Warrior's Embrace (55 page)

“Yes, she would,” he said.

o0o

“Kate?” Hollow-eyed, Kate looked up from the
medical records she was studying. Deborah set a cup of coffee on
her desk, then slid into the chair opposite her.

“I’m staying tonight, Kate.”

“No. I will. The Mingo children are
desperately ill.”

“You haven’t slept in three days. If you
don’t get some rest, you won’t be any good to any of them.”

Kate’s hands shook as she shoved aside the
records and reached for the coffee.

“You’re right. I have to get some rest.” Her
stomach clenched as the coffee hit it. She had to get some food as
well. Fasting wasn’t going to save her patients.

Nothing could save them. Four new cases,
three dead already, and the Mingo children hanging on by a
thread.

“What’s happening here, Deborah? The symptoms
say hepatitis, but my patients are dying. What am I missing?” She
reached for her records, but Deborah put out a hand to stop
her.

“Kate ...leave it for tomorrow. Nurse’s
orders.”

“Five years ago I never thought I’d hear you
say that.”

“Neither did I. It feels good.” Deborah
reached for Kate’s coat. “Wear this. There’s snow on the mountains,
and the wind is cold enough to chill your blood.”

“Call me if anything happens, Deborah.
Anything.”

“I will. Get a good night’s rest, Kate.”

Kate knew she wouldn’t. Something terrible
was stalking the Chickasaw children, and she wouldn’t rest easy
until she’d found the answer.

o0o

Cole lay rigid beside Anna, waiting for her
breathing to become even. She tossed and turned, but he didn’t
reach for her as he always had. Their children stood between
them.

“Cole?” Anna whispered, but he pretended to
be asleep.

Somewhere in the darkness his children lay in
their hospital beds, their little faces pinched with pain and their
little arms hooked to tubes. The indignity of their condition
rushed through Cole like a storm-swollen river.

Anna rolled back to her side of the bed. The
clock in the hallway tolled three times. Would she ever sleep?

He counted off the minutes, each one jarring
his nerves. Finally, her breathing became even.

Cole had learned the art of stealth as a
child. No one heard him dress; no one saw him leave the ranch; no
one saw him arrive at the clinic. Not even the nurse, Deborah. She
was bent over papers in the office, her cap askew and her brow
puckered in concentration.

“Daddy?”

He could barely hear Bucky’s whisper as it
rasped between the pitiful dry lips.

“Everything’s going to be all right, son.
Daddy’s here now.”

He was careful unhooking the tubes, careful
lifting his precious children from their beds.

“Hold on to Daddy, now. I’m going to make
everything all right.”

They clung to him, his beloved Mary Doe and
his stalwart little Bucky. Mary Doe whimpered and pressed her hot
forehead into his chest.

“Daddy? Where are we going?” The wind caught
Bucky’s question and carried it off toward the mountains.

“Feel that, son? Feel the wind? See the stars
and the moon?”

Bucky’s nod was weak, and Mary Doe’s arms
were so frail. Fear gripped Cole. Was he doing the right thing? For
a moment he stood poised between the clinic and the mountains,
between the new ways and the old.

He could go either way. It was not too late
to turn back. His feet were on the clinic path when Bucky
spoke.

“I see the wishing star, Daddy ...I wish I
could ride my pony.”

“We will ride and ride and ride, my son.
We’ll ride all the way to the stars.”

Carrying his precious burdens, Cole mounted
his horse and headed for the mountains.

o0o

Deborah filled her tray with medicine and
made the predawn check of her patients. The minute she stepped
through the doorway to the ward, she knew something was wrong.
Hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she swept her gaze across
the beds. Little Josh Traymore and his brother, Bert, were sleeping
soundly, and in the bed next to them, Graham Black Elk dozed
fitfully.

A dark cloud that had been threatening rain
moved across the sky, and the moon came into view. Its rays
illuminated the wrinkled sheets and the empty pillows on the two
beds in the corner.

Horror clawed at Deborah’s throat. She raced
toward the beds, calling their names.

“Bucky. Mary Doe.”

Calling and calling, knowing they wouldn’t
answer.

