Читать книгу A Montana Man - Jackie Merritt - Страница 8

Two

John Mann of the Montana Highway Patrol introduced himself to Clint and Tommy Barrow, who rose from their chairs and shook hands with the officer. They were all tall men, and their eyes were almost on the same level. Officer Mann probably outweighed the Barrows, as Clint and his son were both lean and lanky, very much alike in appearance with dark hair and blue eyes.

Mann moved a chair from another part of the waiting room to sit closer to the Barrows. They were in the intensive care unit of Missoula General Hospital, where Sierra had been brought by a flight-for-life helicopter.

Officer Mann, big and burly as he was, spoke in a surprisingly soft voice. “Any news on the woman’s condition?” he asked.

“Nothing conclusive. We’ve talked to a couple of doctors and several nurses. They’re running tests,” Clint said in a voice choppy from strain. As concerned as he was about the woman in room 217, he was more worried about his son. Tommy’s face was pasty and gray. It could have been Tommy who had crashed at the bottom of that ravine, and Clint couldn’t get that image out of his mind. The thought of losing his son in a car accident had Clint half sick to his stomach.

“Then she’s regained consciousness?” John asked,looking from father to son.

“If she has, we haven’t been told about it.” Clint noticed John’s close scrutiny of Tommy, and shifted in his chair so his shoulder touched his son’s.

Officer Mann registered the protective gesture and cleared his throat. “It was a serious accident and will have to be investigated.”

“Yes, I know,” Clint said. The stern lines of his handsome face became even more rigid. If Tommy hadn’t gone out of his way to pick up Eric for school, would there have been an accident? Clint knew that same question was haunting Tommy. The boys were the best of friends. Clint remembered his and Tommy’s conversation before the boy had driven off in his red pickup that morning.

“You’re running late, Tom.”

“I told Eric I’d pick him up. Remember, Dad, Barrows don’t go back on their word.”

“Figured you did,” Mann said quietly. “Well, let’s get started.” He produced a small note pad and a pen from an inside pocket of his jacket and flipped it open to a specific page. “Thomas Lee Barrow and Eric Roger Schulze,” he read and glanced up. “Names correct?”

Both Clint and Tommy said yes.

“Okay, Tommy—are you called Tommy or Tom?”

“Either one is okay,” Tommy said. He was looking down, and Clint could tell he was scared.

“Tell me what happened, Tom,” Officer Mann.

“I already told Sheriff Logan,” Tommy said. “He’s the one who came when Eric called for help.”

“I know you did, but I wasn’t there and I’d like to hear it for myself.”

Tommy drew a deep, slightly unsteady breath. “We were afraid of being late for school because of finals, and took the shortcut over Cougar Pass.”

“You and Eric.”

“Yes. I was driving. I came around that hairpin curve—you know the one—and there was one of those minivans smack-dab in the middle of the road. I hit the brakes and so did she, and we—we collided.”

“You hit an icy spot.”

“Frost It was only melted where the sun, uh, shone on the road.”

“Did you see that the driver was a woman?”

“Didn’t have time to see anything. I was trying to straighten out my truck.”

“Understandable.”

“The van went off the road.” Tommy swallowed hard. “I got the truck stopped, and Eric and I ran to the edge of the ravine. It was still going down, rolling end over end. We saw the woman fly out through the driver’s door and land on the rocks. The van landed upside down about a foot from the river. We hurried down the grade as fast as we could. Eric thought she was dead, but I found a strong pulse and realized she was just knocked out. I told Eric to get back to the truck and go for help. He was about to leave when he spotted the fire. The woman was too close to the wreck, and I started thinking about, uh, maybe it would explode, you know? Eric didn’t want to move her, but I knew we had to.”

Tommy raised stricken eyes to look at Officer Mann. “We had to move her—she would have died in the explosions if we hadn’t—but what if we hurt her more?”

“Tom, you did the right thing,” Mann said. “She’s alive and she wouldn’t be if you’d left her where she was. Okay, I have a few questions. Did she come to at all and say anything?”

“No.”

“Did you happen to notice the license plate on the van?”

Tommy frowned. “I don’t remember one.”

