Homestead

Chapter Twelve

As the ambulance pulled into the space reserved for emergency vehicles behind Saratoga Hospital, the female EMT seated next to Tess said, “Here we are.”

Tess released her seat belt. “I want to go in with her.”

“Sure,” the redhead said, “but the clerk will probably need you to fill out some paperwork first.”

“I…” Tess looked at Clay, who had been silent for the twenty-five-mile trip. Only the strain lines around her eyes gave away the discomfort she was trying to hide. “Clay? Do you have an insurance card?”

Clay’s eyes opened, the sharp brown Tess was used to smudged with pain. “Wallet. Left back pocket. Behind my license.”

“Here,” the EMT said. “I’ll loosen her chest strap so you can get to it.”

“This is getting to be a habit,” Tess muttered, leaning over Clay to slide her hand around Clay’s hip and into her back pocket.

“I could get used to it,” Clay said.

Tess jerked back, wallet in hand, and stared at Clay. Her grin was filled with confidence, despite the tightness in her jaw and the pale cast to her face. Shaking her head, Tess laughed. “Now you’re dreaming.”

Some of the life came back into Clay’s eyes. “Nice dream.”

“You ready?” the EMT asked.

“Yes,” Tess said, making room for the two EMTs to slide the stretcher out. She climbed down and hurried to reach Clay’s side. She grasped Clay’s hand as the double doors swung inward and the bright lights of the ER assaulted her eyes. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Clay squeezed her fingers. “I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not,” Tess lied brightly. The last time she’d been here was the night Ray had come in from the field complaining his supper hadn’t agreed with him. His face had been gray, his skin coated with sweat. Three hours later, he was gone. Not the same thing this time. Nothing like that. Tess forced her fingers to relax, letting Clay’s hand go as two women and a man in medical garb descended on Clay. In seconds, they’d whisked her away. Just like that, Clay was gone too.

“Dear,” a woman called from across the empty hall, “you want to give me some intake information?”

Tess jumped, the present snapping into focus. She was letting the past rule the present again, and she had to stop. Tired. She was just tired. “Yes, of course.”

“What’s her name?” The woman at the counter, a friendly-appearing middle-aged blonde, stared at a computer screen, typing with one hand while whisking a mouse in rapid circles with the other.

“Clay Sutter,” Tess said through the open window.

The blonde looked up from her computer. “Sorry. I thought that was a woman.”

“What? Oh…uh, it’s Roberta. Roberta Sutter. Here,” Tess told the clerk, pulling a thin stack of cards from behind the clear window in Clay’s wallet, “I have her insurance card.”

“Thanks.” The blonde held out her hand and went back to typing.

Tess sorted the cards—driver’s license, AAA, emergency contact—her breath caught. The photo was creased and worn. Her senior picture, taken right before she’d gone to the lake for the summer. Oh God, her hair had been so frizzy and the harsh makeshift studio light had made her nose too shiny. She hadn’t had anything else to give Clay when she’d asked for a picture. They’d been sitting on the dock late one Friday night, just talking as they did so often, listening to the sounds of laughter carrying over the water from some boat passing on the far side of the lake, when Clay had tugged her close and whispered, with her mouth against Tess’s ear, “I want a picture of my girl for my wallet.”

The girl Tess had been so very long ago.

“You got that card, dear?”

“Yes,” Tess said hoarsely, holding out the insurance card, “right here.”

The woman took the card from Tess’s trembling hand and said sympathetically, “Don’t worry, honey. The ER team here is the best.”

“Yes. Thanks.” Tess smiled fleetingly and tucked the memory back into the past where it belonged.

At three a.m. on a Saturday morning, the waiting room was deserted except for a distraught young mother sitting across from Tess with a screaming toddler in her arms, waiting anxiously for someone to take them back to the treatment area. They’d been there since Tess finished with the clerk, forty-five minutes ago.

“Earache,” the young mother said, glancing apologetically over at Tess as she rocked the inconsolable child.

“It’s awful when they’re so miserable, isn’t it,” Tess said, “and there’s nothing you can do?”

