by Lynn Shurr
“Oh look, Nessy. I think I see Renee in the stands. There, wearing that loud top. Dear, oh dear, she looks as if she’s expecting,” whispered Sr. Helen.
“Let me get my spectacles on.” Sr. Inez found the wire-rimmed glasses in the pocket of her skirt and balanced them on her nose. She hated to admit her vision was failing, but that was a vanity.
“You missed her. They’ve released another bull.”
“I can see that!”
“It’s Mellow Yellow, short but mighty. Oooh, there goes the rider. Look at Clint. He’s jumping the bull.”
“Nearly got himself gored. If you are right about Renee, he should be taking better care of himself. My, that was tense. Oh, they’re going for a break. I need the bathroom, Sister. A little too much excitement.” Sr. Inez dug her walking stick into the carpet and wrenched herself up from the sofa. She limped off for a pit stop.
“Take your time. You know the interviews will go on and on before the action starts again. I’ll make more popcorn. Anyone else want popcorn?” Sr. Helen surveyed the nuns sitting around the room, reading, sewing, hoping to get the remote control. She pocketed the device and set off for the kitchen. She’d make an extra bowl in case any of the others wanted to join them on the sofa.
Back in their seats, the two elderly Sisters picked around the kernels the microwave always scorched and settled in for the second half of Professional Bull Riders. Sr. Inez overheard one of their more sour compatriots say this wasn’t any better than pro wrestling, but she’d given them a bowl of popcorn as an act of charity and forbearance.
“Mighty bulls, courageous men, fine horse flesh, how could anyone equate this with steroid-swollen hulks faking mayhem,” Nessy muttered to Helen. “It’s the toughest sport on dirt.”
“Tsunami Sam is up next. He’s a PBR top ten bull being ridden by that sweet-faced boy we saw last week, Lonnie Capshaw.” Sr. Helen lowered her voice. “Ignore the other Sisters. They don’t understand.”
The two holy fans held their breath for the full eight seconds and applauded the ride. “I’m sure he’ll score higher than ninety. Oh, no! A bad dismount. Lonnie won’t make it to the barrier. Here comes Clint boosting him over. Dear Lord, be with him! Clint is down.”
Sr. Helen wobbled to her feet and clasped her hands together. “Blessed Mother Leontine, intercede for this man’s life, we pray of you.”
“And be with our lost child, Renee. Show her the right path to follow in her time of need. Amen.”
The elderly Sisters crossed themselves and sank back into the sofa cushions. They would stay tuned until the end of the program, hoping for an update on the condition of Clinton O. Beck.
****
In the secular part of Rainbow, Bodey Landrum shot to his feet. “Jesus God, that fucker of a bull smashed Clint against the boards! His safety vest can’t protect him from that. Eve, say a prayer for him.”
The baby in Eve’s lap startled awake at his father’s exclamation and began to cry. Eve raised Shea to her shoulder and patted him for comfort. “You should say your own prayer, Bodey Landrum. No matter what you believe, your prayers are as good as mine. I sent a message to God the second Clint got hit. And what about Renee up there in the stands? This isn’t good for her condition. She needs a prayer, too.”
“What condition?”
“Noreen and I are fairly sure she is expecting.”
“I thought maybe she was just going to fat.”
“Renee? That woman is so body-conscious she will never be fat. Go on now, get on your knees and pray for both of them. Shea and I will join you.”
Bodey inhaled, dropped to his knees, and ordered his thoughts. He lacked eloquence for this sort of thing. That’s why the world had priests and nuns and people like Eve who believed in miracles. Clinton O. Beck left the arena unconscious on a stretcher. He folded his hands.
“Dear Lord, be with my buddy, Clint Beck tonight. He’s saved many a bull riders’ life in his time and now he needs you to save him, especially if he’s about to become a daddy. When I rode the bulls, I thought my skill and good luck and men like Clint kept me from harm. Now I know you had a hand in it, too, so I could survive to marry this wonderful woman and raise my own son. If you have another miracle handy, please give it to Clint. Amen.”
