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  Blaze released her and went ahead, climbing over a boulder. Cheyenne was gazing down at the graying water when Blaze pivoted toward her abruptly.

  “Cheyenne.” There was a world of anguish in his voice.

  She reached for him. “What is it?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, face contorting with pain as he gestured below them.

  Cheyenne swept past him to see where he was pointing. She peered past a slab of stone.

  Red’s eyes were half-open, his face empty of expression. He lay sprawled awkwardly over a ledge, feet dangling into space. His right hand lay across his chest. His skin was white, waxy, and Cheyenne knew before climbing down to him that he had probably been dead since yesterday.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Red’s body was stiff, and he had dependent lividity, with blood pooling downward. A small trace of dried blood caked the side of his face.

  Cheyenne touched the small wound at the site of the blood, which had probably been caused when he fell. She withdrew and closed her eyes as grief washed over her. No matter how often she came face to face with death, it still filled her with horror and anger. She fought it desperately, and though she had gained the upper hand from time to time, she never truly won.

  Blaze knelt next to her. “I should’ve taken him home yesterday, Chey. How could this happen? There’s no boat, nothing.” He reached out and touched Red’s hand, then recoiled. “Oh, Red.”

  Cheyenne took Blaze’s hand. “Blaze?” She grasped his shoulders and squeezed gently. “Honey, we have to go get help.”

  She continued to hold him as he gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, still staring down at Red.

  With a hard sniff, Blaze dashed his right sleeve across his face. “I know. We’ve got to get Dane.” He closed his eyes. “We’ve got to take him with us. We can’t leave him here.”

  “We can’t move his body.”

  Blaze waved a hand toward the sky. “Look at those clouds moving in. We can’t leave him alone here to get drenched in the rain.”

  “I don’t want to, but we can’t handle him ourselves.”

  “I’m not leaving him here alone. We’re taking him.”

  “Blaze, we don’t know how Red died. We don’t know how he got here to the island. If there was foul play, and we move Red’s body, the police might suspect us.”

  “They’ll suspect me anyway, and I don’t care.”

  “Blaze, look at me.” She caught his chin between her hands. It was slick with tears. “Red couldn’t have gotten here on his own, you know that. It looks like someone brought him here, and then left him to die. Do you want them to get away with that?”

  He looked down at his friend again, and shook his head.

  “Come on,” she said, taking his arm as she would a child’s. “Let’s go get help.”

  He pulled away. “No. I’m staying here with Red until he can leave the island with me. You get help, call whoever you have to call.” He sat down beside Red, crossing his legs, settling in.

  Cheyenne left them there.

  It hurt to leave Red like that—dear old Red, whose tender heart had been so big, who had been such a good friend to her, to Blaze, to the ranch. It hurt to see him reduced to a lifeless shell.

  Was this all there was?

  The wind picked up velocity before she reached the house, and the water grew choppy. She had to fight the waves to get the small boat to shore.

  Dane stepped out the back door of the Meyer house and waved to her. He was waiting at the dock to grab the rope when she tossed it to him.

  “Where’s Blaze?”

  “He’s…at the island.”

  Dane tied the rope around the post and reached to help her from the boat. His movements slowed as her words seemed to register. “Cheyenne?”

  “We found Red’s body.” Her voice wobbled. “Blaze refused to leave him.”

  Dane closed his eyes. “No.”

  Cheyenne touched his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  He took a deep breath as tears filled his eyes. “On the island? Was anyone with him? What happened?”

  “We found him on the cliffs where he and Blaze liked to fish. Dane, we need to call the coroner. I knew Red was having heart problems, but there was no way for me to know if that’s what happened to him. He’s been dead for at least several hours. I can’t imagine how anyone would take him there and leave him.”

  The back screen door of the house closed quietly, and they glanced up the hill to see Bertie on the steps of the porch.

  “I’ll tell her,” Cheyenne said softly.

  “We can do it together. How is Blaze taking it?”

  “Not well.” She took Dane’s hand and squeezed, hoping her touch could convey some comfort as she forced herself to slip into ER doc mode—compassionate, detached, searching for the gentlest way to tell a wife of sixty-six years that her husband was dead.

  She pulled away from Dane and stepped off the dock. Bertie met them halfway across the yard.

  “Cheyenne, what’s going on? What’s wrong? I thought Dane said you and Blaze…” Her words trailed off as she seemed to catch something in Cheyenne’s expression.

  “We found Red on the island,” Cheyenne said softly. She wasn’t prepared for this. None of this. She couldn’t be detached about someone she cared about this way. “I’m sorry, Bertie, he’s dead.”

  She knew it was necessary to say the words so there would be no doubt about the message, but the impact hit Bertie with an almost physical force. Her cry of comprehension and pain seemed to rip through the fabric of the day. She stumbled forward, and Cheyenne caught her. Dane put his arms around her and helped her back to the house.

  “Come on, Bertie, let’s get inside,” Dane said. “You need to sit down.”

  They helped her to the sofa in the living room, and Cheyenne held her while she cried, answering her questions, then holding her some more, while Dane called the coroner.

