The Cowboy

by Joan Johnston

  The trip to the hospital in Bitter Creek would have been silent without Hannah there to comment. As it was, Trace had to force himself not to snap responses to the child’s remarks.

  “You drive fast!” she exclaimed.

  “Your uncle is very sick,” Trace said. “We have to get him to the hospital in a hurry.”

  “Is Uncle Sam gonna die?” Hannah asked, peering up at him.

  “I hope not,” Trace answered, avoiding her wide-eyed gaze by keeping his eyes on the road.

  “My grampa died,” Hannah said.

  “I know,” Trace answered.

  “I had to wear my black velvet Sunday school dress with the white collar and Mommy bought me a brand-new pair of white socks with lace on them and I got a brand-new pair of black patent leather shoes with buckles.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I don’t like to go to the hospital,” Hannah noted.

  “Me neither,” Trace said.

  “Can I see Gram at the hospital?”

  “I suppose so. You’ll have to ask your mother.”

  “Where’s Mommy?” Hannah asked anxiously, looking around, suddenly realizing her mother wasn’t in the cab with them.

  “She’s in the back of the truck with your uncle Sam.”

  When Hannah tried to get up to look out the back window. Trace held her in place. “You need to stay buckled in.”

  “I want to see my mommy!” she shrieked.

  “We’ll be at the hospital in a few minutes. You can see her then. Eli, talk to your sister,” Trace ordered. “Tell her she can see your mom—”

  “Sit down, Hannah,” Eli said in a voice that cracked. “Mom’s in back with Uncle Sam. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

  The little girl leaned against her brother, who put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m scared, Eli,” she confided.

  Eli glanced at Trace, then whispered to Hannah, “Me, too.”

  Trace had called ahead with his cell phone, and when he pulled up to the emergency entrance at the Bitter Creek Regional Hospital, two orderlies met them with a gurney. “Stay in the truck,” he ordered Eli. “And keep your sister with you.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue!” he snapped.

  As he helped lift Sam onto the gurney and the orderlies began rolling him inside, the doctor began his preliminary examination.

  “How long has he been in this condition?” the doctor asked.

  Trace looked at Callie. When she didn’t answer he said, “I don’t know.”

  “Did he take any pills?”

  Again Trace waited for Callie to answer, but she seemed to be in a stupor. “I don’t know. Sam’s been a paraplegic for eleven years. His nephew found him passed out in his wheelchair. His sister told me he’s been drinking heavily.”

  The doctor leaned over to smell Sam’s breath and shook his head. “Could be alcohol poisoning,” he said. “We’ll do some tests and find out.”

  Trace had heard of alcohol poisoning, but mostly in relation to teenage boys at college fraternity parties who played drinking games and consumed way too much hard liquor. Too much alcohol caused the body’s systems to shut down. Then you died.

  “Will Sam be all right?” Eli called from the cab of the truck.

  “We’ll do our best,” the doctor said, as he disappeared inside with Sam.

  Trace followed with Callie, but they didn’t get far before the doctor disappeared behind a set of doors with the words EMERGENCY ROOM and AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY in red block lettering.

  Callie was approached by a nurse informing her that she would need to provide insurance information. Trace put a hand to the small of her back to urge her toward the chest-high reception desk, but she didn’t move.

  “Callie, are you all right?” he said in her ear.

  She turned to look at him with eyes that were frighteningly vacant. A row of furrows appeared on her brow, and she looked around her as though she had no idea where she was.

  The nurse behind the barrier laid a pile of forms in front of Callie. “These papers need to be filled out.”

  Trace stood a little behind Callie, biting his tongue to keep from offering to pay Sam’s expenses. He was sure Callie wouldn’t welcome the offer, and he didn’t want to make things between them any worse than they already were.

  Callie stared at the papers without speaking. She made no move to reach for the pen the nurse provided.

  Trace took a step forward and said, “The patient is Sam Creed. His mother, Lauren Creed, is a patient here. Perhaps you can use her information for him.”

