Gambling on a Dream (11 page)

Charli’s half brother was country superstar Nate McConnell. “That would probably be a wise thing to do. Logan Cartwright signed a record deal and is touring in the spring with McConnell. He’s good with kids, and he’s someone Annie knows.”

“I didn’t even think about Logan being there too. Thanks, Dawn.”

She put her Stetson on her head. “All in a day’s work. Take care, Dylan.”

“You too.”

She turned to head down the stairs, but his voice stopped her.

“I want you to know I’m glad you’re running for sheriff, and that you have my vote.”

“Thanks.” Smiling, she gave him a sloppy imitation of a military salute, then headed for her department Tahoe.

Who the hell is Outlaw?

Talon stared at the little girl. She had wheat-colored hair and creamy skin. But she peered back at him with his hazel eyes out of a face that resembled his own in structure. She lay on the garish carpeting beside her mother’s stool as Maggie put the final touches to her stage makeup. In the girl’s arms was a raggedy stuffed bear. Her clothes looked as if they’d come from a trashcan. The bottoms of her faded jeans were folded up several times, and her too-small T-shirt had a faded cartoon character on the front. At least Maggie kept them clean.

“Good to see you, Talon. Beth was certain you’d show,” Maggie said, referring to her younger sister. She stood from the dressing table, turned, and glared at him. The bright light from the bare bulbs over the large mirrors glittered on the gold and silver sequins of her skimpy costume. Ostrich feathers stuck out of a hideous headdress atop her blond hairdo. “I had my doubts.”

Several other showgirls in various states of dress watched him, but he ignored them and focused on his former fling.

“If you knew anything about me at all, you’d know better than that.” He looked back at the little girl on the floor.

Maggie Pratt was the same age as his sister, and she’d grown up in Colton. She knew who his birth father was and what a prick he’d been to him and his half brothers.

“You should’ve told me about her.” He clenched his fists and looked back at Maggie. “I would’ve been in her life.”

The little girl sat up and scooted closer to her mother’s bare legs. Bitterness filled him, fueling his anger and resolve. He wasn’t his father, and he wouldn’t abandon his child.

Maggie took a cigarette out of a pack and lit it. “Sure, I know you would’ve been around. Except for your little vacay. How was the state pen, by the way?”

He let the remark slide and glanced at the toddler again. Beth had been right. He hadn’t wanted to believe her when she told him her sister had a three-year-old and claimed he was the father.

A child he’d sired when he and Maggie had hooked up after his one and only time riding in the National Finals Rodeo.

“You shouldn’t have her here.” He looked around at the other showgirls. Nothing about them was PG rated, from their dress, to their actions, to their conversations. “You shouldn’t have a kid here.”

“I normally don’t. But Beth told me you were coming today.” She tossed her lighter on the dressing table behind her and turned. “I didn’t want you coming by my place. Alonzo doesn’t like that I have a kid with another guy. Meeting you wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Her sister had told him Maggie had shacked up with a loser that hated her daughter. Acid boiled in his veins at the thought of another man mistreating his baby girl. Probably the reason she wore castoffs; he wouldn’t allow her to have new clothes. “You told Beth you didn’t want anyone in Colton to know you had a kid.”

She took a drag on the cigarette. “They don’t have to know I’m her mother.”

In other words, no one needed to know she had a baby with him.

“Ten minutes till show time, ladies!” A tall man rushed toward them in the isle between dressing tables. His flashy blazer hung open to show off a smooth chest. Stopping, he looked Talon up and down with an appreciative smile. “Haven’t seen you around, handsome.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, buddy. Get lost.” Talon scowled, and the man’s eyes got big as he rushed past.

She blew smoke in Talon’s face. “Are you done scaring my stage manager?” Maggie stepped away from the stool and tripped over the girl sitting on the floor. She caught the counter to keep from falling, but she undoubtedly twisted her ankle when her high heel caught on the girl’s right arm. “Damn it, Jessie, get out from under my feet.”

The little girl let out a squawk of pain and big tears ran down her cheeks. Rubbing her arm where the heel had hit her, she backed away, fear and pain shining in her bright hazel eyes.

