Читать книгу The Midwife And The Lawman - Marisa Carroll, Marisa Carroll - Страница 8

MIGUEL SAT with his booted feet propped on the porch railing of his cabin. He’d “borrowed” a set of old, high-backed wooden kitchen chairs from his parents’ garage just so he could do exactly what he was doing now. There was no way you could tip back on two legs and take in the sight of the Sangre de Cristos on one side, and Enchantment nestled in its valley on the other, in a plastic lawn chair. None at all.

He took a swallow of his beer. It was warm. He grimaced and poured the rest over the edge of the porch onto the ground. He liked a beer now and then, but it had to be cold. He didn’t drink much. Not with a father and brother who were both recovering alcoholics. He had too many strikes against him with his genetic makeup not to be wary of following the same path.

A hawk cried as it circled overhead. Off in the distance a dog barked, or maybe it was a coyote, although coyotes didn’t usually come this close to town. Below him, on the narrow winding road, he saw lights flicker on in a couple of the minimansions that had been built out this way in the past decade.

His cabin wasn’t in the same league with those homes. Log sided, it had four rooms and a bathroom downstairs, and space for two more bedrooms and another bathroom beneath the steep-pitched dormer roof, if he ever had the time and money to finish them. But it was his. And so were the five wooded acres it sat on. His heart and his roots were here. The high country, the thin, clear air, were in his blood.

Hunter’s blood, Daniel called it. The Elkhorn clan had been hunters since the Diné, as the Navajos called themselves, had come into the Glittering World. Or so the legends told. But Daniel had left the Arizona reservation and moved to Enchantment when he married Miguel’s Mexican grandmother and took over running her father’s hardware store.

His father, Dennis Eiden, on the other hand, had wandered into Enchantment in the sixties, a war-weary vet out to see the country he’d fought for before settling down. He was a blond, blue-eyed farm boy from Ohio, but one look at Elena Elkhorn and he had stayed. He married her, moved her to Albuquerque. Worked days and went to school nights until he got his teaching degree, then brought her back to Enchantment to settle down and raise a family. He was retired now, throwing pottery and selling it for good money at a gallery in Taos.

And working to stay sober. Just like Miguel’s older brother, Diego, a Bureau of Indian Affairs cop on the big reservation in Arizona.

The sound of a familiar engine coming up the road in the twilight wormed its way into Miguel’s thoughts. It was Devon’s Blazer. He was so attuned to its vibrations that he even woke up in the middle of the night if she drove by to attend a birth.

He dug a plastic bottle of raspberry-flavored iced tea out of the little cooler where he’d stowed his beer and swung his legs off the railing. He jogged down the drive past the stand of pines that shielded his home from the road and waited for her. He wasn’t expecting her to come up to the cabin without an argument, but he had a backup plan if she put up too much of a fuss. He patted the pocket of his shirt. It was still there, the sheet of paper with the guest list for Nolan McKinnon and Kim Sherman’s wedding-rehearsal dinner. As best man and maid of honor respectively, he and Devon were hosting the damn thing as their gift to the couple. If it was up to him and Nolan, it would have been barbecue and beer, the same as the couple had planned for the reception. Catered by Slim Jim’s, the best damn barbecue in the state.

But it wasn’t up to him and Nolan.

Devon slowed when she saw him standing by the side of the road. She wanted this party to be perfect to show Kim she was welcome in the family, and she was making herself into a nervous wreck to accomplish that goal. She rolled down the window and looked up at him, no hint of a smile showing on her face. Miguel felt the absence of that smile like a cloud blocking the sun on a cool day. He loved Devon’s smile, a slow curving of her lips that grew and widened until it wreathed her face and sparkled in her eyes. “What is it, Miguel?” she asked, weariness underlying her words.

He held out the bottle of flavored tea. “I thought you might like a glass.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, no. It’s been a long day. A long two days, and I’ve got tons of things to do up at my place.” Devon had moved into a tiny cabin a thousand feet farther up the mountain. At night he could just make out her bedroom light from his kitchen window.

“We’ve got a ton of things to do here, too.” He pulled the sheet of paper out of his pocket. “The chef at Angel’s Gate needs to know our final numbers and whether we’ve decided on the chicken or the fish.” Angel’s Gate was the multimillion dollar ski resort that had opened that spring in the mountains above town.

