by Debra Holt
“Tough choice … warm roast beef or cold cheese pizza.” She threw him a grin. She also tamped down the sudden rush of envy she felt, knowing he would soon be greeted by a wife and two little girls who thought their daddy hung the moon. Mercy chose a slice of pizza from the box on the table and popped it into the microwave. Grabbing a bottle of water from the small refrigerator, she leaned against the cabinet to wait for her food to heat. The late night news came through the lounge’s television, anchored on a shelf in the corner of the room. Mercy had just taken a sip of her water when the news video on the screen drew her attention.
“Isn’t that the guy we picked up this afternoon?” Jorge spoke up, pausing from the paperwork.
A photo of their patient in better times, as evidenced by the grin on his face, revealed quite a good-looking man when not in the throes of pain. Strong jaw, squared chin with a hint of a sexy cleft, good cheekbones, and eyes that could capture and hold your attention. He had not been far from her mind all evening; even as she’d gone about her duties and completed the second and eventually a third flight. Mercy wondered if the surgical team had been able to save him. She recognized the hospital in the background and realized they were broadcasting live from outside the building. She listened with interest as the newscaster spoke.
“A routine traffic stop on County Road 7180 late this afternoon turned deadly for one member of the Powell County Sheriff’s Department. Officer Dave Segran, a six-year veteran of the department, was shot and killed when the driver of the tractor-trailer rig he had pulled over raised an automatic weapon and opened fire. Responding to Officer Segran’s initial call for backup, Sheriff Joshua Wellman, thirty-six, was fired upon as he arrived at the scene by a passenger in the same vehicle. Though wounded several times himself, Sheriff Wellman was able to return fire, wounding both the driver and passenger of the rig. One of the suspects died at the scene; the other was treated and taken into custody. A search of the tractor-trailer by DEA agents found a shipment of illegal drugs with an estimated street value of over twenty million dollars. Officer Segran leaves behind a widow and a three-year-old son. Sheriff Wellman is out of surgery and listed in critical condition. More updates as we receive them.”
Jorge stapled and handed over the paperwork to Mercy. “He’s one tough guy. I didn’t think he’d make it. Just goes to show, you never know what El Jefe’s plan is for each of us.”
“El Jefe? Really?”
“Don’t give me that skeptical look of yours, Mercy Smith. We all have our names for the big guy upstairs. The name just makes it more personal, I guess, when you’re spilling your guts or asking for a really big favor,” Jorge informed her along with one of his wide grins.
They were getting close to a subject she didn’t care to delve into any further. The pizza she chewed on suddenly tasted more like dry sawdust than edible food. She dumped the rest of her slice into the garbage bin.
“It’s late. You’d better get to that home-cooked meal. See you tomorrow.” She smiled and, with a wave of her hand, left the room. Stepping into the changing area moments later, she replaced her flight suit with a pair of jeans and a bright blue polo top emblazoned with the crest of the flight team and hospital. Unfastening the clip holding her hair in place, she allowed her thick chestnut brown locks to sweep just past her shoulders. Mercy ran a quick brush through the length.
There was no reason for her to hurry home. No one had saved dinner for her. Her mother lived in a small town about thirty minutes away. Mercy shared her townhouse with a handsome fellow of a cat named Peanut. All in all, she lived a contented life, she supposed. With a sigh, she swung her bag over a shoulder and left the changing room.
The halls of the hospital were quiet at the late hour. Here and there, she heard the movements of patients or the sound of a television in this room or that as she passed. They were such commonplace sounds in her world that they often didn’t register. She whispered a soft “G’night” to the staff seated behind the desk updating patient charts with the next shift of nurses.
Mercy headed for the elevators. Instead of pressing the button for the first floor, however, she found herself punching the third-floor button to the intensive care unit. A quick pop in and out, she told herself. Just to see how the sheriff is doing. She had the time. She could still feel the way his fingers had clasped hers during the flight. She told herself she just wanted to be sure that the man had a chance. That’s all. Stepping from the elevator, she avoided the lobby and family waiting area. She pushed through another door and into a hall used only by hospital personnel.