Disgust and hatred rolled through him as he knelt in front of the little girl and noticed she had a black and blue bruise on her wrist as if someone had grabbed her too tightly. Swallowing the acidy desire to do the same damage to the woman who allowed such a thing to happen, he picked up the stuffed bear, which the girl had dropped when Maggie kicked into her. “Hey there, who’s this?”

She sniffled and swallowed hard. “Bear-boo.”

Talon smiled and glanced at the old thing. It was missing an eye and the left ear was torn, as if a dog had gotten a hold of it. “Well, hi, Bear-boo. Nice to meet you. You look like a very good friend.” He placed it into her arms. His heart squeezed as his hands ached to draw her to him and never let her go.

She hugged the bear close and glanced up at her mother as if looking for reassurance.

Appearing bored, Maggie put out her cigarette. “It’s okay. Talon’s a friend and is gonna take care of you while Mommy goes on her new job. Remember we talked about this?”

Talon met Maggie’s blue eyes, hoping to see remorse. But only coldness and impatience radiated from her. Bitterness bubbled in his stomach, causing it to churn. He’d seen the same emotion in Jock Blackwell’s eyes too many times when his mother would take him to his place. Could she be this heartless? Didn’t she have any feelings for her child at all? How can she give her baby away while she goes off on some cruise ship with her latest fling?

At least she contacted him and hadn't given his daughter away to strangers. Or had an abortion when she’d discovered she was knocked up. Beth had asked him if he doubted he was the girl’s father. His doubts vanished the moment he set eyes on her.

What was he going to do with a three-year-old little girl? Hell, he wasn’t so sure he’d get out of whatever charges Hendricks dreamed up regarding the murders of those two kids back home. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of going back to prison or what would happen to his kid if he did.

But he was damned sure not letting his little girl stay here for a moment longer.

She sniffled again and smiled just a little. “Hi. I’m Jessie Mae.”

He swallowed hard and his heart raced. “I’m your daddy, Jessie Mae.”

Scooting closer on the worn, filthy carpeting, she reached out and touched his cheek. “Daddy?”

His heart flipped over in his chest. “Yeah, sweet baby.” His voice all but cracked on the words. “You’re gonna live with me.”

* * * *

“Rachel?” Wyatt banged on the bedroom door and glanced at his mother. “Go find the key. I don’t like this.”

His mother bit her lip and nodded. Fear blanched her face until the freckles over her cheeks and nose stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin. She turned and headed down the hall to the kitchen.

He tried the knob again, hoping it was stuck and not locked. Closing his eyes, he fisted his hand against the white raised panel of the door and prayed.
Dear God in heaven, please let my baby sister be okay.

He repeated the mantra as his mother ran toward him, holding out the skeleton key that opened all of the bedroom doors. “She seemed off this morning when I helped her with her shower, but she kept telling me she was okay.” Her hand shook as he took the key from her. “I wouldn’t have gone to the grocery store, but she asked if I could make lasagna tonight, and I had to get the ingredients.”

His mother’s voice rose with growing hysteria as he shoved the key into Rachel’s door. The door swung open, revealing a dark, musty room. Icy dread blew through him like an arctic blizzard, freezing his guts.

He shoved more into the room and zeroed in on the rumpled bed. Rachel lay face down with an open pill bottle by her outstretched hand. His mother’s muffled scream shot though him as adrenalin and fear chased the sound around his nervous system. He hurried to the bed and kicked an object he vaguely recognized as an empty brandy bottle. Leaning over Rachel’s still form, he touched her clammy skin over the pulse point at her throat. He closed his eyes as the erratic slow beats moved under his fingers. The pulse was too slow and weak to be effective.

“Wyatt, is she…” his mother choked.

“No, but she’s not okay. Call for an ambulance.” He lifted his sisters limp body off the bed, amazed at how light she was, and laid her on the floor on her back. As he knelt beside her, he noticed she wasn’t breathing, then checked the side of her throat again. The flutter of her pulse was gone. “Tell them I’m starting CPR.”

His mother sobbed, but he ignored her, placing his hands over the center of Rachel’s chest, and began compressions, counting out loud to thirty. “C’mon, Ladybug, don’t you do this,” he said as he tilted her head to give her two breaths.

As he put his hands on her chest again, his mother knelt beside Rachel across from him with her cell phone in hand. “No, she’s not breathing.” Her voice cracked and she sobbed again, but somehow managed to say, “My son’s doing CPR right now. Oh, God, please hurry.”

