“No. To be honest, I assumed any allergy problem would be gone when we moved to the desert.”
“Well, it’s not technically a desert here. But you’re right. It’s logical to believe there would be fewer allergens here than there were in Arkansas.” He stood up. “Go ahead and lift up his shirt in the back so I can listen.”
Claire noticed that Dr. Reyes’s hands were gentle as he touched the stethoscope to Graeme’s skin. Graeme flinched slightly at its cold surface. The doctor listened, obviously looking for something specific, but he didn’t seem to find it. He motioned to Claire to shift Graeme so he could listen in the front.
“Nothing there either,” he said. “That’s good.” He unhooked the stethoscope from his ears and let it fall around his neck.
“What were you looking for?”
“A heart murmur, wheezing, anything else abnormal.”
Stephen looked at Claire for a long moment and then sat back down on the stool. “I think we better set your son up with a pulmonologist.”
Claire felt the color drain back out of her face. “Why?”
“With the history you’ve described, it seems to me that Graeme may be developing a more severe form of asthma. It’s not uncommon for this to surface at his age. I can’t tell just by listening, so we’ll need to let a specialist look at him and determine treatment. If his inhaler no longer works to control his asthma, he could be in danger pretty quickly—just like he was today.”
Claire rested her chin against Graeme’s head. “Oh.”
“Would you like me to set up that referral for you? I know it’s a drive, but I’d really recommend you take him to Salida. There’s an excellent pediatric pulmonologist there.”
“Sure,” she said. “I guess.”
Stephen turned from the chart where he was scribbling some notes and peered curiously at Claire. She looked down then, and while her right arm was holding onto Graeme, her left hand stroked his back, up and down between his shoulder blades.
He spoke softly. “Your little boy will be okay. I just want to get him the best care I can. That asthma is mean stuff.”
Claire looked up at him, and they stared at each other for a long moment.
“Thank you,” she said, meaning it.
“I’ll have Carlos call in the referral right now if you’d like. Is the first available appointment all right with you?”
“Yes.”
He stood to leave. Claire noticed that he wasn’t wearing a ring, but not because she was looking for it. She was looking at the gentleness in his hands.
Chapter Two
When his shift at the family practice clinic across from the Conejos County Hospital ended late that afternoon, Dr. Stephen Reyes changed into farm clothes and got into his truck, a black Ford F350 King Ranch Diesel. Stephen liked to joke with local people that the truck was named after his small ranch. Even with his limited knowledge of Spanish, he knew his last name meant “kings.”
After stopping at the feed store in La Jara for some dog food and bulk sunflower seed, he headed south on Highway 285 toward home. Stephen could feel himself unwinding as he drove, windows down, the seven or so miles from La Jara to the village of Romeo. He didn’t pass anything or anyone, unless he counted a small herd of antelope beside the road. No fence was keeping them in. Stephen slowed to count the herd and admire the rust-red color of their coats. One of them looked at him with large, inquisitive eyes before darting away into the great expanse of field and flatness that bordered the highway. For a moment, Stephen remembered his earlier encounter with Claire Caspian. Those eyes. And she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. He decided to put those thoughts on a mental shelf and move on.
Just before reaching the grain elevator that stood like a sentinel on the outskirts of Romeo, Stephen turned onto County Road 7. He passed a white clapboard house belonging to his neighbors, the Patricks, before turning across a cattle guard and onto his drive. A John Deere Gator was approaching at top speed from the direction of his place, kicking up dust behind it. The driver was Nell Patrick, in her nightgown and robe.
“Nell, what’s wrong?”
“It’s that old cow, the Charolais. She’s been tryin’ to have her calf for two days and can’t. Gene’s with her right now, but he called the house while I was in the bathtub. He told me to jump out and try to fetch you. He’s afraid we’re goin’ to lose her.”
Stephen turned off his engine, hurried out of the truck, and climbed into the ATV beside Nell. He noticed, as she stamped on the gas, that her feet were in pink rubber boots. Her gray hair, carefully pin-curled, was working its way out from under a red polka-dotted scarf, and when she raised her right arm to tuck a piece of it back in, the sleeve of her blue terry-cloth robe slapped Stephen in the face. She smelled of lemon verbena.
