by Robin Wells
"Bartlesville."
He clicked the phone closed. "Look—it makes a lot more sense to let me drive you. I can have you at the emergency room before the ambulance could even get here."
It was her turn to hesitate.
A nerve flicked in his jaw. "Look, lady—we can stand here arguing until you pass out, or we can get you to a doctor while you can still tell him what hurts. If you want your daughter to grow up with a mother, you'd better get in my car and let me give you a ride."
He sure knew what button to punch, mentioning Madeline. "All—all right. But we have to get the baby's car seat out of my truck."
"Do you need anything else?"
"My purse. And the baby's bag. They're on a hook in the kitchen beside the garage door."
Jake nodded. "Okay. Let's get you to the car, then I'll get your things."
Annie turned loose of the door and took a step for- ward. A wave of searing pain rose up like heat from a summer pavement, making everything seem wavy and red.
She felt Jake's hand on her arm, steadying her. "Hey—you'd better let me help you."
His forearm was hard and sturdy under the starched white cotton of his shirt. Annie gripped it tightly. "Madeline...... she muttered.
"She's fine. She's still sitting on the porch, trying to grab the dog's tail. I'll bring her to the car as soon as I get you settled."
The next thing Annie knew, he'd picked her up, one hand under her knees, the other under her back. Her cheek pressed against his. She felt the roughened smoothness of freshly shaved skin, and inhaled the faint scent of shaving cream.
He carried her down the steps and across the gravel drive, setting her down beside the car while he opened the door. He helped her into the seat, then strode to the porch and picked up Madeline.
The baby howled in protest as he carried her to the car. "In you go,"' he said to the child, placing her in the back seat.
Madeline immediately quieted, no doubt delighted at the novelty of being in an unfamiliar vehicle. "Stay here with your mommy. I'll be right back."
The next thing Annie knew, Jake had returned with the car seat, her purse, and the bag. It took him a couple of minutes to strap in the child seat, but he finally managed. Madeline protested loudly as he lifted her up and fastened her in.
Annie leaned her head against the headrest, trying hard not to think about the knifelike pain slicing through her. Jake started the engine, put the car into gear, and headed out of the drive, kicking up a rooster tail of dust.
Annie closed her eyes against a fresh wave of nausea. She couldn't believe she was letting this man take charge like he was. Yesterday she'd considered leaving the country to avoid him. But she had no choice now. She was sick, so very, very sick. Sick enough to die.
Oh, dear God—if she died, what would happen to Madeline? The thought caused a surge of alarm. She couldn't die. She wouldn't. People her age didn't die of stomachaches in this day and age, anyway.
Did they?
Jake glanced over at her. "Do you have any family or friends you want me to contact?" he asked, as if he were reading her mind.
"No." Annie clutched her side as he turned onto the highway. The pain was excruciating.
"Well, is there a babysitter or someone you want me to call if you have to be hospitalized?"
Hospitalized—that was a very real possibility. The direness of her situation hit her hard. "I—I've never used a babysitter except my ranch foreman and his wife, and they're out of town for the next few weeks." A feeling of panic gripped her belly, along with a heightened sense of pain. Her lip trembled. "I—I don't have anyone to watch the baby."
"Yes, you do." His dark eyes flashed toward her, his expression grim. "You have me."
Oh, dear Lord—she couldn't leave Madeline with the man who'd all but threatened to take her away from her.
Still ... what else could she do? Pearl couldn't man- age the child, even if the nursing home would allow it. Annie sank back against the headrest and closed her eyes, feeling worse than ever.
Half an hour later, Jake sat in the empty emergency room waiting area, watching the baby toddle from green vinyl chair to green vinyl chair. He'd tried holding her on his lap, but the child had no more use for him than her mother did. Every time he got within three feet of the little girl, she screamed as if he were a three-headed monster.
The door that led to the examining rooms wheezed open. Jake rose as a short, gray-haired man in a white medical coat walked into the waiting area. An ID tag pinned to his jacket identified him as an emergency room physician. "Are you with Annie Hollister?"
"Yes."
