Mystic Cowboy: Men of the White Sandy, Book 1 (28 page)

Where he should be.

The damp heat filled his body as he sucked in air. The warmth burned through his uncertainty, his confusion.

His path was right there in front of him.

He just had to walk it.

It wasn’t dignified, but Madeline waited for him. She sat on the porch for the third undignified night in a row, her eyes scanning the hills and valley until the night sky made it more obviously pointless than it already was.

He has to come back
, she thought for the millionth time. He couldn’t let her go—he’d said so himself, over and over, until she’d had no choice but to believe him. Until she’d had no choice but to fall in love with him. He had to come back. He had to come back for her.

She’d seriously considered going looking for him this afternoon. The sneakers had materialized on her feet, three bottles of water had stood at the ready on the counter and a floppy bucket hat had appeared in her hand.

But she hadn’t made it past the porch. Instead, she’d stood there for almost an hour before she gave up and sat in the recliner. What would she have said if she’d found him? I’m sorry I did what you wanted? I’m sorry I got results? I’m sorry you overreacted? Please take me back?

She couldn’t do it. He’d made his position plain, and Madeline Mitchell did
not
beg. Waited? Yes. Pined? Just a little. Begged? No. She had one shred of dignity left, and she fiercely clung to it. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. People needed her. That was how it worked before, and that was how it would work again. She just needed a little time to readjust, that was all.

Still, she waited.

Saturday night settled over the land with the same relentless darkness that had left her all alone on Thursday and Friday night. Again, he hadn’t come.

She had to face facts.

He wasn’t coming. Not for her.

Only five weeks to go until she broke the last guy’s record.

The phone’s ring cut through a dreamless sleep.
Go away
, Madeline thought as she rolled over. Nothing good could come from the phone ringing at... She propped open one eye. At 2:13 in the morning. Nothing good at all. She closed her eye again, willing the phone to stop ringing. It certainly wasn’t Rebel—he’d never called her, not once. He didn’t even own a phone. Which meant someone needed her, and right now, she didn’t want to be needed outside of normal business hours.

But the phone kept on ringing with determined insistence.
Damn it
, she thought as she sat. This better be good.

“Madeline?” The voice was faint, but familiar.

“Tara?” Nothing good at all. Her brain kicked on in seconds. “What’s the matter?”

Tara began to cry. “We’re sick, Madeline.”

Bad. Her stomach fell like a lead balloon. Bad, bad, bad. Tara didn’t get sick, and Tara didn’t cry, and Tara most definitely didn’t call her at 2:13 in the morning. Not unless it was really bad. She was up and out of bed, pulling on her pants as she said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nelly...” She was interrupted by the sound of vomiting.

Nelly. Nelly was sick, and Tara was throwing up. What the hell had happened? When Jesse had dropped Nelly off at the clinic at closing time last night everyone had been fine. Not even a headache.
Don’t panic
, she told herself. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. “Tara, where are you?”

“Oh, oh, Madeline,” Tara wept. “She’s so sick, and I’m sick, and Mom...”

“Can you make it to the clinic?”

“I don’t...” The vomiting sounded louder this time. “I’m so sorry...”

Oh, no. Her totally together receptionist was hysterically, violently ill. “I’m coming, Tara. Where are you?”

“I’m so sorry...it’s so late,” Tara blubbered. “But Nelly...”

She pulled the receiver away from her ear just long enough to get her shirt on. “Tell me where you are. I’m coming, Tara. I promise.”

“My house. Down the road from the Quik-E Mart. Oh, hurry, Madeline. Please.”

She was out the door in seconds.
Come on
, she prayed as she powered up the cell and peeled out.
Just a few bars. That’s all I need.

“What?” Clarence demanded in a tired-but-super-pissed voice.

She’d have to apologize later for waking him up. She didn’t have time for pleasantries now. “It’s me, Madeline. Tara says everyone’s sick. I’m going to pick them up. Can you meet me at the clinic?”

