“Onion?” She was cooking? “What are you going to do with it?”
Bertie found the pot she was looking for and covered the bottom of it with water. “The onion we’ll use for your bruises, the comfrey we’ll use for everything, but it takes a while to boil the comfrey, so I’ll use the onion until the tea’s done.”
“Tea? Dane just made me some tea.”
Bertie reached into the paper bag, drew out a big handful of roots and dumped them into the pot. “Comfrey tea to use for a poultice on you. How do you turn this stove on? Oh, here it is.” She set the pot on the burner and returned to the bag. “I brought a rag, but no knife. Got one?”
Cheyenne pointed to the drawer that held her cutlery, and watched as Bertie cut the onion into pieces and wrapped it in a plain white dish towel. Then she beat the bundle on the cabinet until the whole thing was soft and mushy, and the kitchen smelled like an onion-processing plant.
“Now, where’s it hurt the worst?” she asked, turning to Cheyenne with the poultice.
Cheyenne watched her with suspicion. “You’re going to put that thing on me?”
“Won’t do you no good to eat it! Now come on, don’t be shy, it’s just you and me here now. Dane won’t be back for a while. Drop those drawers and let’s get to work on you. I guarantee you’ll be up and around a whole lot faster. You’ve done so much to help us, now I’m gonna doctor you for a change.”
“Okay,” Cheyenne said, glancing around at the windows. “But first, lock the doors and close the curtains.”
Bertie snorted, but she did as Cheyenne requested. “Honey, you’re living in the country now. There’s no neighbors to see you or passersby to peek.” Chuckling, she helped Cheyenne with her jeans and searched for the worst bruise, which turned out to be on her right thigh.
“Red and I don’t go to doctors much. Don’t trust ’em—present company excluded. And I’ve yet to see a good doctor’s remedy that’ll beat mine for bruises, cuts and sprains. You listen to me and you’ll be up and around in half the time you expected. Might even put some of my wisdom to use in your new practice when you come and join us for good.”
Cheyenne nibbled on her lower lip to keep a grin from spreading across her face. “You don’t like doctors, huh?”
“We like you, that’s for sure.”
As the poultice soaked and the comfrey boiled, Bertie settled herself comfortably beside Cheyenne. “Dane’s brought his boys over to me for all kinds of ills. He knows the value of good herbs.” She shook her head. “But Austin now, he says I’m playing doctor. Maybe I am. Many’s the boy I’ve treated for coughs and diarrhea with my blackberry root and mullein leaves. They never even had to go to the drugstore.”
“You mean you make your own cough syrup and antidiarrheal?”
“You betcha. And lots of new mothers come to me when their babies can’t sleep. I just make a syrup out of plain old catnip you find around any barn. Honey, you’d be surprised how many things you can make from weeds. Mama used to make coffee substitute from chicory root.”
Cheyenne was surprised when her thigh stopped throbbing as she sat listening to Bertie’s soothing voice. Hard to tell if it was the poultice of onions or Bertie’s healing touch. For a moment, Cheyenne allowed herself to relax and her mind to drift. What if she did move here? She would desperately miss her job, and her friends. But she was making friends here. And Columbia wasn’t the only place with emergency departments.
She focused once more on what Bertie was saying…
“…and I almost bought a couple of kids last year, except the people I was going to buy ’em from changed their minds at the last minute and decided to keep ’em.”
Cheyenne gasped aloud. “Bertie! You almost bought someone’s kids!”
Bertie got up to check on the boiling brew, chuckling as she went. “Honey, I don’t know about Columbia, but down here in Hideaway it’s not against the law to buy and sell young goats. After today, though, I’m selling that old buck. There’s no use in him beating up on the neighbors like this. Why, if he was to do this to Lizzie Barlow, she’d sue us for the farm.”
“Austin’s mother?”