Her medicine tray fell to the floor with a
crash, and she lurched against furniture on her race to the
telephone. Who to call? Who to tell?

One person came vividly to mind, one man
whose strength and wisdom she valued above all others.

He answered on the first ring with no traces
of sleep in his voice.

“Eagle? This is Deborah Lightfoot. The Mingo
children are missing.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“What should I do?”

“Don’t alarm anyone. Don’t touch anything.
Wait for me.”

The wait seemed to be an eternity rather than
the fifteen minutes the clock registered. When he finally walked
into the clinic, she fell to pieces.

“It’s all my fault.” She covered her face
with her hands and wept. “Kate wanted to stay and I sent her
home.”

“Stop it, Deborah.” He took her shoulders and
looked straight into her eyes. “Do you hear me? Nobody is at fault.
Cole took the children.”

“How do you know?”

“I read the signs outside.”

“Why?”

“There’s no time for questions now, Deborah.
The important thing is to bring them back.”

“They’re so weak, Eagle. Hurry, please hurry
before it’s too late.”

And Eagle, riding like the wind, tracking his
brother toward a remote mountain cabin, had a vision of two tiny
souls winging toward the stars.

Fear rode hard at his side.

o0o

Mary Doe was calling her name. Anna stirred
in her sleep then suddenly sat straight up in bed.

“I’m here, sweetheart. Mommy’s here.”

She reached out, but no little girl with dark
pigtails and dirt smudges on her face raced into her arms.

And then she remembered.

Thunder roared in the hills and lightning
flashed. Heavy with grief, Anna turned toward Cole’s side of the
bed, only to find it empty.

“Cole?” she whispered. She stepped into her
house slippers and padded softly to the bathroom. “Cole?” There was
no answer.

The bathroom fixtures gleamed garishly in the
harsh light. Anna leaned her head against the cool vanity
mirror.

“Bucky,” she whispered. “Mary Doe.”

Nobody answered.

Sacred fires burned away the wintery winds.
Even so, Cole shivered.

Between the sacred fires stood a long pole
capped with eagle feathers, and in the line marked by the pole, two
smaller wands, their tips painted red. From the upper tips of the
small wands fluttered red ribbons, and from the lower tips,
black.

In the midst of the sacred circle lay two
blankets the color of fire, and upon the blankets lay his children.
Still and colorless as death.

The ancient shaman danced slowly around,
singing his chants and shaking his gourd rattle. The moon glistened
on his bear-claw necklace, and winds caught the eagle feather,
flapping it against the pole. The
Pishofa
ceremony had
begun.

Filled with fear and hope, Cole closed his
eyes. Smoke from the fires circled his head and the rhythm of the
chant invaded his body. As he swayed, he felt the wings of the
eagle enfold him and the spirituality of that sacred bird protect
him.

“Great Spirit,” he whispered. “I bring my
children to You. I place them in Your loving arms and beg You to
find them worthy.”

Suddenly the sound of the gourd rattle ceased
and the stillness of death fell upon the land. Without opening his
eyes, Cole saw the souls of his children ascend toward the stars.
He opened his mouth to scream his agony to the heavens.

Lurching upright, he swayed and felt the arms
of his brother close around him.

“Cole?” Braced in Eagle’s arms, Cole looked
into his brother’s tragic eyes. “It’s over, Cole.”

One figure stood apart on the windswept hill.
The Mingo family gathered close, taking what comfort they could
from one another; but Kate stood alone, her coat collar turned up
against the chill and her hair whipping in the wind like the
colored leaves that swirled around her feet.

Dark circles bruised the fair skin under her
eyes and grief hollowed out her cheeks. Eagle ached for her; he
ached for them all.

Anna swooned as the earth swallowed up the
two tiny caskets. Cole, standing rigid at her side, would have let
her fall if Eagle hadn’t caught her.

“Everything is going to be all right, Anna,”
he said. Cole’s black, empty stare turned his heart to ice, and
Eagle wondered if anything would ever be right in the Mingo family
again.

Dovie and Winston came to bear Anna away to
the car. Clint, flanked by Wolf and Star, followed. Cole stared
down at the cold, raw earth.

“I killed them,” he whispered.

