“Where is Luke right now, Alva?” Deanna asked. “Did he let you know where he’s working today?”
“Mr. Luke said to tell you, Mrs. McClendon, that he’d look over the mail after lunch. He planned to make the rounds checking the water troughs this morning.”
“He could be anywhere,” Kizzie said frantically, then turned to Alva. “Did he take his truck or ride Cherokee?”
“He rode Cherokee.”
“Damn!” Kizzie paced the floor. “That means his cell phone is probably still in his truck.”
“What’s all the fuss about?” Alva asked. “Are you afraid something has happened to Mr. Luke?”
Pain welled up inside Deanna like a fast-growing tumor, filling her body, pressing on her lungs, pounding on her heart. The thought that her family could have harmed Luke, might have ordered his murder, ripped Deanna apart as swiftly and adeptly as any steel blade could have done.
“We have to find him!” Deanna grabbed Kizzie. “We have to find him before it’s too late.”
“I’ll send out any of the hands I can find, then I’ll take Luke’s truck. You saddle up Fair Weather. I’ll check east, you go west. I’ll call Tyler from the cell phone and tell him about the message you received. Maybe he can have the call traced somehow.”
Her hands trembling, her stomach churning, Deanna nodded agreement, then rushed out the front door, Kizzie following her. When Deanna headed toward the stables, she heard Luke’s truck come to life. She turned to wave goodbye to Kizzie, then noticed a lone horse and rider coming in from the east. Her heart thumped rapidly. Sweat coated her palms.
The horse galloped closer and closer. The man in the saddle was slumped over Cherokee’s neck. It was Luke. And he was injured!
Deanna ran toward the big dun stallion as he approached the stables. Kizzie opened the door and jumped out of the truck.
“It’s Luke,” Deanna screamed.
Kizzie grabbed the horse’s reins. Deanna clasped Luke’s shoulder. He slipped sideways in the saddle. She reached for him, but his heavy weight was more than she could maneuver. He slid out of the saddle and off the horse, taking Deanna to the ground with him. She rolled him over onto his back, then lifted his wrist to check his pulse. Blood dripped from her fingers. She screamed.
“Lord almighty!” Kizzie knelt down on her knees.
Together she and Deanna ripped open Luke’s bloody shirt.
“He’s been shot,” Kizzie said. “Twice! And he’s lost a lot of blood. Thank the good Lord he was able to stay on Cherokee as long as he did.”
Deanna eased Luke’s head into her lap. “We have to get him to the hospital.” Staring at his face, his closed eyelids, the blood oozing from his mouth, Deanna caressed his cheek. “This is all my fault. I knew—”
“I’ll try to find one of the boys to help us lift Luke into the back seat of my car. It’ll take too long to get an ambulance out here.” Kizzie rose from the ground, then hollered, “Alva! Alva!”
The housekeeper ran out onto the front porch and halted the moment she saw Luke lying in Deanna’s arms. “What’s happened to Mr. Luke?”
“He’s been shot,” Kizzie said. “Go call the medical center and alert them that we’re bringing Luke in. Then call Tyler and tell him to meet us there. And see if you can get in touch with Grant, too.”
Alva scurried back inside the house, while Kizzie began a search for the ranch hands. Within minutes Jim and Herb came running from opposite directions. They helped remove Luke’s shirt, then Kizzie folded the soiled shirt and used it as a bandage to soak up more blood. Deanna crawled into the back seat of Kizzie’s Lexus. Alva rushed outside, carrying a cotton blanket, which Kizzie grabbed and threw to Deanna. Jim and Herb loaded Luke into the back seat, careful not to jostle him any more than they could help. Holding his head in her lap, Deanna wrapped him in the blanket and brushed damp tendrils of hair away from his face.
“Oh, Luke,” she whispered. “Please don’t die, my love. Please.” Tears filled her eyes; she blinked them away.
Kizzie shifted the Lexus into reverse, backed up and turned around. The car roared out of the driveway and down the long road leading to the main highway.
This has to be another nightmare, Deanna told herself. Sooner or later she would wake up and Luke would be all right. But she knew this was no nightmare. This was real. Someone had shot Luke—no doubt, their orders had been “shoot to kill.” She shuddered, her whole body reacting to the fear consuming her.