“She sure would. She hates our goats, thinks they stink. Why, it’s all her imagination, because we keep ’em real clean, keep the lot cleaned out and sell the manure for fertilizer.” Bertie took another towel out of her paper bag and laid it on the counter beside the boiling pot. She turned the burner off under the pot and poured some of the brew over the cloth, folded the cloth, poured some more. Next, she strained the roots and put them on the very top of the folded towel. “Now, take off that bandage from your ankle and we’ll put this on for a while. Then we’ll pack it in ice. You’ll be as good as new in no time.”
Cheyenne hesitated. “Shouldn’t it cool down first?”
“It will be cold soon, trust me. Now, where’s your ice cubes?”
Cheyenne groaned. This place did indeed need a doctor.
She was considering the possibility when she heard the approach of a car out on the drive, sloshing through the mud. Against her own advice, she hobbled to the window and peered out to see a car with an insignia on the door. Bertie stepped up behind her and looked out.
“Cheyenne,” Bertie said softly, “ain’t that the sheriff?”
A large man wearing a tan uniform got out of the car with an envelope in his hand.
Cheyenne swallowed. “Oh, no.” She hobbled to her bedroom and pulled her pants back on.
The sheriff stepped up onto the porch and knocked at the screen door. In spite of Bertie’s protests, Cheyenne walked to the door and met him there.
He handed her official notice that she was being named in a lawsuit for the death of her sister, Susan Warden. The plaintiff, of course, was Kirk Warden.
Chapter Sixteen
Exactly a week after being served by the sheriff, Cheyenne parked in the front lot at the Missouri Regional Hospital and entered the building through the front entrance. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like a visitor in her own place of employment.
Or would she even be employed here after all this was over?
Instead of taking the elevator to the administrative offices on the sixth floor, she took the first hallway to the right and followed it toward the Emergency Department.
The echo of her approach seemed to reverberate all around her. She hesitated, her steps faltering. This hallway was excruciatingly familiar, like the one in the dreams that haunted her. She almost expected to turn at any moment and see her sister’s mangled body lying on the floor.
The first person she saw as she entered the ER proper was Ardis Dunaway, who turned from the central desk.
“Dr. Allison!” She rushed forward and caught Cheyenne in a hug, then stood back, grinning. “You look wonderful—you must be catching up on your sleep. I told you that place would be good for you.”
“Sleep? What’s that? And speaking of restful, it isn’t.”
“You’re kidding, that little town? I’m surprised you aren’t bored silly. Why didn’t you call me and let me know you were coming up? We could have had lunch.”
Cheyenne lowered her voice. “This isn’t a social visit. I plan to head back home as soon as my meeting is over.”
Ardis lost the smile. “Meeting? Please tell me you aren’t quitting. Doing without you for two months is bad enough, but—”
“Bad? What do you mean? Jim’s getting the shifts covered isn’t he? I thought he had—”
“Oh, don’t even worry about that. I just miss you is all.”
“My meeting is with Larry Strong.”
Ardis frowned. “Risk Management? Why would you—” She caught herself. “Oh, no, that brother-in-law of yours…”
“Ex-brother-in-law.” Cheyenne cringed at the bitterness in her voice. “Sorry. I’m sure you’ll be brought in as a witness.”
“Good, let me at him. I’d love to prove him wrong.”
“Ardis,” called a man in a white coat from
exam room one. He crooked his finger at her.
“Oops, I’d better go.” Ardis patted Cheyenne’s arm. “The patients have us hopping today. You going to be okay? Things may slow down here after a while, and we could get together and download.”
“I don’t know how long the meeting will last, but I’m hoping to be back home before dark.”
Ardis studied her face for a moment. “Home?”
“I want to sleep at Hideaway tonight, and the nocturnal animals are so busy after sundown, I don’t want to be on the road.”
A nod of understanding. “So it’s home to you now. You need a place to heal, Cheyenne, but don’t make any impulsive moves, okay?”
“I promise. Now stop mothering me and get to work.”
Ardis gave her another hug and rushed to her patient.
