Laying Down The Law (#4, Cowboy Way) (The Cowboy Way) (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’m not crazy—
eccentric
, yes—but definitely not insane,” Merry Fox said, and her sister June Short nodded.  “Just because you don’t believe doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, Melanie, and it doesn’t mean we’re off our rockers.”

“I’m telling you the only reason I’m back in this godforsaken town is because you fell off that roof and broke your leg, Mother.”  This wasn’t the first time Melanie had an argument of this nature with her mother, and she was just as frustrated now as she’d been the thousand other times growing up when her mother tried to prophesize to her.  “As soon as you’re on your feet again, I’m going back to Texas.  There’s nothing metaphysical or cosmic about it.”

“I read your tea leaves and Aunt June read the cards to confirm it. You’re back here for a purpose that has nothing to do with me and you won’t be going anywhere.  I’m so glad you’re back home where you belong.”  Her eyes teared up, and she reached beside her to cover the end of June’s hand, which stuck out past the hot pink cast on her arm.  “We’ve missed you…your sister hasn’t been home in four years either.”

“The cards showed an unexpected visitor too, so maybe she’ll show up.  You know I spoke to my spirit guide too and he said something odd…”

That the supposition she spoke to a spirit was the odd thing didn’t seem to occur to her Aunt.  Because she was odd.  Off-balance and kooky, just like her mother.  

They were
both
crazy in Melanie’s opinion. 

She often wondered where they’d come about all the strange notions and methods they used in their
prophesies
.  They’d grown up in the Appalachian Mountains—amongst folks with the
second sight
, according to her mother.  Then she met George Fox, who swept her off her feet and moved her to Sunny Glen.  Aunt June moved here when her husband died fifteen years ago and it really was a good thing she was here for her sister when her husband died.  Here for all of them, because that had been a very rough time.

“What did Charles say?” Merry asked, her eyes flying to June.

“He was sad and said a young’un is close to passing over if he isn’t helped.  He had to go before I could ask more.”

A flashback of the hollow-eyed kid she’d met earlier flashed through Melanie’s mind and a tight band of unease squeezed her chest, but she pushed it away.  This was so much malarkey and she couldn’t believe she was letting herself get sucked into it.  She was a respected medical professional, a scientist who believed in cold, hard facts, not fairy tales and witchcraft. 

And these two were deflecting the conversation she’d been trying to have with them.

“I need you both to promise me when I leave you will
not
go back out into those woods naked, or climb up on the roof of this house.” 

And Melanie was leaving just as soon as she could get her mother ambulatory.  According to her orthopedic doctor, she was going to be non-weight-bearing for at least four weeks, and then would need three months of therapy. 

Melanie knew she couldn’t stay here that long.  When she spoke to the administrator at the hospital she’d arranged for six weeks family leave, but was told anything beyond that would have to be approved by the board.  As many times as she’d been before them with employee complaints in the four years she’d been there, she knew how that would end.

“I told you I was moonbathing and meditating.  I’m half-a-century old, and I’ll do as I damned well please.”  Her mother sat up straighter in her wheelchair and flinched.  “That sheriff and his sidekick are not going to stop me from practicing my religion—
that
is against the law.  If they’d have just left me alone, I wouldn’t have
had
to climb on the roof.  But if it makes you happy, I will wear a robe from here on out.”

“It’s dangerous for you to go out in those woods alone at night, Mother.”  Wild animals lived in those woods, if not wild men.  She’d heard stories of hermits who had shanty shacks in there from her father who also told her they weren’t too keen on visitors.

“There are five hundred people who live in this town and I know four hundred and fifty of them.  The other fifty are kids who I’ll know before they grow hair on their—”

“Enough!” Melanie shouted, standing up.  “Just promise me you won’t go alone, then.”  That was the most she could hope for and she knew it.

“Um—I can’t promise that either.  I enjoy my, ah, my solitude and June has a man now, so she isn’t always available to go with me.”  Her mother cast a warning look at her sister, which made Melanie wonder what they weren’t telling her. “I promise I’ll try—that’s the best I can do.”

Melanie studied her mother’s creamy, unlined face and the firm set of her mouth that said she wasn’t budging before she met her blue eyes. 