“Then again, you might have been too occupied with other things to notice.”

“That’s true. It’s just that the van’s back end was toward us, but I can’t remember a plate.”

“It might have been thrown off during the tumble.”

Tommy nodded. “That’s possible, I guess.”

“Where is this leading?” Clint asked.

“Have you seen the wreckage?” Officer Mann inquired.

“No.”

“Well, there isn’t any, other than a widespread ground cover of tiny pieces of fabric and metal and other unidentifiable debris.” Mann sat back in his chair. “We don’t know who she is. If Tommy had seen a license plate, we’d at least know in which state she lives.”

“Lots of stuff fell in the river,” Tommy said.

“Yes, but the river’s running high and wild in that canyon from spring runoff. Everything’s probably miles downstream by now.”

“You’re concerned about her identity,” Clint said. “Won’t that question be cleared up when she comes to?”

Officer Mann put away his notebook and pen. “I’m sure it will.” He got to his feet and looked at Tommy. “That should do it for now. If any other questions come up that I think you might be able to answer, I’ll contact you.”

Tommy nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Clint sensed Tommy’s relief after the officer had gone. Neither Clint nor his son had ever been involved in anything that required police intervention, and Clint knew his son well enough to also know that that aspect of the accident made him nervous.

He put his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Relax, son, Officer Mann is merely doing his job.”

Tommy didn’t answer, just kept staring across the room as though his father hadn’t said a word.

Clint drew his hand back. He loved his son more than life itself, and felt his misery in his own soul. Tommy had never given him one moment of justified concern. Yes, Clint had worried some when Tommy began driving those mountain roads, but throughout the boy’s life, Clint had been concerned for his safety, not because he had been misbehaving.

Clint changed the subject, simply to get Tommy thinking about something else. “When I called the principal and explained the situation, he said you could make up the tests you missed today.” He paused, then added, “Guess I already told you that.”

“That’s okay, Dad.”

“At least Eric didn’t miss a full day.” Clint frowned slightly. “How’d he get from the accident site to school?”

“When he called the sheriff, he also called his dad. Mr. Schulze picked him up.” Tommy suddenly leaned forward and put his hands over his eyes. His voice broke. “It was awful, Dad. I’ll never forget it.”

Clint rubbed his son’s back. “Of course you won’t forget it. But you did everything you could to save that woman’s life. I’m very proud of you, son. I hope you know that.” He felt Tommy’s shoulders heave with a sob, and he continued rubbing his back, doing what he could to comfort his boy.

There was no question of leaving the hospital and going home. Whatever they were finally told about the woman’s condition, both he and Tommy had to hear it, firsthand and from a doctor. They had already occupied this little waiting room for five hours; they would remain right here for what was left of the day, and all night, if necessary.

At eight o’clock that evening nurse Nancy Cummings summoned Dr. Melvin Pierce to room 217. “She’s showing signs of consciousness, Doctor.”

Dr. Pierce glanced at the monitor screen that displayed the patient’s heart rate and blood pressure. “Appears so,” he murmured, and turned his attention to the woman in the bed. There were abrasions, cuts and scrapes on her face and hands. The gash on her right temple had required stitches, but X rays and other tests had revealed no broken bones, and even her concussion was not severe. In his opinion, she was extremely fortunate to have survived such a fierce accident with so little bodily damage.

He laid his hand on her upper arm and shook it slightly. “Miss? Miss, can you hear me? Open your eyes. You’re in a hospital and I’m Dr. Pierce. Try to open your eyes.”

As though from a very great distance, Sierra heard a man’s voice. Open your eyes. Try to open your eyes.

Her eyelids felt weighted down by something heavy. Her entire body ached, especially her head. The palms of her hands burned as though on fire, her knees as well. She tried to think and couldn’t.

But she heard the voice, and it seemed to be getting closer. She struggled to obey it, and finally her lids fluttered open. She saw a blurred face, and heard, “Miss, can you speak? Say something. Tell us your name.”

Her brain felt stuffed with cotton. Her eyes closed, and she heard the voice again. “Try to stay awake, miss. Try to speak. What is your name?”

“Sierra,” she mumbled thickly, and fell back into that dark place where her body didn’t hurt and voices could not be heard.

