
“You can meet us at the hospital.”
“But—”
“If you follow us, I bet you won’t get a ticket,” the dark-haired man offered.
“Okay.”
She left the house open, knowing the boys would be home later and would need to get in. Besides, no one would steal anything here, even if she had something in the house worth stealing. Once at the hospital, she’d call Geraldine and have one of her sons drive the boys into town. Or maybe she could arrange to have them picked up before they left school. It all depended upon what happened next.
How odd that her mind was able to contemplate such things when her heart was filled with terror. What if Wayne died in the ambulance? What if she never had the chance to tell him she loved him? Really, really loved him.
Please, God, she prayed.
The ride to Riverton went more quickly than she expected, though it was all Mercedes’ old truck could do to keep the ambulance in sight. At the hospital, Wayne was whisked behind closed doors. Hands shaking, Mercedes made a few phone calls. Her tears for the moment had ceased, replaced by a surreal numbness.
To her relief, the physician appeared after only forty minutes. “I’m Dr. Peck,” he said, offering his hand. He was a lanky, thirty-something man who was going prematurely bald. As he explained his findings, he spoke in concise medical terms, as if sensing Mercedes would know what the words meant. As if she’d been through something like this before. “So it’s definitely a heart attack,” he finished, “though he seems to be remarkably fit. Has he been under a lot of stress lately?”
Guilt grew in Mercedes’ heart. Brandon, the planting, and the cattle had given Wayne stress, but she most of all. “Yes, a lot of stress. Our cattle—” Oh, that was one more phone call she’d have to make. She must try to limit their losses. The thought put her over the edge, and she started weeping again.
Dr. Peck stood by helplessly. With a jerky movement, he reached out a hand to pat her back and then pulled it away again. “I’ve contacted your regular physician, and he’ll be in shortly.”
Mercedes wondered who he’d called. She couldn’t remember a time when Wayne had visited a doctor, though she must have put someone’s name down on the papers.
“What he really needs is a heart specialist,” the doctor added, “and soon.”
The “soon” made Mercedes’ legs weak. “Can I see him?”
“Yes. But he isn’t conscious.”
She went in Wayne’s room, her hand going to her mouth to stifle a gasp at his appearance. He was almost unrecognizable under all the wires and monitors. His eyes were closed, and his face was gray. The bright red hair contrasted starkly, ridiculously, with the white sheets. He looked horribly old.
“We do have several heart specialists here.” Dr. Peck didn’t meet her eyes. “This is a teaching h
ospital, so we have the staff. But you are certainly free to choose an outside physician or facility.”
They’d told her that with Lucy, too, and she tried, but in the end it had made no difference. “I’d like the names, please.” He started to leave, but her fingers clutched at his sleeve. “I also want recommendations for the best physicians for his condition, regardless of where they work. My brother from Nevada will be here soon—I left a message for him—and he’ll help me decide what to do.”
Dr. Peck nodded. “Look, truthfully speaking, I think the doctor we have here over cardiology is really good. Name’s Dr. Shubacker. I’ve put out a call to him already, and he’ll be in to consult with you as soon as possible. But there are a couple of doctors out of California that were here a week ago. They’re top in the field, and I was really impressed with their methods. Last I heard, one of them might still be in town.”
Mercedes’ mind reeled as she struggled to hold onto his words. “You’re talking about Brandon Rhodes.”
Dr. Peck arched a brow. “You know him?”
What to answer? She had thought she knew Brandon at different times in her life, but every single time he’d turned out to be something other than what she’d expected. How cruel that fate would put Wayne’s life in Brandon’s hands. “I—I tried to get him to operate on my daughter once,” she said in a near whisper. “He was out of the country.”
“Well, he’s not now. Or at least I don’t think so. I can get you his contact information.” He leaned forward. “Frankly, and this is between you and me, if I were in your shoes, I’d really think about contacting him. His reputation is brilliant, and you don’t come by that easily in this field.”
“I know where to find him.”
Dr. Peck drew away. He was even taller than she’d first noticed, and his manner of speech and the tight way he walked seemed unnatural to his height, as though his nervousness alone decided who he was. “You can stay with him.”
She took a step toward the chair by the bed. “Will he wake up?”
“I don’t think so.” Dr. Peck’s thin face was grave. “We’ve got him on a lot of medication. He’ll need a few additional tests, but my opinion is that he needs surgery right away. Dr. Shubacker will, of course, confirm that.”
Mercedes nodded and blinked, trying to stop new tears. The numbness she’d known too intimately when Lucy was dying had slowly spread throughout her entire body. The day when her precious little one had taken her last breath, Mercedes had been holding her. She’d thought no pain or loss could ever equal that moment, but she had been wrong.
“Wayne, I’m here.” She said the words quickly so that if he could hear her on some level, he wouldn’t notice the shakiness or her obvious fear. She sat down, took his hand, and held it to her lips for a long moment, unheeding of the tears that washed down her face and onto his skin. “It’s going to be all right,” she whispered. “I’m here. We’re together. We will face this together. Don’t give up.”
He didn’t open his eyes or stir in any way, yet Mercedes felt hope. He was alive, and the hospital had doctors here to help him.
Doctors like Brandon? Could she trust him with Wayne’s life? No. Better to trust the other doctor.
She’d been sitting with Wayne only an hour when a nurse came to get her. “Your children are here, and a friend.”
“Thank you.” To Wayne, Mercedes added, “I’ll be right back.”
“Dr. Shubacker is also here,” the nurse added. “He’s going through the test results now and will meet with you shortly.”
“Thank you.” With a fleeting touch to Wayne’s cheek, Mercedes left the room.
Geraldine was in the waiting room with the boys, who immediately converged upon her. Mercedes couldn’t believe how wonderfully alive her sons felt in her arms.
