by Connie Mann
Part of her didn’t want to go, which made her feel like pond scum. As long as she didn’t see Mama, she could pretend Mama was getting stronger and would beat this thing. But when Eve came face-to-face with her frailty, the terror of not being able to save her tore at her heart. Still, she pasted on a smile as she entered Mama’s room, determined to keep her feelings hidden.
“Good morning, Mama,” she chirped, bending to kiss Mama’s forehead.
Mama blinked awake and sent her a weak smile. “It’s good to see you, my Eve. But stop scowling.”
So much for hiding her feelings. “I’m worried, Mama. How are you?”
Mama gripped her hand. “Do not worry, Eve. I am in good hands.”
“I’m sure the doctors are doing everything they can—”
“I’m not talking about doctors, though they are doing their best. My healing will come from God. Our job is to trust.”
The calm words ignited Eve’s frustration, and she spun away and stormed around the room. “If He’s going to heal you, He should get on with it already.” She clenched her fists, fueled by helplessness.
“Always the impatient one, my Eve. But God’s timing is not ours. And sometimes, healing comes when we reach heaven’s shores.”
Eve stopped, spun around. “No! That’s not how this is going to go. You’re going to be fine, and you’re going to rock your grandbabies and see them married and—”
Mama reached for her hand as she stomped past. “Look at me, Eve.”
Eve stopped moving, but couldn’t quite meet Mama’s eyes. Her own emotions were too close to the surface.
“Your passion and need to fight are admirable, but you didn’t cause this, and you can’t fix it. Just like you didn’t cause your mother’s death so long ago, either.”
The stark words ripped the bandage off the wound that never healed. She shook her head. “If I hadn’t left when she told me to—”
“Then that awful man you were hiding from would have found you, and who knows where you would have ended up.” She squeezed Eve’s hand. “My sweet Eve. Stop carrying burdens God never intended you to carry. Fight for justice. Speak for those with no voice. But remember that the power of life and death has always been in God’s hands.”
A soft tap sounded on the door, and Nick Stanton poked his head in. “Hi. I, ah, just wanted to—”
Mama waved him in. “Please, come in. Thank you for stopping by.”
Nick looked from one to the other. “I can come back if this isn’t a good time.”
Eve swiped at the tears on her cheeks and tried to smile. “It’s fine. I have to go anyway. I love you, Mama.” She kissed her thin cheek and walked out, her heart a tangled mess.
Out in the hallway, she paced some more as she tried to walk off her frustration and anger. Nothing was worse than this helplessness churning inside her. Maybe Mama was right about letting God handle it—maybe—but Eve didn’t wait for others to save the day. She took action. And that meant that right now she had a baby to save.
She straightened her shoulders and marched over to the ICU to find Dr. Stern. She saw him in the room with Glory and waited until he came back out to step up beside him.
“Dr. Stern.”
When his eyes narrowed as he recognized her, Eve knew she didn’t have much time. “I wanted to thank you for all you’re doing for little Glory. I also wanted to apologize for the way I spoke to you. I was worried, but that’s no excuse to be rude.”
He seemed to soften slightly at her words, so she rushed on. “I understand you’ve ruled out a heart condition. Are you treating Glory with methylene blue?”
He cocked his head. “You seem to know quite a bit about blue baby syndrome. Who are you again?”
“I’m Eve Jackson, and Celia Daughtry asked for my help. I’m also Rosa Martinelli’s daughter. Since you’ve spent time overseas with Doctors Without Borders, I figured you were familiar with blue baby.”
When he raised his eyebrows, she shrugged. “I looked you up online.”
He crossed his arms. “And I’ve been told you’re a troublemaker.”
Eve had no doubt he’d gotten an earful from more than one person. Still, she kept her smile in place. “I’d rather be called persistent.”
“Fair enough. You know I can’t share patient information with you unless Celia expressly authorizes it, and so far, she hasn’t. But I will say your guess is correct, and little Glory seems to be responding.”
