His Medicine Woman

by Stella Bagwell

  Once Eddie had brought Scarlett Chino into the conversation, Johnny had expected to hear the man repeat the incident about her trying to burn down the Donovan horse barn or even that she’d tried to pawn Johnny off on the Donovans and they’d refused to take in a little Apache baby. In all of his imaginings, he’d not expected this.

  Dropping his arms from his chest, he took a menacing step toward the other man. “What the hell are you talking about, Eddie?”

  “Didn’t Scarlett—your mother—once work for the Donovans?”

  “She did. That was before I was ever born. So what?”

  “Well—that would make everything possible,” Eddie reasoned. “She was working on the ranch when she got pregnant. That’s the story I heard. And seems she accused Doyle Donovan of being the daddy—your daddy. But he laughed it off.”

  The sudden urge to lunge forward and wrap his hands around Eddie’s throat was so great it very nearly blinded Johnny. But just as quickly he caught himself. This man was merely the messenger. Silencing him wouldn’t fix anything. Besides, he needed to find out for himself if there was an ounce of truth to this story.

  “Who did you hear saying this?” Johnny finally asked him. “George Barefoot?”

  A puzzled frown creased Eddie’s face. “No. I never heard ole George say anything about your mother. This was two older men talking down in the Rio Lobo Bar.”

  “Drunk?”

  “No. They were just having a beer. They were retired ranch hands—one from the Diamond D. He’s the one that knew the most about the story. Seems, at the time, there was a big hoopla going on about it in the Donovan house. Scarlett was swearing up and down that Doyle was—well, spending some extra time in the horse barn while she was mucking all those stalls.” Eddie shrugged and shook his head. “But that don’t make it so, Johnny. I can’t see Mr. Donovan romping in the hay with—”

  Johnny glared at him. “An Indian girl?”

  “Oh, hell, Johnny, there ain’t no sense in you getting all mad about this. Your mother has been gone a long time. And that Donovan woman you were with yesterday—she’s probably just a friend. Right?”

  A friend? Bridget was his love, his life. She was his everything. And now, if the story was true, Eddie had given Johnny one more reason why she could never truly be his wife.

  “Yeah. Right. Just a friend.”

  Without another word, Johnny turned on his heel and started to his truck.

  Behind him, Eddie called out, “Let’s go finish our coffee, Johnny. I’ll buy you a piece of pie to go with it. No hard feelin’s, huh?”

  Johnny kept on walking.

  Less than an hour later, Johnny returned home and found Charlie out back at the woodpile, swinging an axe as though he was in his mid-sixties instead of his nineties. When he spotted his grandson’s approach, he dropped the tool and stooped to pick up the pieces he’d already split.

  “What are you doing out here? This is my job,” Johnny told him.

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m half dead,” Charlie admonished. “When I’m gone from this earth, then you can take over. Not before.”

  Johnny wished he could take the axe and split every damned log on the place so that his grandfather wouldn’t have the opportunity to hurt himself. But that wouldn’t solve anything. Age hadn’t caused Charlie to lose his pride and dignity as a man. Johnny often had to stop and remind himself of that fact.

  “I need to talk with you, Grandfather,” he said abruptly. “And not where Grandmother can hear us.”

  Nodding, Charlie started toward the barn and Johnny followed.

  Inside the structure, he stood silently waiting until his grandfather took a seat on a milking stool. When the old man was finally settled, he said, “I heard something today that I’ve never heard before.”

  Beneath wrinkles of drooping skin, faded brown eyes studied him closely. “Gossip?”

  “I don’t know,” Johnny answered. “You’ll have to tell me. It’s about Scarlett—my mother.”

  Charlie planted a bony hand on each knee, as though he needed to brace himself. “There is no need to speak more about your mother. She is gone. And that’s all done. Now and tomorrow are more important.”