  “Do they both have the same insurance carrier?” the nurse asked as she began typing on the computer. “Oh. Oh, dear.”

  “What’s wrong?” Trace asked.

  “Mrs. Creed has no insurance carrier. She paid a $20,000 cash guarantee upon admittance. Unless Mr. Creed has insurance, I’ll need another $20,000. Cashier’s check or credit card, please.”

  Callie wavered on her feet. Her eyes brimmed with tears, which began to spill over. When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice came out in a croak. “I … I don’t think … Isn’t there any way …? Can’t you …?”

  Trace caught her as she fainted.

  “Get a doctor over here!” he yelled. “I need somebody NOW!”

  “Oh, my,” the nurse said, rising to stare over the counter at Callie. “Is she sick, too?”

  Trace didn’t answer the woman. His heart was racing too fast, and he was too angry—with Callie, mostly, for wearing herself out, but also at fate, for putting so many obstacles in the way of what he wanted.

  “Dammit, Callie,” he muttered. “Why the hell haven’t you been taking care of yourself?”

  He knew the answer. Because she was too busy taking care of everybody else. Well, that was going to stop. He had plans for her that required her to be healthy and rested. Starting right now, he was going to make sure that her family started carrying their share of the load.

  A doctor showed up and asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

  “I think she’s just worn to the bone,” Trace said. “But maybe you ought to check her out. Have you got a bed where I can put her?”

  “Of course,” the doctor said.

  Before they could take a step, the nurse behind the reception desk leaned over and said, “First, we’ll need a cash guarantee.”

  Trace shifted Callie higher in his arms, as he met the nurse’s gaze with eyes narrowed in fury. “My name is Trace Blackthorne. My father is Jackson Blackthorne. I’ll be responsible for all the hospital expenses for Mrs. Monroe and her brother. Now I need someone to show me a bed where I can lay Mrs. Monroe down so the doctor can examine her.”

  Trace didn’t feel a bit ashamed of using his father’s name to get what he wanted. His family had donated the funds to build the Bitter Creek Regional Hospital, and his parents both served on the board. He’d worry later about what he was going to say to Callie when she confronted him about paying Creed hospital bills with Blackthorne money.

  The doctor led Trace to an examining room, where he laid Callie on a paper-covered, padded table. As he stepped back, Callie’s eyes fluttered open and she tried to sit up.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “You fainted,” Trace replied, as he laid a palm on her shoulder to keep her prone.

  “I’m fine,” Callie said, trying once more to rise.

  “Let the doctor take a look at you.” Trace said.

  Callie rolled her eyes, but remained prone. “This is ridiculous.”

  The doctor smiled at her and said, “This won’t take long.”

  The doctor did a quick check of her eyes, pulse, blood pressure, and temperature. “Have you been having dizzy spells? Blurred vision? Headaches?”

  “No,” Callie said. “I just …” She shot a look at Trace. “I’m just worn out,” she said defiantly.

  The doctor smiled again. “Then I prescribe a great deal of bed rest, Mrs. Monroe.”
r />   I can’t—

  Trace cut her off. “I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  After the doctor had left the examining room, Callie slowly sat up. “What happened to Sam? Did the hospital agree to treat him?”

  “Sam’s being cared for right now.”

  “Where are my kids? They didn’t see me faint, did they?”

  “I told them to stay in the truck.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “I don’t know. A while.”

  Callie scooted off the examining table. “I need to check on Sam and the kids.” She was wobbly on her feet but shrugged off the hand Trace offered to keep her steady. “I’m fine.”

  “You will be, after you’ve had some rest,” Trace corrected. He figured he’d take her to the hunting cabin, but that meant finding someone to take care of her kids. There was no backup for Callie at home.

  Callie ignored him and headed toward the emergency waiting room, where she asked a nurse, “Is there any word on my brother, Sam Creed?”

  At that moment, the doctor who’d examined Sam came through the emergency room doors.

  “How is my brother?” Callie asked anxiously.