“I’m buying you a shotgun then.  I’m going to make sure you know how to use it before I leave, and I want you to promise to take it with you when you go into the woods.” 

Her father taught her how to use a shotgun, but Melanie hadn’t needed that knowledge in med school so it had been years since she’d fired one.  She figured it was like riding a bike, though, and once she had one in her hand again, she’d remember. 

Having the peace of mind that Merry and June could protect themselves in the antics they pulled meant she could leave here with a clear conscience because she’d done everything she could to save the two crazy old women from themselves.

When her mother’s mouth opened, she held up her hand. “And I also want you to swear you won’t go again until you are
fully
healed.” 

Her mother stared at her a minute, then looked at June.  “Can you believe she came all this way just to lay down the law to me?”

June snorted.  “It’s about time someone did.  I’m getting too old to keep you out of trouble that’s for sure.”

Her mother harrumphed.  “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the damned kettle black—”

“I’m going to take a shower and I’ll be back down to help you into bed in a few minutes,” Melanie announced, cutting them off, because honestly?  She had no idea how much more of this she could take. 

A yearning for her peaceful apartment down the street from the hospital where she crashed when she wasn’t on shift hit her hard as her foot landed on the first tread on the stairs.  There were no irrational old ladies bickering there, and there certainly wasn’t a brooding sheriff in town who was looking for reasons to harass her.  A man she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since their run-in at the diner.

***

“There has to be a doctor who can figure out what’s wrong with him,” Brock said as he lifted Brady from the backseat.  He groaned and wondered if Lucy ever cleaned the damned van he’d bought her when he saw multi-colored gummy candy ground into the seat under him and fast food bags littering the back floorboard.  “This has been going on too long,” Brock said, as he carried him to the front door of the apartment and waited for Lucy to open it.

Brady had been this way since he was three-years old.  Brock felt so damned helpless not knowing what to do for him.

“I’ve taken him to every doctor in Georgia, Brock, and you know it.  They all say that nothing is wrong with him except his potassium is low.  They give me a prescription for supplements and send me on my way, or put him in the hospital for an IV drip.  I think they think he’s a hypochondriac, or I’m just a worrywart, because we’re in there so much.  I told the doctor today to admit him for more tests, an upper GI and colonoscopy, or exploratory surgery, but they said he’s too young and doesn’t need that.  The CAT scan of his abdomen didn’t show anything.”

“I’ve gotta pee, daddy—put me down,” Brady said weakly, and Brock set him on his feet.  He gagged as he held his stomach and staggered down the hallway to the bathroom, so Brock knew that wasn’t all he was going to do in there.  The retching started and Brock flinched, wanting to retch himself.

“I want you to find a specialist,” he said.  This had to stop.  Brady couldn’t go on like this and neither could they.

“Aaaargh,” Brady moaned from the bathroom.

Brock sprinted down the hallway, his heart pounding in his ears.  When he flew in the door and his eyes landed on the blood coursing in a steady stream from Brady’s nose, he’d had enough.  Jerking the towel from the rack, he knelt to press it to his nose.

“Call a damned ambulance—he’s going to the hospital,” he grated.

“
No
!” Brady yelled into the towel, his eyes frantic. 

Frustration churned inside of Brock as he pulled the towel away and wiped the rest of the blood from his flushed face.  “You need to get checked out, sport.”

“I have to go to school tomorrow, because I have a spelling test.  Will you sleep with me tonight, Daddy?”

How in the hell could he say no?  He’d have to call Rowdy and see if he could go by the ranch to feed the animals.  “Let me make a call and I’ll see, buddy.”

When Brady gave him a wobbly, relieved smile, Brock’s stomach unclenched and he pulled him in for a tight hug.  “Get your clothes and take a bath.  I’ll help you study for your spelling test after we eat supper,” he said pushing him away.

“Yes, sir,” Brady said, edging around him to walk out the door.  Brock stood, and stared at the toes of his boots.

If they lived at the ranch with him, at least he could keep an eye on Brady and know right away when he had an episode.  And he could sleep in his own damned bed instead of his son’s twin bed here.  Brady had only ever had one seizure when he was three, but that instance proved it could happen.  The thought of it happening again and him not being around scared the shit out of him, so he was going to have to seriously consider moving them in with him.