"It's her appendix," the doctor said. "It needs to come out immediately. I've already sent her up to O.R." Jake swallowed, absorbing the news.
"Dr. Meyers will be her surgeon," the doctor continued. "He's one of our best. He has thirty years of experience, used to work at a big hospital in Dallas. He was scrubbing up for an elective procedure when your wife came in. Since her condition's critical, he'll take her first."
Wife. The word hit him like a hard left to the jaw. "She's not..."
Jake stopped in mid-sentence. Doctors usually only gave information to the next of kin. He'd be better served by keeping his mouth shut. "She's not in any real danger, is she?" he amended.
"Not if her appendix doesn't rupture."
Crimony. Jake didn't like the grim set to the doctor's mouth. "Is that likely?"
"We hope not. But it needs to come out as soon as possible. It's extremely inflamed." The doctor pointed to an elevator. "The surgical waiting room is on the second floor. Dr. Meyers will look for you there after the surgery to tell you how it went."
"Okay. Thanks."
The doctor's gaze fixed on something behind Jake. "Your baby—she's, uh, eating dirt out of the planter."
Jake whirled around to find Madeline under a potted ficus, her face coated with black soil. He covered the distance in four long strides and picked her up. Angry at being interrupted, Madeline howled like an injured coyote, dribbling wet soil all over the front of Jake's white shirt.
Crimony—how was he supposed to deal with this? Juggling the child in one arm, Jake awkwardly felt in the pocket of his slacks for a tissue, but only came up with his keys and wallet.
The baby coughed, spitting more dirt on his shirt. Good grief—how much of that stuff had she crammed in her mouth? She was spewing soil like a volcano. He held her over his shoulder and patted her on the back, but then her cough deepened to an alarming gag.
He held her out and gazed at her. Her mouth was still caked with dirt. Panic flooded Jake's veins as she made a wet, choking sound.
Where the hell had that doctor gone? Where were the nurses? This was a hospital, for heavens' sake; where were all the medical personnel? "Nurse! Nurse!" he yelled.
Madeline gave a raspy wheeze. He had to do something; if he didn't clear the dirt out of Madeline's mouth and throat, she was likely to choke to death.
Desperate for something, anything, to use to clean the child's mouth, Jake yanked his shirttail out of his slacks. Plopping the baby on her back on the carpet, he used the end of his shirt to swab clumps of dirt out of the child's mouth.
Madeline gagged and sputtered, then sat up and let out an angry howl.
Relief, warm and sweet, rushed through Jake's chest. He picked up the screaming baby and held her against his shoulder. "Hey, now--don't blame me. You're the one who ate the darn dirt."
The baby yelled all the louder. Her tiny hands flailed at his chest and back, and her little feet kicked wildly. Jake walked around the room, trying to calm her down, but he only succeeded in making her screech all the more.
A heavyset woman in thick eyeglasses and green scrubs pushed a cleaning cart through the door. She smiled at Madeline in that soft, goo-goo-eyed way some women get when they look at babies.
"Oh, my—you're quite a mess, aren't you, sweetie?" the cleaning lady crooned.
The baby immediately stopped yowling an
d smiled. "Do you have some paper towels I could borrow?" Jake asked.
"Sure." The lady grabbed a roll from her cart. "Here—I'll clean her little face."
The baby quietly let her do just that.
"We need to get those little hands, too, don't we?"
Madeline meekly let her wipe first one, then the other hand. "There we go. Much better." The woman's gaze raked over Jake. Her eyes twinkled with amusement behind her thick glasses. "My, my, my," she said to Madeline. "Looks like you got Daddy all dirty."
Madeline gave a gummy grin and laughed.
"Can I hold you while Daddy cleans up?" The cleaning lady held out her arms. Madeline eagerly went to the woman, cooing happily.
Jake didn't know which was more disconcerting—being called Daddy or having his child show such an obvious preference for a stranger. He stared down at his shirt and grimaced. Good grief, he looked like he'd just crawled out of a mud-wrestling pit. Grabbing a handful of paper towels, Jake mopped at the stains. Instead of improving the situation, his efforts only seemed to make it worse. The dirt spread and fanned out on his shirt like fine black powder.
