White Christmas in Dry Creek. Janet Tronstad
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sheriff was silent for a moment and then he pointed to the phone Renee held in her hand. “Speaking of Betty, is she still—”
Renee grimaced in dismay and held out the phone. She’d forgotten all about it.
The lawman took it and put it to his ear. “You still on here, Betty? Could you call Havre and see if they have anything on a Rusty Calhoun? They probably don’t, but it’s a place to start.”
Renee could hear the ambulance as it stopped in front of the house. The sound of boots announced the arrival of two uniformed men as they came through the open doorway. The thin worker had a tattoo on his hand and the stockier one had a beard.
“This must be our patient,” the tattooed man said as he knelt and put his fingers over the pulse on Rusty’s throat. “He’s doing better than I thought he might from what Betty said.”
Renee felt relief wash over her as the two men loaded Rusty onto a gurney and wheeled him out of the house.
The sheriff hung up the phone. “They’ll take Rusty to the clinic in Miles City. There’s nothing for you to worry about. You and Tessie can go to bed.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Renee said as she reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out the slip of paper. “I took this out of the man’s pocket. It has a phone number on it.”
The sheriff took the paper and studied it. “Not a local number. Looks like something back east. I’ll have to give it back to him, though. No permission for a search.”
“He was unconscious,” Renee said.
“All the more reason.” The sheriff started walking toward the open door. “If I end up arresting him for anything, it could jeopardize the whole case.”
Renee could see the taillights of the ambulance through the side window on the house. A gust of cold wind blew inside before the sheriff could close the door. Renee wrapped her arms around herself. She felt the chill and shivered. She suddenly realized she’d have to see that man again. She had his horse and that beast he called a dog. She’d have to call over to the bunkhouse to see if anyone was awake to help her. She didn’t want to walk out to the barn in the dark with that animal around. Just because the man called him a dog didn’t make him one.
* * *
Early the next morning, Rusty sleepily noticed the antiseptic smell around him while his eyes were still closed. This place felt familiar, but he wasn’t ready to wake up. It was not full light yet and he heard the rumble of voices in the distance. Slowly he remembered and his entire body tensed. He started to reach for the knife he kept in his right boot. Then he realized his toes were bare. He wore no socks. His boots were gone.
He opened his eyes and tried to rise on his elbows to look around. He had trouble because he had a bandage around his chest, and one arm was tangled up somehow. He wasn’t in the humble hospital where he’d spent weeks after being wounded that last time in Afghanistan, though. The knowledge made him relax. The walls here were painted a light pink and the windows were intact. His boots were beside his bed. He slumped back against the pillows. He even smelled a hint of coffee in the distance.
A cotton blanket had been draped around him, but the air was cool. There was no hint of food and he wondered if he had missed breakfast. He had a headache, but he could easily move his left hand and reached over to the bandage on his side. His arm was in a sling. He remembered now that they’d brought him here in what seemed like the middle of the night.
He looked at the machine next to his bed and pushed the call button. The events of last night were coming back to him. He was amazed he’d headed for the Elkton ranch like a homing pigeon when he was in trouble. His mother had always said Mr. Elkton had the best ranch around. It had made his father furious, but Rusty agreed with her. He’d been ten years old when they’d first had that argument.
Now he just shook his head. He didn’t have time for memories—good or bad. He was anxious to get out of here and find out what kind of trouble his brother had gotten mixed up in.
Rusty was reaching for his boots with his good arm when his eye caught a furtive action near the open door. He glanced up just in time to see a dark shape move out of view. He hadn’t seen much, but he knew there was no white or pastel color on the figure, so it wasn’t a nurse.
“Who is it?” he demanded, realizing why he’d flashed back to Afghanistan. Someone had almost killed him last night and he didn’t know why. He could still be in danger. He’d never been as scared in his life as he had some nights in the army. He wondered if fear would always pull him back there.
He dragged his right boot close and slipped his hand down to the small pocket in the interior of the leather where he kept his knife. It was empty.
He moved to the wall beside the door anyway and lifted the boot. The heel was hard enough to knock someone out. Even clad in this threadbare hospital gown and with only one arm working, he could do enough damage to slow someone down if he had to get away.
“Rusty,” someone whispered and he relaxed. He recognized that voice. He put his boot down at the same time as his angel peeked around the corner of the doorway. He hadn’t realized last night that she was so slender and slight. Just a wisp of a woman.
“Are you all right?” she asked hesitantly. “The nurse said you were still sleeping.”
“Not anymore.” He grinned for no good reason.
Then he stopped and just looked at her. She’d been all golden and shining last night. Today she was subdued and more copper than gold. Maybe it was the difference in her hair. It wasn’t spread out in a halo this morning; she’d pulled it back into a smooth braid. The hair still captured the light, but it was deeper, more intense. And her face was paler than it had been last night. But that didn’t make sense. She wasn’t scared of him today the way she had been then.
At least, he didn’t think she was afraid today until he saw her blink. That was the exact moment she’d gotten a clear look at him.
“Someone messed with my boots,” he tried to explain, hoping that would be enough to make the sight of him seem normal as he stood hunched by the wall with his hospital gown open in the back, his boot clenched to his chest and a blanket caught in the loose ties of his gown.
“Oh.” She nodded uncertainly.
She had freckles on her nose. He wondered how he had missed that last night. And her face looked drawn, as if she was worried about something and had been for some time.
“How’s your little girl?” he asked, realizing as he said it that the woman must be married since she had a daughter who thought her father was a king.
Not that it was any of his concern if she was married.
“Fine.”
Rusty knew so little about family life. His mother had left a few months after she’d made her comments about the Elkton ranch. Then it had been Rusty, baby Eric and their father doing the best they could. It didn’t take them long to forget all of her housewife ways. They ate from tin cans when they were hungry and slept in beds without sheets when they were tired. He knew boys were expected to like that kind of life, but he would have traded it all to have his mother come back to visit, even if it was just one time.
Rusty felt the weight of the blanket and looked down long enough to untangle it and wrap it around him like a toga.
“Are you Mrs. Elkton?” he asked his visitor as he then knotted the hospital gown ties around his back so everything was secure.
Mr. Elkton had been a widower when Rusty was a boy, but a lot could have changed since then.
The woman shook her head as though what he’d said was unthinkable. “I’m the cook for the ranch hands. My daughter and I live in our own place behind the bunkhouse. We’re just taking care of the main house while the Elktons are gone. We don’t own it or anything like that.”
“Oh.” Rusty was uncomfortable now that he seemed