“Is he going to be okay?” Darrel’s face was streaked with tears.
“I hope so, honey. The doctors are helping him.”
“Can we see him?” Joseph’s eyes were red and puffy, and for once he wasn’t eating.
“Not right now, I don’t think. But maybe before he goes into surgery.”
“When’s that?”
“Soon. I don’t know exactly. They have a doctor here who specializes in the heart. He’s looking at your dad’s test right now, and then we’ll know more.”
The boys all nodded, faces somber. “Momma,” Scott said, sucking in a sobbing breath, “I’m scared.”
She sat down and pulled him onto her lap. “I know. Me too. It’s okay to be scared. But we’re together, and no matter what happens, we’re a family.”
Scott nodded and pressed his face into her shoulder, sobs shaking his thin frame. Joseph sat on the next chair and leaned against her side. Darrel stood with his legs touching hers. Each seemed intent on feeling her closeness, and Mercedes was happy to give them what comfort she could.
Geraldine approached hesitantly, baby Mercy in her arms. “I came as quick as I could. I picked the boys up at school and sent my Jimmy over to look after your animals. Jacob went with the vet to see to the cattle. You don’t need to worry about anything. Your friends will help. There’ll be more here soon. We’re all praying.” Her chin wobbled, and she clamped her mouth shut to still it.
Mercedes bit her lip hard for a few moments in an effort to maintain her own composure. “Thank you,” she managed finally. “I never imagined . . .”
“We all love you.” Geraldine nodded vigorously, tears welling in her eyes. “We’ll help you through this.”
Mercedes reached up and squeezed her hand, eyes drifting to the bundle in the crook of Geraldine’s arm. By the look of her chubby face, little Mercy was healthy and content. Her button mouth worked in her sleep as though she were nursing.
“I’ll stay until the boys need to go home,” Geraldine said. “Then I’ll take them back with me. They’ll have a campout with my boys, and I’ll bring them by again tomorrow.”
“Thanks so much. But it might not be necessary. I’m sure Austin will fly here tonight, if he gets his messages in time. Probably his wife, too.”
Geraldine smiled. “That’s good. He’ll be company for you. But still don’t hesitate to ask for anything.”
“You should be home resting.”
“Nonsense.” Geraldine flicked her hand as though pushing the idea aside. “I feel great now. Thanks you to. Besides, all I’m going to do is sit right here and take it easy.”
The clearing of a throat caught their attention. “Mercedes Johnson?” The man’s eyes went between the two women for an instant before settling on Mercedes. His gaze was questioning, the tiny lines around his eyes belying the smooth cheeks. Was this the cardiologist? He seemed somehow familiar. Then she remembered him. Though his hair was graying and he’d gained weight, Mercedes couldn’t mistake the ink-sprinkled coat that sat crookedly on his wide shoulders.
“Dustbottom?”
He grinned a wide smile. “You remember.”
“Yes.” She tried to stand, but Scott clung to her.
“Don’t bother.” Dustbottom was short for a man, about as tall as Geraldine. Mercedes hadn’t remembered that about him. She did remember the way he moved, like a cat that had just drunk a bowl of cream. “I heard you were here and came from the morgue to see if there was anything I could do.”
“Word travels fast, huh?”
“Only when a woman is as pretty as you.”
Mercedes gave him a genuine smile, feeling as far from pretty as she ever had in her life but grateful he would say so, anyway. “Who really told you?”
“Dr. Peck’s a friend of mine.”
“I see.” She couldn’t imagine that. Surely Dr. Peck was too high-strung to be friends with the languorous Dustbottom.
“So, what’s going on?”
Mercedes’ smile faded. She looked pointedly at Geraldine and then at the boys. Dustbottom was a part of her past with Brandon, and she worried what he might say in front of the boys.
“Come on, kids,”
Geraldine said. “I saw a vending machine down the hall. Darrel, if you’ll help your brother, we’ll go get some candy bars. I’m sure I have enough change. Scott, do you want to push the buttons?” Scott was gradually enticed away, and Mercedes felt grateful for Geraldine’s efforts.
“My husband had a heart attack,” she told Dustbottom as he sat beside her. “Dr. Peck thinks he’ll need an operation by tomorrow.”
She had the feeling she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know, but he shook his head and said, “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” She smiled again, this one forced. “Dr. Peck says you have a great cardiologist who works here, a Dr. Shooo—something.”
“Shubacker?” Dustbottom shook his head. “No, I’ll give you a list of names. In fact, I have it right here.”
“But Dr. Peck—”
“I have the utmost respect for Dr. Peck, but he’s a company man.”
“Well, he was complimentary about Dr. Shubacker, but he actually recommended that I contact someone else.”
“He did? Well, good for him. I must be rubbing off on the man. Look, Mercedes, you know as well as I do that if you want your husband to have every chance of recovery, you must choose the right physician. One who’s willing to come here, and soon, because by the looks of your husband’s chart, he can’t be moved.”
“You saw his chart?”
Dustbottom shrugged. “So sue me.” He fished in his pocket and drew out a handwritten list of names and phone numbers.
Mercedes tried to scan them, but her eyes stopped at the first name on the list.
“I’ve written them in order of preference.”
“No.”
“Yes. And the second name is the man Brandon works with. Brandon could get him back here, if he thinks there’s enough time.”
Mercedes was shaking her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
Dustbottom’s brow creased. “You aren’t giving him enough credit. He’s a doctor first. I know that about him.”
“He was,” she agreed bitterly. After all, he’d tossed out their future for his career.
“Truthfully, I don’t think you have a choice. He’s the only one you’re going to get at such short notice. It’s him or Shubacker.”
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