The ER staff had rushed Luke straight into surgery. That had been two hours ago! Two of the longest hours of Deanna’s life. She knew one thing for certain—if Luke died, so would she.
Tyler sat down on the vinyl sofa beside Deanna, reached over and lifted her hand. “Hey, he’s tough, you know. The strongest, toughest guy around. A couple of bullets aren’t going to get the best of him.”
“It was bad,” Deanna said, squeezing Tyler’s hand. “He must have been shot from the back—” she gulped for air “—the holes in his...in his stomach and chest were exit wounds. Oh God, Tyler, those bullets ripped him apart inside!” Tears poured from her eyes.
Tyler pulled her into his arms. She sobbed uncontrollably. Stroking her back, he soothed her with touch and with words. “I know it’s bad, honey, but you’ve got to believe Luke will survive this. He’s survived so much already.”
“This is all my fault,” Deanna cried.
Kizzie handed Deanna some tissues. “Stop blaming yourself. This is not your fault. Luke wanted you to stay. He knew it was the right thing for you to do.”
“Was it?” Deanna practically screamed the question. “My staying here got Luke shot. Maybe killed.”
“Stop talking nonsense!” Kizzie said. “Luke isn’t going to die. Do you hear me? And whoever shot Luke will be caught.” Kizzie glanced at her son.
“I’ve got my deputies searching the area where we think Luke was ambushed,” Tyler said. “If there’s any evidence out there, they’ll find it.”
Deanna jumped up from the sofa and paced around the waiting room. “What’s taking them so long in there? Why hasn’t someone come out and told us how Luke’s doing?”
“He was shot up pretty bad, you know that.” Kizzie came up behind Deanna and placed her hand on her shoulder. “It could take them quite a while to patch him up.”
“I spoke to Lassie Colby—you remember her, don’t you, Mama? She was in school with Grant and me,” Tyler said. “Anyway, she’s a RN, working in the surgical intensive care unit. She’s promised to keep a check on things in surgery and let me know something as soon as she can.”
“If anything happens to my boy, I’ll—” Kizzie clenched her jaw. Tears trickled down her wrinkled cheeks. She turned and walked away from Deanna.
“Now, Mama, don’t think that way,” Tyler said. “You leave whoever shot Luke to the law. I’ll make sure the person or persons responsible are caught and punished.”
“Tyler,” a soft voice called his name.
Deanna’s eyes flew open. Kizzie’s head snapped around.
“Lassie.” Tyler rushed to the door of the waiting room where a tall, slender blond nurse stood, a concerned look on her face. “Do you have any word on Luke’s condition?”
Lassie clasped Tyler’s arm and pulled him out into the hallway. Kizzie and Deanna exchanged frightened glances and instinctively moved toward each other.
Tyler came back into the waiting area. “The surgery’s only half over. Luke’s still alive...but—”
“But what!” Deanna demanded.
“But he’s messed up something awful and things could go either way. Right now, they’re giving him a fifty-fifty chance to pull through.”
“Oh, God, no...no...no...” Deanna wrapped her arms around herself and doubled over. Rocking back and forth, she gasped for air. “He can’t die. He can’t die. I won’t let him die. Not now.” Deanna slumped down onto her knees. “Please, God! Please! Don’t do this! Don’t! Don’t!”
Tyler li
fted Deanna from the floor. Kizzie reached out and enfolded Deanna in her arms.
“It’s all right, girl. It’s all right. I know you love him, too. You just keep right on praying.”
Each minute seemed like an hour and each hour like a day. Repeatedly, Deanna glanced at the round, glass-encased clock on the wall and wondered why the hands didn’t move faster, why time passed so slowly. She tried to concentrate on the positive—Luke wasn’t dead. He had a fifty percent chance of surviving.
With each breath she took, she uttered a silent prayer. Had she and Luke lived through hell, spent fifteen years separated, just to have their lives end this way?
Tyler returned from the snack bar carrying two cups of coffee. He handed one to his mother and then walked over and held the second cup out to Deanna.
“Drink it while it’s still warm,” he said. “It’s black and strong.”