She flexed her long, tapered fingers on the steering wheel. She had small wrists, dainty and feminine, and slender arms. But she was stronger than she looked. She had to be to catch babies for a living.

Her facial features resembled her grandmother’s, but she wasn’t as rangy and rawboned as Lydia. Devon was soft and curved in all the right places. She molded herself to him when she lay beneath him. Her honey-blond hair spilled over her shoulders and curled itself around a man’s fingers, caressed his cheek when he kissed her throat or traced the roundness of her breast with the tip of his tongue—

“Have you eaten?” He hadn’t meant to bark the question at her, but he had to get his mind on something else—fast. She jumped a little in her seat.

“What? Yes. I had an apple and some crackers with peanut butter.” She looked a little confused.

“How long ago was that?”

“Between Lena Morales and Winona Preston’s prenatal visits. About eleven, I guess.”

“It’s almost eight. We can’t be talking food and menus with you wasting away from hunger. That’s no way to make an informed decision. C’mon up. I’ve got chicken salad and flat bread. I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can. I didn’t do the cooking. My mom did. Old family recipe.” It was time they got out in the open what had happened between them that night six weeks earlier. She’d been scared and exhausted when he’d come across her in the hospital waiting room the second night after Lydia’s heart attack. He’d only meant to offer her something to eat and a place to kick back and relax for a while. It had ended up being much more than that. “It’s only for a sandwich, Devon. You don’t have to be afraid I’m going to try and get you into bed again.”

Her gray eyes met his brown ones without flinching. “I’m not afraid. But I really am too tired to deal with this.” She waved the paper at him.

Miguel straightened, putting a little distance between them. It had been his fault that night. He’d let the situation get out of hand when she’d been frightened and alone. Hell, who would have guessed the same fire that had sparked between them as teenagers would flare out of control all these years later? Their coming together had been spontaneous and white-hot, unplanned and unprotected. At least they’d dodged the pregnancy bullet. Although the thought of his baby growing in Devon’s belly was a consequence he would have welcomed, it would only have made a complicated situation impossible. He reached out and plucked the sheet of paper from her hand. “Okay, I’ll tell him half chicken and half fish and we’ll just let people fight it out at the buffet table.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Then we’ll order one of each for everyone.”

“That’ll cost a fortune.”

“Money’s no object.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Then come in and let’s take our best guess on who wants what.” He stepped back so she could pull into his driveway. She hesitated as though she might still refuse. He held himself still, kept his expression neutral. It had taken him six weeks to get her alone again. He was an officer of the law. He was a U.S. Marine. He had self-discipline. He could do this. He could keep his fly zipped and his hands to himself—if he really put his mind to it.

“THANKS. I NEEDED THAT.” Devon pushed her empty plate away. She’d thought she’d be too nervous to eat, returning to the scene of her complete lapse from sanity, but she’d managed just fine. Miguel’s mother was a great cook, and her chicken salad, Southwestern style, was the stuff of dreams. She’d eaten the sandwich and a dish of fruit salad besides. She picked up her glass of iced tea and took a look around.

She’d only been in Miguel’s cabin that one time, and never in the kitchen. It was neat as a pin. The cabinets were pine and so was the paneling on the walls. The floors were tiled in the same soft sandstone color as the countertops. A traditional adobe fireplace was set in one corner with a drop-leaf pine table and two chairs in front of it. From where she sat in one of those chairs, Devon could look out the window and see part of a cabin farther up the mountain. She hadn’t realized Miguel could see her place from here.

Her gaze swung from the view to the man sitting quietly in the other chair, making notations beside names on the guest list. He was frowning slightly while he wrote, winged eyebrows drawn together over eyes as dark as night, eyes that only hinted at the heat and light at his core. She slapped a lid on her thoughts. She wasn’t going to go there.

“Okay, I’ve done the math. Put me and Nolan down for chicken. And your grandmother?” He gave her a quizzical look and she nodded. Lydia didn’t like fish. “My mom and dad will probably want the salmon.”

“Mine, too.”

“Your grandfather Kane isn’t coming, right?” he asked next.