Dr. Pierce straightened up and moved to the foot of the bed for her chart, on which he wrote the time and what had just occurred.

“Watch her closely,” he said to the nurse as he wrote. “I’ll be leaving the hospital in about thirty minutes. Dr. North will be on duty. Call him if she awakens again.”

He swung out of the room and strode directly to the ICU waiting room. Clint Barrow and his son stood up with expectant expressions.

“Go ahead and sit down again,” the doctor said. He sat as well. He looked tired and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Okay, here’s what we know with some degree of certainty. She has a mild concussion and numerous abrasions. There are no broken bones, nor any detectable internal injuries. We do not count her as completely out of danger, but the outlook is favorable. She came to a few minutes ago for about ten seconds, and the fact that she understood what I was saying to her is an excellent sign. I asked her name and she said Sierra.”

Clint and Tommy looked at each other. “Sierra? That was all she said?” Clint asked.

“The only word.” Dr. Pierce got up. “I have other patients to see. My advice to the two of you is to go home and get some rest. The only thing you’re going to accomplish here is to exhaust yourselves. Good evening.” He left.

Tommy looked puzzled. “Isn’t Sierra a peculiar name? Sounds more like a last name than a first. What do you think, Dad?”

“I don’t know what to think about that, Tommy. But the rest of what Dr. Pierce said is very good news.” He got to his feet. “Come on, I’ll walk you out. It’s time you went home. You have those exams to deal with tomorrow.”

Tommy rose. “You’re not going with me? How come?”

“I’m not sure. I just have this feeling that I should stick around.”

“But you won’t have a car.”

“If I need a car, I’ll rent one.”

In the parking lot, Clint saw his son off. “Drive safely, and no shortcut over Cougar Pass.”

Tommy nodded grimly. “Don’t worry about that.”

Clint watched the red pickup until it was out of sight, then walked back into the hospital. In ICU, he went directly to the nurse’s station.

“May I see the woman in room 217?”

Nurse Cummings looked sympathetic. “She’s still unconscious, Mr. Barrow.”

“I know, and I would only stay a minute. But I need to see her, ma’am.”

“Well...guess a little peek wouldn’t hurt. Sure, Mr. Barrow, go ahead. Just don’t touch anything.”

“I won’t. Thank you.”

Clint walked down the corridor, hesitated a moment at the open door, then took a few steps into the room, which was lighted by one wall lamp. There was one bed, one patient, a woman who had said one word when asked her name. He winced at the stitches on her forehead and the mean-looking abrasions on her face and hands. There was a hospital cap on her head, but a bit of dark hair showed around the elastic. Her features were as close to perfect as he’d ever seen on a woman’s face—small nose and chin, high cheekbones, well-defined eyebrows and full, beautifully sculpted lips.

“She’s young,” he muttered under his breath. For some reason he’d been thinking of her as a much older woman.

She looked small in that bed, which touched him, and the fact that she was hooked up to several machines touched him even more. An IV ran into her left arm, dripping a clear liquid into her veins.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he questioned why things like this had to happen. Tommy didn’t deserve what he was going through, and neither did this woman.

A hundred thoughts ran through Clint’s mind, but one stood out: he could not desert her. Until her full name was known and her relatives—there must be some—knew where she was and what had happened to her, he would assume familial responsibility and keep a sharp eye on her.

“Sierra,” he whispered. “Is that really your name, or was your mind merely wandering?”

He looked at her for another few moments, sighed deeply and quietly left the room, returning to the nurse’s station to speak to Nurse Cummings again.

“There’s a little motel just down the block—the Bixby. Would you please call me there if there’s any change in her condition, either good or bad?”

“Yes, Mr. Barrow, I’ll call.”

“Thank you. I’ll probably be back in a few hours.”

With her eyes still shut, Sierra mentally bemoaned the hardness of the bed she was lying in. Why was she in such an uncomfortable bed? She moved in an attempt to get more comfortable, and an onslaught of pain made her gasp. Her eyes flew open.

The room was unfamiliar—small, dimly lighted and austere. The door was wide open. Where was she? Panic seized her, and she tried to sit up, only to cry out in pain and fall back to the bed again. She saw the IV tube attached to her wrist. What was happening to her?