  “I want to see him,” Bertie said. “And why is Dane calling Blakely? The funeral home can take care of Red. They’ve always—”

  “Blakely is the county coroner?” Cheyenne asked.

  “Yes, but Buchanan’s Funeral Home can handle everything. I know them.”

  Cheyenne couldn’t answer her. How was she supposed to explain that someone must have discarded Red on the island like an unwanted piece of clothing?

  But she did explain at last, choosing her words with care.

  Dane called the ranch while Bertie and Cheyenne sat in silence on the sofa. Bertie patted Cheyenne’s hand idly, maintaining contact, as if Cheyenne were the one most in need of comfort.

  “Red’s fine now.” Bertie’s voice trembled. “He loved that island, and it could be there’s one a lot like it where he is now.”

  Cheyenne grasped Bertie’s hand and nodded, disagreeing with every word. How could she believe Red was fine?

  Red was gone. The end. No more marriage to this wonderful, feisty, loving lady, no more gardening, no more fishing or milking his beloved goats or chopping down killer cedar trees. Cheyenne understood the need for these people to seek solace from some source of faith at a time like this, but that’s all it was. Solace.

  Thirty minutes after Dane called the ranch, Cook arrived with three of the boys. “Dropped Willy and James off at the island to sit with Blaze,” he said as he enveloped Bertie in a long, hard hug. “When we pulled away, they were all sitting around Red. Don’t worry, they took umbrellas and all. We called your pastor, Bertie, and he’s on his way over with his wife.”

  While everyone surrounded Bertie, Cheyenne slipped out the back door and walked down to the lake, desperately needing solitude. She certainly hadn’t helped Red, and that failure had cost Bertie everything.

  The first drops of rain splashed softly against her face with a coolness that refreshed her. She thought of Red lying exposed on the cliff, and of Blaze and his buddies hovering beside that tired old body, grieving….

  Th
ose boys, who had already lost so much in their lives, would understand Bertie’s loss more than the people who would come and prattle about Red’s death being all for the best. Death was never for the best. When you were dead, it was over. All this talk about heaven was wishful thinking.

  The main reason she had become a physician was to fight death until the last possible moment. In the end, though, death won.

  The lake was still rough, but Cheyenne decided to row home anyway. Bertie would have a houseful of company soon, and didn’t need someone else taking up space.

  Later, if Bertie needed her, she would come back.

  Dane looked out the kitchen window and saw the lone figure standing on the dock in the rain, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jacket, shoulders hunched forward.

  How could he have been so insensitive? He’d been so focused on Bertie’s pain—and his own—that he’d completely overlooked the obvious. Cheyenne was hurting, too. She, too, had suffered a loss, and this on top of another recent loss that had threatened to destroy her life.

  He heard a knock at the front door, followed by the voices of Reverend Webb and his wife. Bertie would have someone with her the rest of the day.

  He stepped out the back door to find Cheyenne reaching for the rope that moored her rowboat to the dock. “Cheyenne?”

  She turned and gave him a casual wave. “I’ll see you later, Dane. I need to slip home and take care of the animals and clean up.”

  She untied the boat, taking obvious care to keep from slipping on the wet wood as he crossed the yard.

  “Cheyenne, please don’t leave yet.”

  She looked up. “Why not? Is Bertie okay?”

  “She’ll be fine, it isn’t a medical problem, but something tells me you might need to stay,” he said. “For your sake.” Or was it, completely, for her? Was he being selfish? He simply didn’t want her to leave. He drew comfort from her presence.

  “I appreciate the thought,” she said, “but I need to be alone for a while.”

  He stepped onto the dock as the rain and wind picked up tempo slightly. “Please let me take you, then.” The tiny rowboat looked like a toy between his own Mystique and the pontoon Cook had brought.

  The rowboat bumped back against the wooden supports, knocking Cheyenne sideways. He rushed down to steady her and help her out of the boat, then took the rope and wrapped it back around the mooring post. “It isn’t wise to be on the lake right now. Won’t you just wait until this thing passes?”

  She looked up at him, her dark brown eyes filled with sadness, her face wet with rain. Or did he detect some tears? “It isn’t cold, and I’m not afraid to walk in the rain.”

  “Neither am I. Come on.” He was relieved when she relented and walked beside him.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t occur to me sooner,” he said, “but seeing Red must have brought back some horrible memories for you. I recall you mentioned to me a few weeks ago that one reason you came to Hideaway was because you couldn’t stand going home to an empty apartment.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth as they stepped onto the muddy road that led downhill to her driveway.

  “Have you considered coming back to Bertie’s once the animals are fed?” he asked.

  “She has a house filled with company already, Dane. I’m a temporary visitor whose stay is almost over. Bertie doesn’t need—”

  “You have the healing touch, Chey, and I think she does need you. I think we all do.”

  She gave him a skeptical glance. “Don’t humor me, okay? Nobody needs a doctor right now. It isn’t as if I’m a part of the community.”

  “I’m not talking about your knowledge as a physician, I’m talking about the way you comfort and care about others. In that act of comforting others, I believe you’ll find healing yourself. And I disagree with you, because you are a part of the community.”

