Summer Hawk

by Peggy Webb

  “Guards, safety suits, barricades. That can mean only one thing. Somewhere deep in the bowels of Houston lurks a hot virus, one so deadly it can wipe out our entire city.”

  “My God,” the mayor said. “How could that leak have happened?”

  “It did happen,” Joseph told him. “We have to decide how we’re going to handle it.”

  Even before the mayor spoke, his phone began to ring. Ignoring it, Jim poured two glasses of wine, handed one to Joseph, then sat behind his desk, silent and pensive.

  When he finally spoke he proved why he was one of the most respected mayors Houston had ever had.

  “We can’t just go out and do damage control. The people deserve more than that.” Jim made a tent of his fingers and looked at Joseph. “What is the status of things over there?”

  “No new cases in a week. Ten recoveries, twenty deaths, sixteen holding on.”

  “Is the end in sight?”

  “I think so.”

  “I hope and pray so. Can I truthfully assure my people that the crisis is over?”

  One of the predictable things about hot viruses was their unpredictability. No one could say precisely when an episode would end. There were too many unknowns, particularly in a large metropolitan area where people traveled constantly and quickly—going to work, to malls, to theaters, to churches, to sporting events, to concerts, to restaurants.

  And yet, Joseph knew the importance of the news broadcasts. The phone in the mayor’s office had not ceased ringing since Mac Sanford dropped his verbal bomb.

  “No,” Joseph said.

  The mayor hung his head and rubbed his temples, then squared his shoulders and walked to the huge bank of windows overlooking the city. There were lights as far as the eye could see.

  “Look out there. Three million people in this city. If that many people panic, we might as well light a torch to Houston then sit back and watch it burn.” He went back to his desk. “Dr. Swift, what are we going to do?”

  What they had to do was very clear to Joseph, the one thing he tried to avoid at all costs.

  “I have a plan,” he said.

  The mayor was pacing, Peg was wringing her hands, and Joseph was having second thoughts. Around them a crew from WCBH set up television cameras while Mac Sanford bent over his notebook rapidly scrawling questions.

  The mayor’s secretary had been called in for the late-night broadcast, and she was dispensing coffee and calm in equal doses.

  “Are you sure you want me to do this?” Peg asked Joseph. “Callie is much more experienced than I am.”

  “Callie has the experience, I have the experience. But we also have a foreign look, and Americans sometimes don’t trust foreigners.” Joseph turned Peg toward a mirror over an antique washstand.

  “Look at yourself, Peg. You’re a vivacious blond, all-American housewife. Never mind that you’re also a virologist. You look familiar to them, like their next-door neighbor, the preacher’s wife, their son’s schoolteacher. You’re somebody the people can trust.”

  “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Not on camera.” Joseph patted her shoulder. “You’ll do fine, Peg.”

  “But what if I don’t know the answers to the questions he’s bound to ask questions?”

  “Just be reassuring. That’s all we ask.”

  In Joseph’s trailer, Callie sat cross-legged on the floor watching the special broadcast while the sacred white buffalo of Callie’s bedtime story cavorted through Ricky’s dreams.

  And just outside, thanks to Mac Sanford, two security guards armed with riot guns stood sentinel to keep the unruly crowd at bay. After the broadcast they had descended on the barrio—thrill seekers, curiosity seekers, enraged citizens with baseball bats, intent on beating the truth out of the doctors who conspired to dupe the city.

  “We interrupt your regular programming to bring you this special broadcast from the mayor’s office in downtown Houston.”

  The camera panned across the four people assembled, Mayor Jim Dillard, Mac Sanford, Joseph and Peg. The mayor and Joseph looked dignified, the reporter, smug, while Peg looked like a high school cheerleader. Somebody you’d love to have an ice cream with after the game.

  “Atta girl, Peg,” Callie whispered.

  Joseph had been right about using her on the broadcast.

  Mac Sanford’s face filled the screen as he began to talk.

