“How’d you learn how to do that?”
“In the middle of nowhere, help is hard to come by. You need stitching up, a calf delivered, or a bull neutered, I’m your go-to gal.”
“A few of your impressive list of talents.” I’d worked my way through over half my drink and was feeling flushed with the milk of human kindness … that’s what they call rum, right? “Okay, so you guys got together, I can fill in those gaps.” Being visual, I usually shied away from too much detail. “But why does Cody think you guys are married?”
“It’s really not clear. We got caught up in a tribal wedding ceremony—things there can be very harsh with the young women traded for cattle and the like. One of the elders wanted to marry me. It was a bit dicey.”
“So, to avoid that, Cody stepped in.”
“Yes. It was a long time ago.” Miss P’s cheeks flushed—the alcohol apparently having an effect. “He was very dashing but such a child in so many ways.”
“He was what, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Scientists have proven that the center of the brain in males responsible for judgment doesn’t mature until at least twenty-five, and that’s an average.” Teddie was working on the far end of that bell curve.
“Really?” Miss P, for all her farm knowledge, couldn’t hope to compete with the education in all things male earned by a young woman raised in a whorehouse.
“It’s true,” I nodded like the oracle of Pahrump. “He’s still damn impressive, though.” I know, not helping, but it was the truth. He’d saved my father’s life. Enough said.
“Isn’t he, though?” The words rushed out on a sigh.
“After all these years, you’ve not married and neither has he.” An interesting observation, I didn’t like where it led. “Connection in the past can be a heady thing. It can make you think that just because the past was fun, the future could be, too. Problem is you both are two different people now.”
“It is nice to share some history with somebody,” Miss P acknowledged.
“Don’t get caught up in the past and lose sight of the future.” Spoken like the true fraud I was.
“I could tell you the same thing.” Leave it to Miss P to call me out.
Teddie could pull all those strings, and did, and we didn’t even go back that far. But it was enough. I could only imagine how strong the pull was for her with Dr. Cody Ellis. “So why is he here now?”
“After Kenya, we both went our own directions. I’m not sure either of us thought of the tribal ceremony—we thought it was a quaint bit of partying. Cody went off to medical school, and I wandered a path that brought me here. My parting words to him were to look me up when he grew up.” She laughed, which sounded a lot like self-deprecation. “Looking back, it wasn’t Cody who needed a bit of maturity.”
“So, back to my original question: he’s here because?”
Miss P looked at me with wide eyes as she sucked on her straw. “He grew up.”
“Indeed.” Sucking on the bottom, I ordered us another round. Probably not a good thing, but I considered it medicinal.
Miss P accepted her new yard of daiquiri, then eyed mine. “I’m peached-out. Want to trade?”
“Sure.” I took a sip of the peach and understood—totally pucker-worthy.
“Cody turned out way better than I imagined, and back in those days I could imagine a lot.” Miss P had been a Deadhead, following Jerry Garcia and his crew to the ends of the Earth, which spoke volumes about her imagination, perhaps not in a good way.
But who was I to judge? “Are you feeling that old attraction?”
She gave me a self-conscious glance. “Between you and me, right?”
I was only slightly offended. “Of course.”
“Jeremy is perfect. A total dream. We were so happy.” Miss P shifted on her stool, glancing around to double-check no one was eavesdropping.
I could’ve told her that, while this story was riveting, most everyone else had far bigger problems than an old boyfriend, now a dishy doctor playing God, showing up claiming to be her husband. Wait ... on second thought. I backed up her scan. Nobody listening. “Wait, you were happy? Haven’t you guys talked it out?”
“Of course.”
“And?”
Miss P sighed and stared down into the tube of her rapidly diminishing drink. “He says he understands. But I still feel like I’ve really let him down.”
I blew at the bangs that had crept onto my forehead, tickling one eye. “Welcome to my world. Hell of a fall for you off your self-imposed perfection pedestal, but take the leap, jump in. The water is nice down here where mere mortals splash and play.”
She gave me a dirty look.
“I’m serious. You are way too hard on yourself. We all make mistakes. If we don’t, we’re not really living, sticking our necks out, reaching for the golden ring—”
“I get it.”
I gave her a gentle, one-armed hug. “The trick is to not make the same mistake twice.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SQUASH answered on the first ring. “Have you heard?” He didn’t sound happy. In fact, he sounded pissed and scared.
“From the sound of your voice, I think not.”
“Judge Jameson?”
“The asshat who sprung Irv Gittings?” I didn’t know him personally, but anyone who let a murderer walk on a technicality, even tasting freedom for a moment, had to be an ass.
“Yeah. Someone punched his ticket. A car bomb in a parking garage downtown. Just happened.”
“Shit.” I tried to compose myself. “Irv’s special way of saying thank you. Did you know the judge?”
“We sparred from time to time. He loved to put me in jail for contempt. A bad judge, a not-so-nice man, but to be blown to bits? Harsh.”