Cheyenne watched her go with a feeling of loss. But why? She and Ardis were friends, but Ardis had her grown family, with two grandchildren. It wasn’t as if they spent a lot of time together outside of work.
But then, Cheyenne didn’t have much of a social life, just a few single friends from college she occasionally got together with for a dinner or movie as her schedule permitted. Until now, that hadn’t bothered her much, because she could always take an extra shift or two.
Today she felt cut off from the rest of the world.
When Cheyenne walked into the reception area for Risk Management on the sixth floor, the secretary immediately reached for a green file folder and held it out. “Hi, Dr. Allison. Mr. Strong wants you to read through this while you’re waiting. It’s all the medical information about the case.”
Cheyenne stared at the folder. She tried to swallow, but her throat had suddenly gone dry.
“Dr. Allison?” the secretary said softly. “Are you okay?”
Cheyenne glanced at her. “Thanks, Lisa. I’m fine.” She presented the copies of her medical licenses.
After carrying the file back to the conference room Lisa indicated, Cheyenne sat down to study.
Dane was standing at the cash register, giving Cecil a break, when he saw Austin Barlow’s red pickup pull to the curb. From the look of Austin’s face and the set of his hat, it wasn’t hard to guess what was on his mind.
The door opened with a clatter of the new cowbell Cecil had attached to the top, in case he had customers when he was stocking shelves. Not that the bells worked any better than shouting. Customers had to go hunt him down half the time.
The sound of Austin’s cowboy boots echoed on the old wooden floor. “Cook said I’d find you here.”
“What can I do for you, Austin?”
“I hear you’re running for mayor.”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t think I’m doing the job?”
Dane leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. “I think you’ve done a fine job. People like you, and they trust you.”
Austin’s blue eyes narrowed slightly. He took a step forward. “You wouldn’t be mocking me, would you?”
“Nope. I’m not out for a mudslinging fight, I’m just adding my name to the mix.” Personally, he hoped he lost. The only reason he was doing this was to put a little more pressure on Austin to improve a few things in Hideaway. Maybe during the next term, if Austin thought he might have competition, he would push for a little more progress instead of nursing a chip on his shoulder over the past.
“Austin, I’ve asked you several times to consider opening a clinic in town, and you won’t even suggest it to the board. I’ve also asked you about a pharmacy. I’ve got a corner right here in the back of the store that would serve us well.”
“No doctor or pharmacist would come here for what they could make.”
“I doubt you’ve tried to find out.” He thought of Cheyenne again. In fact, his mind had been on her quite a bit this past week, especially today, with the meeting in Columbia. “I know this is a small town, but it serves a larger community, especially in the summertime. We’re perfectly situated on the water for increased traffic to the dock, and our village is convenient for shopping, church attendance, picnics in the park. If we had a medical clinic here, word would spread.”
“Why would we want increased traffic?” Austin asked. “It’s a nuisance. Those people pollute our water.”
“We share the same lake with every other town in the area. Besides, you never complain about the traffic during the fall festival. Sometimes I think you want to be mayor so you can direct that thing every year.” And honor your dead wife out of a sense of guilt.
Austin scowled. “I do a lot more than that around here, and you know it.”
“Yes, I do.” His biggest job was getting underfoot when the sheriff was trying to identify the vandals who had attacked their town several times in the past. “Speaking of that festival,” Dane said, “I have four boys entering the pig races this year.”
“I’ll write them down.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know their names? Last year you conveniently forgot to include Jinx and Jason, and then you tried to stop them from entering at the last minute.”
“I said I’d write them down.”
“That’s fine, but just in case, I’ll check with you on it in a couple of weeks. I know it doesn’t seem very important to you, but my boys talk about it all year. They need this sense of community.”
“Really?” Austin’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “This community needs a sense of safety, which is something we’ll never have with a vandal on the loose. That’s one reason you won’t win a mayoral election, not as long as those kids are allowed to run wild all over the county.”
