Wyoming Bold

“This is how things used to be done, in the old days when I got out of medical school,” he said. “I can’t tell you how many elderly people who could barely walk almost cheered when I showed up at their doors. Now that I’m old, I understand. It’s hard on the joints to sit for an hour or two waiting to see the doctor.”

He listened to her chest, checked her vital signs and then looped the stethoscope around his neck. He had her do some very simple exercises and he checked her pupils.

“I haven’t had a stroke,” she teased.

His eyebrows shot up. “How did you know I thought that?”

“I don’t know.” She flushed. “These things just slip out.” She sighed. “My life would be so much easier if I were normal.”

He laughed softly, pulled out a small bottle and unwrapped a syringe. He attached the needle, inserted it into the bottle, pushed out air, filled it to a notch and put the bottle down.

“This may sting a bit.” He used an alcohol wipe on her arm before he slid the needle in gently. A few seconds later, he withdrew it. She hadn’t even flinched.

“Didn’t sting at all. I feel horrible.”

“Do you get the aura?” he asked.

“Yes. Usually I just go blind in one eye, with static like you see on a television screen when there’s no channel coming up. But this time there were brightly colored lights.”

He nodded. “Do you have a family physician?”

“We went to Dr. Brady, but he moved to Montana,” she said softly. “We go to clinics now.”

“You can consider me your family physician, if you like,” he offered. “And I do make house calls.”

“That would be so kind of you,” she said, with heartfelt gratitude. “You see, we frighten most people, Mama and I.”

“I’m not frightened of you. I’m intrigued. That injection will make you sleep. When you wake up, the headache should be gone. But if the headache worsens or you have new symptoms, you must call me.”

“I will,” she promised.

“And I think you should have a CT scan. Just to rule out anything dangerous.”

“I hate tests,” she groaned. “But I’ve had them already. The neurologist didn’t find anything like a tumor in the scans. He said it’s migraine without a specific cause.”

“Do you mind if I contact him?” he asked. “I know we’ve only just met...”

She smiled. “I don’t mind at all.” It was very nice having a doctor who didn’t feel that she and Clara were “peculiar.” “I’ll write his number down for you.” She did, on a piece of paper, and handed it to him. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

He patted her on the shoulder. “When you’re better, I’d like to talk to you about this gift of yours. When I was in college, I did several courses of anthropology. I still audit courses on the internet, to keep up with what’s going on in the field. Every community since recorded history has had people with unusual gifts.”

“Really?” she asked.

He nodded. “As for psychic gifts, the government once had an entire unit of what were called ‘remote viewers.’ They were used to spy on other countries. Quite successfully at times,” he explained.

“I’d like to hear more about that,” she said, becoming drowsy.

“All in good time. If your headache isn’t better when you wake up, call me.” He pulled out a business card and put it on her bedside table. “My cell phone number is on there. Use it. I never answer the landline phone if I can help it. Only a handful of people know the other.”

“That’s so kind of you.”

He shrugged. “I loved medicine. I still do. I just hate all the nitpicky rules that have reduced it to red tape with pharmaceuticals mixed in.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

He left the room, pausing to speak to Clara. Tank smoothed back Merissa’s soft hair. “I’ll talk to you again, when you’re not in such bad shape,” he said with a gentle smile. “I hope you get better very soon.”

She caught his hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

He bent impulsively and kissed her forehead. “You’re easy to take care of,” he said softly.

“You came to see me. What about?” she wondered.

“You knew I was coming.”

“Yes. I felt it.”

He drew in a breath. “I talked to the sheriff in Texas. We both remember a man who seemed to have more than one face...”

She sat straight up in bed. “That’s it! That’s it!”

He thought she was having a reaction to the medicine. “Are you all right?” he asked worriedly, coaxing her to lie back down.

“I kept seeing a man sitting at a dressing table, trying on wigs,” she blurted out in a rush. “I didn’t know what it meant. Now I do. The man who’s after you, that’s him!”

He felt cold chills down his backbone. “Your mother said you think he’s coming here.”

“Yes. Soon.” She held his hand. “You must be very, very careful,” she said, her face drawn. “Promise me.”

Her concern made him feel warm inside, as if he were sitting in front of a cozy fire with a cup of hot chocolate. “I promise.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m very sleepy.”