What he needed to do was take off work to go to the doctor with Lucy and Brady, talk to them, maybe nudge them to get answers.  He should have done that before now, but left it up to her to handle.  Brock had no idea what she was telling the doctor—whether she was minimizing the situation or what.  Because surely, if she would have related the severe pain and problems he was having they would be more inclined to do something. 

Lucy was flaky at times, not good at getting her point across, and he wondered if that was the case here.   He’d have her make another appointment tomorrow morning, and he was going with her to Mountain Ridge. 

Screw his meeting with the mayor and commissioner.  Brady was the man’s grandson, so he would just have to understand. 

Blowing out a breath, he walked into the living room and saw Lucy at the stove in the tiny kitchen.  He sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote to turn on the television and a beer suddenly appeared in his line of vision.

“Thanks,” he said, and took a long sip from the can.  He felt her still behind him, and tensed when her fingers dug into his shoulders.

“I could give you a full massage later, if you like,” Lucy purred, smoothing her hands over his collarbone.  “We could eat and put Brady to bed, then have dessert.”

The sides of the beer can dented as his fingers dug in and his free hand flew up to brush her hands away. “Lucy, I told you that isn’t going to happen. I’m here to help with Brady, and that’s the
only
reason I’m here.” 

The mere fact that she could even think about sex right now, or trying to seduce him, made his blood boil.  Their kid was sick as a dog—could be terminally ill for all they knew since his mysterious sickness and episodes of it seemed to be getting worse—and she didn’t seem a bit worried about that at the moment.  And this is exactly what would happen if he moved them in with him too.

Maybe instead of moving them into the ranch he should sue her for full custody.  If he had a free penny to his name he might, but between the child support they’d agreed on so she could stay home with Brady, his outrageous medical bills and his bills at the ranch, that wasn’t going to happen. 

He was screwed, he thought, tossing back the beer to finish it. 

He leaned forward to set the can on the coffee table and whiskey brown eyes set in a heart-shaped face surrounded by thick, glossy dark hair floated like a vision before him.  It was Melanie Fox, her full lips moved and he could swear he heard her say,
Ask me before it’s too late
.

What the fuck
? Brock looked at his beer can, then shook his head. 

When he looked back up there was only the news on the old television set by the window.  He scrubbed a hand over his face, and blew out a breath.  He was so fucking tired he was hallucinating, and it didn’t look like he would be getting any sleep tonight either. 

There will be plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead. 

His father’s lifelong motto, and Brock’s newly adopted one.  The way things were going for him lately, that day might come sooner rather than later for him.

CHAPTER FIVE

Melanie tossed in her mother’s hard-as-a-brick bed once more then huffed out a breath, unwound the sheet from around her legs and sat up.  Her mother’s air conditioner must be on the fritz, because it definitely wasn’t conditioning the stale, humid heat in the upper story of the house.  Down in the guest room, where Mel’s old bed was still set up, her mother was probably sleeping like a baby, because if it hadn’t been replaced, her old mattress was like a big feather pillow.  Melanie wanted to cry like a baby because she was so damned tired, but absolutely couldn’t sleep since she was too hot. 

Tomorrow, she’d call someone to come and look at it, because there was no way she could stay here six weeks otherwise.  She stood and walked to the window, pushed back the sheers and jerked the bi-fold window open.  A fresh gush of cool night air washed over her heated face and she sighed.  The absolute silence of the night here soothed her.  She’d forgotten just how damned quiet this town was. 

Sitting on the wide sill, she swung her feet up and hugged her knees to her chest.  Above the trees in the distance, the moon glowed like a bright white disco ball in the sky with just a slice missing on the left side.  A waxing moon, according to her mother who thought all of life’s cycles were regulated by the moon phases.  It surprised her that she remembered that.  A lot surprised her about her memory. 
I’m not crazy—eccentric, yes—but definitely not insane
. 

When she left home at eighteen to go to California for college, Melanie would’ve argued that point with her.  She didn’t know if living in the state of tolerance for eight years had mellowed her judgmental younger self or if she’d just grown up, but today Melanie thought she was right.  Her mother was entitled to her idiosyncrasies and who the hell was she to judge?

Just because you don’t believe, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist
.