Deanna accepted the offering. Taking the plastic cup in her trembling hands, she looked up at Tyler. “Thanks.”
Tyler sat down on the sofa beside her. “I spoke to Lassie again. She said surgery is almost finished and Luke’s still hanging in there.”
Deanna squeezed the soft cup so hard that warm liquid spilled over the sides and onto her hands. Tyler grabbed the cup and set it on the round metal table to his right, then jerked a handkerchief out of his pocket and dried Deanna’s hands.
She entwined her fingers and brought her folded hands up to her mouth in a prayerful gesture.
Tyler patted the top of her hands in a comforting gesture.
“I told you he was tough. Luke’s a survivor. He’ll pull through. You just wait and see.”
The door to the waiting room opened. Kizzie rushed toward the green-clad man who entered. Tyler helped Deanna to stand.
“Mrs. McClendon,” Dr. Stranahan said. “Luke has come through surgery, but it’s still touch and go. If he makes it another twenty-four hours, there’s a good chance of a full recovery. At this point, I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. Luckily for him the bullets missed his spine altogether.”
“When may I see him?” Kizzie asked, then turned and held out her hand to Tyler and Deanna. “When may we all see him?”
“He’s being placed directly in intensive care,” the doctor said. “Once we have him settled, his family can go in to see him, but no more than two at a time. And you’ll have to keep your visits short.”
“Yes, I understand.” Kizzie grabbed Deanna’s hand when she drew near.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Deanna said.
Dr. Stranahan nodded, then turned to leave.
“Hold up a minute, will you, Doc,” Tyler said, then followed the doctor out into the hallway. “I need to speak to you. Not as Luke’s brother, but as the Luma County sheriff.”
Kizzie dozed on and off as she lay on the sofa, but Deanna hadn’t slept a wink. She sat in the green vinyl chair facing the door that led into the surgical intensive care unit Every four hours, she and Kizzie were allowed inside for five minutes. Tyler had gone in the first time, and then he’d left the hospital. He hadn’t said where he was going or why, but Deanna knew that he and his deputies would be searching for the crime scene. At this point, the medical evidence was all he had. There were tests to be run, things that, as the sheriff, Tyler had to do. He could help Luke more by doing his job than he could waiting around at the hospital.
Seeing Luke lying there, his big body connected to an endless assortment of wires and tubes, reassured them that he was alive, but also reminded them how close he was to death. He was breathing on his own and that in itself was a positive sign, but he had not regained consciousness, and that was a bad sign.
The cell phone in Kizzie’s shoulder bag rang, waking her instantly. She jumped, then groaned. Rummaging in her purse, she found the telephone.
“Hello. Oh, Grant. Yes. Yes, he’s still alive. The doctor said if he could make it for twenty-four hours after surgery he has a good chance of surviving. It’s already been over twelve hours now.”
Deanna stood, stretched her arms and strolled around the small waiting room. Twelve hours and counting. Twelve hours to pray and worry. Twelve hours of guilt and anguish. Twelve hours of pure torment.
Deanna went to the bathroom and before returning to Kizzie, she washed her hands, then splashed cold water in her face. In another hour, it would be time to go in and see Luke again. If only the staff would allow her to stay at his side. If only she could hold his hand and caress his cheek. If only she could be with him in case...in case...If he died, she didn’t want him to die alone. Without her.
Tears lodged in her throat. She willed her emotions under control. Kizzie couldn’t handle her falling apart. Luke’s stepmother was a strong woman, but she already had enough to deal with.
Squaring her shoulders, Deanna marched out of the rest room and back into the waiting area. Kizzie glanced up and smiled.
“Grant was in Dallas when Tyler finally tracked him down. He’s on his way home. He should be here in a few hours.”
“Are you hungry?” Deanna asked. “I could run down to the snack bar and get something for you before we go in and see Luke again.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I could eat a bite. Why don’t you go get yourself something.”
“I couldn’t—”
The door to the intensive care unit opened and Lassie Colby emerged, a hesitant smile on her face. “Deanna?”
“Yes?”
“Luke came to for a couple of minutes and he called out your name,” Lassie said.
Kizzie and Deanna hugged each other, tears misting their eyes.