“Rest is the best thing for you. I’ll come back another time.”

She smiled. “That would be...very nice.”

He got up. She was already asleep.

A man sitting at a dressing table, trying on wigs. At least now, thanks to her, he had some idea of what might be coming his way. He would have to take precautions, and soon. He looked down at the sleeping woman with odd, possessive feelings. He wasn’t psychic, but he knew that she was going to play an important part in his life.

CHAPTER THREE

TANK PAUSED TO talk to Clara and the doctor when he left Merissa’s room.

“She’s asleep,” he told them.

Clara smiled. “I’m so glad. Those headaches are terrible. You think there may be something bad causing them,” she said to the doctor, who looked surprised at her intuition. Clara stared at him with wide, soft eyes that seemed almost transparent. “It’s not a tumor,” she said in a soft monotone. “There’s nothing...”

The doctor laughed. “It amazes me, that you can see that.”

Clara looked self-conscious. “It comes and goes. I never know when something will pop into my mind. Merissa has a true gift. She can, well, look at something and see what’s going to happen. I can’t.”

“It’s a very rare ability,” the doctor told her.

“It makes us outcasts,” Clara replied. “We rarely leave the house. People stare and whisper. I hate going to the grocery store. One woman even asked me if I kept a familiar.”

“Good Lord,” Tank muttered.

“We’re pretty much used to it by now.” Clara laughed. “And we do get a lot of people who ask us to read for them. That’s usually hit-and-miss and I tell them that, but they come anyway. Sometimes we’re able to see something that saves lives, or even marriages. It’s a good feeling. It almost makes up for the notoriety.”

“You handle it well,” Tank said.

“Thanks.”

“She said her neurologist did tests and gave me his number,” he told Clara. “I’ll confer with him. But you’re right. She showed no signs of having any impairment beyond the migraine. You call me if she doesn’t get better,” Dr. Harrison told Clara firmly. “I don’t care if it’s two in the morning.”

“I owe you a great debt just for what you’ve already done,” Clara said. She pulled out her purse. He protested but she handed him a large bill anyway.

“Gas money,” she told him. “Don’t argue.”

He just shook his head. “I’m on retirement, you know,” he said.

“Doesn’t matter. You came here as if we were family, and retirement isn’t usually enough to buy food and medicine at once.”

He smiled. “All right then. Thank you,” he said formally.

She smiled back.

* * *

TANK WANTED TO STAY. He hated leaving that sweet blonde woman in the bedroom. He’d felt possessive while he was looking after her. It was a new, and strange, feeling. He’d had brief romances over the years, but he’d never found a woman he could think of in terms of a future together. Now, all at once, his mind was being changed.

It disturbed him, thinking about the chameleon federal agent who had led him into the ambush on the border. He’d dismissed Merissa’s vision at the beginning, but after speaking to Sheriff Hayes Carson in Texas, now he was sure she was right.

* * *

A FEW DAYS later, the storm was still annoying everyone, but there were some changes going on at the ranch. All the men had started carrying weapons, even when they weren’t riding fence. And whenever Tank went outside, at least two men were nearby, watching—something that Mallory had ordered.

New surveillance equipment was installed by a local company. It seemed to disconcert the man who set up the cameras that so many armed men were walking around near Tank.

“Something going on that you’re worried about, mate?” the technician asked Tank. “I mean, men with guns everywhere. You’re never alone for a second, are you?”

Tank shrugged. “My brothers are overprotective. Probably nothing, but there may be a threat of some sort.”

“And you know this from what, an informer?” the man probed.

Tank pursed his lips. “A psychic.”

“Fair dinkum?” the man drawled in a thick Australian accent. He shook his head. “Don’t put no faith in them things, mate, they’re all bogus. Nobody can see the future.”

Tank didn’t argue. “Maybe you’re right. But we like to err on the side of caution.”

“It’s your money,” the man said, and went back to work.

He was through quickly. “This’ll set you right, mate,” the installer told Tank with a smile. “This is state-of-the-art stuff. Nobody will be sneaking up on you now. No worries.”

“Thanks. It does rather feel like being in prison, however.” Tank sighed, looking around at the state-of-the-art camera towers.

“We pay a price for safety,” the other man replied. “With your life at stake, this seems a pretty fair dinkum one, you know?”