Something like relief appeared in the mother’s eyes. “It makes me feel so helpless.”

Tess had always thought animals and babies had a lot in common—so helpless, so unable to make their needs known. “Well, they’ll take care of her soon. I bet she’ll feel better by morning.”

“I hope so.” The mother patted the baby’s back and stared at Tess for a moment. “Um, I hope everything’s okay with…your friend.”

“Thanks. Me too,” Tess said softly.

A few minutes later, a nurse appeared and mercifully took mother and baby away. Tess checked her watch. Almost four. She’d have to call the farm, let Tomas know she wouldn’t be there for the morning milking. She’d been waiting an hour—what were they doing with Clay that was taking so long, and why was she so upset? Farm accidents were all too common, and she’d tended to her share of friends, family, and farmhands who had suffered broken bones and lacerations and—thankfully, rarely—crushed limbs or parts thereof without losing her composure. But the sight of Clay bloody and disoriented had shaken her more than she’d imagined possible. As every minute ticked by, the anxious roiling in her stomach grew. What if Clay had one of those delayed internal brain hemorrhages you read about, the kind that kill people unexpectedly an hour or two after their accident? Clay had to have some kind of concussion—she hadn’t known where she was at first. Tess’s heart twisted.

Clay had thought they were at the lake. Why would Clay even think of that now? So long ago for both of them. All right, so Tess hadn’t forgotten, at least not completely. Weeks and months would go by when she wouldn’t think of it—or Clay—and then she’d hear some snippet of music on one of the rock stations and she’d be back in the boathouse, seventeen again, watching Clay lean over the pool table, showing off as she beat some of the local boys at eight ball. Or the sun would glint off the windshield of a passing motorcycle, and the black-garbed rider hunched over the roaring engine would be Clay, turning into the twisting drive of the resort late on a Saturday afternoon to pick Tess up after she was done cleaning to take her spinning around the lake, the wind blowing in her face, her arms wrapped tightly around Clay’s middle. Or sometimes, right before she fell asleep, a warm breeze would pass over her face and she’d remember the brush of Clay’s mouth on her skin.

Shuddering, Tess stood and peered around the corner toward the treatment area. All of the cubicles were closed, their curtains drawn. Only three charts sat in the rack on the wall, and she heard the baby sobbing from somewhere down the hall. A hand appeared from inside the center cubicle and pushed the curtain back. A woman in blue jeans and a colorful smock decorated with action heroes stepped out and strode briskly down the hall.

“Are you with Roberta Sutter?”

“Clay? Yes. Can I—”

“You can go on back. She’ll be ready to leave as soon as her scans are cleared.”

“Oh, thank you.” Tess hurried to the cubicle.

Clay sat on the side of the stretcher, her arms braced on either side of her hips. They’d taken away her shirt, and she wore a white hospital gown open in the back over her work pants. Her boots sat on the floor beside the stretcher. Steri-Strips covered the three-inch gash on her forehead, the center of each thin white strip dotted with a circle of dried blood.

“Did you get stitches?” Tess stopped a few feet in front of Clay as the curtain swung closed behind her.

“Yes.” Clay grimaced. “Twenty-three, the tech was pleased to tell me.”

“How do you feel?”

“I’m okay.”

“Of course you are.” Tess sighed. “And now, how do you feel?”

Clay laughed softly. “My head feels like someone’s using it for a snare drum. Whatever they gave me for pain isn’t helping, but it’s making me sick to my stomach. And I really want to get out of here.”

“I think they’re just waiting to check your X-rays.” Tess frowned. “Where are you staying?”

“The Rice Mansion.”

“Well, I don’t think they’re going to want you to stay alone tonight.” Tess flushed. “Although I guess Ella—”

“Ella’s room is across the hall from mine,” Clay said carefully. “I’m sure she can peek in on me if it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Oh,” Tess said, feeling foolishly relieved. “Well, I imagine it will be. She’ll probably be here soon.”

“I’m really sorry about this, Tess.”

“Why? None of it’s your fault.”

“Well, I guess that’s open to question. Someone obviously has taken a dislike to me.”