Eve clasped the baby’s hands between hers. “We add our prayers for the recovery of Clint Beck, a good man who is trying to save a lost woman. Let him live to complete this task and see his own child come into the world. And please don’t let my son grow up to play around with bulls.”
Bodey rose so fast, his bum knee pained him. “Now that ain’t fair, Eve. Shea has bull riding in his blood. He’s being raised on a ranch that breeds bucking bulls and trains bullfighters. He’ll want to have a go at it.”
Seeing the stubborn look on Eve’s usually serene face, he clasped his hands again. “God, you still listenin’? You tell my wife our boy has to make up his own mind and you’ll look out for him if he decides he wants to ride rough stock. Amen.”
Eve stood a few inches taller than her husband and leveled her gray eyes at him. “You shouldn’t pray for things like that.”
Bodey rose up on his toes at little and answered her back. “You said my prayers are as good as yours. We’ll see whose get answered down the line.”
“Well, our prayers for Clint are the only ones that matter right now. God be with him.”
****
At Hacienda Hidalgo, Lena Beck cried, “Dios mio, call for the jet, Gunter. We must go to our son at once. I need to go pray to Santa Maria and the Virgin right now. They will help him.”
Gunter Beck simply sat there watching his heir being carted from the area like a heap of fertilizer left behind by the bull. “Our son made a poor career choice and he is paying for it. You used all your influence to force me to allow him to follow this path. I should have cut him off entirely, not given into having him sign that foolish contract. So, run to your saints and see what good advice they give you now.”
Lena crossed herself as if to ward off her husband’s callous words. She took another glance at the television screen where the announcer asked everyone to stand and offer up a moment of silence for the bullfighter. “Look, there is Renee. Norma Jean is holding her up, a good, strong woman to be at her side, but I need to be there, too. I fear for her and the baby she carries. Maybe it is Clint’s by some miracle. We must see it has a good home, regardless.”
Gunter Beck cleared his throat with disgust. “Stray dogs, spoiled horses, old cows, you expect me to take in another of Clint’s misfits. For all that bullfighter’s toughness he claims, our son is soft on the inside. Maybe he isn’t cut out to be the head of Beck’s Beans after all.”
Lena’s hand came up and slapped his face so hard her bracelets slammed together like a gunshot. “Is that all you care about—your corporation! Clint loves this woman. I will see she and the child are cared for.”
Gunter rubbed his cheek where the rose-colored imprint of her hand marked his pale face. His icy blue eyes narrowed. “You were so docile when I married you. Then, you showed me how hot your Spanish blood could be, but not in this way, not by striking me.”
“You never deserved it so much before.”
“Let me tell you, Lena, this woman Clint thinks he loves is a gold digger. I had her checked out by my investigator the second he started writing home about her. Maybe she’s pregnant, maybe she’s not. No confirmed word on that yet. If she is, she planned it to force our son or some other man who walked out to marry her. This Renee is a woman of loose morals who lurked about that bull riding school picking up men at random. She’s no better than a high class whore.”
“They say the same of my patron saint. She became the beloved follower of Christ. There is no reason why Renee cannot reform through her love for Clint.”
“Clint is hardly Christ.”
“I must go and pray. If you won’t summon the jet, I will.” Lena left the room taking all of the heat with her despite the sma
ll fire that burned in the grate.
Convinced he was right in this situation, still Gunter Beck knew Lena put the only warmth into his life as a cold-hearted businessman. What would he do if she withdrew her love? He’d arrange for the jet, but protect his son and his company as well. All three of them meant a great deal to him whether he said it or not.
Chapter Nineteen
Renee sat by Clint’s bed in the ICU. The floor was quiet, the lights dim. Nurses staffed a station that looked as if it contained the control panel for a starship. The only noise came from the humming and beeping machines keeping patients alive and monitoring their condition.
She listened to his regular breathing, thankful they hadn’t put him on a respirator like so many others on the floor. The two cracked ribs hadn’t penetrated his lungs, but Clint lost his crushed spleen and suffered from a lacerated liver. The body armor worn beneath his shirt had prevented his death as well as quick action by the Mobile Sports Medicine team and the other bullfighters, but still, something could go wrong. She might lose him. Unthinkable. She must stay awake and watch over him. Greater powers were at work, however. Renee’s head nodded in the gloomy silence.
