Hideaway Page 2

  Susan nodded, blinking back tears.

  When Cheyenne was in eleventh grade and Susan still in elementary school, Cheyenne had discovered her baby sister’s mitral valve prolapse with her new Christmas present from her parents—a stethoscope. From that time on, Cheyenne had taken Susan’s condition on as a personal responsibility. It was what had motivated her through those first horrendous two years of med school.

  She still took that responsibility seriously.

  Susan’s hand trembled as she mopped her face with the tissues. “It’s never hurt like this before, Chey.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what led up to it? Heavy exercise? Did something happen that upset you?”

  Susan hesitated, then nodded, glancing at the others in the room. “I guess you could say that,” she murmured.

  Cheyenne respected her sister’s unspoken plea for privacy. She glanced at Ardis, who stood in her usual spot, checking the monitor while the tech from Respiratory handled the EKG machine.

  The tech handed the printout to Cheyenne, then disconnected the leads from Susan’s chest. “Want me to leave the machine in here, Dr. Allison?”

  “Yes, we’ll do another test after the heart rate slows down and we get rid of the muscle-tremor artifact.” Cheyenne gave her sister a reassuring grin. “It looks good, but we need to find out what’s causing this.”

  “I’ve never felt like this before, Chey. I’m sorry to be such a big baby, but it scared me.”

  “You’re no baby. Are you sure the pain doesn’t radiate to your jaw or your arm? Nothing in your back?”

  “My hands feel tingly.”

  “Both of them?”

  Susan flexed her fingers. “Yes.”

  “That could be from hyperventilation.”

  “Is this what they call a panic attack?”

  “It could be.” Panic attack would have been Cheyenne’s diagnosis if this were anyone else. But Susan was not one to panic. So what had sent her heart into overdrive?

  Susan inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, but they flicked open again when the outgoing EKG tech greeted the incoming radiology tech, who pushed a portable X-ray machine in front of him.

  “Susan, we’re going to get a picture of your chest,” Cheyenne explained. “Just relax. You know I’ll take care of you.” She leaned over the bed and held her sister’s gaze.

  Susan took another deep breath and lay back, the midnight strands of her shaggy-cut hair splaying across the pillow. She looked up at Cheyenne, dark eyes filled with trust.

  Cheyenne squeezed her arm. “You want me to have the secretary call Kirk?”

  “No!” Susan’s head raised from the pillow once more. “Please, I don’t want him to know about this.”

  “It’s all right,” Cheyenne said. “I won’t call.” She stepped out of the room long enough for the tech to get the X ray of Susan’s heart—just in case. “It’s going to be okay,” she called reassuringly from the doorway.

  What was the problem between Susan and her husband?

  Chapter Two

  Dane stood beside Clint at the far edge of the yard and watched Willy and Gavin walk toward the barn—Willy’s typically talking hands graced the air to emphasize whatever verbal point he was trying to make with Gavin.

  What a contrast—the scrawny fourteen-year-old with closely cropped brown hair and glasses was nearly a head shorter and fifty pounds lighter than Gavin. Where Gavin had muscles, Willy had skin. Where Gavin had dreadlocks, Willy had—practically—skin.

  “The dreadlocks will take some adjustment,” Dane said.

  Clint chuckled. “For Blaze or for you?”

  “For Hideaway. And I refuse to call him Blaze. It’s derogatory.”

  “You’ve been living out here in the sticks too long, Dane. You need to get to the city more often.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Still hiding out?”

  “I’m not hiding from anything.” Dane used his “back off” voice as he nodded toward Gavin. “He’s already got two problems fitting in.”

  “Do I want to hear this?”

  “He’s a ‘ranch kid,’ and he’s got dark skin.”

  “Hold it.” Clint made a show of covering his ears. “It isn’t politically correct for me to hear this.”

  “You don’t like the term ranch kid?”