  Johnny drew in a deep breath and slowly released it. He’d expected Charlie to respond in this manner. Over the years, discussing Scarlett with his grandparents was something he’d only done on rare occasions. Their daughter was a taboo subject, one that brought up painful and shameful memories and not for anything did he want to cause his grandparents further misery. But this was one time Johnny needed to hear the truth.

  Johnny said, “I’m sorry if this upsets you, Grandfather. But sometimes a man has to know about the past before he can see into the future.”

  Charlie said, “You are not like your mother. That’s all that matters, Johnny.”

  “Do you know who my father was?”

  The old man slowly rose from the milking stool to stand before his grandson. “Your grandmother and I have told you this before. We don’t know.”

  Pain swelled in Johnny’s chest and choked his voice. “Maybe you do and you want to protect me from the truth.”

  Unfazed by his grandson’s accusation, Charlie slowly swung his head from side to side. “That’s not protecting. That would be lying.”

  Johnny swiped a hand over his face as he tried to gather himself. Since his conversation with Eddie a little over an hour ago, Johnny’s mind had been whirling like a storm over the ocean, growing stronger and stronger, until he thought his head was going to explode.

  “You’ve told me that Scarlett worked for the Donovans.”

  Charlie inclined his head. “She did. And her behavior there disgraced us. We’ve told you that, too.”

  “Yes. But you didn’t tell me that she accused Doyle Donovan of fathering her baby!” Johnny finally burst out. “Tell me, Grandfather, did he get my mother pregnant? Am I his son?”

  His face solemn, Charlie rested a hand upon his grandson’s shoulder. “I am sorry that people have to gossip—that they can’t let the past die.” His fingers dipped tightly into Johnny’s flesh. “No,” he said flatly. “Doyle Donovan is not your father.”

  A heavy breath of relief rushed past Johnny’s lips. “Then she didn’t accuse him?”

  “That much of what you heard is true. Scarlett did accuse Doyle of getting her with child. But there was no truth to what she said.”

  Stunned, Johnny stared at his grandfather as he tried to reason out his mother’s motives and behavior. None of it made sense. “But why would she do such a thing?”

  “Our daughter was never satisfied with living as a simple Apache. She wanted more for herself. And more for you. In that way, she did love you, my grandson. But her love was misguided.”

  “She wanted Doyle and Fiona to adopt me! You call that love?”

  “To Scarlett it was. She saw their riches and thought they would give you a special life. But Doyle and Fiona told her that a baby needed to be raised by his mother and its own people. That angered Scarlett. So she started spreading the word that Doyle had made her pregnant.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

  “Telling you wouldn’t make anything better,” Charlie reasoned. “And the Donovans don’t hold it against you or your grandparents.”

  Oh, God, how humiliating, Johnny thought. Not only had Scarlett tried to give her child away and burn down the horse barn, she’d accused Bridget’s father of cheating on his wife with her! Knowing what Johnny knew now, it amazed him that the Donovans ever allowed him onto their property and into their home. After what Scarlett had tried to do to their family, how had they been generous enough to allow their son to become lifelong friends with a Chino? Because he and Brady were actually half brothers?

  He didn’t look as though he was half-white, Johnny surmised, as he glanced down at his dark-skinned hands. But that wasn’t unusual in offspring of mixed parents. He could have taken solely after his mother.

&nb
sp; His gaze returned to Charlie’s wrinkled face. “Maybe my mother was really telling the truth.”

  “No, my grandson. Scarlett admitted the truth to us long before you were ever born. Doyle Donovan never touched her in that way. He is an admirable man.”

  As Johnny studied his grandfather’s face he felt relieved and yet torn to the very core of his being. “Doyle Donovan must not have wanted to raise me.”

  Charlie snorted. “Because he understood what was important for you.”

  His chest rapidly rose and fell as he tried to gather his emotions. “Then who do you think my father might be?”

  “Scarlett would never tell us. But does it really matter? I have been here for you always. And so has your grandmother.”

  Plenty of boys grow up without a father who acknowledges them. That hardly makes them worthless.

