Warrior's Embrace (56 page)

“Did you wear that dress to drive all the men
crazy, or is it just me you’re after?” He slid onto the barstool
beside her, feeling confident. He knew he wasn’t much to look at,
but plenty of girls had called his cowlick endearing and his
prominent nose noble. Besides, he had personality. No sense in
being modest about it.

“Neither, Doctor. I wore the dress because
clothes are required at these functions.”

“A pity.”

“Hardly.”

Nobody had ever called him an Adonis, but he
did lift weights at the gym and was nobody’s slouch. The way she
looked at him, though, he might as well have been leftover dog
meat.

They weren’t off to a good start, but, hey,
nothing was ever perfect. He pressed on.

“Everybody gets a mite touchy at these
conventions. What do you say we leave these medical types behind
and stroll out onto the patio? I hear the night air is very fresh
in San Diego.”

“That’s not all that’s fresh in San
Diego.”

She’d picked up her drink and left him
sitting at the bar with the ice melting in his glass and his neck
turning red.

And now she was in Ada, looking for his
help.

Somebody up there liked him.

Mark scraped the potato chips and leftover
ham sandwich into a napkin and dropped them into his desk drawer.
No sense wasting good food. Then he smoothed down his cowlick. When
he dropped his arm, he noticed his frayed cuff.

After he’d finished rolling up his sleeve, he
started to the door. Then he noticed he had one sleeve up and one
sleeve down. Matching sleeves. That was the ticket.

He rolled up the other sleeve and struck out
for the door once more. Then he changed his mind and scurried
behind his desk.

Let Dr. Kate Malone find her own way through
the door. She wouldn’t find Dr. Mark Grant making a fool of himself
over her this time.

The door opened, and she came through. Kate
Malone looked like hell.
Beautiful
hell. She was thinner
than he remembered, and her face was pinched with tension.

“Dr. Grant.” Nothing wrong with her walk
though. The way she glided along with those hips swiveling just
right was enough to make a man forget his resolutions to play cool
and hard to get. “The first thing I have to do is apologize.”

“Apologize?”

“For San Diego.” She pushed her hair back
from her forehead in a gesture he found charming. But damned if he
was going to be charmed by her. Blackhearted Mark. That’s what he
was going to be.

“I was rude to you,” she added. “There was no
excuse for my behavior.”

“Why don’t you try me? I like excuses.”

“Would you believe a relationship gone
bad?”

“With you? Not a chance.”

“PMS?”

“Ah, a medical mystery.
That
I’ll
buy.”

Kate Malone smiled and was transformed. Her
green eyes sparkled and all the fatigue lines left her face.

Remaining hardhearted with her was going to
be a pain in the ass.

“Now,” he said, striving for the upper hand.
“Tell me why you’ve come.”

“My patients are dying from something that
looks like hepatitis.”

“How many?”

“Five out of eight.”

Mark Grant whistled. The death rate from
hepatitis was one percent.

“Cause of death?” he asked.

“Liver failure.”

“You’ve started looking for a link among the
victims?”

“The victims are little children.” Her voice
cracked, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. Then she
stiffened her shoulders and jutted out her chin. “My nurse and I
have studied case histories extensively. So far, we’ve found
nothing.”

“You’ve done fieldwork?”

“That’s why I’ve come to you. I want an
expert, and they say you’re the best.”

“Yep. I’m the best.” Mark didn’t try to
suppress his grin. “And you want me?” he asked, deliberately
baiting her.

Kate was equal to the occasion.

“Something is killing the children of Witch
Dance. Yes, Doctor ...I want you.”

He checked his right shirt-sleeve to see if
the frayed end was showing, then fiddled with his pencil, letting
her sweat. Vindictive, perhaps, but nobody ever said he was
perfect.

“I wouldn’t want to waste time driving from
Ada to Witch Dance twice a day,” he said.

“There’s a guest bedroom in my cottage. You
can stay with me.”

“Dr. Malone, you’ve just made me an offer I
can’t refuse.”

o0o

Mark Grant turned out to be a blessing in
disguise. He breezed into her cottage like a cyclone, full of
booming male noises and explosive laughter, and suddenly all the
emptiness was swept away.

