Meeting at Midnight (2 page)

I weigh about 220. They couldn't just carry me and the stretcher. They had to let the front end roll where it could, lifting it only when they had no choice. The downhill end, though, had to be lifted pretty much all the time. Pete took
that end. He was a husky man, nearly as big as me, but that slope defeated him. After a few nearly vertical yards he tripped or slipped and set his end down suddenly. And hard.

I heard myself cry out. It took everything I had to fight off the black, greasy wave. Then I heard
her
voice. She was arguing with them.

She won the argument. While I was busy breathing, she took over at the head of the stretcher, leaving the downhill end to the two men. Not that I figured this out at the time. Then, I was only aware of pain. The need to stay conscious. And that she was near enough to touch me again, because she did.

“Stubborn man,” she whispered. Her hand was warm on my cheek, so warm. Almost hot. That heat seemed to push me right out of myself. I lost my grip on consciousness and tumbled off into the darkness.

I
knew where I was before I opened my eyes. The emergency room at Fleetwood Memorial Hospital was a place of bad smells, beeping monitors and people who wouldn't listen to me.

“Deep puncture wound in the clavicular portion of the right pectoralis major,” someone was saying rapidly. “Some involvement of the deltoid. Patient complained of head pain earlier.”

“He was conscious? Responsive?”

“At the scene, yes. He passed out when we carried him to the ambulance. After administering Ringer's…BP holding steady. Pulse…”

The voices were fading in and out. My head ached and my shoulder was one huge, monstrous throb, but I didn't feel as sick and dizzy as I had before. Weak, though. And tired. It was hard to pay attention, tempting to let myself drift off again. But if I did, other people would be making the decisions for me. I didn't like that.

“You didn't use a neck brace.” That was a prissy male voice. “The neck is to be supported in all vehicular accidents.”

“He crawled more than fifty yards up a mountain,” Pete retorted. “I don't think his neck is broken.”

“Come on—get him on the table.”

That meant they were going to move me again. I blinked gummy lids and was immediately blinded by the overhead light. “Where…” The oxygen mask muffled my voice. I turned my head and tried to dislodge it.

“Mr. McClain.” A man's face hovered over mine briefly, haloed by the too-bright light. I couldn't make out his features. “I'm Dr. Meckle. You've been in an accident, and you're at the emergency room.”

Well, dammit, I knew that. “Get this off me,” I said, but even to me the words were unintelligible.

“You must be still. We're going to move you now.”

They did. I had to pay attention to my breathing again. While I was working on that, the prissy doctor was tossing out orders like General Sherman reviewing the troops. “Get his clothes cut off. Draw some blood and get it typed and cross-matched. Aguilar, is this the only wound you found?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doesn't add up,” he muttered. “This dressing is almost clean.”

Someone jabbed my good arm with a needle and I realized that it wasn't strapped down anymore. Good. As soon as she pulled the needle out, I reached up and shoved the oxygen mask down. “Where is she? The woman. Paramedic.”

“The paramedics who brought you in are both men,” the doctor said. There was something irritating about his voice. And familiar. “Now, sir, please cooperate. You've lost a good deal of blood. You aren't thinking clearly.”

Pete spoke up. “I think he's talking about the woman who found him. The officer at the scene was going to send her here. Exposure or something like that.”

“What? What's wrong with her?” I needed to sit up.

“Aguilar,” the doctor snapped, planting a hand firmly on my good shoulder, “if you're determined to clutter up my examination room, at least do so silently. Mr. McClain, I will promise to check on this mystery woman once I'm satisfied with your condition. Be
still
.”

I subsided, unable to do much else. What had happened to her? Exposure…had she put her coat over me, and suffered for it? I couldn't remember. The officer at the scene…oh, God. Duncan. Duncan worked nights. He would hear about my accident on the police radio, and think I was dead or something. “I need—”

“What you need, Mr. McClain, is medical attention. Which I am attempting to give you. If you won't hold still, I will have you strapped down. Roberts, get that mask back on him.”

The world was taking on that sick spin again, which was the fault of that prissy doctor. I wouldn't be so wiped out if he'd quit arguing and cooperate. As it was, the nurse defeated me easily, fitting the mask over my face. I decided to suck down some of the oxygen they were determined to give me, get my strength back and try again.

“Not enough blood,” he muttered as he snipped at whatever was holding my shoulder together. “The man's in shock, there should be…what the hell?”