  “Pandemonium reigns in a city that just three hours ago learned the truth of what was happening in a Hispanic barrio on the east side of town. Traffic is backed up for two miles on Interstate l0 as people attempt to leave town. Police Chief Edward Rakestraw has doubled the number of cruise cars on the streets and tripled the number of patrolmen on the beat. But that’s not enough. The citizens of this city are angry and scared. They want to know why they weren’t told of the threat of a hot virus. They want answers.”

  And you’re the cause, Callie thought. But to give the reporter credit, he appeared sincere and concerned.

  “And here to provide them,” he said, “is Mayor Jim Dillard and a team of virologists. Mayor, tell the people what’s happening.”

  Jim Dillard was smart. That much was obvious. He avoided using frightening terms such as outbreak, hot virus, ebola, hemorrhagic fever. Instead he calmly told of a rare virus, quickly diagnosed by the expert team led by Dr. Joseph Swift and quickly contained.

  “There is no cause to panic. We have every reason to believe the crisis has passed,” the mayor said. “I urge you to remain calm.”

  Mac turned his attention to Joseph. “Dr. Swift flew in from Italy to combat this disease. Doctor, tell us more about this virus.”

  Joseph, too, dodged around the scary aspects of the disease. Instead he focused on the symptoms, urged people to contact their doctors at the first signs. Then he deftly handed the ball to Peg.

  “My associate, Peg Cummings, has witnessed remarkable recoveries. Peg…”

  She smiled into the camera, and it panned close enough to show her dimples.

  “First I want to say ‘hi’ to my husband in Atlanta.” She waggled two fingers. “Hi, Mike. Put the soup on, I’ll be home soon.”

  It was the perfect touch. After that inspired opening, she told about Ricky bouncing on his bed and demanding tacos.

  Mac probed and prodded, but the team remained staunch in their positive presentation of a terrible situation.

  “Doctor, should we all stay home and lock the doors?”

  “No,” Joseph said. “But for the next few weeks I would err on the side of caution. Don’t go anywhere you don’t have to. Avoid contact with others as much as possible.”

  “Doctor, is the virus airborne?”

  Callie groaned. The reporter tapped into the fear of virologists worldwide—that no matter what they did to contain a hot virus, it would mutate and become airborne.

  Joseph looked tired, and Callie’s heart ached for him. It was bad enough that he spent twelve to fourteen hours a day at the hospital. Did he have to have this additional burden?

  “No,” he said. “The virus is not airborne.”

  “This concludes tonight’s broadcast, but stay tuned for up-to-the-minute reports from Dr. Joseph Swift about the deadly virus that stalks our city.”

  Callie could have strangled Mac Sanford. Couldn’t he have chosen less explosive words?

  She waited up for her colleagues. Peg was exhausted and went straight to her trailer. Joseph looked as if he carried the entire world on his shoulders. Callie didn’t say a word. Instead she opened her arms and he walked into her embrace.

  They stood that way for a while, tightly wrapped together, her cheek against his chest, his cheek resting against her hair.

  “Stay with me,” he whispered.

  Callie needed no explanation, no urging. He fell into bed fully clothed, and she lay beside him holding on, every muscle in her body, every inch of her skin communicating comfort and compassion.

  Joseph woke with a start. The hands
on the dial said 2:00 a.m. His clothes were constricting him, and it didn’t take a genius to know the reason.

  Callie.

  She lay on her back, one arm across his chest and one leg flung across his hips. Her gown bunched around her hips and her legs looked silvery in the moonlight, the skin smooth and soft and fine.

  His desire for her was painful. And painfully obvious.

  Every bone, every muscle in his body ached for her. He longed to ease himself with her, to slide into that enticing body and give vent to every emotion he’d felt today—fear, outrage, despair, hope, lust, love.

  While he’d battled through the mob outside the mayor’s office and rode through the city under police escort, he had only one thought in mind—to be with Callie.

  And when he’d walked into the trailer and she opened her arms, he knew: this woman held a piece of his heart. He would never be free of her, no matter how far he ran.