Clarence was silent for a moment.
Come on
, she thought.
I need you right now
. “That flu?” he finally said.

“Maybe it’s not the flu. Maybe it’s something else.” Suddenly, Rebel looked more than delusional. He looked
right
. He’d been off by about four days, but something was wrong. Very wrong.

“I’ll be there in...” The static crackled and Clarence was gone.

Didn’t matter
, she thought as she took another corner too fast. The Jeep fought for traction as she skidded, but then the tires gripped road again. Adrenaline poured into her system. Clarence was coming. She was going to need some backup.

Suddenly, she wished she knew where Rebel was, and it had nothing to do with her selfish wants and pitiful needs. She needed someone who could handle sick people, who knew his way around the clinic, who people trusted. Tara had always been a good third to Clarence’s second, but it was obvious she was way past that point right now. And, given how terrifyingly sick Tara had sounded, Madeline was afraid she might need someone to start praying.

She needed a medicine man. She needed Rebel.

She slowed down just enough to call Albert’s number. She’d never gotten around to deleting it off the phone, and now she was thankful for that. From what Rebel had said, Jesse was keeping the house. And Rebel had said there was always a floor there for him. Maybe she’d get lucky and both men would be there. Two birds with one call.

No one answered. Damn it all.

The dim light of the Quik-E Mart blinked in the distance. Not much else was around here, and the all-night convenience store stood out like a sore thumb. She looked past the fluorescent glow. Hopefully, someone in the house had been able to get a light on or a door open or something that would tell her she was at the right place.

There. A door was open, and it looked like someone was waving a flag or something. She breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was waste time by busting in on non-sick strangers who just might have shotguns lying around.

The Jeep squealed to a stop. She grabbed her duffle as Mrs. Tall Trees called out to her. “Doctor, please hurry!”

“What happened?” The duffle weighed a ton, but right now it felt like nothing. She hauled it into the house in seconds flat.

Mrs. Tall Trees wavered until she made it to a chair. She was green around the edges, and the sickly sheen of sweat was only making her look worse. And she was the one who was up and moving.

Bad, bad, bad.
Then Tara lurched into the small room, and Madeline realized just how bad it was. She made her mother look like the picture of health. Tara’s hair had vomit in it, and she was sobbing as she blindly groped for the couch. “Nelly...” she moaned, sounding far weaker than she had on the phone.

“Where?”

“Bathtub,” Tara managed to get out before she stuck her head between her legs.

She had no time to waste, but she couldn’t afford to be stupid. She snapped on a pair of gloves and a surgical mask. Whether or not it was the flu, she couldn’t afford to catch it. “Tara, Mrs. Tall Trees, get to the car. We’re going to the clinic.”

The women groaned as they began to move. Good. At least they were still ambulatory. She headed for the bathroom, steeling her mind for what was waiting for her.

God. She’d worked on people cut from auto wrecks, dug bullets out of abdominal cavities, and seen more than her fair share of bodily fluids. But nothing could prepare her for what she saw.

Nelly was in the tub, her eyes half closed as she shook under the steady trickle of water. She didn’t have any pants on, but Madeline could see that pants, at this point, would have been useless. The girl was covered in her own diarrhea and vomit. Black was smeared all over her legs and backside, and Madeline knew that meant one thing and one thing only. Nelly was bleeding internally. The stench was overwhelming, even through the mask.

Shit. Literally and figuratively. How long had Nelly been sick? Internal bleeding made plain old diarrhea look like a walk in the park. The flu wouldn’t do this, not this quickly.

For a painful second, Madeline wanted to crumple down next to the tub and cry as she tried to clean the child. This wasn’t just a patient, a collection of symptoms to be dissected and treated. This was Nelly, the beautiful, happy little girl who played with babies in the waiting room and practiced the alphabet by helping organize files. It physically hurt to see her like this.