  “Look, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t have anything to give right now.” She held her hands out beside her. “Got that? I don’t have any words of comfort, any answers about what happened to Red or where his essence went when he died. I can’t talk the talk about heaven and God and all the rest.”

  “Then you can let me talk.”

  “I just need to be alone right now, okay? I can find my own way home.” She quickened her steps.

  “So you can hide again?” He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

  For a few seconds she paused and glanced back at him. “I’m not one of your boys, I’m a grown woman, and you aren’t responsible for me. I have my own way of dealing with grief, and if that’s hiding—” She hesitated, her voice softening. “If that’s hiding, then that’s my business.” She said it gently, but it stung.

  He refused to take the hint. “I’m involving myself in your business because I care very much what happens to you. I can’t just stand by and watch you struggle with this thing all by yourself.”

  “You’re a little too pushy, Dane Gideon,” she said, making an obvious attempt to revert to her typical dry humor. “It isn’t an attractive feature in a man.”

  His footsteps faltered, then he caught up with her. “You don’t call Austin Barlow pushy for unloading a poor old broken-down horse in your barn so he’d have an excuse to visit?”

  “I certainly don’t call that attractive. A little sad, maybe.”

  “So you feel sorry for Austin? That’s why you’re going out on a date with him?” He felt irreverent just asking the question. “I’m sorry, I know that’s definitely none of my business.”

  And yet he caught the glimpse of a brief smile that quickly vanished to be replaced, once again, by grief. Her pace slowed as they approached the end of her driveway.

  She turned to look up at him. “Thanks for trying, Dane.” She stopped beside the rural mailbox that was big enough to contain a month’s supply of mail. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to understand what’s going through my mind right now. I told you I was the physician on duty when my sister was brought in by ambulance.”

  “Yes.”

  “They tell me I did everything right, went above the call of duty, was even too aggressive in my efforts to bring her back.” She brushed sudden tears from her cheeks. “She died, and her husband lived, and now the greedy bottom feeder is suing me, while all the time proclaiming himself to be a Christian as my sister was. That’s just one reason I can’t deal with the belief you and Bertie and practically everyone else around here seem to have that Red’s in heaven—the same heaven Kirk claims to believe in.”

  “That isn’t—”

  “I’m not buying. In fact, I take offense at it.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  She blinked against the rain hitting her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on.” He took her hand. “Let’s get to your house before we’re drenched.”

  She didn’t pull away, and he had the sense to keep his mouth shut until they stepped onto her front porch. This time when Dane reached out for her, she went to him, pressing her forehead against his chest. He held her tightly, and he kept his prayers continuous but silent. He knew she could cry enough tears to overflow Table Rock Lake and still not wash the memories away. The wind died down and the rain diminished by the time her shoulders stopped shaking.

  He didn’t stir until her sobs receded.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last.

  “Cheyenne, remember when you were an adolescent, and baked those horrible cookies, and your girlfriends hurt your feelings?”

  She nodded, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. “If you’re a wise person, you won’t even attempt to tell me death is like a bad batch of cookies, and I need some tissues. Can you come into the house for a minute?”

  He held the door for her and followed her inside. “I’m not trying to say anything like that. But you were devastated when it happened, weren’t you?”

  She picked Blue up when he attacked her, and reached for two tissues. “I got over it,” she said, wiping h
er nose.

  “Meaning you can look back on that time and see things now that you couldn’t have seen then, how your experience ultimately gave Blaze the courage, and you the heart, to help him break through that barrier that kept him from reading and writing.”

  “We’re talking about death here.”

  “But I’m also talking about God.”

  “I knew it.”

  “Cheyenne, the death of Red’s body doesn’t end his life. In fact, it’s only the beginning. It isn’t some crutch that weak people have to lean on to help them deal with pain—it’s reality to those of us who believe. It’s a basic truth.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t believe the way you do. I’ve seen too many people like my ex-brother-in-law—”

  “I know. They brag about their special connection to God, and then they try to destroy wonderful people like you. They preach Christianity one moment, and then discourage anyone who might believe by living a lie.”

  “Yes.”

  “But that isn’t God you’re seeing. Please don’t judge Him by the actions of humans. You’ll never perceive Him clearly that way.”

  “Then how can I see Him at all?”

  “Ask Him to show Himself to you, Cheyenne. Remember when I told you He’s a pursuing God? The only reason you’re asking questions about Him is because He’s made Himself known to you.”

  “If you’re saying God took Susan so He could get my attention—”

  “No. You’ve told me your sister was a believer?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “God didn’t take your sister just to make you sit up and take notice, but He knows how you’re hurting and He wants to comfort you. Your sister would tell you the same thing, and so would Red. Just ask God for yourself, Cheyenne. He’s waiting for you. He loves you.”

  “You mean just start talking to thin air?”

  “Pray. Ask Him to reveal Himself to you. Read the Bible.”

  “The rule book.”

  “The guidebook. It’ll point you to Christ. It’s the Bible that will tell you that when you seek God, He will be found. To me, those words mean that He will make Himself known to you. It’s something God alone can do.”