“That’s wonderful news. I’m trying to determine where the nitrates came from. Have you ordered the well tested?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been too busy trying to save my patient.”
Eve put up her hand. “No offense, Doctor. She’s the top priority. But now that you are getting her stabilized, would you order the well tested—and the surrounding wells, too?”
“I would have thought you would have already done that, Ms. Jackson.”
“I would have done it immediately, but the local water-testing company has not been what you’d call eager to help. Especially after they, uh, learned my name.”
He raised a brow. “I can’t imagine why.”
Eve shrugged. “Fair enough. Would you call the health department, Doctor? Get them to test the water?”
His phone chirped, and she knew her time was up. He checked the number, said, “I’ll try,” and hurried away.
Eve climbed into her car and headed for downtown Safe Harbor. She parked in front of the Safe Harbor Gazette office, hoping to find an ally in Walter Ames’s niece, who took over after he passed away at his desk, bow tie firmly in place and a stogie clamped between his teeth. She rather thought Mr. Ames wouldn’t have minded going out like that, since he’d spent most of his life at the newspaper office.
As she stepped out of her car, that same whisper of unease slid over her skin as it had at Celia’s cottage. Someone was watching her again. She locked her car and casually scanned the neighboring shops and businesses, but no one seemed to be paying her any attention whatsoever.
A little shiver of excitement tiptoed in beside the unease. Sasha would call her crazy—and she might be right—but Eve knew that when she started asking questions and people got nervous, it meant she was on the right track. She just had to keep digging.
Buoyed by that thought, she walked into the newspaper office, smiling as the old-fashioned bell above the door jingled and the smell of paper and ink assaulted her senses. The small office looked like a movie set from the 1960s, with two massive wooden desks and the bookcases along every wall groaning under the combined weight of books, newspapers, and stacks of files.
Eve waited several minutes, taking it all in, before she walked to the door that led to the big printing press in the back. Just as she reached for the handle, the door opened, and she hopped back to avoid getting smacked in the face.
“Can I help you?”
Eve studied the woman she’d seen at the band concert last night. She looked every inch a gracious southern lady, with her church-suitable dress and requisite pearls, big hair, and sensible pumps. Well, except for the narrowed eyes and decided edge to her voice.
Eve stuck out a hand. “I’m Eve Jackson, and I’m guessing you’re the new owner of the Gazette.”
The woman shook her hand, grip firm. “That’s correct. I’m Avery Ames. I own the Gazette.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss. I understand Mr. Ames was your uncle.” Eve scrambled for the best way to win this intimidating woman over to her way of thinking.
“Again, can I help you, Ms. Jackson?” She didn’t actually tap her foot, but the sense of irritation came through loud and clear.
“You’ve heard about Celia Daughtry’s baby who’s in the hospital, with blue baby syndrome?”
“I’ve heard blue baby is the diagnosis, but the cause is still being explored.”
Ah. She was one of those old-fashioned news people who dealt strictly in facts. Which Eve appreciated, absolutely, but right now she was trying to ferr
et out wrongdoing, and a little speculation could often go a long way. “Did you know that the Daughtry place is bordered on one side by Sutton Ranch, which runs cattle, and Blackwell Farms, a big agribusiness, on the other? Both of which could be the source of the nitrates in the water that poisoned little Glory Daughtry.”
Avery Ames crossed her arms over her chest and eyed Eve like an unwanted fly at a picnic. “Provided nitrates have been confirmed as the cause of the baby’s illness, which seems to be quite a leap. Has anyone run tests on the water supply at either Sutton Ranch or Blackwell Farms?”
“Not that I know of. But I’m working on it.” She paused, kept her eyes on Ms. Ames to gauge her reaction. “Someone left a threat on my windshield yesterday. Not proof of wrongdoing, but certainly an indication that I’m on the right track.”
“What do the police say?”
Eve barely kept her irritation in check. “To let them handle it.”
“That’s good advice, Ms. Jackson. I suggest you take it. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“You should write a story,” Eve blurted.