She swallowed, or tried to. Her throat and mouth were dry; her heart was pounding fearfully. Nurse Cummings rushed into the room and to the bedside, followed by another nurse.

“You’re awake. Janie, call Dr. North,” she said to the second nurse, who immediately hurried out. Then she smiled at Sierra. “How are you feeling, dear?”

“Could...could I have some water?” Sierra croaked.

“Certainly. There’s some right here on your stand.” The nurse produced a plastic glass of water with a straw. “Don’t raise your head. I’ll hold the glass for you. And take just a little this first time. Dr. North will be along in a moment.”

Sierra sucked some water through the straw, then lay back weakly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Where am I?”

“You’re in a hospital, dear.”

“Why?”

“Because of your injuries, of course. Oh, here’s Dr. North.” Nurse Cummings moved aside for the doctor, saying for his ears alone, “She seems a bit disoriented.”

“Hello,” Dr. North said, bending over her with an ophthalmoscope. “Look at the far corner of the room, please.”

Sierra recoiled. “What are you doing?”

“This is an instrument that permits me to see the inside of your eyes.”

“Why do you want to see the inside of my eyes?”

“Miss, uh, Sierra, you received a mild concussion in the accident. Examining your eyes is merely—”

“What accident?” Sierra cried, panicking again. “And why are you calling me Sierra?”

“Because you told another doctor that Sierra is your name.” Dr. North’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Suppose you tell me your name.”

Sierra’s eyes darted wildly from doctor to nurse and then around the room. Her name...her name. Her head throbbed as she struggled to locate memories that weren’t there. The void in her mind frightened her so much that she tried to get up again, driven by a need to escape this place, these people.

Dr. North pushed her down again and said to the nurse, “Whatever sedative Dr. Pierce prescribed for this patient, get it now!”

“Yes, Doctor.” Nurse Cummings ran from the room and collided with Clint. “Excuse me, Mr. Barrow,” she said, and rushed away.

“Excuse me, ma’am. What’s going on?” he called after her. She didn’t slow down, nor did she attempt to give him an answer. Frowning, Clint stepped into the room. Dr. North was attempting to stop the woman in the bed from thrashing around. She was emitting a low, keening sound and fighting to elude his restraint.

He strode to the opposite side of the bed. “What’s wrong with her?” he anxiously asked.

The doctor glanced at him. “Who’re you, and what are you doing here at three in the morning?”

“I’m Clint Barrow. My son Tommy was the driver of the other vehicle. Why is she so upset?”

“I think because I asked her her name.”

“It’s Sierra.” Clint reached out and gently took her hand. “Sierra?” he said quietly. “Rest easy, Sierra, no one’s is going to hurt you.”

To Dr. North’s amazement, she stopped fighting him. Her eyes went to Clint in a blank but much calmer stare. Taking a breath, Dr. North released his hold on her shoulders.

“You don’t know me, Sierra,” Clint said in that same even, quiet voice. “But I’m here to help you.”

Sierra tried to focus her blurred vision on the man’s face, but his features really didn’t matter, his voice did. It was so kind and soothing, and she wanted to hear more of it.

Nurse Cummings returned with a syringe. “Here you are, Doctor.”

“We may not need that, after all,” he said in an undertone. He backed away from the bed and beckoned the nurse to a corner of the room. “She’s responding to this man’s voice,” he said in a near whisper. “I want to see where it leads. You may go, I’m going to sit in here for a while.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Clint was aware of Dr. North sitting out of Sierra’s line of vision, but only vaguely, as he was focused on her and what he should say next.

Then instinct told him that she wouldn’t care what he said as long as he kept talking. “I’m staying in the Bixby Motel. It’s down the street a block or so. I awoke about an hour ago and decided I needed to see you again. I stopped in an all-night diner for something to eat, then came on over.”

“Where am I?” she asked in a thin, wispy voice.

“In a hospital in Missoula, Montana. It’s a very good hospital, Sierra. You are receiving the best care possible. Have you been hospitalized before?”

She lay silent and staring, and in the corner of the room Dr. North held his breath awaiting her answer.