Tank smiled. “I know.” It didn’t occur to him then to ask how the man knew his life was on the line, since he hadn’t elaborated about the threat to either the woman at the company’s office or this installer.

“Well, that should do it,” the man replied. “Oh, and I did put a small camera in your office, just to square things up. It’s hidden, so you won’t have to worry about somebody spotting it.”

“Where?” Tank asked, concerned.

The other man put a hand on his shoulder and grinned. “If you don’t know where it is, you can’t tell somebody, right?”

He laughed. He had a similar appliance in his truck, a Lo-Jack, and where it was installed nobody knew. “I get it.”

“Good man. If you have any questions or concerns, you can call us, right?”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Just doing my job,” he replied, and grinned again.

Why should Tank suddenly think of a play, with one of the characters complaining that another character “smiled too much”?

Curious, he watched the man climb into a nice, late-model car and drive off. Why wasn’t he in a company truck, like most technicians drove?

So he called the security company and asked.

“Oh, that’s just Ben.” The woman in the office laughed, although she sounded just briefly disconcerted. “He’s eccentric. He likes women, you see, and he thinks they’re less likely to be impressed by a guy if he’s in some company vehicle.”

“I see.”

“Not to worry,” she returned. “I’ve known him for years. He’s just curious, to put it politely. But he knows his job, and he’s good at it.”

“I’ll stop worrying.”

“We’re happy to have the work,” she added gratefully. “It’s been a bit slow, lately, with the economy in such a bind.”

“Tell me about it.” Tank sighed. “We’re looking for new markets for our cattle. Everything’s slow.”

“I guess you’re selling off stock.”

“Sold it off before winter,” he corrected. “And a good thing it was. We’re having to truck in feed. This storm is bad.”

“I know. I had to get a lift to work with a friend.” She laughed. “If he hadn’t been able to drive in this, you wouldn’t be speaking to me now.”

“Good thing your guys can work in this mess,” Tank said. “I didn’t want to wait for the weather to break to get the system installed.”

“Expecting some sort of trouble?” she asked. “Not that it’s my business.”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary,” he prevaricated. “But we had a threat about one of our bulls. Best to be safe.”

“Oh.” She hesitated. “Not worrying about some sort of attack on people there, then?”

He laughed deliberately. “What in the world would somebody attack us for?” he asked. “I did jaywalk last week, but I hardly think the sheriff’s coming by to arrest me.”

She laughed, too. “Silly thought. I suppose your cattle are quite expensive.”

“And that’s an understatement,” he replied. “A friend of ours was visited by rustlers a few weeks ago. Had one of his prize bulls taken. Not going to happen here.”

“Not with our equipment on the job, I promise you,” she replied. “Thanks again for the business. If you know anybody else in need of surveillance equipment, we’d be grateful for the work.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

He hung up.

* * *

THE STORM DID BREAK. Snow was still piled everywhere, but the sun came out. Tank had phoned Clara to make sure Merissa was better.

“She’s back at work already.” Clara laughed. “Would you like to speak to her?”

“Yes, I would, thanks.”

There was a brief pause. “Hello?”

Tank loved her voice. It was soft and clear, like a prayer in the wilderness. “Hello,” he replied softly. “Are you better?”

“Much. Thanks again for your help. The doctor called in a prescription for me at the drugstore,” she added. “He says it will help prevent the headaches, if I can tolerate it.” She laughed. “I’m funny about medicine. I can’t take a lot of it. I used to take feverfew for migraine, and another herb, but they weren’t working.”

“Modern medicine to the rescue,” he mused.

“Modern medicine is just a reworking of ancient Native American and indigenous folk medicine wrapped up in pills,” she pointed out.

“Have it your way.” He smiled, then paused. “When the snow melts a bit, how would you like to go over to Catelow and have supper at that new Mediterranean eatery everybody’s talking about?”

Her intake of breath was audible. “I’d love to,” she said with flattering quickness.

He chuckled softly. “I like Greek food,” he said. “Well, I don’t like resinated wine, but that’s another thing.”

“What is that?”

“The wine?” he asked. “It’s an acquired taste, a wine with resin in it. It’s quite bitter, but I’m told that many people like it.”

“Sounds uncomfortable.”

“To me, too. But I love the food.”