Melanie didn’t believe, but her Aunt June’s words about what her
spirit guide
told her just would not leave her alone.  More than the heat upstairs, that was probably what was keeping her awake.  Medical puzzles intrigued her, and she took them as a personal challenge.  The worry and confusion on Brock Cooper’s face when he looked at his son told her they didn’t have a firm diagnosis that told them what was going on with the boy. 

She wondered why that was, because if his mother drove all the way to Mountain Ridge to take him to the doctor, she knew the level of care there, the diagnostic tools, was better than was available locally. 

Dr. Carter practiced up until three years ago, according to Lucy.  The child was somewhere between four and six years old, since he was underweight it was hard to pinpoint, but that meant when his symptoms first presented, Dr. Carter, as the local family doctor, was most likely the first to treat him.

He’d only been out of practice four years and the kid was a minor, so she knew his medical records would still be around, even if they were in storage somewhere.  When Melanie went to see Mrs. Carter tomorrow, she’d ask if she could look for them.  Because this was a small town, there wouldn’t be the red tape she’d normally have to go through to gain access to the records and she knew Mrs. Carter wouldn’t think twice about giving her that access.

Melanie also knew she really, really shouldn’t be getting involved, but she just couldn’t help herself.  The puzzle would eat at her until she solved it, and she needed to put her mind at rest if she ever expected to get any. 

This wasn’t about helping Brock or Lucy, it was about helping that child find some relief or answers.  Her conscience just wouldn’t let her not help him if she could—and she knew she could.  If she found something, she’d just pass off that information to Brock, and he could relay it to the doctors treating his son.  

That thought quieted the edginess inside of her, and after a wide yawn, she padded back to the bed, stripping off her clothes as she walked.  With the window left open, it should cool it off enough for her to sleep, she thought, as she threw back the chenille bedspread to crawl under the sheet naked.  Unless her dreams were filled with Brock Cooper like they had been constantly when she was a teenager. 

In her dreams now though, Melanie knew instead of the tall, teenage jock with amazing blue eyes and thick, wavy hair who owned the world both on and off the football field, she’d see the new and improved version.  The cowboy version, which she’d definitely developed an appreciation for since living in Texas. 

This new man would wear a black Stetson that shaded his brooding blue eyes, making him appear mysterious, dangerous.  He would be just a bit taller, but a lot more muscular than his teenage counterpart.  He’d still carry himself with cocksure arrogance, but it would be accompanied by a sexy, snarky attitude.  That image, that man, was entirely too dangerous for her adult peace of mind.  Almost dangerous enough to make her want to push him at the diner just for the pleasure of having him frisk her.

Melanie skimmed her fingers over the tips of her breasts and shivered when they puckered.  She smoothed one hand down her stomach and as it moved south, she closed her eyes to focus on that image, because she also knew her adult dreams wouldn’t be of kisses under the bleachers after a game, since she wasn’t a sixteen-year-old virgin anymore.

***

The sun tinted the white curtains in Brady’s bedroom orange, as Brock hugged him tightly and rocked him as he moaned.  With every whimper, his insides clenched tighter until he wanted to moan too.  Last night he’d been up twice to go to the bathroom, once to throw up again.  Brock lifted his hand to smooth back the hair from his sweaty brow and his insides froze when a clump came off between his fingers. 

“You’re going to have to stay home today, kiddo.  I’ll go by the school and talk to your teacher—explain that you’re sick.  She’ll let you make up the test.” 

Or Brock hoped she would. 

Mrs. Lawrence was getting frustrated, as was the principal, with the number of days Brady had missed so far this year.  As smart as he was, as good of grades as he earned, he might have to repeat the first grade if he couldn’t make it to school the state required number of days to make a full year.   They’d have no choice but to retain him is what they’d said at the last parent-teacher conference.  Brock just could not make him go though—he was too damned sick.

He and Dr. Melanie Fox were going to have a chat this morning.  Brock needed some help, because it seemed the twenty or so doctors that Lucy had brought Brady to see didn’t have a clue what was wrong with him. 

Melanie Fox would know.  She was just about the smartest person he’d ever met in his life, crazy smart, and he had no doubt she was an excellent physician.  He knew if she couldn’t help him, she could at least point him in the right direction to find some help.  Maybe recommend a specialist they could take him to see.

The question was—would she help him? 