“But poetic, a bit of Vegas past.” Irv was tying up loose ends. Not good. Yet interesting. Did he really hope to cover his tracks and use a claim of false imprisonment and whatever to leverage a new career? Ego knows no limits. I’d kill him myself before I let that happen.
Squash sighed. “So, you didn’t call about the judge. Teddie’ll be out by dinner-time.”
Leaning back in my desk chair, I considered the fact that Miss P lurked within earshot. I’d re-installed her back at her old desk, although I wasn’t sure she should be allowed near the phones. After two daiquiris and not nearly as much tolerance as I’d managed to accrue, she was feeling pretty loose.
Next item on the office punch list—an office door. Privacy is underrated. “What do you know about the validity of marriages conducted in other jurisdictions?”
“Why ask me?” he sounded surprised, but not too. “You must know lots of attorneys. Family law is a bit out of my area, I’m a criminal attorney.”
“The only other attorney I know is in entertainment law. I figured marriage is somewhere between a bad play and a crime, so I flipped a coin. You won.”
“My lucky day.”
“In so many ways.” Okay, I get peeved when others make bad puns out of my name, but sometimes doing it myself kept me entertained.
“You have turned up pretty regularly today. Not that I’m complaining. You do keep things interesting.” A chair creaked in the background.
I could picture him leaning back, putting his boots on a big mahogany desk somewhere. “You’re the second man today who has told me that. I’m beginning to feel insulted.”
“Trust me, interesting women are hard to find.”
“And sometimes more trouble than they’re worth.”
“Never.” He sounded sure. “So, about this marriage thing, why don’t you give me what you got?”
I told it to him straight.
He didn’t even laugh. “And I didn’t have to wait, what, a minute, for you to prove my keeping-things-interesting theory. This woman isn’t you, is she?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not the marrying kind.” I twirled the five-carat diamond on the ring finger of my left
hand. “Well, not yet.”
“Smart woman.” There was a history in the way he said those words, sparking a curiosity. As if I needed any more OPP—other people’s problems. A twelve-step program for those addicted to sticking their noses in other people’s business should be at the top of my Christmas list.
“Only for you.” The lawyer agreed. “My partner handles this sort of thing, but she’s in court right now.”
“This sort of thing?” Even with my immunity to most everything, this pegged my meter.
“In Vegas? You’ve got to be kidding.”
I developed a new appreciation. “Mr. Trenton, you and me, we play in the same sandbox. I get the rookies; you pick up the championship crazy.”
“Keeps it interesting.”
“You’re big on that.” Briefly, I thought he and Flash would make an incendiary pair, then I thought better of the idea. The fallout would register high on the Richter, far beyond my meager coping skills. “Friends and family discount?”
“Everybody gets one free ride.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be indebted. Squash Trenton hid a killer instinct underneath his comfortable cowboy exterior. I could see it in the hardness in his eyes, the set of his jaw.
But, no matter what, I wanted him on my side.
Teddie was that important.
The pile in my in-box reduced by two-thirds—okay a generous half—I was feeling a little less pummeled by life and a bit more in control when my phone both dinged a text and started ringing. Mona calling, the text could wait.
“Is everything okay?”
“Oh, Lucky,” she started, stopping my heart. Weariness filled each word. “Your father is a fighter. He’s holding his own. That Dr. Ellis, he’s been here all night. What a life-saver.”
“Literally.” Miss P and her problems. “Have you been home?”
“That’s why I was calling. I need to go check on the babies, take a shower, and pull myself together. But I don’t want your father to be alone should he awaken.”
I checked my watch. Still time before Brandy would be ready for me. I was running out of day to go out to Indian Springs. “I’ll be right there.”
The burden she shouldered echoed in her sigh. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Mona, never one to be the emotional type, so her comment, granted in an unguarded moment and paid for by my presence, put a nice little happy note tucked deep in my heart.
“Oh, Mom, you still there?” I heard her sharp intake of breath. I’d never called her mom before, always mother, one of those cold, distancing words. Her heart was in the right place, even if her brain was a little cockeyed. We all did the best we could, and that’s all anybody could ask.
“Yes, dear.”
“Who is the doctor that all the girls in town see?”
“Well, I’ve not been in the business for a while.” I smiled, letting her have her fantasy of complete respectability. “But I can ask around. Can you tell me why?”
“Yes, there’s a young woman. She says she’s pregnant. I want to know if the doctor agrees.”
“Has she seen a doctor?” My mother sounded intrigued.
I contemplated Kimberly Cho and her predicament. If I was Holt Box, I’d want some proof of her claim. “Not sure, but if I was a betting woman I’d put all my money on yes.”
“Okay, how do we find this doctor?” I hint of doubt crept into Mona’s voice.
“Miss Minnie referred her. And since prostitution is done under-cover, so to speak, here in Clark County, I figure the girls all have one go-to guy. Can you help me? It has to do with the man who shot Father.”
“I don’t think the doctor will share confidential information with you.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. But, he’ll share it with you.”
She paused, theatrical pretense if I knew my mother. Forced by life to reinvent herself over and over, she knew how to play a part. “Okay. I can do this.” Mona sounded happy to be included.