. "What kind of potting soil do you use around here, anyway?" Jake said, wiping at the smears on his chest.
The woman grabbed at her glasses as Madeline playfully pulled them off her face. "Oh, dear. That must be the volcanic ash our gardener has just started adding."
"Great. Just great." With a heavy sigh, Jake crossed the room to the trash receptacle, threw the paper towels away, then strode back, eyeing the baby. Madeline's playsuit was filthy, but she wore a huge smile on her face. At least her temperament seemed to have taken a turn for the better.
"Thanks for your help," Jake told the cleaning lady. He reached for the child, only to have Madeline throw her arms around the woman's neck and caterwaul.
The woman's eyebrows rose. The look she cast him was clearly appraising, as if she suspected he was a convicted child beater.
Jake pried the yowling baby's arms from around the woman's neck, shooting her a sheepish smile. She watched him carry the screaming child toward the elevator. "You're forgetting your diaper bag," she called. "You're sure to need it."
Jake hurried back and grabbed the item, trying not to think about what event would precipitate his need for it.
Madeline was still screeching when the elevator door opened on the second floor several moments later. Fortunately, the waiting room was right around the corner.
"Here you go," Jake said, setting the baby on her feet just inside the entrance. Madeline immediately fell silent, putting all of her efforts into waddling across the room.
Jake followed, taking note of the, room's occupants. Two elderly ladies in identical navy blue dresses sat together near the window. On the far side, a lanky young man, probably eighteen or nineteen years old, slumped in a chair, his head against the wall, wearing an expression of disdainful indifference. His left ear held more studs than a framing carpenter's pick-up. His hair was cut in a Mohawk and dyed the color of strawberry Jell-O.
Jake sat down near the baby. Madeline looked up at him, scrunched up her face, and gave a scream straight from a Friday the Thirteenth movie.
"What an adorable child," one of the elderly women remarked.
Her companion nodded. "Yes, indeed. Looks just like you, too."
"That's right," the first one agreed. "She has your eyes, and your hair color, and your chin."
"Not to mention the similarity in our shirts," Jake said dryly.
The white-haired woman gave a high-pitched titter that reminded Jake of a tropical bird. "Now that you mention it, you two are dirty as a pair of grave diggers. What happened?"
"Lilly!" the gray-haired one said in an appalled tone. "That's rude."
"Sorry." She turned back to Jake. "So what happened?"
Jake glanced down at his grime-covered shirt. He was chagrinned to realize that the tail was still hanging out, but he wasn't about to give these old biddies the satisfaction of seeing him tuck it in. He cleared his throat and watched Madeline toddle away from him. "The baby tried to eat some dirt."
The women giggled—both of them in that weird, high-pitched, birdlike cackle.
"Babies," said the gray-hair, shaking her head.' "They'll put anything in their mouths that they can find. You have to watch them like a hawk."
"Like a vulture," the white-haired one piped in, apparently not wanting to be outdone.
The gray-headed woman flashed a pair of unnaturally white false teeth. "I'm Violet, and this is my sister Lilly. Is someone in your family having surgery?"
«Yes"
They looked at him expectantly. Jake sighed. He hated making conversation with strangers, but these two weren't likely to take a hint and leave him alone.
Sure enough, the older of the two leaned forward. "So who is it?"
"The, uh, baby's mother."
"Ohhh. " Violet nodded sagely, then cast a meaningful glance at Lilly. "She must be the hot one."
Jake's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"The one with the hot appendix. That's medical talk. I heard it on TV."
Thank goodness. For a moment there, he'd been afraid the two old women had some dirt to dish on Annie. He turned and watched Madeline crawl under a chair. She was already filthy, so Jake supposed there was no reason to keep her off the floor.
"We just love medical shows," Violet was saying. "We watch them all."
Jake knew several elderly people in Tulsa who frequented the courthouse and attended trials for entertainment. Maybe these two did the same thing at hospitals.
"So. . . do you come here when there's nothing on the tube?"