“This is not a scandal sheet, Ms. Jackson. And I won’t toss out speculation as fact, no matter how you might do things in Washington, DC. When you have a single shred of proof, you come back and see me, and we’ll talk. Until then, I have a deadline to meet. Good day.”
Before she realized what happened, Eve found herself standing on the sidewalk, the door firmly shut behind her.
Ms. Avery Ames might not be ready to do a story yet, but she’d be thinking about it. Eve hadn’t missed the curiosity in her eyes, the same desire to ferret out the truth that drove her. In that, they were very much the same. The seed had been planted. Now all she had to do was wait for it to grow.
Eve got back in her car and drove to Sutton Ranch. She hadn’t figured out how to get back on Blackwell’s land—yet—but her gut was screaming that the two properties’ proximity to Celia’s place meant the answers were on one of them. She just had to figure out which one.
When she arrived, she didn’t see anyone about, which could work to her advantage. She wasn’t sneaking, exactly, just taking a look around. She wandered over to the barn, careful of where she stepped—she loved these boots—and followed the sound of voices toward one of the stalls in the back.
“It’s a bit overdue, but I’m sorry for your father’s loss, Cole.” The voice paused. “To be honest, I’m glad you’ve taken over the ranch. This place needs your touch.”
Before Eve could find a place to hide, a man stepped out of the stall and spotted her. He tipped his Stetson. “Ma’am,” as he walked past, an old-fashioned medical bag at his side. This must be the vet.
She turned and found Cole leaning against the stall, hat pulled low over his eyes, arms folded over his hard chest. Eve’s eyes locked on the tattoo around his bicep, a rope with Sutton Ranch spelled out. Oh, be still my foolish heart.
“Something you need, Ms. Jackson?” he drawled, and Eve heard the frustration beneath the sultry tone.
“I, ah, just came out to . . .” She swallowed, unsure suddenly what to say.
“Sneak around? Poke your nose into my business? Make more unfounded accusations?”
The best defense was always a good offense, in Eve’s experience. She walked over, peered into the stall. “What’s wrong with your calf?”
Cole worked his jaw, and Eve wondered if he’d answer. “Not sure yet. Something’s not right with one of his legs.”
The calf lost his balance and collapsed into the hay. “Will he be able to walk right?”
Cole took off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair. “Don’t know that yet, either.”
The calf looked up at Eve with his big brown eyes, and her heart clenched, just as it had all those years ago. “You’ll try to sell him young, won’t you? For veal?”
He sighed. “Why are you here, Eve?”
The way her name rolled off his tongue made a little shiver tingle over her skin, but she wouldn’t let it show. “Still checking, trying to find the source of the contamination.” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder at the calf struggling to his feet. “Looks like I may have found the source.”
“You’re trespassing, Ms. Jackson. Get off my land.” His voice sounded tired, defeated.
“Do you use chicken manure on your hay fields?” She wasn’t sure if he’d answer, but she had to ask. That could cause high nitrate levels, too.
“Not anymore, no. Not for a while.” He took off his Stetson and ran a hand through his hair before he settled it back on his head. “Stop fishing.”
She met his eyes, caught off guard by the mix of sadness and frustration swimming in their gray depths. Her tone was quiet. “Will you have your wells tested?”
“They’ve already been ordered. I’m not heartless, Eve.” He turned and walked away.
Chapter 5
Cole sat astride Morgan, an easygoing quarter horse, as they rode the ranch perimeter checking fences, Hector riding alongside him. The ranch Cole had worked on in Montana used more ATVs than horses now, but there was something elemental about riding fence on horseback.
Despite that and the beautiful day, he couldn’t quell his frustration. There had to be something out here, somewhere, that was making his cows birth deformed calves. He just couldn’t pin down what it was.
“What are you looking for, boss?” Hector asked.
“My father was the boss, Hector. Not me. I’m just Cole.”
Hector shrugged. “You are the boss now, amigo.”
Cole chaffed against the title like it was a new shirt, stiff and uncomfortable. Sutton Ranch wasn’t his, though growing up he’d thought it would be, someday. Hank had always said so. But then his father kicked him out, and he hadn’t been back since. “Just for a while. Hank left it to Ma, remember?”