“No, you didn’t.” Eagle put a comforting hand
on his brother’s arm. “You did what you thought was best.”

“Anna says I killed her children.”

“It’s her grief talking. She doesn’t mean
that.”

“She hates me.”

“Anna loves you. Give her time, Cole. Give
yourself time,”

“Time for what, Eagle? Do you think time is
going to bring back my children?” Cole’s eyes were dry and hollow
as he shook Eagle’s hand off.

A sudden gust of wind howled through the
cemetery, whipping the leaves to a demonic frenzy and snatching
Kate’s scarf. The bright blue silk landed at Cole’s feet like an
exotic bird. Mesmerized, he stared at the scarf, then he jerked his
head back and fixed his glittering gaze on Kate.

“It’s her.” His jaw tensed so hard, corded
veins stood out on his neck. With quick, jerky movements he picked
up the scarf and twisted it round and round in his hand, then he
started toward Kate, holding it like a garrote.

Eagle sprang toward his brother, wrapping his
arms around Cole’s chest.

“Let me go.”

“Cole . . .” Rage gave his brother the
strength of a buffalo. Eagle could barely restrain him. “Cole
...get hold of yourself.”

Watching them, Kate clutched her throat,
white-faced.

Suddenly Cole slumped against Eagle, sobbing.
“Help me, Eagle. Help me.”

Supporting his brother’s weight, Eagle half
walked, half carried him to the car. Turning, he looked back at the
lonely hill.

Kate had vanished.

o0o

She sat huddled in her clinic, still wearing
her coat. Clumps of red earth clung to her shoes, and her cheeks
felt chapped from the wind. Beyond her, in the room where three
small patients still fought for their lives, Deborah moved softly,
dispensing medicine and soothing words with equal skill.

“Kate?”

Eagle stood in the open doorway, and cold
wind filled the room. In his hand was her silk scarf.

“I brought this back to you.”

He laid it on her desk, watching her. She
made no move to touch the scarf. Her strength was gone. She thought
she might never move again.

“Are you all right, Kate?”

“I should ask that of you.”

“The Mingos will survive.”

And what of you? Will you survive?
she wanted to ask, but what good would it do? She’d given up all
claims to him five years earlier.

She rubbed her temples, trying to massage
away the fatigue. Thinking was so hard.

“You did what you could, Kate. The Mingo
family is grateful.”

“Cole?”

“He’s distraught with grief. He’ll come to
his senses.”

Kate touched her scarf, touched it and felt
the warmth from Eagle’s hand lingering among the silk folds.
Clenching it tightly in her fist, she leaned forward, her eyes
alight with a crusader’s zeal.

“I’m going to find out what killed them,
Eagle. If it’s the last thing I ever do.”

A muscle ticked in the side of his jaw, and
the look in his eyes set her skin aflame. Time stopped as they
stared at each other, shattered by grief and hopeless passion.

“I hope your God is more generous than
mine.”

He left quickly without saying good-bye, and
the agony of watching him go was as fresh as it had been the first
time.

Kate dropped her weary head to her desktop,
wondering where she’d ever find the strength and the courage to
survive.

Mark Grant loved mysteries of all kinds.
Murder mysteries were strewn around his office, and at least three
of them sported bookmarks so he wouldn’t lose his place.

“How can you read three books at a time?”
Grayson Tyler had asked him the day before.

“The same way you can date three nurses at
one time. It takes skill.”

The mystery of the Bermuda triangle
fascinated him, as well as the “big bang” and the various theories
of creation. It was his love of puzzlement that led him to
specialize in infectious diseases. Nothing in the field of medicine
was more elusive and baffling than infectious diseases.

“Dr. Grant.” His secretary’s voice came over
the intercom. “Dr. Malone is here.”

“Give me two minutes then send her in.”

Dr. Kate Malone. He’d met her at a medical
convention in San Diego four years earlier. Remembered her vividly,
as a matter of tact. Gorgeous red hair. A figure to drive sane men
crazy.

He’d swallowed the olive in his drink and
nearly choked to death when she walked into the room. Grayson had
banged him on the back and saved his life.

It took Mark all evening to finagle his way
close enough to meet her. His face still turned red at the memory
of the encounter.