After the way he’d treated her at the diner when he stopped her last night, he wasn’t sure.  But her condescending, superior attitude had rubbed him the wrong way.  Brock was desperate, so he’d apologize, take her sour attitude and condescension—he’d take whatever the hell was required to get answers for his son.   He wished he could take whatever sickness it was that was causing his child this misery for himself.

The bedroom door opened, and Lucy stood there in a see-through short red nightgown.  Her blonde hair was artfully messed on her head, and from the lipstick on her mouth it was obvious she had been up for a while and there was no reason for her not to be dressed.  Other than she wanted him to see her in that damned nightgown.

“Morning, baby,” she said, making a big production of stretching her hands over her head, so her breasts stretched the lacy fabric of her nightgown.  “I made your cereal, so get up and get dressed.”

“He isn’t going to school today,” Brock grated, pushing Brady off of his lap.  “He’s going to the doctor, and I’m going with y’all.  Get an appointment, Lucy.”

“It’s only seven-thirty, so they’re not open yet,” she replied, her lower lip pouting.  “What’s wrong, Brady?”

“The same thing that’s been wrong with him for
three
years!” Brock shouted, as he stomped to the dresser and jerked out a drawer to pull out sweatpants and a t-shirt for Brady.

“That new doctor in Mountain Ridge has a two-week waiting list.  I could try the one he saw over in Homer?” she suggested.

“Call all twenty or so he’s seen if that’s what it takes—just get him a damned appointment or I’m taking him to the hospital!”

Ask me before it’s too late
. 

Brock ground his teeth as the stupid vision that had haunted him all fucking night reappeared.  He couldn’t ignore it anymore.  That’s exactly where he was going right now—to Merry Fox’s house to ask Melanie to help him.

“Better yet, let’s get you dressed, Brady—I’m taking you to see a doctor.”

“What doctor?” Lucy asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Melanie Fox,” he replied, tossing the clothes to Brady. “Put those on.”

“Hooty?” she asked, shaking her head.  “She’s in California, isn’t she?”

“She’s back in town to take care of her mother and aunt.  That woman I stopped at the diner yesterday was Melanie Fox.”  Brock scanned the floor and found Brady’s tennis shoes at the end of the bed, then helped him sit on the bed and put them on.

“
That
was Hooty?” she asked, her voice shocked.  “Good
gawd,
she must’ve had an entire body lift done in California.  She needed one.”  The nasty snigger that punctuated her words raked over every nerve in his body.

“Yeah, she looks damned good, doesn’t she?” Brock asked, and enjoyed seeing the smile wilt from Lucy’s face. “She’s also a doctor now, so I guarantee
she’s
smart enough to figure out what’s wrong with him, or find me a doctor who can.” 

Lucy’s indignant gasp was music to his ears as he tied Brady’s shoes.  When he finished, he looked at Lucy and she wore a worried, sour expression, which he knew wasn’t because Brady was sick and that pissed him off.  She’d become more and more blasé about their son’s illness over the last year. That expression was solely because she now saw Melanie as competition. 

But what Lucy didn’t realize was there was no competition.  Melanie Fox had always been ten times the human being as Lucy or any of her friends.  Brock had just been too damned shallow to look past the glasses and extra weight to see that. 

But, unlike Lucy and her buddies, he’d never been intentionally cruel to her.  In fact, when her sister informed him tongue-in-cheek that the shy, self-conscious bookworm had a crush on him, Brock had done everything he could to let her down easily. 

Her sister, on the other hand, had spread it through the entire school so Melanie had become even more introverted.  He’d broken up with Maddie shortly after that.

Melanie certainly wasn’t shy or introverted now, he thought.  She wore self-confidence now like a two-hundred-dollar suit, which is what he estimated hers to cost yesterday.  Somewhere in California she’d found the beautiful, self-assured woman she was always meant to be.  Found the greatness she was always meant for.  And he was damned glad for her—for him too—since he thought she might be able to help his son.

“I don’t have time to chat, Lucy—get me the keys to your van,” Brock demanded.

“Just wait for me to get him an appointment,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin.  “I don’t want
her
examining him.”

“Well, that’s too damned bad, because she
is
going to examine him.”  Brock grabbed Brady’s hand and walked to the bedroom door.  “Now, get me the damned keys or I’ll carry him to town.”