“I like spinach salad with goat cheese.”

“So do I.”

She laughed. “We have things in common.”

“We’ll find more, I imagine. I’ll call you in a day or two and we’ll set a date. Okay?”

“Okay!”

“Call us if you need anything.”

“I will, but we’re fine.”

“Okay. See you.”

“See you.”

He hung up, feeling very proud of himself.

* * *

A FEW MINUTES later, he walked out to the barn, where Cane and Mallory were talking to Darby about arrangements for a new bull they’d purchased. They turned when he came in, wearing a huge grin.

“You win the lottery or something?” Cane joked.

“I’m taking Merissa out to eat,” Tank replied.

There were several shocked expressions.

He glared at them. “She won’t turn me into a toad if she doesn’t like the food,” he said sarcastically.

“That isn’t what worries us,” Cane said quietly.

Mallory moved forward. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Look, it isn’t that we don’t like Merissa. But we know very little about her family. There have been some stories, some very unpleasant ones, about her father.”

Tank frowned. “What stories?”

Mallory glanced at Cane and back at Tank. “Well, that he beat one of his hands almost to death,” he said.

Tank was shocked. “He doesn’t live there anymore.”

“I know,” Mallory said. “But...”

“But you think maybe Merissa’s like that?” Tank said through his teeth.

Mallory removed his hand. “I’m doing this badly,” he groaned.

Cane moved forward. “Nobody knows where he is,” he said. “There’s a warrant, a standing warrant, for his arrest on assault and battery charges.”

“If you get involved with her,” Mallory seconded, “and he comes back...”

Tank understood, finally, what they were saying. He relaxed. “You’re worried about me.”

They both nodded. “We heard all sorts of things concerning him. He was possessive about his daughter. She was just ten at the time, and he was violent toward anybody who tried to talk to her.”

“I wonder why?” Tank asked.

“There were also rumors about what he did to her mother,” Mallory added solemnly.

“To Clara?” Tank was shocked. “But she’s a woman!”

“A man like that doesn’t care,” Cane said coldly. “Our doctor told me, in confidence once, that he’d treated Clara for some potentially fatal injuries.” He looked at Mallory with a question in his eyes.

“Tell him,” Mallory said.

Cane drew a breath. “Merissa was brought in with Clara, with a concussion and a broken leg,” he added. “The doctor said she tried to save her mother.”

Tank leaned back against a stone pillar with a rough curse. “Concussion!”

“It could explain some of her strange abilities,” Mallory said quietly. “There’s no scientific explanation that I’m aware of, but there are many things we still don’t know about brain function.”

“He hit a ten-year-old hard enough to break her leg?” Tank was talking to himself.

“Yes,” Mallory replied. “It’s worrying that nobody knows where he is.”

“It’s been years,” Tank pointed out.

“So it has. But it’s something to consider. Like that man who helped put you into intensive care...”

Tank held up his hand suddenly. “Let’s not go into that,” he said with a look that wasn’t lost on his brothers.

“Okay.”

He stood up. “I want to have a look at that tractor that’s been acting up,” he told his brothers, motioning them to follow him.

They nodded to Darby Hanes, who grinned. He was feeling better and back at work.

Tank started the engine and left it idling.

“I don’t think surveillance can pick this up,” he told the two of them, “over the noise, and my back’s to the camera so they can’t read lips. Listen, I don’t want to mention anything about our suspicions. Something’s not quite right about the company we hired to install the cameras. I can’t explain it,” he said irritably.

“You been talking to Merissa?” Cane teased.

“I have, but she didn’t mention it. No, I just have a feeling,” he added heavily.

Mallory didn’t laugh. “I had the same feeling,” he said curtly. “And I’m not psychic. The guy came in a car, not a service vehicle. He had an Australian accent, but it was put on. I had a friend in the service who was from Adelaide. I know the difference.”

Tank lost color in his face. “The rogue federal agent, the chameleon.”

“It’s possible,” Cane said, interrupting.

“Yes, but what do we do about all the cameras? And he might have bugged the phones, as well,” Tank said with growing unease. “He had access to the whole house, thanks to my stupidity! I should have mentioned that we hire a company from out of town.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Mallory said gently. “Neither of us thought about the possibility, either. It seemed a logical thing to do.”

“Yes, it did,” Cane agreed.