I wondered if she really could pull it off. A long shot at best. But most of us often underestimated my mother. “Thanks.”
“Before you ring off, Lucky, are you ever going to call me mom again or just when you want something?”
She didn’t quite cover all of her vulnerability. A new side to my mother. Perhaps it had been there all along and she covered it up with all the bravado. “Of course I’ll call you mom. What else would I call you?”
I heard her smile before I rang off—don’t ask, I just did.
The text dinged again. Jean-Charles, another happy note in my heart, luring me with promises of leftovers when I stopped by Cielo. We made a date for a couple of hours hence, and I launched off to be a part of my family, a family that needed me.
My father looked much the same as he had yesterday when I took Mona’s place in the chair by his side. I shooed her away with a quick kiss and a smile. “Paolo is waiting. I brought a security guy with me. He’s to stay with you wherever you go. No arguing.”
Curiously, she nodded, and gave me a hug. “Thank you. I love you, you know.”
Had the Earth tilted on its axis? “I love you, too.”
My father lay immobile, almost like he’d been laid out for a viewing. Of course, the hospital gown wouldn’t be my choice for his funeral dress. His pink tie, white shirt, power suit. Jesus, Lucky. Get a grip. He’s not going anywhere. “Hell no, he’s not. He can’t.” I often spoke to myself—sometimes I was the only one who’d listen to me.
His hand felt cold in mine as I squeezed it. Machines beeped out a heart rate; a pressure cuff inflated periodically, recording his blood pressure. A plastic cup over his mouth delivered oxygen, but, thankfully, he breathed on his own. Shallow, but regular. “Father, I need you to wake up.” I leaned into him, self-conscious. “Bad things are happening. I don’t understand the connections. No one is safe. I need you to fill in a few of the blanks.”
He moaned and stirred. The beeping of his heart rate accelerated.
I squeezed his hand harder, as hard as I dared. If I could only transfer my will osmotically somehow. “That’s right. Come back. Reach for my voice. I need your help.”
“Keep talking to him. That’s good.” Cody Ellis breezed into the room.
Embarrassed at being caught in the act, I leaned back. “I heard that, even though they can’t respond, they hear.”
“It’s been proven, anecdotally.” He slipped his cheaters from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose in one quick nod, then pulled up my father’s chart on his iPad, flipping the pages with a swipe of his finger. “You know the medical establishment, they won’t accept anything as valid unless it’s been proven in a double-blind, controlled study.” He looked up, catching me staring. “But I believe comatose patients can hear. I’ve seen it. I had a patient once who woke up and remembered whole conversations that had swirled around him while he was out.”
“How is he?” My gaze shifted to my father, bringing Dr. Ellis’s attention with it.
“He’s a tough old coot. What a fighter. It was close there for awhile, but he’s on the right side of the power curve.”
“Nothing but full power from here on,” I said, finishing his analogy. I’d taken some flight lessons, and I loved internal combustion more than most men. I must’ve shown more relief than I’d thought because he gave me a knowing smile. “You look pretty darn fresh for someone who’s had no sleep,” I stammered, knowing what I needed to say, but not sure how to say it. So, being me, I beat around the bush. “I need to know your secret.”
“Catnaps. They have a lounge.” He stepped to the other side of the bed, scanning the monitors. He looked as he had yesterday, graying hair pulled back, thin, tall, mustache neatly trimmed, handsome in a comfortable and kind sort of way with a magnetism he seemed unaware of. By the looks of him, the complete package.
“Why did you come back? Why now, after all these years?”
He paused, looking at me over the top of his cheaters.
“I never stopped loving her. Nobody else compared with the young woman I remembered.”
So now Miss P had to compete with a memory of herself that had been perfected through the years. Memory was a tricky thing, the bad stuff falling away until only perfection remained.
“And the reality of who she became?”
“Even better.” He stopped, tucking the iPad under his arm, then crossing his hands in front of him. “I know what you must be thinking. After all these years, I show up and throw a bit of a wrench in everything. I just had to see her. I had to know. I figured we deserved that chance.”
I didn’t want to like him as much as I did. “I get it. I certainly wouldn’t want Miss P marrying Jeremy if he wasn’t the right one.”
He gave me a grin. “Miss P? Is that what you call her?”
“She won’t tell us her real name.” The light dawned and I attacked. “But you know it.”
He raised his hands, catching the iPad in a deft move. “Oh, no. I’m not playing that game. If she doesn’t want you to know it, she must have a reason.”
I couldn’t read one thing in the look on his face. “Is it just horrible?”
“Not playing.” His eyes sparkled with merriment as he shifted seamlessly. “We’ve been backing off on your father’s sedatives, trying to bring him back slowly. Keep talking to him. I sense him there, listening, just out of range. You can bring him back; make him want to come back.”
“I am not an old coot.” The voice was weak, muffled. My father.
Tears sprung to my eyes as I grabbed his hand in both of mine now. “You’re absolutely right, but the doctor doesn’t know you well enough to use the appropriate adjectives and noun.”
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