She tossed the phone to the floor and took Rachel’s hand. “Please, please be okay.”

Wyatt fell into a rhythm--thirty compressions, then two breaths. The memory of the night Dawn was shot stabbed at his conscience. After she’d been hit, and he’d killed the kid holding him, the thug who’d shot Dawn had run off. He couldn’t go after him and leave Dawn. Blood, so much blood, had soaked through her white tank top over her heart that he’d feared the worse. He’d pulled his phone, called for backup, and begun CPR. But he hadn’t been able to save their baby.

“Damn it.” He wasn’t sure at whom or what the curse was directed--Rachel for trying to take her life, at the memories of Dawn, or the ambulance for taking so long to get there.

An eternity passed before the blast of a siren sounded from the ambulance heading to them. He glanced up as his mother hurried to her feet to open the door.

A few minutes later, his father rushed in with an automated external defibrillator.

He set it by Rachel’s head and opened the red lid. The fire chief met Wyatt’s eyes, and the pain and fear for his daughter shined through, but his dad kept it together and cut off Rachel’s T-shirt and bra. Wyatt continued to press on her bare chest as his father connected the pads for the AED.

Wyatt leaned back and took a ragged breath as two paramedics and two EMTs came in carrying equipment bags. A female EMT put the mask of an Ambu bag attached to an oxygen tank over Rachel’s face. One of the paramedics knelt beside him. “I’ll take over from here.”

Wyatt nodded and moved back as the AED indicated a shock was needed. His father looked around and gruffly shouted, “Clear!” Dad pressed the flashing orange button, and Rachel’s lifeless body jerked as electricity entered her heart. His father leaned over and started compressing her chest, ignoring Wyatt and the paramedic on the other side of her. “C’mon, c’mon.”

Wyatt stood, went to his mother, and wrapped her up in his arms. She buried her face in his chest and cried.

An EMT knelt beside his father and rested his hand on his shoulder. “Chief? Let me take over.”

When his father turned to look at the man, tears soaked his weathered cheeks. He nodded and leaned back on his haunches as the medics worked on Rachel. The second paramedic pulled out a bag of IV solution and a needle kit from an equipment bag, then began prepping Rachel’s arm.

The tinny voice from the AED announced that no shock was advised, and the EMT administering breaths checked Rachel’s pulse at her neck. She sucked in a breath that made her shoulders raise and fall. “She has a pulse!”

The paramedic working with the IV stood with the bag in hand and gently squeezed it. “Let’s roll.”

Wyatt moved his mother and father out of the crowded bedroom as the medics got Rachel loaded onto a gurney and rushed her out of the house. Dad took Mom’s hand, pulling her to his side, and glanced at Wyatt. “We’ll ride along in the ambulance. Meet us at the hospital?”

He numbly nodded. “Yeah.”

Mom wiped tears from her face. “Call Audrey. She’ll want to know.”

He nodded again, but wasn’t so sure having Audrey around was a good idea. Something pushed Rachel to attempt suicide. But he also knew Audrey loved Rachel as much as he did.

An hour later, he stared out the window of the waiting room off the emergency department of the Forest County General Hospital. A train, heading east, rattled along beyond the parking lot. As the boxcars carrying cattle and other goods from the west rushed by, he let the hypnotic motion sooth his desire to flee to the freedom outside. He hated hospitals, and all he could think about was the last time he’d waited for a doctor to come and tell him if the woman he loved had lived or died. Only to discover she’d kept secrets and had risked their unborn baby’s life.

He shook his head and turned away from the brightness of the day to the constraining dimness of the waiting room with its uncomfortable gray plastic chairs and fake wood tables scattered with last month’s tired magazines.

His twin sister sat with their mother while their father paced the length of the waiting room, drawing curious stares from the three sets of parents waiting to have sick kids examined, and a cowboy with a dirty, blood-soaked towel wrapped around his hand.

“Mr. and Mrs. McPherson?” The masculine voice had Wyatt turning in its direction. A tall, lean man in blue scrubs and a white coat stood at the door of the waiting area.

Dad stopped his incessant pacing, and Mom sat straight in her chair as she held onto Audrey’s hands.

“What’s going on, Doc?” his father asked in a gruff voice.