  And yet, he couldn’t take her. Not here. Not now.

  Not ever.

  Joseph clenched his jaw to hold back the groans. He willed himself to look away from her, away from the dewy skin, away from the midnight tumble of hair, away from her parted thighs and the enticing dark triangle.

  The Bermuda Triangle.

  If he ever entered, all would be lost. There would be no turning back. No denying. No recourse.

  Callie. Callie.

  He silently cried her name, and it echoed through the empty chambers of his heart. He could never have her, for that would mean risking loss so unthinkable he could never survive it. Not again.

  Callie. Callie.

  Joseph tightened his hold on her, buried his face in her hair and silently wept.

  Chapter Nine

  Joseph lay on his side, one arm pillowing his head, the other spread across the empty spot where Callie had been. One last look, she thought, one last touch. That’s all she would allow herself.

  Her fingers were gentle in his hair, her lips soft on his forehead.

  She left him quickly, while he was still sleeping, for that was the only way Callie knew to handle a heart out of control.

  Reality hit her the minute she stepped out of the trailer. Two guards immediately flanked her.

  “Dr. Red Cloud? We’re your escorts. Where do you want to go?”

  “Only across the parking lot to the other trailer. Are you sure this is necessary?”

  “Orders, ma’am.”

  There were no angry mobs in the early dawn, no waving baseball bats, no threatening posters. Nothing to indicate the crowds had ever been there except debris—candy bar wrappers, empty chips bags, and soda bottles tossed carelessly onto the sidewalk.

  The sky lightened gradually from gray to a pink the color of rose petals, and the sun topped the horizon to shoot brilliant rays of gold across the parking lot. Mother Nature forgiving her unruly children, spreading her beauty over the ugliness of rage and disease.

  Callie stopped in the middle of the parking lot to admire the sky. She had always taken courage from nature, courage and hope. Perhaps it was her Apache upbringing, or perhaps it was simply the way she was made.

  Her father had taught the saying of Ohiyesa, a very wise Santee Sioux: “All days are God’s days, for only the Great Spirit can make an arching rainbow or a roaring waterfall or a bloodred sunset. Only the Great Spirit can create the sublime.”

  Now, she stood silently with head uplifted. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Ma’am?”

  Callie shook her head, then continued toward the trailer. Peg was already up and dressed.

  “How did I do last night?” she asked.

  “You were good, Peg. Very positive, very reassuring.”

  Peg laughed. “Just what the doctor ordered. Maybe I’ve finally redeemed myself with Joseph.”

  “You redeemed yourself weeks ago—over there where it really counts.” Callie nodded in the direction of the hospital.

  “I’ll be glad when it’s all over. I miss Mike.”

  When it was over, Callie would never see Joseph again except by chance. Perhaps in some other crisis, in some other city, in some other part of the world.

  Perhaps never.

  Suddenly she was envious of Peg and downright jealous. Why was it Peg could have everything and Callie nothing? Why did she have a wonderful man waiting at home for her, while Callie had nothing to look forward to except a lonely bed?

  “Is something wrong, Callie? Is it something I said?”

  “No. I’m tired, that’s all.”

  “Aren’t we all? It’s my turn to see about breakfast. I’m going to drag myself over to the mess hall, pick up the phone and order take-out muffins and eggs.”

  “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

  After Peg left, Callie climbed into the shower and lifted her face to the sting of water. Cool water. She didn’t want to be comfortable today. She needed to be shocked into a new day, alert and ready for battle on all fronts.

  Joseph found Callie alone, which was exactly the way he wanted it. She had changed into jeans and a white shirt, and her hair was still wet from the shower. She looked radiant, and Joseph cursed the trickster fates.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” She glanced at her watch. “Not for another fifteen minutes anyway.”

  Something in his face gave him away, and her smile died. She put her hand on his arm.

  “Joseph, what’s wrong? Something’s happened to Ricky.”