“Why don’t you lighten up on the boys at the ranch!” Dane heard his own raised voice echo through the store. He took a deep breath, allowed himself time to calm down. “I’m sorry, Austin. I don’t want to start another argument with you over something that happened seven years ago. I know the loss of Linea devastated you and Ramsay, but you can’t make those boys suffer for it.”
“You have no idea what it did to Ramsay and me.”
“Yes I do, Austin. Divorce is no church social.”
Austin looked away. He cleared his throat. “You didn’t have a son who was so devastated he couldn’t speak for a year.”
“I had two boys at the ranch at the time.” When their foster mother left, Dane had nearly lost custody of them. The boys had blamed themselves, afraid they’d run her off.
Austin cleared his throat again, still not looking at Dane. “Why don’t you mail me a list of your entries.”
“Thank you. My boys will appreciate it.”
Austin reached for a copy of Dane’s weekly list of sale items, folded it and stuck it in his pocket, even though he seldom shopped here. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a nice, friendly little public debate in September?”
“Name the date.”
“How about the festival? Saturday after the pig races. That way people will already be accustomed to the smell of a little shoveled manure.”
“I don’t plan to shovel manure, Austin, and I don’t plan to sling any mud. If it gets dirty, I’m out of there.”
Meeting his gaze at last, Austin nodded. Almost as an afterthought, he held his hand out. Dane took it. They shook like gentlemen for the first time in seven years.
Dane only wished it was more than a temporary truce.
Cheyenne was trembling by the time she read through Susan’s medical records for the day she died. Lisa had placed a box of facial tissues on the table, and Cheyenne pulled three of them out to wipe her face. She had relived everything as she read. When she blinked, she saw the blood. If she closed her eyes for more than a few seconds, she saw an image of her sister’s lifeless eyes staring at her…accusing her?
No, Susan would never do that. Kirk was the accuser.
Cheyenne was blowing her nose when the door opened and two men entered the small conference room. She recognized Larry Strong, the director of Risk Management. She responded appropriatel
y when he introduced one of the hospital’s attorneys, Ed Burdock.
The men sat across from her, as if positioning themselves to see every nuance in her expression, hear every change of tone in her voice. She felt her stomach muscles tighten.
“Dr. Allison,” Larry Strong began, “Ed and I wanted to discuss the facts of the case with you today. Have you read the complete report?”
“Yes.”
“Do you agree with what you’ve read?”
“Yes.” Her voice quivered. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to forgive me, but this is a traumatic situation for me, as I’m sure you can understand. She was my sister.”
“Yes, I’m sorry to have to put you through this, Dr. Allison,” the attorney said. He was an older man, about her father’s age, stocky and bald with a white fringe of hair around the sides.
“I know you’ve heard a lot of horror stories about malpractice lawsuits,” Larry said. Strong was about ten years younger than the attorney, more slender and athletic. Both appeared compassionate. “The good news is that seventy percent of the time the plaintiff loses. Unfortunately, in the case of a loss of life, that percentage drops enormously.”
Cheyenne felt herself go cold. She knew the risks, but deep down she realized she had never expected something like this to happen to her. Somehow, she’d expected them to tell her this was nothing more than a frivolous lawsuit, and if they made the right motions to convince the judge of that, the whole thing would be dropped. Nothing else made sense to her.
“In order to properly defend you and this hospital,” Ed said, “we’re going to have to go over and over the details of that day. I’ll warn you now, we expect this one to go forward rapidly. Seldom do plaintiff attorneys take action this quickly on a case, so somebody is pushing things, and it’s my guess they’ll keep pushing to strike while emotions are high about the patient’s death.”
“Does that mean they expect to win?” Cheyenne asked.
Ed paused as he indicated the medical record. “Any time there’s a death, no matter who is at fault, a jury is much more likely to decide for the plaintiff. The typical mentality is ‘someone’s got to pay’ for the loss suffered by the grieving family member.”
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