The lights in the main area of the ICU were dimmed. Green and blue glows from computer monitors and machines lit the area where a team of nurses circulated around a common console that held more computer screens and charts. Ten glass-fronted cubicles formed a circle around the main nurses’ station. Down another hallway stood a carbon copy of this intensive care unit.
The soft swish of breathing machines and the reassuring beeps of heart monitors broke the silence as Mercy crossed from the doorway to stand in front of the main console. She recognized Candy Holmes, one of the nurses with whom she’d formed an early friendship after her arrival on the staff.
“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” The woman smiled, looking up from the patient charts in front of her. “Tired of your glamour job upstairs?”
“Some glamour job,” Mercy responded with a half-smile. A running joke among hospital personnel was that the air-evac team members were “special.” She had gotten used to the good-natured teasing a long time ago. Flying around in a jet helicopter all day had to be glamorous, right? Hardly. “Just thought I would stop by and check on the patient we brought in this afternoon. He’s the shooting victim from Powell County.”
“Yes, indeed. He’s one lucky man to still be among the living. He’s in Cubicle C. You can look in on him if you’d like. He’s been asleep for most of the time since coming out of recovery.”
Mercy hesitated. She’d just meant to stop by and get an update. She hadn’t counted on seeing him again. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Candy watching her expectantly. Just sticking her head through the door wouldn’t hurt. Mercy gave a half-shrug and moved toward the room, pausing just inside the doorway.
A white blanket covered most of his body. Both arms lay still by his sides on top of the covers, an IV attached to his left hand. Bandages were evident across one shoulder and down one arm. A metal frame kept the blanket lifted off his left leg, and an oxygen line ran to his nose.
The fixture above his head cast a soft light, highlighting the broad planes and darkening the hollows of his face. His skin still looked pale, but not as much as it had when she’d first seen him. Mercy quietly moved closer to the workstation at the foot of the bed. Her fingers went automatically to the tablet’s keyboard attached on a stand to the station. Inserting her code, she found the notes. Cutting through the medical jargon, she saw the surgery had lasted almost three hours. Three bullets had been recovered from his wounds. Prognosis was guarded. The man was lucky to still be alive. You have a mighty powerful guardian angel looking over your shoulder, mister. The thought took her by surprise, but not as much as the voice that came from the bed.
“Am I dreaming?” The words were low and muffled as if by wads of cotton. Mercy first thought she had imagined the raspy voice. Closing the computer screen, she inched closer to the head of the bed. She didn’t speak for fear of disturbing him, thinking he might slip back into sleep. Then she saw his eyelids flicker, and that startling blue gaze came into view. The contact made her stomach knot in a totally unexpected way. The patient watched her solemnly for several seconds, perhaps allowing his mind to focus through the drugs.
“You’re the angel. You took me flying.” His weak voice dwindled off, but his gaze stayed locked on hers.
She was touched in a way she had forgotten … somewhere in her chest, very close to her heart. Mercy tried to hide a responding grin. The meds clouded his memory. A
ngels and flying. It made perfect sense, given the patient’s full load of drugs.
“I had a dream you were here. You held my hand, and the pain went away.”
“I just stopped by to check on you and make certain they were treating you right—looks like they are. You should go back to sleep now.” Her voice remained low and steady as she stepped back. His hand moved from his side. With great effort, his palm rose from the covers toward her.
Mercy paused, and her hand automatically reached to meet his. She didn’t realize what she had done until she felt the warmth of his fingers grasp hers. Once again, the warm tingle skipped up her arm and through her whole being. She stood still in stunned surprise.
“Stay. Please. Promise you won’t leave me.” His words, slow and slurred, fought against the meds grasping for control. His lids lowered further, still a hint of deep blue holding her firmly to the spot. “Promise me. Angels keep their promises.”
