The Crush (33 page)

Earlier in the day, Oren Wesley had made a courtesy call informing her of Lozada's imminent release from jail. "You're releasing him?"

"I have no choice." He explained the district attorney's decision. "I warned you that the charge might not stick. Wick claims it was Lozada, but without hard evidence--"

"What about his breaking into my house?"

"There was no sign of forced entry, Dr.Newton."

"But he broke in," she insisted.

"If you wish, you could come down and file a complaint."

"What good would it do?"

What had become clear to her was that she couldn't rely on the judicial system to take care of Lozada for her. The problem was hers and she must solve it. But how?

Then there was the matter of Wick. She was still angry with Wick the cop, who deserved her scorn. But Wick the man was her patient who deserved the best medical care she could provide.

How was she to reconcile the two?

Out of respect for Dr. Howell, the board had set a date two weeks hence for her formal assumption of the chief of surgery position. She wanted to move into that job with a clear slate, with her life in perfect order, free of problems.

She needed time away to think things through and plot a course of action.

Her last-minute decision to take a few days off had required some deft maneuvering by her able office staff, but they juggled the schedule so that her patients were only moderately inconvenienced.

Dr. Sugarman returned the favor she had done him a few months ago by agreeing to oversee the care of her post-op patients who were still in the hospital, Wick among them.

She had packed in a hurry and made good time driving. The horseback ride had provided a temporary reprieve from her troubling thoughts.

Toby Robbins arrived shortly after she returned to the house. "You didn't have to come right away, Toby," she told him as soon as she answered the door. Earlier she had called him to report a loose board on the corral gate.

"I feel bad about overlooking it."

"It's no big deal. It'll keep."

"I'd just as soon get it fixed now. Unless this is a bad time for you."

"Now is fine."

He looked beyond her at the pieces of luggage still standing on her living room floor. "Staying for a while this time?"

"A few days. Let me show you that loose board." They went down the front steps together.

On the way to the corral he retrieved a metal toolbox from the bed of his pickup truck.

"How's Corrine?"

"Fine. She's giving the devotional at the church ladies' luncheon next Thursday.

She's got butterflies."

"I'm sure she'll do fine."

He nodded, glanced at Rennie, then said,

"We read about you in the paper this week."

"Don't believe everything you read, Toby."

"It was all good this time."

This time. She didn't know if the qualifier had been intentional. The old rancher remembered newspaper stories about her that hadn't been so flattering, the ones about the fatal shooting of Raymond Collier.

Before inheriting his ranch from his parents, Toby had lived in Dalton and occasionally had done odd jobs for T. Dan. When he took over the ranch, it had a modest herd of beef cattle, but, with careful management, he had increased it and prospered when other ranchers had succumbed to drought or economic recessions of one origin or another.

Through the years, he had stayed in touch with Rennie. He knew she was interested in having a weekend getaway, a place where she could keep horses, so he had notified her when the ranch neighboring his went on the market. She saw it only once before signing a contract for the asking price.

Toby no longer needed the additional income that came from doing odd jobs for her. She supposed he worked for her because he was a good neighbor, a nice man, or simply because he liked her.

Or maybe he was kind to her because he had known T. Dan so well.

"Here. See?" She showed him the gate, wiggling the loose slat, then stepping aside so he could get to it. He inspected it, then hunkered down and took a hammer from his toolbox. He used the forked end to pry the rusty nails out of the loose holes.

"That guy, the one whose life you saved ..."

"Wick Threadgill."

"Wasn't he the fella I met out here?"

"That's right."

"What do you think of him?"

"I don't."

She had answered too quickly and defensively.

Toby squinted up at her from beneath the brim of his hat.

"Uh, listen, Toby, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go back inside and start putting things away. Come say goodbye before you leave."

"Will do."

She was busy in the kitchen an hour later when he approached the back door and knocked. "Come on in."

He stepped inside and removed his hat. "Some of the other boards had loose nails, too. I replaced them all. Solid as a rock now."

"Thank you. How about something cold to drink?"

"No, thanks. I best get going so Corrine won't have to hold supper for me.

Next week sometime I could come over and give that gate a coat of fresh paint."

"That would be nice. Want me to buy the paint?"

"I'll bring it with me. Same white okay?"

"Perfect."

"Are you going to be okay here, Rennie?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason."

He had his reasons, all right. She could tell by the way he nervously threaded the brim of his hat through his fingers and stared at the toes of his scuffed work boots.

"What's on your mind, Toby?"

Raising his head, he gave her a direct look. "You've been mixed up lately with some pretty raunchy characters. If you don't mind my saying so."

"I don't mind. I agree. I think raunchy would be a mild adjective for Lozada."

"Wasn't talking about just him. That Threadgill was kicked off the police force, you know."

"He took a leave of absence."

Toby's shrug said Same thing. "Well, anyhow, me and Corinne have been worried about you."

"Needlessly, Toby, I assure you. I haven't been mixing with these people voluntarily. My path crossed with Lozada's by happenstance. My association with Mr. Threadgill is purely professional. His profession as well as mine. That's all."

His expression was skeptical.

"I've been protecting myself for a long time, Toby," she added softly. "Since I was sixteen."

He nodded, looking embarrassed for having resurrected bad memories. "It's just sort of a habit, you know, for me and Corinne to look out for you."

