Solemn Oath. Hannah Alexander
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Cowboy shook his head and grunted in shared sympathy. He was silent for a moment, then he said, “That lion was my best friend, and Berring just walked onto my ranch and shot him while I was gone. Killed him! I call it murder. How could he get away with that? He’s crazy!”
“Nobody really gets away with anything,” Lukas said. “Not in the end. But I came to tell you something about that, Cowboy. We received word that Berring has been picked up by the police, and they checked his records. He was released from state prison about six months ago after a fifteen-year stint for armed robbery and attempted murder. He’s being held.”
Cowboy stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and lay back. “I’m glad they got him. It doesn’t bring Leonardo back, though.”
“No, it doesn’t. I’m sorry.”
Someone knocked at the threshold, then swept inside the curtain without waiting. In stepped tall, redheaded Beverly, off-duty E.R. nurse and Cowboy’s girlfriend for the past four months. In fact, the two had met right here in the emergency department when Cowboy came in with a “love bite” from Leonardo.
“Hey, pardner,” Cowboy greeted Beverly, his voice suddenly back to its usual bass depth, all evidence of grief gone except for the telltale redness in his eyes. “Come to see if I’d died and left that Mustang to you in my will?”
Beverly did not smile. Her usually pale skin flushed with anger as she crossed her arms over her chest. Beverly’s quick temper was even hotter than the color of her hair, which was no surprise to Lukas. He’d borne the brunt of her anger a few months ago. He wondered if he should leave and allow Cowboy to handle it alone.
“You didn’t even call me!” she snapped at Cowboy. “I had to hear about it through the grapevine.” She glanced at Lukas, then lowered her gaze, as if embarrassed. “Hello, Dr. Bower.”
“Hello, Beverly.”
She was silent for a moment, as if wishing Lukas would leave. Or maybe she was too acutely aware of the fact that legally she should not have been called unless Cowboy had requested it, and Cowboy was not the type to ask for emotional support. Someone—probably softhearted, bigmouthed Lauren—had called out of consideration for Beverly, breaking patient confidentiality.
“Jacob Casey,” Beverly said, “do you know what the word macho means? It’s not flattering. I don’t appreciate it that half the town knew about this thing—” she gestured toward the gauze-covered wound “—before I did.”
“Oh, don’t go and get all worked up.” Cowboy reached up with his left hand and patted her arm. “I’ve been hurt worse than this lots of times.”
“What happened to Leonardo?”
Cowboy froze for a moment, clenching and unclenching the muscles in his jaw. “He didn’t fare too well.”
Beverly studied his face, her forest-colored eyes showing compassion and just a hint of frustration. Some of the high color eased from her face. “I’m sorry, Jake.” She glanced at her watch. “The kids will be home in about an hour. I’ll get them and go out to the ranch—”
“Nope.”
She paused. “There you go again. You’re not going to stop me this ti—”
“I don’t want the kids to see him like that, Bev. Call the vet. You know his number.” His voice wobbled just a little. He stopped, swallowed, took a breath. “They’ve got a key to the cage. They’ll take care of him.”
“But I can meet them out there. Let me help—”
Lukas quietly slipped out of the room as their voices continued in gentle argument. Cowboy needed to realize he had other friends besides Leonardo. In the short time they had known each other, Beverly already seemed to be a staunch supporter. Funny how some men could inspire loyalty and some could not, even in the workplace. Maybe that was why, at thirty-five, Lukas remained unmarried.
But could Beverly be trusted to continue her loyalty during Cowboy’s grieving period? She had refused to support Lukas last spring with the treatment of one of their E.R. patients. All he’d wanted her to do was follow accepted hospital protocol when he refused to give narcotics to a drug-seeking patient.
She was supposed to fill out an AMA form stating that the patient, Dwayne Little, had left against medical advice when he realized he wasn’t going to get the narcotic he wanted. Her refusal resulted in a pending lawsuit against Lukas by Dwayne’s father, Bailey Little, president of the hospital board. If not for Mrs. Pinkley, the hospital administrator, Lukas would no longer be working here.
Lukas sighed and went in to check on his other patients.
With the sound of mechanical beeps filling the room behind her, Mercy stood blocking the entrance, her arms crossed over her chest as she glared at a policeman trying to get past her to Ramón Martínez, who was on a nonrebreather oxygen mask and a cardiac monitor.
“This man is not drunk, Bill,” she said. “We’ve proven that. The alcohol you smelled on his breath came from the toothache medicine he was taking. He accidentally overdosed. He’s sick and he’s in pain. How can you do this to him right now?”
“Dr. Mercy, you know I still have to give him a ticket. People were hurt. I’m required—”
“If you give it to him now, he won’t even understand what’s going on. The interpreter called and canceled on us.”
Bill sighed, tugging at the too-tight collar of his uniform. “I know enough Spanish to explain it to him.”
Mercy felt the tingle of anger work its way up her spine. “You know Spanish, and you didn’t volunteer to interpret when we needed help with him?”
Bill shifted uncomfortably. “Come on, Dr. Mercy. I don’t know that much. Look, I’m not the bad guy here. I’m just trying to do my job. I’m not gonna beat him up or anything. I’ll just give him the ticket and leave you alone.”
Mercy wanted to argue further, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. It would probably make things worse for Ramón. If Bill didn’t give the ticket now, someone else might do it later, and there were a couple of people on the Knolls police force that Mercy wouldn’t trust to haul a dead dog to the pound. Bill was a good guy, just a little too legalistic.
Mercy nodded her consent, gestured for Claudia to stay in the room and stepped down the hallway to Arthur’s room, where she found Lukas and Lauren assisting Arthur into a wheelchair.
“Going somewhere?” she asked, ignoring the sight of Lukas and Lauren with their heads so close together.
“Your walls aren’t soundproof,” Arthur said. “I heard you need an interpreter.”
“But your friends are getting ready to take you to Springfield,” Mercy protested. “I know how badly you want to be with Alma.”
“I’m going soon. Alma would want me to help Mr. Martínez.” He settled back into the chair with a groan. His head was cleanly bandaged, and his arm was in a sling. His voice was still just a little slurred from the effects of the Demerol as he asked Lukas questions about Mr. Martínez.
“I admire your ability to forgive, Arthur,” Mercy said softly.
He looked up at her in surprise. “Forgiveness has nothing to do with it, Dr. Mercy. What happened to us was an accident. There’s no one to blame.”
Mercy shook her head and stood back to let Lukas wheel Arthur out of the room. Was this guy for real? As if unable to help herself, she followed the entourage from the exam room into the hallway.
“I know a man near here who speaks Spanish,” Arthur was telling Lauren. “If you’ll ask my friends to call him, he can come in and interpret when I leave.” When he entered Ramón’s room, he spoke without hesitation, interpreting for the policeman giving the ticket, then more softly, with words of comfort, when Ramón buried