A chill rippled down the back of Tess’s neck. “What are you talking about?”

Clay swore inwardly. She wasn’t thinking clearly, or she never would have mentioned anything about the accident. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t,” Tess said sharply. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I won’t. I’m not,” Clay said. “But I really don’t know anything.”

“But you suspect something?”

“I don’t know, Tess.” Clay wished the jackhammer behind her eyes would ease off for just a second so she could collect herself. She didn’t want to pull Tess into her problems, but she’d just said she wouldn’t lie to her. “I saw a vehicle behind me, a truck I think. I thought they were following me. Maybe they weren’t. But I’m pretty certain they sped up when I stepped into the street.”

Tess’s face went white. “My God.”

“Hey,” Clay said. “It’s okay. Don’t worry—”

“I’m sorry? Don’t worry? Someone might have tried to kill you and it’s okay?” Tess’s eyes flashed. “Is there something wrong with you? Don’t you care what happens to you?”

“Most of the time, Tess, I don’t think about much of anything except getting the job done.” Clay was so tired she didn’t even care she’d admitted something she never would have revealed to any other person at any other time. “That’s all I have.”

“Okay, enough of this,” Tess said with odd gentleness. “When you’re better, we’ll talk.”

“There’s nothing to—”

The curtain slid back and a man with a five o’clock shadow in rumpled scrubs and a stethoscope around his neck said, “Well, you won’t be spending the night with us. You’ve got bruised ribs, no breaks. Even better, your CAT scan looks fine. No fractures, no evidence of brain swelling. That doesn’t mean you don’t have a concussion, but the shake, rattle, and roll doesn’t look too serious. You might have headaches on and off for a week or two, occasional blurriness of vision, or even a little nausea. As long as none of that persists for more than a few minutes, there’s no problem.” He held out a sheet of paper to Tess. “Here are the neuro-check instructions. You ought to check her every couple hours for the next ten or twelve and make sure none of the things on this list are a problem. If they are, bring her back.”

“All right.” Tess took the paper a little uncertainly.

The doctor turned to Clay. “If you’re not a hundred percent in a week or two, follow up with a neurologist. You two drive carefully.”

He was gone before Clay could thank him. She held out her hand to Tess. “I’ll take that.”

Tess put the paper behind her back, a defiant expression crossing her face. “And what are you going to do with it? Do your own neuro checks?”

“I was thinking I would give it to Ella.”

“I’ll give it to her after you’re settled in bed.”

“Damn it, Tess,” Clay said, trying not to snarl. “By the time we get back, it’s gonna be five in the morning and you need to be back at the farm. Don’t you think I know when you have to start your day?”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve been up all night, Clay. I think I can handle it.”

“All right.” Clay sighed. “I owe you.”

Tess stared at her for a long moment. “No, Clay, you don’t.” She reached for Clay’s shirt and grimaced. “You can’t put this on. It’s bloody.”

Clay grinned. “I’m not going home in a hospital johnny.”

“Maybe I can find a scrub shirt.”

“It’s just for an hour.” Clay carefully slid off the stretcher and held out her hand. “I’ll wear that.”

“If you insist,” Tess said dubiously. “Turn around, I’ll untie you.”

“I’ll do it.” Clay reached back and gasped. Her bruised rib cage screamed. “Okay. Maybe not.” She turned her back. “Go ahead.”

“God, Clay.” Tess’s hands played over Clay’s back. “You’re all scraped up and there’s a huge welt on your side.”

Clay braced a hand on the stretcher. The warmth of Tess’s fingers bored into her, loosening her muscles and tightening other, deeper places. “Looks worse than it is.”

“I hope so,” Tess whispered.

The smock fell away and the heat of Tess’s hands disappeared.

“I’ll wait outside,” Tess said abruptly. She dropped Clay’s shirt on the stretcher and disappeared around the curtain, leaving Clay alone.

Clay eased into her shirt, the pain a distant echo, buried by the pleasure of Tess’s touch. She knew it was foolish, but she let herself enjoy the lingering presence of Tess’s hands on her skin. There’d be time enough tomorrow for regret. There always was.