“I promise,” Mercy replied. He managed a slight squeeze to her hand as his eyes closed the rest of the way. One corner of the strong mouth lifted slightly as the rest of his battered body relaxed under the healing powers of the medicine.
Her hand content in his, Mercy stood silent watch for a few more minutes. Her eyes roamed his features, moving now and then to read the numbers and graphs on the monitors beside the bed. When she felt satisfied that he slept, she gradually placed his hand back onto the top of the cover at his side. She crossed silently to the doorway and hesitated. Casting a last glance over her shoulder, Mercy—for the first time in a very long time—actually hoped that, if indeed this man had a guardian angel hovering over him, he wouldn’t find disappointment in believing in his/her powers. With that thought and a final glance, she left the room.
Chapter Two
Mercy woke to the sound of loud, gravel-laced purring in her ear. Opening her eyes, she found two tawny ones watching her with an intense regard, willing her to respond. She raised a hand and slid her palm over the feline’s head.
“Good morning, handsome. I guess this is my wake-up call. Your food dish is calling, isn’t it?” The cat jumped from his perch on the bed and headed out of the room; mission accomplished.
Mercy threw the covers off her legs and sat up. Her feet tap-danced lightly on the rug, executing a hit-and-miss pattern until they found their target—a pair of fuzzy, blue house shoes. Picking up a worn, pink chenille bathrobe from her bedside chair, she shrugged it over her shoulders. No longer fashionable, it was comforting, and she liked that fact. On autopilot, her feet ambled along, guiding her still sleepy mind from the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. The auto-timed coffee maker clicked on just as she entered the room. Mercy opened a cabinet door, rummaged for the day’s menu selection, and finally withdrew a can of Scrambled Egg and Smoked Bacon Delight. She opened the can and spooned its contents into the ceramic food dish near the back door. Fresh water went into the matching bowl. Peanut settled himself down to enjoy his gourmet breakfast.
With the most important duty out of her way, Mercy poured herself a cup of coffee, adding a couple teaspoons of sugar—her only real vice. She could no longer put off the first thought she’d had upon waking— and it wasn’t the menu for Peanut. Instead, her mind had flashed on the face of Sheriff Joshua Wellman.
The discovery disturbed her to no end. She reasoned with herself that she’d thought of him because he had been in an unusual and serious attack—not a normal incident in this part of West Texas, with its expansive farms and ranch lands, and very few large cities where crime would normally be more rampant. At any rate, she moved to the living room, plopped into an overstuffed chair, grabbed the remote, and switched on the television.
She could have easily picked up the phone and called the ICU directly, but that might pique some people’s interest, and she made a practice of avoiding the hospital gossip mill at all cost. She didn’t intend to appear overly interested in any patient—never had—but this one was particularly good-looking and would be fodder for the gossips. Anyway, she felt certain there had to be a Mrs. Sheriff somewhere in the picture. Men like that one didn’t stay single for long. But she just couldn’t shake his almost immediate attachment to her—or worse, her response to him.
Five minutes later, the morning news caught Mercy’s attention, and she sank back in her big easy chair, her legs curled beneath her. She drew another sip of coffee and listened as the newscaster repeated the facts of the lead story. The same photo of Sheriff Wellman popped to the screen, along with a photo of the officer who had lost his life. She ignored the way her pulse jumped when the sheriff’s now-familiar face appeared on the screen. She unconsciously tensed as the reporter added the latest update.
“Sheriff Wellman remains in the ICU unit, fighting for his life. Doctors state that while he is showing signs of improvement, his condition is still listed as critical.”
The voice droned on, covering the impending plans for Officer Segran’s services. Following that, a reporter interviewed several law enforcement officers and local politicians, and each extolled the virtues of both men. Clearly, the community thought very highly of them.
Mercy’s cell phone rang, and she turned down the sound on the TV with a flick of the remote. A glance at the caller ID created a smile in her voice as she answered.
“Hi, Mom. You’re up early this morning. Did you get my message?”
