Walking on Air (39 page)

Nan narrowed her eyes. “No, I can’t say that I do. I wonder what she wants.”

When the woman reached the edge of the churchyard, she stopped and asked, “Can you tell me where I might find Marshal Valance?”

“You’ve found him.” Gabe handed Nan the baby and walked out to greet their visitor. She was thin, dressed in a faded gray dress, and had dull brown hair. When he’d closed the distance to about five feet, he noticed her blue eyes and knew who she was before she said a word. Christopher had her eyes. Gabe wasn’t sure how he felt about this female suddenly reappearing. For one, she’d taken a hell of a long time to do it, and second, he couldn’t help but feel that Christopher was a lot better off, in a hundred different ways, now that he lived with Gabe and Nan. “How can I help you?”

The woman turned her head slightly, giving Gabe a clear look at the left side of her face. A pink scar ran from the edge of her mouth to the outside corner of her eye. Gabe had seen enough healed wounds to know that she’d been injured recently, sometime within the last year. She had another scar on her temple, paler than the one on her cheek, telling him it was older, but even so, the edges were jagged. She’d taken a blow to the head that could have killed her.

“I’ve been told by some shopkeepers in town that you and your wife have taken in a homeless boy,” she finally revealed.

“Yes. His name is Christopher Broderick.”

The woman met Gabe’s gaze straight on. He liked that about her. He saw her throat work. Then she suddenly glanced away. “I, um . . . Is he a bother to you and your missus?”

Gabe felt rather than saw Nan come to stand beside him. Then the baby tugged on his sleeve. He turned to take the child and perched him on his hip.

“Are we speaking of Christopher?” Nan asked.

The woman sent Nan an imploring look. “I’m Christopher’s mama.”

“Oh.” Nan’s voice shook just slightly. She bent her head and brushed invisible dust from her summer blue skirts. When she’d recovered from the surprise, she injected a note of pleasure into her tone. “How delightful to finally meet you!” Stepping forward, Nan extended her hand. “Christopher will be over the moon.”

The woman retreated a step. “A fine lady like you . . . Well, ma’am, you don’t want to be shaking hands with the likes of me.” She looked past Nan at Gabe. “I came back to get my boy. I know I’ve been gone a very long time. Things happened, you see, and I couldn’t come until now. I figured . . . Well, I had no idea fine folks like you had given him a home.” Her eyes, so like her son’s, went bright with tears. “That’s why I asked if he’s a bother to you. If he is, I’ll take him back with me to Cheyenne—or someplace closer.” Her shoulders lifted. “Depends on how long my money holds out. But if he ain’t a bother, well . . .” She blinked and the tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “Maybe he’d be better off if I was to leave him be.”

“Christopher isn’t a bother,” Nan said softly. “My husband and I love him as if he were our own.”

The woman brushed at her cheek and smiled, her mouth quivering at the corners. “That’s good.” She nodded. “That’s real good.” She backed away another two steps. “Will you just tell Christopher that his mama came? Tell him I’m right sorry for takin’ so long and all, but I couldn’t help it none. And that I’m real glad he’s got himself a proper home now with good folks who love him.” She stopped in her tracks for a moment. “Also tell him I love him a powerful lot, if you wouldn’t mind, and that I’ll write, sendin’ him money by and by.”

The woman spun and began walking away. Gabe stared solemnly after her. Without looking at Nan, he said, “Isn’t it strange how solutions to our problems seem to appear from out of nowhere?”

Nan flicked him a bewildered look. Then the frown vanished from her brow. Her face lit up with a glowing smile. “Wait!” she cried. Placing both palms under her swollen middle, she trotted after Christopher’s mother. “Mrs. Broderick, please don’t leave just yet. Christopher will never forgive us if he doesn’t get to see you. He loves you so very,
very
much.”

The woman stopped and turned. “I ain’t married, Mrs. Valance, so if you’d just call me Suzanne, I’d feel righter about it.” She hugged her thin waist. “As for me seein’ my boy, I don’t think it’d be smart. I’d go to cryin’, and he’d go to insistin’ on leavin’ with me.” She shook her head. “I got nothin’ to offer my son. With my looks goin’, I don’t make much money no more. It’s all I can do to feed myself.”

Nan rested a gentle hand on Suzanne’s shoulder. “What if I were to offer you a position of employment that would pay quite well, come with room and board, and give you a daily opportunity to be with your son?”

“I’d ask where you’re hidin’ your angel wings.”

Nan laughed and hooked arms with Suzanne Broderick. “Come along up to the house and we’ll discuss the particulars over tea.”

“I can’t work in your house, ma’am, if that’s what you’re anglin’ for. Folks hereabouts . . . well, they wouldn’t take kindly to it, and before you could blink, they’d be actin’ like you was a weevil in their flour sack.”

Nan smiled and shrugged. “For a time, perhaps, but if they do, I won’t give a hang. I learned from a very wonderful man that it is a huge waste of time to worry about the opinions of others, Mrs. Broderick.”

“Like I said, I ain’t mar—”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re married, dear. From this moment on, you shall be Mrs. Broderick, a widow who still mourns for her dearly departed husband.”