But that second was short. Screw the past tense.
Nelly is a beautiful, happy child,
Madeline thought like she was picking a fight.
Is
. She could lose it later. Right now, she had to keep it together or she’d lose so much more than her composure. She felt Nelly’s forehead as she found a pulse. Nelly managed a small moan. She was hot, but her heartbeat wasn’t exactly moving at an even pace. Double shit. She was in shock. She’d lost too many fluids too fast.

“Nelly, honey, we’re going, okay? Just hold on, sweetie. We’re going in just a second.” She jerked the shower curtain off the rod and ran outside. Tara and her mother were leaning against the car, holding each other up. As far as Madeline could tell, they were just vomiting with great regularity. She flung open the back seat door and spread the shower curtain. “Tara, get in back.” What was her mother’s name? Terry. “Terry, you get in front.” She jammed the key in the ignition and rolled all the windows down. “Try not to throw up in the car. I’m going to get Nelly.”

God, she’d only been outside for a minute, two tops, and Nelly was worse. Her body began to twitch, and her eyes were rolled back in her head. “Shit,” Madeline said as she grabbed the towels. If the bleeding didn’t get her first, the dehydration would finish the job. The girl’s eyes fluttered as Madeline turned the water off and draped two towels over her naked body. “It’s okay, honey,” she murmured as she lifted Nelly out. “I’m going to get you in the car, and then I’m going to get you some water, okay?”

“Mmmm.”

Oh, thank God
, Madeline thought. She’s still in there.

“Mom’s in the car, honey. I’m taking you right there.” The towels wouldn’t hold for long, but she had to run an IV
now
. No one could afford seizures, not if she was already this weak.

Madeline laid Nelly out on the backseat. Tara was still crying, but when Nelly made a throaty little whimper, she made a visible effort to pull herself together. “Baby,” she said, sounding almost as shaky as Nelly looked. “Madeline’s here. Madeline’ll fix it.”

“I promise, Nelly,” Madeline added, praying to God it was a promise she would be able to keep. She ran back into the house and grabbed the duffle. Thank heavens she kept the thing stocked for any emergency, even one like this. There was one lonely bag of normal saline in there.

Quickly, she ran the IV, again taking comfort when Nelly managed a small whine. “I know, honey.” She had a couple of smaller gauge IVs back at the clinic, but at least she’d been able to run this one. She turned to Tara and her tone sharpened. “No matter what, you hold this bag over your head, you understand?”

“Yeah.” Tara sounded a little more focused. Good. Anything was better than nothing right now.

And they were off. It wasn’t like there was a tremendous amount of traffic on the rez to begin with, but at three in the morning, there wasn’t another car around for miles. Madeline took the roads at top speed, still wearing the mask and gloves. As she drove, she mapped out her game plan. Nelly would need the anti-diarrhea meds and something to stop her from throwing up—Zofran would be best—and enough electrolytes to fuel an elephant. That had to be first. Tara looked horrible, but neither she nor her mother appeared to be in any real danger.

Danger from what? That was the question she needed the answer to. Tara and her mother had the same basic symptoms everyone else had been having for months, and those symptoms were still consistent with some sort of virus. Nelly had the same symptoms, but magnified to the tenth power. A stomach virus wouldn’t knock out the defenses of a healthy, well-fed child in just over twenty-four hours.

But a bacteria or a parasite might.

“Terry,” she said. Mrs. Tall Trees was the least sick of the three. “Did you all do anything different yesterday? Eat anything different?”

The older woman took a hitched breath and covered her mouth with her hand. Finally, she said, “We just went to the church picnic.”

“What did you eat?”

“Steak.” Her voice wavered at the mention of food. “They had steak. It was a fundraiser for the new school.” Then Terry lurched forward and stuck her head out the window.

Steak. Cattle. Not the flu.

Damn that man. He was right.

The list of things that could do this wasn’t long, but the differences between a campylobacter and a cryptosporidium were crucial. Campylobacter was a bacterium and responded to the right drugs. Cryptosporidium was a parasite that just had to be waited out.