  “Definitely alcohol poisoning,” the doctor said. “I can’t promise you he’ll live. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “When will you know for sure?” Callie asked.

  “We’ll keep a close eye on him through the night. We should know more by tomorrow morning.”

  Trace heard Callie moan, deep in her throat. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath and let it out, then said, “I have to check on my kids.”

  She marched out of the hospital with Trace a step behind her. Even before they reached the truck, Trace realized her kids were no longer in it. He felt a clutch of panic.

  “They’re not here!” Callie said. “Oh, God. Where could they have gone?”

  “They must have gone looking for us.”

  “But they weren’t in the emergency waiting room. Were they?”

  “I didn’t see them,” Trace said. “Let’s go back inside.”

  They didn’t find them in the waiting room. Trace shoved open the red-lettered doors, but a nurse caught him and said, “You don’t belong in here.”

  “I’m looking for two kids.”

  “Look somewhere else,” the nurse said.

  He found Callie at the reception desk asking, “Have you seen two kids, a tall, skinny boy about ten and a towheaded little girl?”

  “No, ma’am. I have not.”

  “Can you tell me what room Lauren Creed is in?” Trace said.

  “Of course!” Callie exclaimed. “They know my mother’s here. That must be where they went.”

  “Visiting hours are over,” the nurse replied.

  Trace narrowed his eyes and stared at her.

  “Room 342,” the nurse said. “But you can’t—”

  Trace grabbed Callie’s hand and headed for the elevator before the nurse could finish her protest. In a matter of minutes, they stood outside the open door to room 342. They paused and listened, as the children’s grandmother spoke.

  “It sounds like Mr. Blackthorne is a very kind and helpful man,” she said.

  “He was mean!” Eli said. “He yelled at me.”

  Trace would have argued the point. He’d spoken sternly; he hadn’t yelled.

  “You know he was right to make you wear your seat belt,” Mrs. Creed said. “And if he asked you to stay in the truck, I imagine he’s probably wondering where you are.”

  Trace and Callie stepped through the doorway.

  “Hi, Mom,” Callie said.

  “How’s Sam?” her mother asked.

  “Hanging in there. The doctor says we’ll know more by tomorrow morning.”

  Trace watched as the two women exchanged a look. He could see that Mrs. Creed realized the seriousness of Sam’s situation.

  Trace was surprised at how healthy Callie’s mother appeared. One arm was tied in a white sling against her chest, but she was wearing a pretty robin’s-egg-blue robe, and her long auburn hair was tied up in a youthful ponytail that left soft curls framing her face. She looked much younger and prettier than he remembered.

  And now she was a single woman.

  For an instant, he wondered whether his father would ever consider divorcing his mother to marry this woman. He would give his eyeteeth to know what had happened between Lauren Creed and his father all those years ago. Could the tie that had once bound them really have survived all these years? Then he thought of himself and Callie, and realized that the ties of the past could survive a great deal.

  “Good afternoon, Trace,” Mrs. Creed said with a welcoming smile that seemed genuine. “I hope you haven’t been searching for these two scamps for very long.”

  “Callie and I figured out pretty quickly where they must have gone,” Trace said.

  “We thank you for your help,” she said in a voice that told him he had her permission to leave now. She tightened her hold on the little girl, who was cuddled up next to her.

  Eli slid off the bed and turned to confront him. “Why did you come up here? We don’t want you here!”

  He looked at Mrs. Creed as he explained to Eli, “Your mom is worn out. I’ll be arranging for someone to come and stay with you and your sister, while she gets some rest.”

  Eli’s jaw dropped. He quickly backed up toward the head of the bed and reached for his grandmother’s hand. “You can’t do that? Can he, Gram?”

  “What’s wrong with Callie?” Mrs. Creed asked, her gray-green eyes wide with alarm as she surveyed her daughter.

  Callie rolled her eyes again. “Nothing’s wrong with me that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

  “She fainted downstairs,” Trace countered.

  Callie glared at him.

