Authors: Catherine Anderson
“Feeling weak?”
“Yeah. I'll be all right, though. I'll just drink tons of water and dose up with iron.”
Loni went to the treatment room and asked the nurse if they had any juice or bottled water. The woman got some orange juice from the fridge. When Loni returned to the waiting room, she unscrewed the cap and thrust the container at Clint. “Bottoms up.”
Complying, he gulped down the fluid. Then he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, the brim of his hat shadowing his face. “My son, my very own son, and I only find out about him when he may be dying.”
Loni patted Nana on the head and sat down again. “He won't die.”
His lashes fluttered up. His dark eyes sought and held her gaze. “You sure?”
Loni nodded. “I've been certain of it from the first. You believed me, Clint. Don't you see? This time my visions will save a life, and it's all because you took that calculated leap of faith.”
He smiled wearily. “Damn, I was a pompous jackass that night. How did you put up with me?”
“I don't know. Maybe it'll come clear to me over the next fifty years or so.”
He hooked an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. Although his embrace was limp with weakness, and the chair arms were digging into her stomach, and his hat was bumping her forehead, Loni knew she would never receive another hug quite so wonderful as that one.
“You're the one who saved his life, not me,” he whispered huskily. “You put everything on the lineâyour new life here, your new business. You're a very brave lady, Loni MacEwen. If you hadn't sought me out and told me a story I refused to believe, I never would have known I had a son, and Trevor would be dead right now.”
A few minutes later, when the helicopter landed behind the clinic and Trevor had been taken outside, Clint wasn't allowed to accompany Trevor to the hospital.
“I'm his
father
!” Clint cried. “I want to go with him.”
“Sorry, sir. You have no proof that you're his father.”
“What if he needs more blood?” Clint demanded.
“Then he'll get more. Saint Matthew's is fully equipped to handle that.”
“What about cross-matching? I'm his donor. If he has any reactions won't you need my blood stats?”
The paramedic held up a vial. “Got that covered. The doc gave us a sample.”
Standing off to one side, Loni could have wept. To the paramedics Clint was only the man who'd found Trevor Stiles, and that afforded him no special treatment.
When the helicopter door closed Loni touched Clint's sleeve. “I'm so sorry, Clint. So
very
sorry.”
He rested a heavy arm across her shoulders. “
Damn
them. He's been kept away from me all his life, and now, when he might die en route to the hospital, they won't let me be with him.”
The blades of the helicopter began to rotate just then, forcing Loni and Clint to bend forward at the waist and shield their eyes from the flying dust and debris. When the stir of air finally abated, the helicopter was gone, and so was Clint's son. Nana plopped her broad rump on the gravel and howled forlornly.
“Once we get to your truck, we can rush to the hospital and get there an hour or so after he does,” Loni said.
Tears slipped down Clint's dusty cheeks. His larynx bobbed as he swallowed. “He doesn't know me from Adam. What good would I be to him?”
Loni consoled the heartbroken Saint Bernard with pats on the head and then locked arms with Clint. “If nothing else, we can pace the halls and pray for his swift recovery.”
Clint nodded, flashing her a shaky smile. “Sandra's folks will be waiting for him. He'll be in good hands until I can get there.”
“Do you know them? Sandra's parents, I mean.”
“Nope. But I knew Sandra. They're fine people to have raised a woman like that.” A shadow crossed his face. “I'll never understand how she could keep my child from me. It goes against everything I thought I knew about her.”
“I'm sure there was a reason, Clint. A compelling one, in her opinion.”
Arrangements had to be made for the care of Delilah and Bathsheba. A sheriff's deputy offered to trailer the horses out to his farm and keep them there until Clint could pick them up. Another deputy gave Clint, Loni, and Nana a ride to Clint's truck at the north trailhead.
Once there, Clint unhooked the horse trailer from the rig so they could make better time. Then he leaned against a bumper, his booted feet set wide apart, his shoulders limp with weariness. He looked as if he'd just left a battle zone, the loose tails and the front of his shirt stained with blood.
Concerned, Loni hurried to his side. “Are you all right?”
He nodded. “Just exhausted. Might've let him take a little more blood than I should've.” He lifted his head to search her gaze. “You think you can drive Big Gulp? Maybe I'll feel better with some shut-eye.”
Loni had never driven so large a vehicle. The long wheelbase would make it difficult to corner. But over the last few days she'd come to realize she could do almost anything she set her mind to.
“Sure, I can drive.” She flashed him a grin. “Maybe I'll even get my first speeding ticket.”
He smiled wanly. “You're one hell of a lady, Loni mine.”
Climbing into the truck from the driver's side was a snap. Loni grabbed hold of the steering wheel, braced a boot on the door runner, and hoisted herself up on the first try. It was Clint who had trouble getting in. He made two false starts before finally reaching the seat.
“Are you sure you're all right? Maybe you need some blood yourself. I could take you back to Wagon Wheel.”
“All their O-neg is gone. Remember? I can't be transfused with any other type. It'd kill me.”
He rested his head against the window, his face ashen. “Just get us to Saint Matthew's in one piece. I'm okay for now.”
Seconds later they were en route to Crystal Falls and Saint Matthew's Hospital. Nana lay on the backseat with her massive head resting on the center console. On the way, though Clint didn't sleep, neither he nor Loni talked very much. Loni imagined that his thoughts were centered on his son. Hers were focused on a dozen different concerns, first and foremost Clint's physical well-being. She was also worried about the horses they'd left behind in the wilderness, especially Uriah. Loni had developed a deep fondness for the big old love. She could only hope the animals met with no mishaps and that Clint could find them once Trevor's life was out of danger.