“You don’t mind if I make myself at home,” he
said, not waiting for her permission, but dropping his bags in the
middle of the floor and plopping onto her sofa. With the remote
control he flipped the television to a sports channel then grinned.
“I always settle in with a beer and see what’s happening in the
sports world this time of day.”

Thinking of her mother, and the way Martha
scurried to wait on Mick hand and foot every time he came through
the door, Kate drew herself up.

“I don’t provide waitress service.”

“I’m not as pampered as I look. Been waiting
on myself since I was six years old. No mama and no daddy.”

“You were an orphan?”

He struck a pose with his hand over his
heart. “It brings ‘em to tears every time.” His grin showed two
gold crowns. “Heck no. My parents were always off in some exotic
part of the world. Left me to fend for myself at Grandma’s mansion
down in Atlanta. It took every waking moment to outwit the servants
so I could enjoy the independence any six-year-old boy
deserves.”

He flipped off the television then stood up
to stretch. Kate suddenly realized how lonely she’d been. Just to
have Mark taking up space in her house felt good.

“Sit tight, Kate ...you don’t mind if I call
you Kate, since we’ll be living together?”

“No.” She smiled. It was impossible not to
with Mark Grant.

“I’ll hustle us up some grub. We’re going to
need our strength.”

“You cook too?”

“Best derned cook in three states. I bribed
Grandma’s chef.”

“How?”

“Hid frogs in his stew pots till he gave in
and let me watch.”

She followed him into the kitchen and watched
as he nosed around her cabinets and into her refrigerator. Another
time, another man, Kate would have been appalled at such an
invasion of her privacy. But it was not just any old time, and Mark
was not just any old man. He was the man who might well save the
lives of the children in Witch Dance.

Besides, she’d had enough privacy to last her
a lifetime.

“It will be a relief not to eat my own
cooking.”

“I know.” He grinned over the pots and
pans.

“Don’t tell me.... Let me guess. You’re
clairvoyant too.”

“I ate one of those chocolate chip cookies
you brought to Sally Blaze’s birthday party last year.” Sally
Blaze, the pharmacist in Ada who had become her friend over the
years.

“I didn’t see you there.”

“You had already gone. I took one bite of
that cookie and said to myself, ‘It’s a derned good thing I didn’t
marry that woman. I’d be a mere shadow of myself by now.’”

“Heaven forbid that you should be a shadow of
yourself.” She looked pointedly at his midsection.

He sucked it in. “Been meaning to hit the old
barbells, but you know what a demanding bitch medicine is.”

Kate made two cups of tea then sat at the
table while Mark moved around her kitchen. Humming. Her mother used
to hum.
She
used to hum.

Maybe it was time to remember music once
more.

o0o

The crushing sense of loss never left Anna,
not for even the briefest second; but at least she was functional.
Cole sat huddled over a bottle in dark rooms, first Bucky’s
bedroom, then Mary Doe’s. Back and forth he went, alternating as
the mood struck him.

Sighing, she watched out the window. Where
was Clint? He’d been there only seconds earlier, tossing the ball
in the air and catching it.

Panic seized her, and she raced to the
door.

“Clint!” she called. There was no response,
no dark head turned her way, and no gangly legs raced toward the
house. “
Clint!
”

He stuck his head around the barn door.

“Mom?” Loping in his loose-jointed way, he
came to her and touched her arm. “Is anything wrong?”

“No. Nothing. It’s just—” Just that she
couldn’t bear for her only surviving child to be out of her
sight.

Anna felt like a fool. Then she felt like
crying, and she guessed a few tears leaked out, for her son wiped
them away with his grimy hand.

“It’s okay, Mom. I understand. Really, I
do.”

Only thirteen, and suddenly he was all
grown-up. The sad thing was that he had to be. She was barely
coping and Cole was not coping at all. Somebody in the family had
to be strong.

“I’m sorry, Clint.” She cupped his face. So
handsome. So strong. So like Cole, it broke her heart to look at
him. “It’s going to get better. Just give me time.”

“Sure, Mom ...can I go now? I need to feed
the horses.”

She nodded, and then as he turned away, she
called after him.

“Clint ...thank you.”

“That’s what families are for.”