  As Bridget’s words marched through his mind, Johnny pondered his grandfather’s question. In the end, what difference did it really make who had sowed the seed in his mother’s womb? And how could he feel slighted when Charlie had always been there to love and guide and support him. If he’d been cheated out of a father, then he’d been doubly blessed in other ways.

  Stepping forward, he hugged his grandfather close. “No. It doesn’t matter anymore, Grandfather.”

  But where he and Bridget were concerned, it damned well made a difference, Johnny thought, as he and his grandfather left the shelter of the barn. His mother had tried to ruin the Donovan family in the worst kind of way! If he’d ever had the fleeting notion that Bridget was right—that they would accept Johnny as her husband, this last revelation had just squashed it flat.

  Outside, the late-morning sunlight glinted off the snow-packed road leading up to the house. For now it was empty, but sooner rather than later, he knew that he would look up and see Bridget returning. She was just that stubborn.

  And when that happened what was he going to do? What could he do to make her understand that yesterday could never be repeated? And their tomorrows would never be spent together?

  Make damned sure you never put your hands on her again, Johnny. That’s when she’ll start believing you when you say it’s over.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two days later, on Tuesday afternoon, Bridget had just finished with a patient and was walking down the hallway to her office, when Janna, the receptionist trotted up behind her.

  “Dr. Donovan, do you have a moment?”

  Turning, Bridget smiled at the young woman. “Certainly. Is there a problem with the appointment log?”

  The blonde shook her head and rolled her eyes toward the front of the building and the packed waiting room. “No,” she said in a lowered voice. “There’s a good-looking guy up front. He wants a word with you. I know you have patients waiting, but he’s—well persistent.”

  Johnny! She couldn’t imagine him coming here to see her for any reason, unless Naomi had suffered a setback with her health. Or maybe their day together at the cabin had finally made him have a change of heart about their future.

  Her heart beating fast, she tried to appear professional. “Did he give you his name?”

  “Uh—yes, it’s Doctor Kenoi from the reservation, I think.”

  Bridget was disappointed and puzzled at the same time. She’d met Doctor Kenoi about a month ago at a seminar in Santa Fe and when the last lecture had ended, she’d agreed to have a drink with him in the hotel lounge. The two of them had mostly discussed the medical needs in and around Lincoln County, but she’d gotten the impression he’d wanted to move the conversation to more personal topics, a move she’d done her best to avoid.

  “Hmm. I wonder what he wants?” She asked the question more to herself than to Janna.

  The receptionist shot her a strange look. “To talk with you. That’s what he said.”

  “Oh. Yes, well, bring him back to my office, Janna. But make sure you tell him I only have a few minutes to spare.”

  “Sure, Dr. Donovan.”

  Moments later, she’d just taken a seat behind her desk when a light knock sounded on her door.

  “Yes. Come in,” she called.

  She glanced around to see the tall Apache doctor enter her office. He was dressed in dark slacks, a crisp white shirt and a black woolen jacket with Native American artwork woven around the middle. His black hair was cropped close to his head and brushed neatly to one side, while his face was freshly shaven.

  Bridget couldn’t help thinking he was the exact opposite of Johnny Chino. Smooth, polished and professional, his life had direction. He had all the attributes a woman admired. So why couldn’t she love a man like him?

  Because he didn’t thrill her or fill her with the wild heat of desire, she thought. Looking at his lips didn’t make her wilt with hunger. Nor could she imagine him laying her down on the bed in the cabin and plundering her body, giving her delirious pleasures. No. He wasn’t her sweet, rough-edged Johnny. The man she longed to have at her side. The man she wanted to father her babies and love her until she left this earth.

  Dr. Kenoi smiled at her and, pushing her thoughts of Johnny aside, she gestured for him to take one of the two leather chairs positioned in front of her desk.

  “Have a seat, Natan,” she said cordially. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “I apologize for interrupting your schedule,” he said as he eased his tall frame into a chair. “But I happened to be in Ruidoso and I wanted to come by and thank you personally.”