“We might have another company come in and tweak the cameras,” Mallory suggested with twinkling eyes.

“Not a bad idea,” Tank said. “I have a friend who can put bugs in ice cream and you’ll never see them. He was working as an independent contractor in the Middle East when I was serving over there. I’ll give him a call on my cell.”

“Your cell may be bugged,” Mallory pointed out.

“I’ll buy a throwaway,” Cane said. “And use it. We’d all better have some. I’ll send Darby into town for them.”

“This is ridiculous,” Tank muttered. “We hire people to protect us from the bad guys, and they may turn out to be the very people we’re watching for.”

“Our advantage,” Cane said, “is that they won’t know we’re onto them.”

“We could all just be paranoid,” Mallory suggested.

The other two looked at him for a minute, laughed and shook their heads. “No.”

He shrugged, and grinned.

“Tell the wives,” Tank added, “not to say anything about this in the house.”

“We will. They’re going on a two-day Christmas shopping trip to Los Angeles Friday,” Cane pointed out. “Morie’s taking Harrison with them. She can’t bear to leave him even with Mavie for a couple of days.”

“She’s a great little mother,” Tank said. He pursed his lips. “And I hear you and your new father-in-law have a hunting trip planned for next month up in Montana.”

“Heard that, did you?” Mallory chuckled. “We do. Now that he’s a grandfather, he’s a lot less judgmental and harsh.”

Tank didn’t want to mention how much Mallory had mellowed. So he just grinned.

“I’ll call Merissa back and set up our date for Saturday,” Tank decided. “I can be fairly certain that the restaurant won’t be bugged.”

“I wouldn’t make that bet,” Mallory replied. “Especially if you told her where you’re going.”

“I did,” Tank groaned. Then he brightened and laughed. “I’ll drive her over to Powell instead, and we’ll eat at the Chinese restaurant. But I won’t tell her until we’re on the way.”

“Creative thinking,” Cane said.

“I’ll have my friend sweep the truck before I leave.” He paused. “If he’s got the time, I might hire him on as a temporary. Nobody has to know what he really does for a living.”

“Do it,” Mallory said. “Better safe than sorry.”

* * *

TANK SENT DARBY Hanes into town that afternoon for throwaway phones. As soon as he had his, and it was activated, Tank placed a call.

“Hello?” It was a male voice, deep and quiet.

“It’s Tank,” he replied. “How are things?”

There was a pause. “Not good. How are you?”

“Fine, so far.” He hesitated. “Are you free for a couple of weeks? It’s a job, and it pays well.”

There was a rush of breath. “How the hell did you know I’m out of work?” came the reply. “Just finished one job and didn’t even have another lined up. Bills are piling up, house needs repairs...” He was lying through his teeth, but Tank wouldn’t know. He didn’t speak of his private life to outsiders. He maintained the fiction that he was a starving mercenary, living from job to job.

Tank chuckled. “Great! Well, not about the bills, I mean. But you’re hired.”

“You’re a lifesaver! What do you need done?”

“I’ve got a rogue fed after me,” Tank said. “I just hired a surveillance company to put up cameras and install bugs—but I have a nasty suspicion that the installer will turn out to be the rogue fed who’s after me.”

“Damn! You do have the worst luck!”

“Tell me about it.” Tank sighed. “How soon can you come up here?”

“As soon as you email me a ticket” came the reply. “I haven’t unpacked from the last job. It will be a pleasure.”

“You aren’t working for your...for your old boss, I mean?” He bit his tongue. He’d almost slipped and said “your father,” but he didn’t dare do that. Rourke wouldn’t get on the plane. Most people suspected that Rourke was the illegitimate son of K.C. Kantor, the ex-merc millionaire. Nobody said it to Rourke’s face. Nobody dared. Besides, if the man was living from hand to mouth, it was unlikely that he had a rich father looking out for him.

“No, the boss and I had a falling out,” Rourke replied heavily. It wasn’t quite the truth, but it was close enough. “Things have gone from bad to worse. And Tat won’t speak to me at all.” The last was said with subdued rage. Tat was a socialite journalist who’d gone with Rourke and General Machado to retake Machado’s country in South America. Rourke and Tat, his nickname for her, had a very long history. Rourke had known her since she was a child. They had a rocky friendship.