  “No. Not Ricky. It’s your father, Callie. He’s had a heart attack.”

  “Not Dad. Oh, God, not Dad!”

  She crumpled, and he was selfishly glad to be the one there for her. He stroked her hair and soothed her with soft words.

  Callie sobbed as if her heart were broken. He’d seen this happen many times, professionals who defied death every day, who could face an entire roomful of grieving relatives and deliver life-changing news with steadiness and calm, often folded when the situation applied to them.

  Her weakness was only temporary, as he knew it would be.

  “I have to go to him.”

  “Ron’s sending a replacement for you, and I’ve already made your plane reservations.”

  “Do they know anything yet?”

  “Not yet. The ambulance was there when your brother called.”

  She got her suitcase and began to throw her things inside.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  “You already have. Thank you, Joseph.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  This was his cue to leave. He’d arranged for a limousine to take her to the airport. His job was finished here. His patients needed him.

  But he couldn’t leave. Not yet. Callie was going home and he might never see her again.

  Three weeks ago that wouldn’t have mattered. But one kiss had changed everything. Or was it before that? Had his life turned upside down and inside out the minute Callie Red Cloud stepped from the plane?

  There was so much he wanted to say to her that he couldn’t think where to begin. Callie saved him.

  “This was never supposed to happen to my father.”

  “Disease respects no one.”

  “But his heart…Calder Red Cloud has the biggest, most generous heart in all the tribal lands. Ask anybody. They’ll tell you.”

  “You love your father very much, don’t you?” Joseph felt admiration tinged with a slash of envy.

  “I love him more than I can describe. If he dies, part of me will die, too.”

  Joseph thought of a quiet hillside in Umbria, of wind stirring cypress and olive trees that watched over his late wife’s grave. Part of him had died once, and he’d thought life would never be good again. Now Callie had him dreaming of possibilities, longing for home and hearth and children, hoping for a better future. And yet he knew such hopes and dreams were foolish.

  He was crazy to think two people in their profession could have a normal relationship. There was too much risk, too muc
h uncertainty.

  Fate had brought her and fate was taking her away. Though he regretted the circumstances he knew it was best for both of them that she leave.

  “Does Ricky know I’m leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll stop by the trailer and say goodbye.”

  “Good.”

  “Tell Peg I’ll call her.”

  “I will.”

  Until that moment he hadn’t known that it was possible to die inside at the prospect of saying goodbye.

  Her limousine slid into view.

  “My car’s here,” she said.

  “Yes.” He was so full he could barely speak.

  “I guess this is goodbye.”

  She stood before him, her face mirroring the agony he felt. If he touched her, if he kissed her, if he held her, he could never let her go.

  “I guess it is. Goodbye, Callie. Take care.”

  “You, too.”

  He couldn’t watch her leave. Instead he bolted out the back door of the trailer and strode toward the hospital. He had a hot virus to fight.

  Thank God.

  Ricky was sitting on Sister Beatrice’s lap, coloring. When Callie walked in he pretended he didn’t see her.

  “Ricky…” He didn’t look up. Callie knelt beside him and took his small hand. “I have to go now. My father is sick.”

  “Go on.”

  He kept his head ducked and his fist closed tightly around a black crayon. The picture he had been coloring was a spring scene with flowers and birds. He had colored everything black, including the sky.

  “Ricky, look at me.” Callie gently cupped his face and tipped it upward. “I love you very much.”

  “Tell me a story.”

  He was testing her. She plucked him off the Sister’s lap and held him close.

  “My car is waiting, and if I stay too long I’ll miss my plane. Give me a goodbye hug, and I’ll come back to see you as soon as I can.”

  “You promise?” Ricky stuck his lower lip out and balled his hands into fists. A little boy alone, ready to fight the world.

  “I promise.”

  Callie didn’t cry until she was in the limousine, then she let the tears flow freely. In the quietness of the luxurious car she cried for Ricky, for her father, for Joseph and for herself.