“Where are they?”
The Gator practically hurdled the cattle guard and went up on two wheels as Nell turned back onto the county road.
“On our north forty. You’ll have to get the gate.” Nell slowed the Gator but didn’t stop, as Stephen jumped off to open the bright orange metal gate across the road from the Patricks’ house. Nell plowed through, and Stephen pulled the gate closed without latching it before sliding back into the Gator just as she sped off. They quickly cut across the acreage following a well-worn cattle trail.
The sun was setting, and as they approached the lone tree on the horizon, Stephen could make out Gene’s lanky silhouette beside the cow’s. She was on her side, her white-gray abdomen swollen like a giant balloon, and Gene was bent over it, pushing and prodding. Stephen jumped off the Gator, more than a little relieved to still be in one piece.
“I’m glad you could make it, Steve; I’ve tried all of my tricks, and ain’t nothin’ workin’ for this old girl.” Gene patted the cow’s belly and squinted at Stephen with his small blue eyes. His face looked like wrinkled parchment.
Stephen thought he could see the faint outline of the calf’s hooves against its mother’s skin. “Have you tried to turn it?”
“I’ve tried twiced, but I can’t get ’er done. Guess I’m turning weak in my old age.” Gene stood to his feet stiffly, taking off his straw cowboy hat and running a finger through his steel-gray hair. “She’s been laborin’ since yesterday.”
Stephen took off his work shirt, threw it to Nell, who was still on the Gator, and rolled up the short sleeve of his white V-neck T-shirt. “This isn’t going to be pretty,” he said.
“It never is.” Gene squatted back down by the cow’s head and rubbed her neck soothingly. She was breathing hard. “Steady, old gal.”
As gently as he possibly could, Stephen reached his hand into the suffering cow. First, he was up to his elbow; then his arm disappeared up to the shoulder. He found what he was looking for. “It’s too late to turn it,” he said. “We’ll have to try to pull the calf out breech. Gene, do you have a chain and a rope in your truck?”
Gene hurried over to his ’78 Chevy. Old Blue, he called it. While Stephen pulled on the calf’s hooves, working with the cow’s contractions, Gene backed up Old Blue as close as he could get. He got out of the truck, fished a rope and a chain from under the seat, and brought it over to Stephen. Stephen wrapped the rope around the calf’s hooves and tied it to the chain, which Gene was fastening to the trailer hitch.
“On my go, Gene,” Stephen said, still holding onto the calf’s hooves and motioning Gene back into Old Blue. “One, two, three!”
Gene edged the truck forward just a few inches. The cow heaved, and a few inches of the calf’s lower back legs appeared.
“One, two, three!” Stephen called again.
They repeated this process with the truck until most of the calf was delivered. Finally, it was time for the shoulders and head to come out. Gene unhooked the chain from Old Blue, and Stephen took the calf’s posterior in his arms, hugging it from behind. He pulled with all of his might. First the shoulders and then the head popped out, like a cork, and Stephen fell back into a mixture of cow m
anure, blood, and amniotic fluid. The calf’s front legs slid out next, as though an afterthought. Gene came over to tend to the calf while Stephen got up and scraped out the mother’s placenta.
When all was said and done, the mission had been an incredible success. Stephen, recognizing more than anyone the odds they’d surmounted, was thankful that either animal had survived and amazed that both appeared to be thriving. Gene and Nell were very pleased, though not surprised. They’d depended on Stephen’s expertise more than once since he’d become their neighbor ten years ago. As the exhausted cow nursed her traumatized-yet-hungry calf, Stephen loaded himself into the back of Old Blue. And, with Nell leading the way on the Gator, they all headed for the house.
Back at the Patricks’, Nell insisted that Stephen stay for dinner.
“No, Nell, thanks. I feel nasty, and it’s nine o’clock. I still need to feed my animals.” Stephen looked at Gene. “Would you mind taking me home, though?” He was still in the back of Old Blue and, filthy as he was, would rather walk the half-mile length of his driveway before he got inside his truck.