A widow, her mother lived alone in the neighboring town of Lawson, about half an hour from Mercy, who lived in the larger metropolis of Lubbock.
“Hi, sweetie. Yes, I did receive your message. I would have called sooner, but I’ve been busy helping a friend who had a family medical emergency. I’m afraid I have to cancel dinner on Sunday. Maybe we can reschedule the following week?”
Mercy didn’t want another dinner with some unsuspecting man her mother was intent on matchmaking with her. She’d forgotten all about this one, but thankfully, the issue seemed to have resolved itself. Her mother was more determined than ever to find Mercy the right man and finally set her on the path to producing grandchildren. Mom meant well, but Mercy wasn’t in the market. As far as she was concerned, that part of her life had ended before it ever got started.
“That’s fine, Mom. No problem. I’m sure the poor guy you invited will be glad for the reprieve, too.”
“Mercy! I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s just going to be us and Mary Krause and her son, Randy. You remember … I told you about him. He’s the new pharmacist in town. We need to make him feel welcome.”
And the latest unmarried man to suffer at the hand of your matchmaking.
Mercy shook her head. “Please stop trying to set me up with someone. Promise me that.”
“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mercy. And hopefully, there will be one more person, but we’ll talk about that later. I have to get a move on, or I’ll be late.” She ended the call before Mercy could respond; off on yet another mission of some sort. Mercy didn’t take the time to dwell on it. Since retiring from her job at the university, her mother had invested her time in volunteer work at church and with various civic groups. It kept her busy and young, she claimed, and Mercy was all for that. As she saw it, anything that kept her mother’s attention away from finding her a prospective husband was good news.
Pushing up from her chair, she carried her coffee mug back to the kitchen, rinsed and placed it in the drain board to dry. Peanut had finished his breakfast and gone back to the bedroom to recline on the end of Mercy’s bed.
After her shower, she dressed in her favorite jeans and a soft green cowl-neck blouse with long sleeves. She blew her hair dry and worked it into a French braid, securing the ends with a matching green ribbon. She considered her hair, a shade of chestnut highlighted with streaks of burnished blonde, as one of her best assets. During duty hours, she kept it pulled back and secured in a knot to fit beneath her helmet. Her eyes also often caught people’s attention. They were a warm, chocol
ate brown with honey-colored flecks that allegedly brightened to gold when she was excited or angry. People often said the warmth and compassion in her eyes were what drew people to her.
If Mercy could change anything about herself, she would be taller than her five feet, six inches. She envied women with long legs and svelte bodies, even though her own form often elicited appreciative male glances. But Mercy didn’t dwell on such things. She was who she was. Although she dated occasionally, she’d found that no male held her interest for very long. Not since David. She wondered if anyone ever would again. Her job had pretty much become her life, and Mercy kept her attention focused there.
She picked up the tiny gold studs from her dresser—the last gift she’d received from David, her fiancé, before he died. He couldn’t wait to give them to her, he’d said, so he’d sent them ahead of his homecoming. Her eyes went from the earrings to the framed photo perched in its usual spot on her dressing table.
A smiling David looked into the camera. Dressed in brown battle-gear fatigues, he sported a couple days’ growth of beard on his face. His thick mane of black hair was ruffled and in need of a trim. A fellow soldier at their base camp in Afghanistan had snapped the photo just after they’d returned from a mission. David had just completed his final tour as a field medic.
The photo was one of the last taken of him, and her favorite. He’d returned to his parents’ home in Houston shortly after being mustered out of the service at his home base. Homecoming day was warm; the sun bright. So many people showed up to welcome him back to Texas, even though he’d said he didn’t want any special fanfare. Mercy had waited with his family at the airport, her eyes on the huge plane taking its time taxiing toward the building. It seemed to take forever for everyone to exit. Finally, her eyes lit on the familiar figure, and with a barely disguised yelp of joy, she raced ahead of the others and launched herself into a pair of male arms.