  “You know what—”

  “Deal with it. That’s the way it is here. When I came to Hideaway, I moved back twenty years in time—in some ways, more like fifty. Many of the natives have been here for two or three generations. They hate change. Many of them are still leery of me because I’m divorced with no children of my own. And it’s no coincidence that everyone within a ten-mile radius of Hideaway looks askance at Jason because he has a deeper tan than most of the natives.”

  “Then move somewhere else. Take the kids with you. You can afford that.”

  Dane shook his head. “I belong here.”

  Clint snorted. “I suppose God told you that.”

  Dane ignored his friend’s cynical tone. “We all have our place in life. I’ve found mine.” He watched with growing interest as Willy introduced Gavin Farmer to Gordy, the most cantankerous cow of the herd, through the barn lot fence. Gordy was short for Gordina—the name of a bossy woman he had admired in his church.

  “A perfect place,” Clint murmured. “Taming wild teenagers to become model citizens? Putting up with Austin Barlow every time he wants to make you a target for one of his special vendettas?”

  “I hate to admit this, but I’m enjoying the challenge of those vendettas. Austin isn’t invincible.” Dane gestured toward Gordy. The cow stood close to the fence, allowing Gavin to scratch her ear. “Would you look at that? I’ve never seen her do that before.”

  “The kid has a way with animals. He worked with his father in his veterinarian practice.”

  “I knew from the report his father was a vet, but it didn’t give much information about the mother,” Dane said. “Any insights there?”

  “All I know is the parents were long estranged, and that she had her own demanding job. Wouldn’t even leave it long enough to collect her son when his father was killed in the wreck last year. Social services stepped in, suggested foster care, placed him and he ran away. His mother finally, reluctantly, agreed to take him, but three weeks after he moved in with her, their house burned down.”

  “None of that’s in the report.”

  “We don’t always put everything in those reports, because we don’t always have all the information we need.”

  “So what does the kid’s mother do?”

  “She’s a manager for a fast-food chain down in Arkansas. She does pretty well, seems efficient at her job, but when it came to Gavin, she couldn’t cope.”

  “So she claimed Gavin deliberately set fire to their house?” Dane exclaimed. “Does she have any reason to believe that?”

  “Only an episode when he accidentally set the living room on fire when he was a child.”

  “Nothing since then?”

  “Not on record.”

  Dane gave him a quick look. “That isn’t reassuring.”

  “He’s an innocent kid caught in a mess, Dane.”

  “You’re sure? I’ve got other kids to think about, and the town is always watching—”

  “Give him some time and see what you think,” Clint said. “Anyway, his mom isn’t able to keep him. I feel he needs a mother, though. Frankly, you weren’t my first choice for him—you don’t even have a woman on the ranch, unless you count Gordy.”

  “She’s a good mama. Her calves always grow well.”

  “Think you can work one of your miracles, Dane?”

  “I don’t work miracles.”

  “You seem to know Somebody who does.”

  Cheyenne wrote discharge orders for two patients, washed her hands and replaced her mask. When she entered Susan’s exam room again, no other medical personnel were there.

  Cheyenne closed the door behind her and w
ent to her sister’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

  Susan nodded. “Better. It doesn’t hurt as much. By the way, what’s with the mask?”

  “Flu.” Cheyenne slumped onto the stool beside the bed. “I don’t want to risk passing it on to a patient.” She tapped the mask with her fingers. “This is just a precaution. I don’t feel too bad.” Liar. You feel wretched. “Your lab reports all look good, but let’s get a repeat EKG before I discharge you. Now that your heart rate is slower and you aren’t shaking so badly, we’ll get a better reading.”

  Susan nodded.

  “Speaking of shaking,” Cheyenne said, “what could have set this off? I’ve never known you to have a panic attack before.”

  “So you think that is what happened?”

  A question instead of an answer. “I don’t know for sure, but that could have been what disturbed your mitral valve. I’ve already scheduled an outpatient echo for you for next Monday.”

  “Oh, Sis, do we have to do that? I don’t really want Kirk to know about—”

  “We have to make sure that valve isn’t going to cause any major problems.” Cheyenne touched Susan’s left hand. “I’m not taking any chances with you. If you’re worried about Kirk knowing, I’ll have the hospital send me the bill.” But why shouldn’t Susan’s husband know?