I didn't like the sound of that.

“What is it?” one of the medical crowd asked.

“Look at this. There, see?” He pointed at my shoulder, not quite touching it. I couldn't see a thing. His hands were in the way. “That's newly formed flesh. And this section is scabbed
over. That's not right. It's…” He looked at me accusingly. “Mr. McClain. This is an old injury, isn't it? Several days old, at least.”

Idiot. I stared at him stonily over the top of the oxygen mask.

He sighed and pulled the mask down. “Did you injure your shoulder a few days ago?”

“No. I think a tree limb punched through the window and pierced it when my truck rolled. I—”

“Impossible.”

Obviously not, since it had happened. But arguing with idiots is a waste of breath, and I didn't have breath to spare. “I need to call my brother—Officer Duncan McClain.”

“You did not lose any substantial amount of blood from this wound tonight.”

I gave up and turned my head. “Pete, I need to call Duncan.”

Pete looked at me helplessly. “I imagine someone has already called him. He'll be here soon.”

“No!” I'd had enough of lying flat while everyone ignored me. I struggled up onto one elbow. Things spun for a second and my forehead turned clammy, but I made it.

“Lie
down,
Mr. McClain.”

“Why? You decided maybe I am hurt, after all? Pete, I need to call Duncan myself. Don't want him worried. I—”

“This man creating a disturbance?” said a voice from the doorway.

“I tried to stop him, Doctor,” said a harried female. “He wouldn't listen.”

Relief hit like a slap in the face, puncturing my anger. My strength drained right out with it, so I let the nurse ease me back down. “I'm okay, Duncan.”

“Yeah?” The man who cut through the medical crowd to stand by my bed was shorter and lighter than I am. Better
looking, too, with smoother features and eyes as pale as mine are dark. We have the same hair, though. Dark brown and board straight.

Duncan had on his blank face, the one that makes him a good cop and annoys the hell out of me. Never have been able to read the boy when he doesn't want to be read. He put a hand on my good shoulder and squeezed lightly. “I can see that you are.”

“I am,” I insisted. But I was sure tired, and the pain wasn't coming in waves anymore. It was this huge, steady presence, almost solid. I felt as if I'd bounced myself off that solid mass of pain a few times too many and rattled my brains. “Truck's a mess, though.”

One side of Duncan's mouth quirked up. “You've looked better yourself.”

“Yeah, well…I tried to call you, but this stupid—”

“Now, now,” he said.

“Belligerence is not uncommon with those in shock,” the doctor said, all pompous and tolerant. “I'm afraid your brother's attitude is impeding his treatment, however. Normally I would not allow a family member to be present at this point, but if you can persuade him to cooperate, Officer, you may remain.”

As if he could
stop
Duncan. I snorted.

“Belligerent, is he?” For some reason that made Duncan smile. He squeezed my good shoulder again. Anxiety nestled in the corners of his eyes, keeping the smile out, but I could read him now.

I relaxed. If Duncan didn't need his blank face, he wasn't too upset.

“You heard the man, Ben. Play nice.”

“Man's an idiot,” I muttered, but someone had tied weights on my eyelids. They were closing in spite of me. It was all
right, though. Duncan would keep an eye on the idiot. He'd take care of things. “You'll tell Zach…make it so he doesn't worry.”

“I will.”

Good. That was good. The darkness beckoned, no longer threatening. “And the angel,” I murmured as I let myself go. “You'll find her for me.”

 

Doctors and nurses are not reasonable people.

No question about who was in charge, and it wasn't me. Admittedly, I wasn't in any shape to go home right away. After they'd finished poking and stitching and X-raying me, pumping me full of antibiotics and O-negative, they finally strapped me into a fancy sling and put me in a room where I could get some sleep. Then, of course, they kept waking me up.

In spite of this, I felt a lot better by late afternoon. But no one was interested in my opinion of my condition. Mostly they seemed irritated that it wasn't worse. At least that prissy E.R. doctor was out of the picture now.

I'd finally remembered where I knew him from. Twenty-some years ago, Harold Meckle, M.D., had been a couple of grades behind me in school. Harry had been a certified brain back then, so he was probably a competent doctor now. But it would take a personality transplant to turn him into a competent human being.

Harry had a real bee in his bonnet about my shoulder. At one point he'd actually wanted to do surgery in order to find out why I didn't need surgery. He was convinced I had to have some internal injury that was bleeding like a mother to account for all the blood I'd lost.