“Is he still conscious?” Kizzie asked.
“No, but I think it’s only a matter of time.” Lassie looked directly at Deanna. “I think it would be a good idea if you were with him when he comes around again.”
“Oh, yes!” Deanna released Kizzie and took an unsure step toward Lassie. “Does that mean I can stay with him?”
“Go right on back,” Lassie said.
Deanna rushed into the unit, hurried straight back to the cubicle surrounding Luke. He looked the same as he had four hours ago. His eyes closed. His body unmoving.
Lassie dragged a chair into the cubicle and placed it to the right of Luke’s bed. “Sit down there and take his hand. Talk to him. Sometimes that helps.”
Deanna sat, reached out and lifted Luke’s hand into hers. He was warm and alive. A lone tear escaped from the corner of her eye and slid down the side of her face. His big, callused hand lay lifelessly in hers, but his strong pulse told her that life still coursed through his body.
“Luke, it’s me. It’s Deanna. Please, my love, open your eyes and look at me.”
There was no response. Lassie patted Deanna on the shoulder.
“I’ll leave you alone with him. Don’t give up. Keep talking to him.”
For endless minutes, Deanna babbled away, talking about everything and anything that entered her mind. She had no idea if her one-sided conversation was penetrating Luke’s mind, but she wouldn’t give up. If there was the least chance that her voice could get through to him and bring him back to consciousness, she’d talk continuously for the next ten years.
Deanna paused, took a deep breath and began recalling the story of how she and Patsy Ruth had been caught smoking cigarettes in the bathroom when they were in sixth grade.
Luke shifted in the bed. Just a slight movement. Deanna sucked in her breath, then continued talking. Luke’s eyelids fluttered. Deanna kept talking.
“Deanna?” His voice was weak.
“Luke? Yes, I’m here. Right here with you.” She squeezed his hand gently.
“Babe?” Luke opened his eyes.
“Yes!” She came up out of the chair, leaned over the bed rail and looked down into Luke’s beautiful, fully open green eyes.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” he said, then closed his eyes.
“I won’t,” she told him. “I promise.”
Chapter 13
&nb
sp; Leaving most of the meal untouched, Luke shoved his breakfast tray aside. “This stuff is slop. I’ll wait until I get home and have one of Alva’s good meals.” He threw back the covers, slid his legs over the edge of the bed and dropped his feet to the floor.
“Luke, be careful!” Deanna said, jumping up from the chair beside his bed. “You’re still very weak.”
“And I’m not going to get any stronger if I don’t get out of this damn place and go home.” Standing, he swayed slightly, then righted himself and pointed toward the closet. “Get my clothes. I’m sick and tired of this—” he pulled the loose hospital gown away from his body “—stylish attire.”
“Sit back down and I’ll get your jeans and shirt.” Deanna reached up, placed her hands on Luke’s shoulders and urged him to sit.
Nodding agreement, he slumped down on the edge of the bed. “I thought Kizzie would be here by now. I’m ready to leave.”
“I talked to Alva a few minutes ago. She said that Kizzie is on her way.” Deanna retrieved Luke’s clothes from the tiny closet and carried them over to him.
When she tried to help him, he knocked her hands away. “I can dress myself.”
“Sorry!” She threw up her hands in defeat and moved away from him. “I just wanted to do something to—”
“Why don’t you call somebody to come and get all these flowers,” he said. “Have them spread around the hospital. There’s no sense in taking them home.”
“I’ve already made arrangements for that to be done.”
“Well, then sit down and take it easy, babe,” Luke said. “You’ve done more than enough this past week. You’ve hardly left my side since I woke up after surgery.”
Luke watched her out of the corner of his eye, while he drew his jeans up his legs and over his hips. The first face he’d seen when he regained consciousness eight days ago had been Deanna’s. Oddly enough, it had been the first face he’d wanted to see.
Neither he nor any member of his family had objected when Deanna had insisted on staying at the hospital with him. For all intents and purposes, she had been his twenty-four-hour-a-day nursemaid. She had bathed him, fed him and shaved him those first few days when he’d been unable to do anything much for himself. She had read to him, talked to him and watched television with him. And she had slept on a foldout chair-cot at his side every night.
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