The teenager coughed. Jake looked over, and the boy quickly looked away, but Jake was certain he saw a ghost of a smile cross the boy's face before he resumed his expression of studied disinterest.
Violet batted her eyes. "Oh, no. We're waiting on our sister Rose."
"Yes," the second one explained. "She's having a hernia fixed."
Jake was unaware that women got hernias, but he wasn't about to encourage the conversation.
"Of course, Rose's surgery has been postponed since your wife's condition is so serious," Lilly continued.
Jake squirmed. He was uncomfortable hearing Annie called his wife, but even more uncomfortable hearing about the severity of her condition. Who told you that?"
“The O.R. nurse.”
"That's slang for Operating Room," Lilly chimed in. “She said a young woman with a hot appendix needed surgery right away, and they were going to do her before Rose."
Some kind of apology seemed called for. "I, uh, hope the delay doesn't inconvenience your sister too much."
"Oh, no." Violet waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "It'll just give her more time to enjoy the drugs." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "The doctor gave her a sedative first thing this morning, and she said it gave her a better buzz than two after-dinner sherries."
The teenager coughed fitfully. Jake glanced at him, finding the boy's efforts not to laugh aloud as entertaining as the two sisters' chatter.
"Rose is ninety-two years old," Lilly contributed. "I'm two years younger. Violet, here, is the baby. She's just eighty-nine."
The teenager's coughing attack worsened, requiring both hands to completely cover his mouth. Jake decided to try to make the teenager lose it.
He looked at the two women. "You two certainly don't look your age."
"We know." Violet stuck out her chest and smiled proudly. "It's hereditary. We come from a family of long livers."
Jake carefully kept his expression bland. "Is that related to cirrhosis?"
The teenager snorted.
"Oh, no," Lilly said earnestly. "Violet means our kinfolk live long lives. Our father lived to be a hundred and one, and our mother was a hundred and seven when she finally passed on. They were married seventy-eight years. Both of their fathers fought in the War between the ..." Her voice broke off. "Oh, my! Your baby's gotten a hold of someth
ing."
Jake whipped his head around to see Madeline sitting under a chair, merrily sucking on a shiny object. He sprang to his feet, bolted across the room, and hauled the baby out into the open floor. The lower part of her face was smeared black, and her lips seemed to have disappeared. Jake yanked the object out of her mouth.
It was a large felt-tip marker.
"Oh, hell." Jake grabbed his shirttail again, and once more tried to swab out the baby's mouth. As before, the child screamed at an eardrum-piercing volume.
For all of his efforts, Jake wasn't making any progress His shirt was gaining additional grime, but he didn't see any lessening of the blackness in the baby's mouth. It was black as pitch, and the blackness stretched all the way to the back of her tonsils—which she was showing to advantage as she yelped at full volume.
Alarm raced through Jake. "Hey—does anyone know if ink is poisonous?"
The pink-haired teenager squatted beside him and picked up the marker. "It says right here it's nontoxic." Relief gushed through Jake. "Thank God."
Yanking away from Jake, Madeline threw herself at the teenager as if he were a life raft on a storm-tossed sea. Her crying stopped as she crawled onto his lap. She grinned up engagingly, her mouth looking like a coal mine at night.
The boy's eyes grew wide with alarm. "Hey! What's she Join'?"
"Sitting on your lap. She likes you," Lilly proclaimed.
The baby continued to grin. Despite himself, the boy smiled back. "Ya know, she looks kinda cool," he said. "She's kinda got a Goth look goin'."
"She's a sight, that's for sure," Lilly agreed.
No kidding, Jake thought. Her once-yellow playsuit was covered with marker smudge, ground-in volcanic ash and under-chair grime, and her mouth looked like a black hole.
He was going to have to be more watchful, Jake realized ruefully. It didn't take three seconds for the child to find trouble, and it took even less time for her to get smack in the middle of it.
"It might take a while, but that ink will wear off eventually." The gray-haired woman flashed her dentures in an encouraging smile. "My son got sprayed by a skunk once. It took three weeks, but it finally faded."