“His health isn’t good.” Lydia and Devon’s grandfather had been divorced for many years. He’d never known about Kim’s mother, the child Lydia had given away at birth years before he met her. But he was a kind and loving man who would welcome Lydia’s grandchild into his family, Devon knew. “Kim and Nolan are going to take Sammy to visit him before school starts.”

“What about your uncle Bradley and your cousins?”

“Uncle Bradley and Aunt Irene will be here. Derek and Jason can’t make it. They’re coming for Christmas instead.”

“Fish or chicken?”

She blinked. “I have no idea.” She should call her mother and ask, but if she did that, Myrna would insist on coming out to help plan the party. That was the last thing Devon needed. Her mother had a heart of gold, but she was also domineering and opinionated. She loved to run the show, and usually did. The few days she’d been in Enchantment after Lydia’s heart attack had been a strain on everyone involved.

“Let’s say one of each then. Fish for Father Ignatio. His cholesterol is sky-high.” He made a check on the paper. “That leaves you and the bride. Which is it?”

“Chicken for me,” Devon said.

“And Kim?”

“I don’t know.” The trouble was, even though Kim had asked her to be her maid of honor, she didn’t know her new cousin at all.

“Ask her in the morning.”

“Okay, I will.”

Miguel tallied up the numbers. “That’s almost a fifty-fifty, providing Kim goes for the salmon, and I bet she will.” He was probably right. He was Nolan McKinnon’s best friend, so he had a direct line into Kim’s likes and dislikes.

“The salmon’s five dollars a plate more. Maybe we should just go with the chicken.” Devon winced when she heard herself speak the thought aloud. Being responsible for keeping the clinic afloat was beginning to color her thinking in all sorts of ways.

Miguel grinned across the table at her. “Do I detect a little penny-pinching here?”

“We agreed on a budget, remember? I don’t want to go over. And aren’t Navajos supposed to not be interested in money?”

“The Diné are interested in harmony. Too much money puts you out of harmony with yourself. I don’t have that problem.” He grinned. “I hear the salmon is excellent. And hey, nothing’s too good for Kim and Nolan, right?”

“Right.” She smiled her agreement. It was nice to have someone to help make the decisions.

A pager went off. Miguel’s hand went automatically to his belt, Devon’s to the waistband of her pink scrubs. “It’s mine,” she said. “I left my phone in the car.”

Miguel waved his hand toward the wall. “Use mine.”

She stood up a little too quickly and had to steady herself with a hand on the tabletop.

“You okay?” He didn’t make even the slightest move toward her and Devon was glad. If he had, she might have let him take her in his arms and…

“Just tired.” She punched in the clinic’s number.

“The Birth Place,” a voice answered.

“Trish?” Devon was a little surprised the clinic’s receptionist, Trish Linden, was still on duty.

“Yes, I’m still here. Got some paperwork I wanted to finish up. One of your patients is on her way in. Carla Van Tassle. She’s spotting. Just a little, but she’s worried.”

Devon sorted through her mental case file until she put a face to the name. Carla was seven weeks pregnant with her second child. Lydia had delivered her first, a little boy, twenty-two months earlier. “I’ll be right there.”

“Wait a moment, Devon, your grandmother wants to speak to you.”

“I thought you were taking the day off,” Devon said, when Lydia came on the line.

“I did take the day off. I came in to catch up on some charting and to give Lacy Belton a follow-up phone call.”

“I planned to do that a little later this evening.” Devon felt her neck and shoulder muscles tighten. Lacy’s temperature had returned to normal and stayed there after she had received the IV antibiotics Joanna prescribed. She and her baby had left the clinic shortly before noon.

“I’m sure she would still appreciate your call. And you’ll probably want to set up a convenient time to check in on her tomorrow, anyway.”

“Yes, I do.”

“I just wanted to tell you that since I’m here already, I’ll examine Carla. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

Spotting early in a pregnancy wasn’t unusual, but Devon would have taken a blood sample, checked hormone levels, maybe ordered an ultrasound to be on the safe side. Not Lydia. Not at The Birth Place. Her grandmother had decades of experience, four thousand healthy deliveries to her credit. She relied on her instincts and her personal knowledge of each and every patient that passed through her care.