Hector shrugged. “She put you in charge.”
Cole spotted a low bush and swung down from Morgan’s back. He crouched low and examined the plant.
Hector crouched down beside him. “This is Queen Anne’s lace. You are trying to find something poisonous, no?”
The man didn’t have a fancy education, but his instincts were always spot on. Cole nodded. “There has to be something out here that the cows are eating. It’s the only thing that makes sense. But I can’t find a single leaf that would cause what we’re seeing.”
Hector stood alongside Cole and scanned the area. “Perhaps we are looking in the wrong place.”
“I’ve been all over this ranch, several times. I don’t know where else to look.”
Hector removed his Stetson and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “Perhaps the plant didn’t grow here, but was given to the cows.”
Cole studied the other man’s somber expression. He’d been thinking the same thing, but figured he was just being paranoid. “That’s what I’m afraid of. But I’ve been hoping I’m wrong.”
“There are many people who would like to buy the ranch.”
The silence lengthened as Cole considered Hector’s words. “You think this is sabotage of some kind.”
Hector shrugged and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “The troubles started after your father’s health got very bad. I do not think that is a coincidence.” He paused, looked Cole in the eye. “I do not believe you think so, either.”
It was one thing to think such thoughts in the dead of night, where paranoia and crazy ideas flourished. But here, in the harsh light of day? He didn’t want to believe it. But only a fool wouldn’t treat it as a serious threat. Cole was many things; stupid wasn’t one of them.
“You have any suspects in mind?”
Again uncertainty flared in Hector’s dark eyes before he looked away, and an alarm tripped in Cole’s mind.
“You know Blackwell wants to buy the ranch,” Hector said. “He’s been coming around for years.”
“Bet Hank loved that.”
Hector chuckled. “He would listen politely—and then point his shotgun and ask the slimy wea
sel, as he called him, to leave.”
Yet his father had borrowed money from Blackwell. Cole still couldn’t figure that one out. “Any others I should be looking at?”
“Leon Daughtry has said he wants to buy the ranch, too.” He raised a brow. “You are aware of that.”
“Yeah, he mentioned it last time he came out to fix the John Deere. But I can’t figure why he’d want it. Or how he can afford it. I’ve heard one of the big-box stores wants his and IdaMae’s property. He thinking to buy it from me and then sell it all to them, hoping to make a profit?”
“Don’t know, boss. But I heard that his sister wasn’t happy about any of it. IdaMae wants them to sell to the property to Blackwell so she can take care of Celia and the baby.”
“I heard that, too, but I can’t see either one of them feeding our cows a poisonous plant. Which leaves Blackwell or one of his men. He’s gotten a reputation for being ruthless in getting what he wants. And he’s decided Sutton Ranch is next on his list.” Cole didn’t mention the outstanding loan.
“You could sell to him, go back to Montana.”
“And what happens to my mama, then? I put her out on the street? She’s lived here most of her life.”
“If you don’t get a good price for the herd, Blackwell may get the ranch anyway.”
Cole clenched his jaw and nodded. So Hector did know about the loan.
“I heard your uncle Duane wants the ranch, too, though I don’t think he could run it. Seems like a lot of people with reason to ruin you.”
Cole flinched at the blunt truth, but Hector was right. But that still didn’t provide any answers. Just more suspects.
They remounted and kept moving. Hector glanced over his shoulder. “I didn’t find hemlock or anything that shouldn’t be here when I checked last week, but I think we should check again, just in case.”
Cole nodded, and they kept looking.
It was past time he got to the bottom of this.
Eve was too restless to sleep. Had Dr. Stern gotten the health department to go out and get a sample from Celia’s well? She itched to see the results, but she knew that even if someone had gone there today—which was unlikely, given how slow government entities generally worked—the samples would need to be overnighted to the state lab in Jacksonville, so there wouldn’t be results yet. Tomorrow, at the earliest.