When she forced her eyes open again, a nun in the old style penguin habit stood by Clint’s side. The woman clasped her hands in prayer. Renee had thrown a few prayers into the wind herself on the frantic race to the hospital with Norma Jean Scruggs driving like she rode her barrel horses, fast and close to anything in her way as they followed the ambulance. Renee called on Lena Beck’s namesake, St. Mary Magdalene, to save her man, hoping that after being estranged from the church for so many years, heaven would hear her pleas.
She felt grateful to have Norma Jean on her side, too. The moment Clint said he loved her all jealousy of the flamboyant black-haired woman vanished like a vision and left space for friendship. When the hospital staff sought to bar her from the ICU as a non-relative, the barrel racer got into their faces. A riled Norma Jean had the power of a Texas twister.
“This woman is pregnant with that man’s twins. If that ain’t family, I don’t know who is. You go on in, honey. I’ll be in the waiting room if you need a ride, coffee, food, or anything else.”
True to her upbringing, despite the many headaches she’d given the nuns at Mt. Carmel Academy, Renee waited respectfully for the nun to finish her prayer. The robed woman at last raised her head and turned stern gray eyes toward Renee.
“Thank you for your prayer, Sister,” Renee whispered into the hush of the hospital room.
The nun, who looked strangely familiar, unclasped her hands and pointed a long, strong finger at the pregnant woman. “Marry this man or burn!” she commanded.
Mute and astounded, Renee jerked upright in her chair. The room was empty. She’d been dreaming of course. That’s what too much Catholicism did to a person. Suddenly wistful, she thought marrying Clint Beck might be her idea of heaven on earth, a heaven she didn’t deserve. “He hasn’t proposed, Sister,” she murmured, offering an excuse to the spectral nun. “And he shouldn’t just because I’m pregnant. I’ll ruin his life exactly like I always ruin mine. You have to understand.”
The best she could hope for would be generous child support, not that she deserved to be a mother either. He’d be a great dad, maybe not around too much since he’d be living in Texas, and according to him, running the business he’d long evaded because he always kept his word. But, he might keep in touch, stop by and take the kids for a nice vacation, teach them to ride, stay in their lives, be a real father who noticed what went on with them. The night grew long, and she slept again.
****
Renee woke with a stiff neck and a full bladder. Another person stood in the room. Not the scary nun, thank heaven, but brightly-dressed Madalena Beck. She looked as cheerful as a bouquet of daisies in this sterile place where flowers weren’t allowed and gave Renee a friendly smile.
“I got here an hour ago but didn’t want to wake you or Clint. The jet has gone back for his father who had some paperwork to complete before coming. Snuffy and Norma Jean are out in the waiting room. They tell me you’re going to be the mother of twins.”
Instantly defensive, Renee straightened in her chair. “They belong to Clint.”
“Of course, they do. Santa Maria Magdalena promised me a wonderful miracle would occur if I could take you into my heart. I have done so. What could be more miraculous or wonderful than twin grandbabies?”
“Right now, having Clint open his eyes, hearing his voice again, knowing he will have a full recovery.”
“Also true.”
Whether their voices wakened Clint or whether Renee had received her own small miracle, the man in the bed groaned and opened his eyes. Their deep sea blue appeared glazed by pain or drugs, but he opened his mouth and said in a dry croak, “My two favorite women together. My kind of vision. Had one earlier. This tall, old nun prayed over me.” Clint coughed. “Thought I was dying.”
“Did she speak to you?” Renee poured a glass of water and held it to his lips.
Clint swallowed. “No. Not a word. Just got a weird feeling I had to wake up and do something before things went wrong.”
“Sounds like the nuns I grew up with. Do it their way, and do it now. Rest Clint, and get better. Don’t worry about it.” She stroked his hair.
“I’m not worried. I know what I need to do. First, tell me what happened.”