  Her smile was quizzical. “Thank me? What have I done?”

  “Leyla. You delivered her baby this past Saturday.”

  “Oh. Yes. Well, that was nothing,” she said with a negligible shrug. “As a doctor you know that we do what we can whenever we can.”

  “You’re being too modest, Bridget. Not all doctors go out of their way to make a patient feel special and important. You left an impression on Leyla. One that I’m sure will help her in the future.”

  This man was giving her an all-out compliment, but the reward she felt from it was lukewarm when compared to the joy she felt whenever Johnny gave her even the slightest hint of a smile.

  What did that mean? That she was an idiot for clinging to a love that might never be?

  Shutting the grim thought out of her mind, she tried to smile at Natan Kenoi. “Is Leyla your patient?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I had warned her that the baby could come at any time. But she lives far from town and her means of transportation is shaky, even in good weather conditions.”

  “I hope she and baby are doing well.”

  “Physically, very well. Thanks to your care.”

  “I’m glad I could help,” Bridget said, while wondering if this doctor had heard about Johnny’s involvement in the birth. He’d been an enormous help to her, yet he would never want recognition for the part that he played in helping a baby boy enter the world.

  “I’ve put Leyla in touch with people who will help her find a job and day care for the baby while she works. Other than that—there’s not much more I can do to alleviate her situation.”

  “It’s a start,” Bridget told him.

  He studied her for long moments and Bridget sensed there was another reason why he’d made a stop by her clinic today.

  “Have you thought anymore about donating your time and skills to our clinic on the reservation? We’re always short on doctors and you’d definitely brighten up the place.”

  Smiling, Bridget rose to her feet as a subtle way to tell this man she needed to get back to work. He immediately stood and waited as she rounded the desk.

  “I’d like to, Natan, really. But right now—”

  “You’re stretched thin,” he finished with a wry grin. “Believe me, I understand.”

  “My plans are to get another doctor to work here with me in the clinic. Whenever that happens, you can count on me to donate a few hours a week to the reservation.”

  He moved close enough to shake her hand. “You’re a generous woman, Bridget.
Generous enough, I hope, to agree to have dinner with me. Say tomorrow night around seven? That’s if you’re free,” he added with a boyish grin.

  So she could sit through the whole meal thinking about Johnny, remembering the meager meal they’d shared in the old cabin? No. Having dinner with another man or simply spending time with one was a useless endeavor, she thought sadly.

  “I—truthfully, Natan, I have no idea what my schedule for tomorrow night might be.”

  “Well, if you find you can make it just give me a call. You still have the number I gave you when we were at the seminar?”

  Apparently, he’d forgotten that the handshake was over, Bridget thought. He was still clinging to her fingers as though he was enjoying the contact.

  Trying not to look as awkward as she felt, she nodded. “Yes. It’s in my address book.”

  “Then I hope to see you soon.”

  She nodded and thankfully, he released her hand and said a quick goodbye.

  Outside the Donovan Family Clinic, Johnny killed the engine on his truck, then took a long deep breath as he stared at the neat brick building carefully landscaped with shrubs and fir trees.

  He shouldn’t have come here, he realized. But anger had pushed him to it. And now that he was here, he wasn’t going to leave without seeing Bridget. Without, at least, telling her what he thought of her meddling.

  Yanking the truck door open, he started to slide to the ground when he saw an Apache man, somewhere near his own age, emerge from the building. His appearance momentarily put a halt to Johnny’s mission as he curiously watched the other man stride down a narrow sidewalk, then slide into a sleek, silver sports car. He’d seen him before. But where? In Mescalero?

  As Johnny climbed out of the truck and started to the building, the answer struck him. He’d seen the man’s picture in the local paper. He was one of the new doctors practicing on the reservation.

  So why had he come to see Bridget?

  That’s none of your business, Johnny. Even if she wanted to sleep with the man, you’d have no right to stop her.