“Go home hungry after what you just did? No sir, Gene’ll feed your stock for you, won’t you, hon?” Nell had parked her Gator in the carport and was headed for the door that led into the side of their house.
Gene nodded. “You get out of the truck and get cleaned up. I know where everything is. I’ll be right back.”
Stephen chuckled to himself as he obeyed. No matter that he was a forty-year-old doctor who was used to giving orders all day. None of that meant beans to Nell and Gene Patrick, who treated him like he was their son. After Gene left, Stephen stood where the truck had been by the shed, thinking about what to do and not wanting to get anything dirty.
“Is it too cold for the hose?” Nell had just returned from inside the house with a pair of Gene’s boxers, sweatpants, and a T-shirt. Stephen’s clean work shirt was still on the seat of the Gator.
“Uh, well…” Stephen hated to say yes.
“Here. Stand over here in the light and let me spray you off real good. Then you can go behind the shed and change.”
She’s not kidding, thought Stephen. He edged under the bright fluorescent light that illuminated their driveway like a disinclined actor entering center stage. His clothes, boots—even his hair was covered with evidence of what they’d just done.
Nell broke into a peal of laughter. “Son! I had you going, didn’t I?”
Stephen relaxed when he realized she was joking. He began to laugh, too.
“Now, you just leave your boots by the door and take you a shower in Gene’s bathroom there off from the laundry. You can leave your clothes in the utility sink—and here.” She remembered the clothes in her hand. “I’ll set these on the washer. I need to get you a pair of socks, too.” Grabbing his shirt off the Gator as she passed, she ran back into the house, robe flying. Stephen followed her.
After getting him settled, Nell headed across the house and out the door to the front porch. “I’ll just sit out front and wait for Gene, and then when you’re done we’ll have us some coffee and I’ll warm you up a plate.”
The coffee—decaf Folgers—was surprisingly good to Stephen. Nell bustled around the kitchen in pink slippers, fussing over him, and Gene sat beside him at the low bar. Until that moment, Stephen hadn’t realized how hungry he was, but he and Gene both ate like starving men. Nell kept heaping plates in front of them—of roasted lamb and mashed potatoes, with corn and peas recently harvested from the garden.
“Nell, this is delicious.”
“Ain’t she something?” Gene beamed. “She’s been feeding me like this for fifty years. It’s a wonder I’m not round as a barrel!”
Nell smiled her thanks at both of them. “It’s because you work so hard, hon. Now, don’t forget to take your blood pressure medicine.”
She cleared their plates, poured more coffee, then escorted the men into the living room. Gene kicked back in his blue recliner while Nell sat down in her mauve one and rocked. Stephen was across from them on the flowered couch, elbows on his knees, holding the warm cup of coffee in both hands.
“Your hands sure do look better now than they did a couple of hours ago,” Nell commented tenderly.
Gene laughed a deep, throaty laugh. “That’s one story that could chase a few women off your trail.”
“Yeah,” Stephen consented. “It would.”
“Not if they’re the right kind, though,” Nell reminded him, eyebrow raised.
“Well now, that’s the problem, Nell. Most of them just don’t seem to be the ‘right kind,’ as you call it.”
“‘The right one will come along at the right time—when you least expect it.’ That’s what my daddy told me,” Gene interjected. “And he was right. I was minding my own business, hauling grain down there at the feed store, when up walks Nell. ‘Hey, Mr. Romeo, you know where I can use a telephone?’ she asks me. She was here to watch the migration of the cranes, but when they migrated on, she stayed with me. The rest is history.”
“That’s right, babe.” Nell took a sip of her coffee. “I didn’t know it at the time, but it was a divine appointment.”
“Mr. Romeo and Miss Juliet—your story is straight out of a book. I don’t think that kind of thing is going to happen to me.” Stephen leaned back, crossing one leg and smiling at them. “But I’m pretty happy with Regina and the Duchess.” They were his two Labrador retrievers.
“Well, I’m still prayin’ you’ll find yourself a wife,” Nell declared.