  “No, don’t do that. It’s…it isn’t that bad.”

  Cheyenne leaned forward. If it wasn’t that bad, why was Susan suddenly avoiding eye contact? “I know you don’t like to take medication, but I’ve ordered something to calm you down.”

  “A tranquilizer?”

  “Yes. You won’t have to worry about any more needles, since you already have the IV. It won’t fix the problem, but it might help make everything more bearable until we can find the real culprit.” But of course the real culprit was Kirk Warden—Cheyenne had known that for some time.

  Susan swallowed, then nodded. “Could you give me something…to take with me?”

  “I’ll write you a script.” Cheyenne hesitated. “You’ll need a ride home. I’d let you take my car, but you can’t drive under the influence of this medication. If you can’t call Kirk—”

  “I’ll get a taxi. Can I work? I have an appointment with a client whose house I’m decorating this afternoon. She’s a neighbor who lives just three houses west of us, so I won’t have to drive there.”

  “Sure, you can work…if your client doesn’t mind a little drug-induced creativity.” Cheyenne got up, battling a wave of nausea. “Since you’re getting a taxi, I’ll dispense some tablets for you here so you won’t have to stop at a pharmacy.”

  “Thanks.” Still no eye contact.

  Cheyenne leaned closer. “Honey, what’s going on with you?”

  Susan dabbed at her face with a tissue. “It’s no big deal, Sis, okay?”

  “Wrong answer. I’m your doctor right now, not your sister. You don’t have panic attacks for ‘no big deal.’ What happened with Kirk today?” Please talk to me, Susan. The sound of another ambulance siren barely reached them from the highway.

  “We had a little disagreement over the telephone,” Susan glanced toward the closed door. “Are you sure no one can hear us?”

  “Positive.”

  “I decided to file my taxes separately from his this year. When I told him, he went ballistic. I wouldn’t have done it, except I’ve been comparing notes with his secretary, and we don’t jibe. If he’s cheating on taxes, I don’t want any part of it.”

  Cheyenne closed her eyes, glad the mask over the lower portion of her face would conceal some of her dismay.

  “If he finds out she talked to me, he’ll fire her,” Susan said.

  Anger intensified Cheyenne’s nausea. For her sister’s sake, she had put up with Kirk’s borderline antagonism since he and Susan had become engaged eight years ago. Cheyenne had sat through countless uncomfortably silent dinners, had timed her visits to the house when Kirk would be at work, had run interference when Mom and Dad flew up from Florida to visit. Occasionally, Susan spent the night with Cheyenne, when Kirk was out of town on business—he had his own computer networking firm.

  “The stress with Kirk could be a trigger for your chest pain,” Cheyenne said.

  “I’m not sure what I can do about it.”

  Cheyenne decided not to mention the obvious solution. “What else is going on with you?”

  Susan looked down at her hands, picking at her cuticles. “Kirk isn’t…always happy with me.”

  “Happy in what way?”

  “The problem is, he thinks I’ve become too independent with my business, and he’s decided to tighten the reins.”

  Those weren’t reins, they were more like screws. “In what way?” Cheyenne asked gently.

  Susan closed her eyes and raised a hand to her face—a shaking hand. “He’s taken all the money out of our joint account and placed them in a different bank, using his name alone.”

  Cheyenne willed away her own outrage. Susan couldn’t handle that right now. “Do you think he’s planning to divorce you?”

  “We don’t believe in divorce.”

  We? Was Kirk cheating on his taxes but still pretending to be some upstanding, good “Christian” man? What a laugh.

  “I just don’t know what to do next,” Susan said. “It’s so…so hard to realize that the man I married isn’t the man I’m married to. You know what I mean?”

  Cheyenne nodded, though she didn’t really know. Her whole life had been caught up in her career, with only one serious relationship. That had ended in pain when the man she loved couldn’t endure her hours—or her success. “You could move in with me, Susan. You’ll never have to put up with that kind of treatment while I’m alive.”