“I’ll be glad to come back.” Devon kept her voice even and pleasant. She was very aware of Miguel standing just a few feet away. She was usually pretty good at hiding her emotions—she had to be in her business. But he was also very good at reading people for the same reason.

There was a small silence before her grandmother spoke again. Her tone was unusually gentle. “Devon, I assure you I’ll transfer Carla to Arroyo County for an ultrasound if I think there’s the least chance this is serious. I’ll notify you immediately if that’s the case so you can be with her.”

Devon took a breath. This was Lydia’s way of apologizing for their disagreement over Devon’s handling of Lacy Belton’s delivery. If only they could do the same with the past. “Thanks, Lydia.”

“Good,” her grandmother replied briskly. “As I said, I don’t anticipate any real problem with Carla, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Why don’t you take the morning off, come in after your visit with Lacy?”

Devon opened her mouth to say she’d be in at her usual time, and then changed her mind. She could use a few hours to herself. “All right. I will. Good night, Lydia.”

“Good night, Devon.” She replaced the receiver.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. One of my patients is spotting a little. She’s still early in her first trimester, so it’s probably hormonal. The cervix is very sensitive at this point, so it could also be that she and her partner were just a little too energetic in making love.”

Miguel lifted his hands in a time-out gesture. “Whoa. That’s enough.”

Devon laughed. “I’m sorry. I was thinking out loud.”

He was smiling, but he looked distinctly uncomfortable, and totally, breathtakingly male. Her stomach tightened in response and she felt her pulse speed up.

“That’s more information than I really need,” he said.

“I’ll remember that.”

“Are you heading back to the clinic?”

“No. My grandmother is going to check Carla over. She’ll call me if she needs me.” She caught a glimpse of the smooth, bronzed skin of his throat. She had kissed him there that night, and the taste of his skin had been like sunlight and sagebrush. She forgot what they’d been talking about. She forgot what she was going to say next. “I really should be going,” she finished in a rush.

“You don’t have to run off, Devon.” He kept the width of the table between them, but she felt as if he was only inches away. She wished he was only inches away.

“I…” She stopped and got hold of herself. “Would you like me to drop by and check on your grandfather while I’m out that way tomorrow morning?” They were neighbors. Neighbors did things like that for each other.

“The Belton place is five miles from Granddad’s.”

“I thought I’d drive on up to Silverton. I haven’t been there since I got back.” Silverton was an old abandoned mining town in the hills north of Enchantment. Horseback rides, picnics, a played-out silver mine and false-fronted wooden buildings slowly falling into ruin. It had been one of her favorite places as a girl.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. We’ve been getting a lot of calls about stuff coming up missing out that way. Probably just kids, but with the INS cracking down on border crossings, the Coyotes are working their way farther north all the time.”

Coyotes, the unscrupulous men who transported undocumented workers across the border from Mexico and sometimes left them to die a terrible death in the desert.

“I’ll be careful. Thanks for the warning.” But the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to go.

Devon had gotten up as she spoke and was heading into the main room of the cabin, with its whitewashed walls and shiny, wide-planked wood floor. A big fireplace made of river rock stood against one wall, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows. Hanging on the opposite wall was a gorgeous hand-woven Navajo rug in warm earth tones. Miguel’s aunt, Carmella Elkhorn, was a master weaver. The rug was most likely her work.

“Thanks again for the sandwich and the tea,” Devon said. “I’ll talk to Kim as soon as I check in tomorrow.” She reached to open the door.

Miguel circled her wrist with his hand. His grip was painless but strong. She would have had to use her other hand to pry his fingers loose, and she didn’t trust herself to touch him even that much. “We have to talk,” he said quietly. “And not about the party.”

She started to shake her head in an instinctive denial. They hadn’t seen each other a half-dozen times in the past ten years. Before that they’d parted in anger and hurt. Then the first time they were alone together, she fell apart in his arms and into his bed. He must think she’d lost her mind.

She wasn’t sure she hadn’t.

“I know we have to talk,” she said, refusing to meet his eyes. “But not now, please.” She was too vulnerable, her nerves rubbed raw by fatigue and the temptation of his nearness. “All I can say now is that I’m very sorry about…that night. And I promise you it will never happen again.”