Fortunately, my own doctor had arrived by then. Dr. Miller didn't see any point in cutting me open to satisfy Harry's
curiosity. Or, as he put it, he preferred a conservative approach, which meant keeping me under observation. Which meant keeping me in the hospital.

I'm a reasonable man. I could see that they needed to hold on to me awhile. I had a concussion, among other things. That's why they'd woken me up every blasted hour on the hour, until I finally stayed awake in self-defense.

I knew all that. I just didn't like it.

Shortly before supper a skinny little blonde showed up carrying a plastic sack from a department store. Her pink sweater was big enough for two of her, hiding what I knew to be a curvy bottom. She'd cut her hair again, I noticed. For some reason she liked it short. Long or short, I enjoyed looking at her hair. It was a pale, shiny blond, like sunshine on freshly cut pine.

Her name was Gwen. She was my son's mother and—as of three months ago—my brother's wife.

“I've got a book on Samuel Adams I hope you haven't read,” she said, bustling up to my bed, where she deposited a peck on my cheek and the sack on my bed. “Also two magazines, a crossword puzzle book and some pajamas so you don't have to wear that hospital gown. You're looking better, I must say, though your bruises are coming out nicely. How are you feeling?”

“Hungry. Where's Duncan? With Zach?” I used my good arm to dig through the sack. The pajamas were new, of course, since I didn't own any. I wondered how much of a fuss she'd make when I paid her back for them.

“Duncan is getting something else I understand you asked for. Zach is with Mrs. Bradshaw.”

“How's he taking all this? He's not too upset?”

She smiled. “We may have overdone the reassuring. He wanted to know if you'd still take him camping this weekend.”

“We” meant her and Duncan. I was getting used to that. I grimaced. “We're likely to have had our first snow by the time all the dings in my carcass have healed enough for me to take him.”

“Probably. He'll survive waiting until next spring. Oh, I talked to Edie. She wants you to let her know if there's anything she can do.”

She might try leaving me alone. One date is not a lifetime commitment. Couldn't say that, though. The woman was a friend of Gwen's. “What about Annie? Did Duncan ever get hold of her?” I knew Duncan had called Charlie, my youngest brother, but Annie was harder to get hold of.

My little sister was currently in a tiny village in Guatemala with her husband, Jack, a construction engineer who works for a nonprofit organization. ICA builds schools and hospitals and such in developing countries. Right now, Jack was putting up a clinic while Annie taught the kids in a one-room, dirt-floor hut.

I still hadn't gotten used to her being so far away most of the time.

“Oh, yes. Sorry—I forgot to mention that. I talked to her after lunch. She's worried, naturally, but I persuaded her to hold off on buying a plane ticket.”

I would have liked to see her…but that was selfish. She was needed where she was. I pulled out the book Gwen had brought. “I've been wanting to read this one. Thanks. But you forgot something.”

“No, I didn't.”

“My clothes.”

“If I bring you clothes, you'll put them on. Duncan spoke to your doctor, Ben, so don't think you can put one over on us. You are staying here at least two more days.”

I was patient with her. “I'm not planning to leave the hospital without Dr. Miller's okay. He's a sensible man, unlike the idiot in the E.R. I just want to have the
option
of leaving.”

“You get the clothes when Dr. Miller releases you, and not a minute before.”

“Dammit, Gwen, I'm not a two-year-old!”

“You're as stubborn as one! You've got a concussion, a banged-up knee, a big hole in your shoulder and a broken clavicle. You're not going anywhere right away, and when they do discharge you, you'll be coming home with me and Duncan.”

No way in hell was that going to happen. “You live on the second floor. I'm not up to handling stairs yet.”

“You're not discharged yet, either.” She fussed with the flowers and stuff on the table by my bed, making room for the things she'd brought. “And once you are, you can lie around on the couch like a sultan and order everyone around. That should suit you.”

Gwen had adapted well to being my sister-in-law. She sounded more like my sister all the time. Snippy. “I thought I was too banged up for Zach to see. That's why you didn't want to sneak him in here.” That, and the fact that, being an attorney, Gwen has a thing about rules, and the hospital didn't allow kids under ten to visit.

“I'm sure you'll look better by the time you're released.” She quit messing with the flowers and faced me. “You are not going home to an empty house in your condition, Ben. Forget that idea.”