  “Is that true, Callie?” her mother asked.

  “I was just tired, Mom.”

  “She needs a break,” Trace said, pressing his advantage. “And I intend to see that she gets it. I have a hunting cabin where Callie can have some peace and quiet and get all the sleep she needs.”

  “What is it you plan to do with my daughter’s children while she’s getting some rest?” Mrs. Creed asked.

  Trace cleared his throat. “I figured I’d take them home to Three Oaks and … uh … I thought I’d ask Rosalita—the Mexican woman who took care of me when I was growing up—to come over and stay with them.”

  “My son Luke can take care of them.”

  “That may be true, ma’am,” Trace said. “But he wasn’t home when we left. And won’t he have school during the day? Somebody’ll have to take care of the little girl while he’s gone.”

  “How long did you plan to keep my daughter away from home?” Callie’s mother asked.

  “A night or two, I suppose.”

  “Mom, this is ridiculous,” Callie protested. “I can sleep at home!”

  “But apparently you haven’t been sleeping,” her mother said sharply. “You look exhausted. Someone has to make you take better care of yourself. Trace’s plan sounds like the perfect solution.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “What will happen to us if you fall ill, Callie? I think two days of rest sounds entirely reasonable.”

  Callie’s chin jutted mulishly, but she finally said, “Fine.”

  “You can wait here with your mother while I take Eli and Hannah home,” Trace said to Callie. “I’ll be back to pick you up later.”

  Before Callie could object, her mother said, “Good. That’ll give Callie and me a chance to catch up.”

  “I want Mom to come home with us!” Eli said, grabbing hold of the headrail of the bed with both hands. “Otherwise, I’m not leaving.”

  Mrs. Creed turned to Eli and said, “I need you to keep an eye on Hannah while your mother gets some rest.”

  “But, Gram—”

  “We do what must be done, Eli, whether we like it or not,” Mrs. Creed said. “Y
ou and Hannah have to give up a little of your mother’s time and attention so that she can regain her strength. You don’t want her to get sick, do you?”

  Trace saw the stricken look on Eli’s face as his gaze shifted to his mother’s drawn features. “All right, Gram,” he said at last.

  Mrs. Creed gave Hannah a kiss on the forehead, smoothed her golden curls, and said, “Go with Mr. Blackthorne, Hannah.”

  Trace took the few steps necessary to put him close enough to reach Hannah. The little girl never hesitated; she simply reached her arms out to Trace as he picked her up. She clung to him like a possum, her arms surrounding his neck, her legs wrapped around his waist.

  Hannah murmured, “Bye, Mommy,” against Trace’s throat.

  Trace turned to the recalcitrant boy and said, “Come on, Eli. Time to go.”

  Eli let go of the rail and hugged his grandmother around the neck. “When are you coming home?” he asked her plaintively.

  “Soon,” she promised. “Very soon.”

  “You won’t be gone long, will you, Mom?” the boy asked, turning to Callie.

  “I’ll be home tomorrow,” Callie said, brushing at Eli’s stubborn cowlick.

  “Day after tomorrow,” Trace corrected.

  “Day after tomorrow,” Callie conceded after a glance at her mother’s pursed lips.

  The boy headed for the doorway without looking at Trace. “I’ll meet you at the truck,” he said sullenly. He slipped past Trace, then galloped down the hall.

  Trace had already turned to leave, when Callie stopped him.

  “Trace.”

  He turned his head to meet her gaze and said, “Yes, Callie?”

  “Take good care of my children.”

  “Like they were my own.”

  Trace saw a flicker of some emotion in her eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it.

  Eli was not only sitting in the pickup by the time Trace got there, he was already buckled in. Trace slid Hannah in from the driver’s side, buckled her in, and headed the pickup back toward Three Oaks. He used his cell phone to call Rosalita, who still lived in a house at Bitter Creek, though she had long since retired. She was delighted to hear from him and more than willing to stay with the children. But she was baby-sitting her own grandchildren at the moment.