Anna stood a moment on her front porch with
the setting sun warming her face. It seemed like forever since
she’d been in the sunshine. A breeze rustled through the dead
leaves on her front lawn. She hadn’t raked this year. The flower
beds beside the front steps were full of weeds. She hadn’t plucked
weeds either.

There were lots of things she hadn’t done
lately. Anna went down the steps and knelt at her flower beds. With
her hands in the dirt she saw Mary Doe, digging with her small
spade.

“Not so deep, sweetheart,” Anna said,
laughing at her daughter’s enthusiasm. “You don’t have to dig all
the way to China to plant flowers.”

“These are special flowers, Mama, ‘cause
they’re
mine
.”

Mary Doe wiped her grimy hands across her
face and down the front of her overalls, leaving streaks. Anna
laughed again, remembering her visions of a daughter dressed in
pink ruffles and lace.

A sob closed her throat, and Anna bent over
her unkempt flower beds, her hands still clenched in the dirt.
Wrapped in her cocoon of beautiful, painful memories, she didn’t
hear the sounds of the approaching car, nor the footsteps.

“Anna?” Kate Malone was bending over her, her
face crinkled with concern. “Are you all right?”

Someday she would be. Maybe. But not right
now.

“I can’t seem to . . .” Anna stood up,
groping like an old woman. Kate took one arm, and a man Anna didn’t
know took her other. “Thank you,” she said, dusting off her hands.
“I must look a mess.”

“You’re fine.” Kate’s hand was warm upon her
arm. “Anna, this is Dr. Mark Grant. We’d like to talk to you and
Cole ...about the children.” Anna pressed her trembling hands
together. “If this is not a good time, we can come back.”

“No ...no. Come in.” Anna’s house was as
neglected as her flower beds, but she couldn’t worry about that
now. “I’m afraid Cole is ...busy. What is it you wanted to
know?”

“We’re trying to make sense of what happened.
Hepatitis was not the killer; liver failure was. And we don’t know
why.”

“Mrs. Mingo.” The man called Dr. Grant leaned
forward in his chair. He had a kind and earnest face. “We’re trying
to find a common thread. Do you remember any connection between
your children and the others?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Any parties they might have attended
together?” he said. “Any picnics? Any social outings of any
kind?”

“No. The ranch is big. Clint and—” Anna’s
voice cracked, and she thought she might cry again. Kate reached
over and covered her hand. “—Bucky and Mary Doe kept pretty much to
themselves.”

“Was there anyplace special they played?”
Kate said.

“Not that I know of.”

“Any old water troughs?” Mark added. “Any
lakes? Any water at all?”

“No. Mostly they played in the yard or the
pastures or the barn. It was too cold to go down to Witch
Creek.”

“Witch Creek?” Mark and Kate exchanged
glances. “Had they ever played there?”

“All summer long. Mary Doe could swim like a
fish, and Bucky was learning to dive. Clint always went along to
watch them though. I didn’t want them to ...drown.” A sob caught in
her throat.

She covered her face with her hands, and her
shoulders shook. The river of grief had to flow, no matter who
witnessed it.

Anna felt Kate’s arms around her, heard Mark
leave the room, smelled the strong aroma of coffee when he
returned.

The coffee made her feel better. So did the
companionship.

She wondered what Cole would say if he knew
Kate Malone was sitting in his den, drinking coffee.

o0o

The room was dark and smelled of stale
liquor. But it still contained Bucky. Cole could see his son in the
fishing poles and football posters hanging on the walls, in the
books on horses and race cars lining the shelves, in the telescope
that sat at the window, ready to bring the constellations down to
earth.

A pair of Bucky’s socks, wadded up and
smelly, was just under the bed, and the sneakers and jeans and
shirt he’d last been wearing were strewn across the floor.

Cole hadn’t let Anna clean their rooms.
Sometimes it seemed that if he closed his eyes and wished hard
enough, they’d come back. Bucky and Mary Doe. His children.
Bright-eyed and laughing.

The sound of a car intruded on Cole’s
solitude. He went to the window and looked out. Kate Malone was in
his yard.

Rigid, Cole stood at the window, watched
while Anna brought her inside, listened while she talked to his
wife about finding a cause of death.