Morning Light

by Catherine Anderson

  Death. It came for the young as well as the old, and it might come for Trevor.

  For Loni, the remainder of the journey passed in a blur of worry, exhaustion, and heartbreak as they left four more horses behind. When they were down to the last two mounts, Bathsheba and Delilah, Loni rode directly behind Clint.

  “Still no phone reception!” she called ahead to him.

  “Might not get any,” he yelled back. “We’re much deeper into the mountains than last night, farther from any towers.”

  Delilah didn’t seem as sure on her feet as Loni’s other mounts, so Loni was grateful when the terrain leveled out. “How much farther?”

  “We’re almost there.”

  It seemed to Loni that they were in the wilderness one second and at the edge of a two-lane highway the next. Keeping to the shoulder of the road, Clint turned right, which she concluded must be north. It took all the strength she had to stay seated on Delilah during the race for town that followed. Once again Clint pushed the horses to the point of exhaustion, the weary Nana falling behind to catch her breath and then racing to catch up.

  Just when Loni feared that Delilah might collapse beneath her, they reached the edge of Wagon Wheel. Clint didn’t slow the pace even then. He rode Bathsheba at the same brutal speed, cutting through traffic at one point and bringing cars to a screeching halt. He didn’t slow down until they came to a small log structure with a gravel parking lot out front.

  “This is it?” Loni couldn’t believe her eyes. The building looked like no emergency clinic she’d ever seen. “Is it even open?”

  Trevor clutched in his arms, Clint slid off Bathsheba and ran up rickety steps onto a covered front veranda. “Tie off the horses!”

  Calling to Nana, Loni tied the mares’ reins to the porch posts before following Clint into the building. Her jeans were hot and wet with horse sweat, and coated with coarse hair. When she plucked the sticky denim from her skin, her fingers came away furry and smeared with grime.

  “I hope they don’t have a rule against dogs,” she told Nana. “No way am I leaving you out here and risking your getting hit by a car.”

  Nana barked, clearly impatient to go inside with the child. They entered the clinic just in time for Loni to hear a man, somewhere at the back of the building, shouting at the top of his lungs. “You crazy son of a bitch! Are you out of your mind? A transfusion with blood that wasn’t cross-matched could kill him. That isn’t to mention possible death from shock or agglutination. If any clots hit his lungs he’s a goner. Do you realize that?”

  With no inflection in his voice, Clint replied, “I injected saline before each infusion to help prevent clotting. I used all I had. Without the blood he would have died where we found him.”

  Upon hearing Clint’s voice Nana took off like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. A second later the doctor was yelling again.

  “Get that goddamned dog out of here! Where the hell did it come from?”

  “That’s Nana,” Clint explained. “She was in the raft when it capsized and pulled Trevor to shore so he didn’t drown with the adults. Since then she’s protected him from wolves, prevented him from getting hypothermia, and hunted for rabbits and squirrels to keep him from starving. She’s earned the right to be here.”

  “Not in my treatment room, she hasn’t. Get that flea-bitten mongrel out of here.”

  Clint led the dog by her collar back to the front. “Keep her here,” he said. “The good doctor has the personality of a rattlesnake.”

  When Clint turned away, Loni curled her hand over Nana’s collar. The dog whined pathetically. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Dogs can’t be in sterile environments.”

  As Loni’s eyes adjusted to the dim light she took in the waiting room, a square area lined with cheap metal chairs. She glimpsed a nurse in blue scrub pants and a flowered smock rushing about in the treatment room, located behind an unimpressive check-in counter and office area. There came quick verbal exchanges between the doctor and nurse, followed by a spurt of frenetic activity. Loni couldn’t see Trevor or Clint and could only imagine what was happening in there.

  The nurse hurried out to the counter, grabbed the phone, and punched in some numbers. She barely glanced at Loni. “Lorna at Wagon Wheel. Trevor Stiles was just brought in. Trauma to the left shoulder, shock, near exsanguination. We need his blood stats, ASAP, and we need a helicopter lift to Saint Matthew’s as fast as you can get someone here.”

  The nurse hung up the phone and raced back to the treatment room. “They’ll call with his stats as soon as they can. The grandparents are in Crystal Falls, so hopefully they’ll know who to contact.”

  “He needs more blood now, not in ten minutes.”

  “Use mine,” Clint said. “It hasn’t killed him yet.”

  “Jesus!” the doctor cried. “Do you think I’m nuts? Do you have your donor card with you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m not touching it with a ten-foot pole. I can’t verify your blood type. I can’t be sure you don’t check positive for hepatitis or HIV. No way, Jack.”

  “I donate all the time. I’m certain I don’t check positive for anything bad.”

  Loni collapsed onto a chair, suddenly so weak in the legs she could no longer stand. Would Clint be endangering himself by giving the child more blood? She nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang. Lorna reached the desk before the second ring, grabbed the receiver, and barked, “Yes?” She furiously jotted down notes, hung up with a clipped, “Thanks!” and darted back to the treatment room. “He’s an O-neg. That’s all they could give me.”

  “Do we have any on hand?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s just great. Are you sure? Check the fridge.”

  “I don’t need to check the fridge. I know our inventory. We used the last of the O-neg this morning on the motorcycle vic.”

  “So why didn’t you call for more to be delivered? It’s the most important blood type to have on hand.”

  “I forgot!” Lorna cried. “It’s been a circus in here all day. I’m only human. It’s not my fault that Beth called in sick and we’ve been shorthanded!”

  “Use mine,” Clint said again. “I’m an EMT, damn it. I guess I know what my blood type is. And I’ll remind you again, it hasn’t killed him yet!”

  The doctor cursed under his breath. “Lorna, get the man on a table. Set me up with a direct line.”

  Loni heard another rush of activity.

  “How much have you already given him?” the doctor asked.

  “Only a little,” Clint replied. “A half pint, maybe. Take what he needs and don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

  “Let’s give this boy some blood, then. He runs a higher risk of dying without it than he will from possible reactions.”

  “My thought exactly,” Clint said dryly. “Maybe I am a crazy son of a bitch, but if anything goes wrong I won’t hold you responsible.”

  “It’ll be the good senator’s parents who’ll sue my ass off, cowboy, not you.”

  “The good senator wasn’t his father. I am.”

  “What? This is the Stiles boy. Correct?”

  “I’m his biological father,” Clint insisted. “You have my word, and even though you’re a prickly bastard with the rottenest bedside manner I’ve ever seen, I won’t allow any lawsuits to be filed against you if the transfusion kills him.”

  “A prickly bastard, am I?” The doctor laughed humorlessly. “That’s fair, I guess. It’s not every day I get a kid who’s almost bled dry and been transfused out in the woods by an unqualified goat roper. That isn’t to mention having a stinky dog the size of a horse enter my treatment room.”

  “Yeah, well, count your blessings. We left the actual horses outside.”

  Trevor got the blood he needed. When Clint joined Loni in the waiting room over thirty minutes later, the doctor and nurse were still working over the child. Loni clasped Clint’s hand, noting that he shook like a leaf and looked a little gr
ay under his dark tan.

  “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 line—your 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.”