“Tsunami Sam nailed you to the wall after you helped Lonnie over the barricade.”
“Yeah, right. Then what?” Clint glimpsed down at the tubes and wires attached to his body.
“Son, they had to take out your spleen and repair your liver,” Mrs. Beck said gently. “Two ribs were also broken, but your lungs are fine.”
Clint came back stronger. “Broken ribs are nothing. I guess I can do without my spleen. As long as I’m able to say ‘I do’, Renee and I can get married. You were right, Mama. She is pregnant. I know Renee looks big for three months, but we’re having twins. Great, huh?”
Clint had this loopy look on his face prompting Renee to say, “Thank you for the lovely proposal, but you might want to rethink it when you aren’t drugged up.”
“No, no. I feel like shit, so it can’t be drugs. I planned a picnic with a great view and a nice ring. Honest to God, Renee, I was going to ask you. I want to be sure the babies have my name and my fortune in case… Well, people do die in hospitals. Mama, find a priest and get the paperwork started no matter what Renee says.”
A nurse, the picture of efficiency, briskly entered into the room. “I see Mr. Beck is awake and talking far too much for his condition. Everyone out for now. We have some routine maintenance to do here.”
Shunted into the hallway, Renee gave Lena Beck an embarrassed glance. “I really need to use the restroom.”
Mrs. Beck smiled. “I remember the feeling, and I carried only one child at a time. Go get some breakfast, too. I will remain by Clinton until you return.”
Getting the bathroom business out of the way very quickly, Renee poked her head into the waiting room where Norma Jean Scruggs lay stretched out, full length and asleep, in a recliner. Snuffy Jones, curled up on a sofa like an old dog on a favorite rug, snored loud as a buzz saw. He must have come over as soon as the bull riding event ended. Good people, both of them. The growling of her stomach grew so loud she was surprised it didn’t waken them.
Whatever people said about hospital food, after weeks of barely keeping down tea in the mornings, Renee wolfed a ham and cheese omelet, two slices of whole wheat toast, and a fruit cup. Trying to remember the last time she’d craved cow juice, she sucked up the last drops in a carton of milk. Not for years, though Clint drank it by the gallon. As if thinking of him summoned up his mother, Madalena Beck took the seat across from Renee and stirred two little pots of half and half into her cup of coffee.
“Shouldn’t you be with Clint? You’re his real family.”
“They’ve given him drugs for the pain and put him back to
sleep. He fought it off while trying to give me a to-do list.” Lena showed Renee a sheet of paper torn from an address book. “By item number four, he was out.”
Renee looked over the list with its cryptic abbreviations.
Get priest
Do paperwork
Take Renee shopping, w.d.
Jewelry
“I don’t want to go shopping. I have clothes back at the Inn and more at home. He doesn’t owe me a new wardrobe. I keep telling him that.”
“W.D., Renee. He wants you to have a wedding dress.”
“Mrs. Beck, you ought to know I’ve been married twice before. I’ve had the big white wedding at the cathedral in Lafayette. I’ve done the destination wedding in the Bahamas. My first husband divorced me for adultery, and I killed my second husband with sex.”
Mrs. Beck nodded. “He was elderly, your second husband, but you were fond of him. Clinton and I keep in touch through e-mail when he is on the road.”
“Ah, yes, the hidden laptop. Then, I suppose you know I am tainted, too.”
“I know about your uncle, yes. The fault was not yours. You saved your sister from that evil man.”
“I could have saved more girls if I had spoken up sooner—Uncle Dewey’s own daughter, who knows how many others. I didn’t want anybody to know what he did to me. If Clint hadn’t forced the matter at my mother’s funeral, I would never have spoken out. I am a coward.” Renee kept her eyes on her empty plate. Her stomach churned.
“Not any more. You will testify against this terrible man. And if you feel yourself falter, Clinton has courage enough for both of you.”
“That’s true. Mrs. Beck…”
“Le-na, please, or Mama Lena is what my sons-in-law call me.” She patted Renee’s clenched hands with her be-ringed fingers.