Saint Matthew's was a state-of-the-art medical facility, more in keeping with Loni's idea of what a hospital should be. She and Clint went directly to the ER waiting room, where the front receptionist refused to give Clint any information. Their patient-privacy policies forbade them to tell Clint even whether Trevor had been admitted to the facility.
Clint's temper snapped. He brought his fist down on the startled blonde's desk with such force that its surface shook. Leaning forward to get nose-to-nose with her, he said, “Trevor Stiles is my
son
! Do you read me loud and clear? I don't give a flying leap about patients' rights or the kid's celebrity status because you think he's the senator's boy. All I want is to know how my child's doing.”
“Do you have any documentation to prove you're the child's father?”
“Of course not. Do you think I walk around with documentation in my pocket? Just take my word for it.”
“I can't do that. I've heard nothing on the news to indicate that anyone other than Senator Stiles is the child's biological father.”
“It hasn't hit any newscasts yet, but trust me, it will, and I'll make sure everyone knows how I've been treated at this facility when it does.”
“Calm down, sir. I don't make the rules. I just have to follow them.”
“I will
not
calm down. If you don't find out how he's doing right now, I'll raise so much sand they'll hear me yelling clear up on the third floor.”
The blonde angled him an arch look. “You're under security-camera surveillance, sir. I suggest you calm down.”
“And I suggest you do what I ask, or I'll slap this hospital with a lawsuit so fast it'll make your head spin.”
The receptionist sat back on her chair to put space between them just as two armed security guards appeared. They flanked Clint, each of them grabbing one of his arms.
“All I want is to know how my little boy is,” Clint protested, his words sounding oddly slurred.
“Let's step outside, sir.”
Clint jerked his cell phone from his belt and tossed it to Loni. “Call my dad. He's in my contact list. Tell him to get here as fast as he can.”
Loni had met only Clint's sister, so she felt nervous as she called Frank Harrigan. When the man answered, his voice reminded her so much of Clint's that tears came to her eyes.
“Mr. Harrigan, this is Loni MacEwen.”
“The psychic?”
Since knowing Clint, Loni no longer started to sweat when she confessed to being a clairvoyant. “Yes, the psychic. We found Trevor Stiles this morning.” She quickly related the events that had taken place since. “Anyway, you need to come.” She could hear Clint yelling through the revolving doors. “Clint's totally lost it. Trevor is his son, and the hospital employees won't even tell him if the child is here, let alone if he's alive or dead. I also think Clint allowed the doctor in Wagon Wheel to take too much blood. He doesn't look good, but he's refusing to see a doctor until he finds out how Trevor's doing.”
“Sweet Mother Mary. You tell that boy to hold his temper. If they push him too far, he's liable to start knockin' heads together.”
Loni swallowed hard. “I don't think he has the strength for any head knocking right now. In fact, I think it's all he can do to stay on his feet.”
“I'll be there as fast as I can.”
Loni was already rushing out through the revolving doors as she closed the phone and shoved it in her jacket pocket. To her horror one of the security guards was bent forward at the waist, holding his bloody nose, and the other one had gotten Clint in a half-nelson wrestling hold while they both were still standing partially erect. Clint was reeling like a drunk.
Loni leaped to Clint's defense. “Stop it!” she cried. “Can't you see that he's sick?” She grabbed the front of Clint's shirt. “You have to calm down, sweetie. I know how you feel, but this will accomplish nothing. What good to Trevor will you be if they throw you in jail?”
He froze in midmotion to glare at her. His hat had been knocked from his head, and his black hair looked as if it had been stirred with a wire whisk. The security guard still rode his back, now attempting without much success to get a full-nelson hold on his prisoner.
“Your father is coming,” Loni said. “How's about we just wait for him. Maybe he can get something done.”
Clint closed his eyes, his face twisted in a grimace of sheer anguish. “He's my boy, Loni. I don't even know if he's
alive.
”
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Loni gestured at the security guard to release his hold. “Please,” she urged. “Don't you have children?”
The guard nodded.
“How would
you
feel if no one would tell you if
your
child was alive or dead?”
Cautiously, and with obvious trepidation, the guard let go of his prisoner. Clint grabbed Loni to his chest, buried his face against her hair, and let loose with a sob that nearly broke her heart. She hugged him back with all her strength.
“He's okay, Clint. He's okay. If you've never believed a single thing I've ever told you, please believe that. He's okay, and everything's going to work out. I promise.”
Just then a police car screeched up to the unloading area, its lights flashing red and blue. Two Crystal Falls policemen in tan uniforms spilled from the vehicle. When they saw the security guard with the bloody nose, Loni thought for sure Clint would be arrested. But to her surprise the injured guard shook his head and held up a staying hand.
“He didn't punch me. I just got in the way of his elbow. It was an accident.”
Loni kept a firm hold on Clint, splayed hands pressed hard over his back. He remained in the same hunched posture, his face hidden in her hair, every inch of his muscular body shaking.
“It's a misunderstanding,” she informed the officers. “This man is Trevor Stiles's biological father. He hasn't any documentation with him to verify that, and the people inside won't even tell him if his child survived the helicopter flight from Wagon Wheel.”
“That true?” the shorter, brown-haired policeman asked of a guard.
“It's their damned privacy policies,” the guard replied. “They're only supposed to give out information to the immediate family, and they're being worse sticklers than usual because it's Senator Stiles's child.”