It finally came, a very weak, very frightened, “I...don’t know.” Dr. North noiselessly breathed again. He now knew what the patient’s problem was.

Clint, however, was at a loss and could only rely on that instinct to keep talking to her. “I was hospitalized once, Sierra, about ten years ago. A horse threw me and I landed wrong. Broke three ribs and—”

She interrupted. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Clint Barrow. Sierra—”

“Is Sierra my name? What’s my last name? Do I live in Missoula?” It was all said in a whispery, shaky voice.

Clint was finally catching on. He darted a glance at Dr. North, who responded with a nod. Sierra had amnesia. She remembered nothing, not even her name.

Clint’s stomach sank, and he licked his suddenly dry lips. He was in over his head here. How much should he tell her? Should he mention the accident, explain what had happened to her, tell her that her van had been totally destroyed and that no one, not one single person in this hospital, maybe even in Missoula, knew who she was?

He mustered an unsteady smile. “Now, that’s information you’re going to have to tell me. You see, I’m merely a concerned friend.”

“You’re a friend. I see,” she whispered, and Clint knew that her cloudy mind was placing him as an old friend, even though it was an illogical conclusion when he had just told her he had no answer to her questions.

Dr. North rose and approached the bed. “Perhaps we should let Sierra get some rest now, Mr. Barrow.”

Her eyes became wild again and she clung to Clint’s hand. “Don’t leave,” she begged him. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

“May I leave you alone for five minutes?” he asked gently. “I promise I’ll be right back.” He had to speak to the doctor alone.

“I...do you promise?” she whispered.

“You have my word.” Gently he disengaged his hand and strolled from the room, knowing Dr. North would follow. They walked down the corridor and stopped in a quiet nook. Clint’s eyes bored into the doctor’s. “She can’t remember anything, can she?”

“That appears to be the case. Mr. Barrow, her injuries were not sufficient to permanently destroy her memory. I will, naturally, order more extensive testing in the morning, but I honestly do not feel her loss of memory is physically caused. Trauma such as she went through in the accident can result in any number of emotional side effects. I strongly believe her amnesia is temporary.”

“How temporary? Are we talking a few days, a week, a month?”

“I’m sorry, but there’s no way of knowing. I find her response to you quite remarkable. You didn’t know her before this?”

“No, we never met. Let me ask you something. How much should I tell her? I mean, should I talk about the accident?”

Dr. North thought for a moment. “My opinion is to avoid that topic for tonight. Talk in generalities. You were doing very well, and I think I’d keep conversation on that level until a psychologist sees her. I’ll arrange for one to visit her first thing in the morning.”

Clint was not normally a nervous man, but he was nervous about this. Why did Sierra trust him? What if he inadvertently said the wrong thing and sent her into another tizzy?

He took a long breath. “I’d better get back to her. Are you going to be available if something happens I can’t handle?”

“I’ll be here until 6:00 a.m. Call the nurse if you need me, and she will take it from there.”

Clint returned to room 217 and saw that Sierra had a death grip on the safety rail on each side of her bed. Forcing a smile, he walked over to her. “Told you I’d be right back. Let’s lower that rail, and then I’m going to move a chair over here so I can sit next to you.”

Sierra watched his every move. She was so grateful he’d come back that tears stung her eyes. When he was seated and holding her hand again, she released a long, heavy sigh and closed her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and fell asleep.

Clint stayed right where he was, and he was glad he had, because every ten minutes or so she woke up and looked at him briefly, as though subconsciously needing assurance that he was still there. Then she closed her eyes again.

Actually, he was damned glad she was sleeping at all, as he couldn’t help worrying about further conversation with her.

Watching her sleeping and holding her hand was a bonding experience, he realized. She wasn’t just the other half of Tommy’s accident anymore, nor merely the woman in room 217, she was a flesh and blood human being with a troubled mind and the warmest, softest hand he had ever held.

He turned it once, looked at the abrasions on her palm and became choked up. The physical evidence of the accident would heal and vanish. Would the emotional damage heal and vanish, as well? Dr. North believed her amnesia was temporary.

All Clint could do was pray he was right.