  “I’m the one who got myself into this mess,” Susan murmured. “I’ll stick it out.”

  Cheyenne bit her tongue and remained silent. Blast the too holy standards of Susan’s religion. Didn’t anyone at their church see what a hypocrite Kirk was?

  “If you need money to get you by—”

  “Chey, I’m doing fine.” Susan touched Cheyenne’s arm. “Thanks. It seems like half the neighborhood has decided to redecorate, and they’re calling me to do it. I’ve opened a bank account in my name alone. I’ll be fine. Maybe Kirk’s just going through a bad time right now, and I…I need to be more understanding and…pray for him.”

  Cheyenne clamped her teeth together. Susan could exercise her Christian principles and turn the other cheek all she wanted, but Cheyenne wasn’t—

  There was a knock at the door, then Ardis opened it and came inside. “Got you some snooze juice, my dear. Just relax.” She injected the syringe into Susan’s IV port. “It’s a temporary fix, but you’ll start to feel better real quick.”

  Susan nodded. “Thanks. Chey, everything’ll be fine.”

  Cheyenne patted her sister’s hand. I’m not so sure.

  Chapter Three

  Dane Gideon stepped through the barn door and switched on the overhead light. The remaining Holstein heifer could be inoculated and released into the pasture.

  No problem. He would have it done before the boys came home from school.

  Not until he had the calf cornered in a stall did he recognize the little white bell on her otherwise black face. Too late, he heard the deep, rumbling moo of an angry mama cow behind him. Gordy.

  He should have waited.

  She lowered her head and came at him, her huge nostrils snorting so forcefully her breath swept dust and particles of straw into a tiny cloud at her feet.

  Dane jumped up the side of a nearby stall, grabbed the ladder and climbed to the loft. He turned in time to see Starface skittering out of the barn ahead of her indignant mother.

  “Should’ve sold that ornery animal years ago,” he muttered, slowly descending the ladder.

  Gordy hurried after her baby, ears perked forward, her long, Holstein body all bulk and bones in the reflection of the afternoon sunlight.

  Dane reached the b
arn floor in time to hear a loud whistle, followed by a “Yeehaw!” from outside.

  He ran to the door to find Starface running back toward him, with Gordy in hot pursuit. He scrambled backward against a concrete stand, leaped atop it.

  Another whistle pierced the gloom of the barn. Metal slapped wood—the slamming of the barn lot gate—then came another whistle.

  Gordy waggled her head at Dane, big ears fluttering as she turned to investigate the sound.

  “Cook? Is that you?” Dane called.

  A familiar, broad-shouldered form came striding inside, dreadlocks bouncing, thumbs hooked over the belt loops of his jeans. “Don’t you want to vaccinate Starface before—”

  “Gavin, get back!”

  Gordy lowered her head and charged as Gavin scrambled sideways. Dane jumped down and ran after the cow.

  “Gordy, over here!” He waved his arms over his head. “You old battleaxe, get away!”

  Gavin leaped over the fence in one youthful motion.

  Gordy swerved and rammed Dane with her shoulder. He hit the ground as she swerved away, kicking out with her foot to land a solid blow to his left thigh.

  A loud grunt echoed in his head as he fell against the fence. The gate swung back and a hand grabbed his shirt, then jerked him, half dragging, half lifting him, out of the lot. As soon as he was clear, Gavin slammed the gate in the cow’s face.

  Dane slumped against the outside of the fence while Gavin shoved the gate latch home.

  “You okay?” Gavin asked, bending over him.

  Dane gritted his teeth against the pain in his thigh. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Sorry, I forgot Willy said Gordy had a mean streak.” Gavin gestured over his shoulder toward the cow and calf. “I know better.”

  Dane caught sight of Gavin’s blood-streaked sleeve. “You’re bleeding.”

  Gavin held his arm up and inspected a small cut at the base of his wrist. “I’ll get that taken care of. Guess that old cow hasn’t seen many black guys with locks like mine, huh?”

  Dane rubbed his thigh. “I don’t think that had anything to do with it.”