"And I can't tell you how much your concern means to me. Has always meant to me."

"Well," he said, replacing his hat, "I'm off. If you need anything give us a holler."

"I will. Thanks again for repairing the gate."

"Take care, Rennie."

She sipped a glass of wine as she cooked herself a meal of pasta and marinara. As she ate, she watched the sun sink into the western horizon.

Afterward she carried her bags upstairs to unpack.

Here in the country she wasn't persnickety.

She tossed undies into drawers without folding them. She hung clothes in the closet willy-nilly, in no particular order. Out here she yielded to a rebellious streak-against her structured self.

These tasks completed, she went from room to room looking for something to do. Now that she had the desired free time, she didn't know how to fill it. TV had nothing interesting to offer. She wasn't inspired to watch a movie from her library of DVD'S. She tried to read a new biography, but found the subject dull and the writing pretentious. She wandered into the kitchen, looking more for something to occupy her than for something to eat. Nothing looked appetizing, but because she was there she opened a box of cookies and nibbled on one.

A benefit of being in the country, far removed from city lights, was the panoply of stars. She ventured outside to gaze at the nighttime sky.

She located the familiar constellations, then spotted a satellite and tracked its arc until she could no longer see it.

She crossed her yard and entered the corral through the gate Toby had repaired. Although she knew his intentions had been good, and that his concern was sincere, his caution had left her feeling restless and even a little jittery as she went into the dark barn.

Usually the familiar smells of hay and horseflesh comforted her. T. Dan had put her astride a pony about the time she had learned to walk. Ever since, horses had played an important role in her life. She had never experienced any fear of them and loved being in their environment.

Tonight, however, the cavernous barn seemed ominous. The shadows were abnormally dark and impenetrable. As she moved from stall to stall, the horses nickered and stamped skittishly. They had been groomed and fed. They were dry. There was no approaching storm. She spoke to them in a low and soothing voice, but it sounded counterfeit to her own ears and must have conveyed to them her own disquiet.

Like her, they were unsettled for no apparent reason.

Rather than being comforted by the animals, they increased her uneasiness because they seemed to share it. Upon returning to the house, she did something she had never done before. She locked all the doors and windows, then double-checked to make certain she hadn't overlooked any. Upstairs, she showered, but she realized she was rushing through it.

She, who had waded through snake- and croc-infested African rivers, was now afraid to shower in her own tub? Annoyed with herself for buying into the spookiness, she turned out the light with a decisive click and got into bed.

She slept lightly, as though expecting the noises, that eventually awakened her.

"WHAT THE ...?"

Wick gripped the steering wheel of his pickup.

He acknowledged that his mind was sluggish from exhaustion. There were probably a few grains of pain medication still swimming around in his bloodstream, gumming up his thought processes. He was a little slow on the uptake, but it sure seemed to him that the steering wheel had frozen up in his hands.

For several seconds he was stumped. Then he looked at the gas gauge.

"Son of a bitch!"

He was out of gas. In the middle of frigging nowhere. In the freaking wee hours of the morning.

He was out of gas.

It had never occurred to him to check the gauge before leaving Fort Worth. Once he'd left Trinity Tower reasonably certain that Rennie wasn't shacked up in the penthouse with Lozada, once he'd left the concierge with the envelope and a ten-dollar bill guaranteeing its speedy delivery, he'd wanted only to get clear of the city before Oren saw that his driveway was minus one pickup truck or a nurse discovered that the hospital bed was shy one patient.

During the drive he'd had a hell of a time keeping his eyes open. Usually he was an aggressive driver who cursed slowpokes. He thought radar traps were a violation of the Constitution.

But tonight he had stayed in the outside lane, yielding the faster lanes to long-haul truckers and motorists who hadn't experienced a life-threatening assault barely a week ago.

It was a broad assumption that Rennie had gone to her ranch. She could be on her way to anywhere in the world, but if she was taking only a few days of vacation, the ranch would be his first guess, so that was where he was headed.

He didn't know exactly what he was going to say to her when he got there, but he would figure it out as he went along. Nor could he predict what her reaction would be to his unannounced arrival. She had saved his hide on the operating table, but she might still be inclined to flay it off him for his lying and spying.

Whatever, he would deal with it. The important thing was that he was almost there.

Or so he'd thought until he ran out of gas.

He twisted the wheel as hard as his diminished strength would let him and steered the truck onto the narrow shoulder. He let it roll to a complete stop. Without the air conditioner it was already getting uncomfortably warm in the cab. He rolled down the window for ventilation, but that only let in more hot air.

The interstate was at least eight miles behind him. He estimated he still had a good ten miles to go before he reached the cutoff to Rennie's place.

If he could run, he could cover that much distance in an hour, say an hour and ten minutes max. But he couldn't run. He could barely walk.

Hobbling, it would take him hours to go that far, if he didn't collapse first, which he surely would.

He supposed he could use his cell phone to call a service station on the interstate. But service stations on the interstate usually didn't provide roadside assistance, much less deliver gasoline. Getting a wrecker here would take forever. Besides, he had no money or credit cards because Oren had his wallet in a safe place inside his house. The road wasn't going to be well traveled until daybreak, and that was still a few hours away. Basically, he was stuck.