Stephen was thoughtful. “If I ever married again, she’d need your prayers. I don’t think I have what it takes to make a woman happy.”
“Well, now, just a minute.” Gene eyed him, squinting. “Nobody can do that for somebody else.” Straightening his skinny shoulders, he turned to Nell mischievously. “Even all the man I am.”
Nell smirked and rolled her eyes at Gene’s feigned machismo. He looked back at Stephen. “Can’t nobody keep a woman happy all of the time unless she’s already happy in herself.”
“I’ve not met too many of those, unfortunately. Maybe there’s still one out there, but the girls I’ve been around lately all seem to want something. They see I’m a doctor and want money or something else.
“They’re after your good looks, too, kid—don’t fool yourself,” Nell told him.
Now it was Stephen’s turn to feel embarrassed. He rose to go. “Well, it’s been fun,” he said affectionately. “Don’t get up.”
They grinned at him.
“Thanks again for all you done. I sure do appreciate it.” Gene shook Stephen’s hand from the recliner.
“Anytime.”
Nell saw him to the front porch, and they heard Gene clicking the TV on to Headline News.
“Thank you again for the wonderful supper. I’ll get these clothes back to you in a day or two.”
She hugged him. “No hurry. You take care.”
Stephen’s truck, across the yard and through a barbed-wire fence from where he and Nell stood on the front porch, was barely visible. Wish I had a flashlight, he muttered to himself after stepping in a hole about midway. He heard Nell shutting the front door behind her and felt oddly alone.
Suddenly, the door opened again and Nell reappeared with a spotlight that lit up the whole yard. Stephen waved his thanks. He climbed through the fence, started his truck, and was home in fewer than five minutes.
That night as his head hit the pillow, Stephen’s bones ached. He was too tired to think about anything that had happened that day. Except for the antelope. And the eyes.
Chapter Three
Claire peeked out at the sunrise from behind the handmade Italian drapes Abuelita had chosen for her room. They were dark brown and green—a light, soft hue of green that matched the walls, which were trimmed in brown. It was Abuelita’s idea to redo her room before she moved back, and Claire was glad. Even though Graeme said it reminded him of Andes mints, his favorite candy, Claire preferred that to other
memories. There were plenty of those here to contend with, even with the curtains and new coat of paint.
It was a damp morning. The lawns were shrouded in fine mist, and Claire could just make out the spires of the tall, wrought-iron gates that guarded the entrance to La Casa de Esperanza. The House of Hope. Her great-grandfather, Francisco Rodrigo, had acquired the two-thousandacre ranch just outside Romeo and established La Casa as a safe place for his family after Mexican-American War. Named for his only daughter Esperanza, who was Claire’s abuelita, the house had served as a refuge for many others throughout the years.
Beyond the gates—far beyond them—were the San Juan Mountains. In the faint sunlight, Culebra, with its long, snakelike ridge, appeared to her dimly through the fog, as though behind a veil. She couldn’t see it, but she knew that just north of Culebra was Blanca, the sacred peak of the Navajo. On the west was Conejos, which she could see driving to work in Alamosa. He hems us in behind and before, just like the mountains, Claire could almost hear her abuelita saying. Abuelita was full of analogies like that.
Graeme tugged at her nightshirt, and she lifted him up.
“See the sunrise?” She pointed out the window to show him the sun. It was just beginning to appear on the horizon, like a pat of butter on top of the foggy mountain.
Graeme grinned. “That’s pretty.”
“That mountain is Culebra, remember?”
“I remember. The snake.”
“Bueno. Ready for some hot chocolate?”
“Yep.” He hopped down. Hot Mexican chocolate was his morning ritual.
Downstairs, Abuelita was already in the kitchen preparing breakfast tacos. Her long, grey-black hair was pulled back in a loose bun, and she was dressed in a white lace gown that came to her ankles. Graeme’s warm chocolate was waiting for him on the stove.
“Abuelita!” He ran to her and wrapped his arms around her small, sturdy frame.
Love Finds You in Romeo, Colorado Page 2