“But that’d be a lie, and nobody’ll believe it. There’s men in this town who’ll recognize me.”

Bouncing the baby on his hip, Gabe turned to follow with his gaze the progress of his amazing wife and Christopher’s mother. He grinned from ear to ear when he heard Nan say, “Not a single
one
of those men shall acknowledge that they’ve ever clapped eyes on you. Not in front of their wives, anyway! So you needn’t worry for a second about the men. The women may be a bit of a problem if they recognize you.”

“They ain’t gonna recognize me. I always wore me a shawl over my head when I went out shoppin’ for the few eats I could afford to get Christopher.”

“Ah, so there you have it, Mrs. Broderick. Not a soul in town will recognize you. You’re going to need a wedding band, but I just happen to have a spare one.”

“Oh, ma’am, I can’t take your weddin’ band.”

“Of course you can. It never meant a thing to me.”

Suzanne shot Gabe a startled look over her thin shoulder. Nan, on a mission to adopt yet another family member, failed to notice. Gabe fell in well behind the two women as they covered ground toward the house. At the edge of the front dooryard, he paused, lifted his gaze to the azure sky, and winked. Gabe hadn’t heard as much as a whisper from the angel Gabriel since Christmas Day well over two years ago, but he liked to think that the pesky fellow still peeked in on him every once in a while.

With only the baby to hear, Gabe said, “You told me to always listen to my heart. I’m doing that, but I have to say that if I listen to it much more, Nan and I are going to need a much bigger house.”

No answer. Gabe hadn’t really expected a response. He smiled, fell back into a walk, and kissed his son’s forehead. The toddler grinned and said, “Dada.”

Gabe missed a step. Staring incredulously at the child, he cried, “Did you just say Dada?” Gabe could scarcely believe his ears. The child had been saying
Mama
for months. He’d had no problem learning to say
Pop
. He called Laney
Neeny
. And Christopher was
Kiss
. But Gabe had only ever gotten grunts. “Say it again, Gabriel. Dada. Come on. Make your old man happy.”

“Dada,” Gabriel said, his toothy grin shiny with slobber. “Dada! Dada!”

“Nan!” Gabe shouted. “Wait! You’ve got to hear this!”

Q
uincy Harrigan’s riding boots offered poor traction on the patches of ice-encrusted snow, which in the faint light of predawn looked bluish white on his scraggly front lawn. Carefully holding a mug of coffee in one hand, he picked his way between two muddy ranch vehicles, wondering when his dooryard had become a parking lot for pickups, the tractor, and two dented ATVs. Walking with his head bent, he realized his hair had gotten so long that it dangled in a dark brown hank over his left eye.
Damn
. He’d been out of town and missed his appointment with the barber. Rescheduling was out of the question. From one day to the next, he didn’t know when he’d have to leave again, and while he was here, he was far too busy to drive clear into town for a walk-in visit. It was a wonder he even managed to grab a few hours of sleep. This morning, he felt the exhaustion in every muscle of his body, and he seriously doubted the freshly brewed French roast would give him the jolt of energy he needed.

No matter. Compared to his sister-in-law Loni, he had little reason to complain. At least he wasn’t fighting for his life. The thought made his heart twist, and the lump that seemed to have taken up permanent residence at the base of his throat throbbed like a toothache. He stopped to gaze across his ranch, taking in the huge taupe-colored arena that loomed over all the smaller buildings. Twenty years ago, this had been an empty piece of land, signed over to him by his father. Now, just having turned forty, Quincy saw the story of his adult life in every structure, fence post, and nail. This ranch had been his dream since childhood, but now that he’d accomplished everything he’d planned, all he felt was empty.

Why Loni?
The question had haunted his every waking moment for the past month—ever since the doctor here in Crystal Falls, Oregon, had first uttered the word
leukemia
and referred Loni to specialists at the Knight Cancer Institute in Portland. How was it fair that Loni had been the one stricken with such a serious illness? Quincy’s brother Clint worshipped the ground she walked on. She had two children who needed her. By comparison, no one really depended on him.

Quincy blinked away tears and forced his feet to move again. Loni wasn’t going to die, damn it. She was young, and up until two months ago, when she’d sickened with what everyone thought was the flu, she’d been the picture of health. There were surely treatments available for whatever kind of leukemia she had. Nearly every day, people were either cured or put into remission. It was silly of him to be thinking such gloomy thoughts. And he sure as hell didn’t have time for them. Everyone else in the family except his sister, Sam, who had volunteered to care for Clint and Loni’s kids, was in Portland to lend their support, and while it was Quincy’s turn to stay here, looking after all six ranches, he had to make sure everything ran smoothly. It was a hell of a job for one man, but both Parker and Zach had been trading off with him, and he hadn’t yet heard either of them complain. He wouldn’t, either.

Halfway to the arena, Quincy stopped to take a swig of coffee, hoping the hot slide of liquid would lessen the ache in his chest. Fat chance. He couldn’t think of Loni without struggling to breathe. When had he come to love her like a sister? At first, just being around her had given him the willies. A bona fide clairvoyant who worked closely with the FBI to locate missing children, Loni could get flashes of a person’s past, present, or future by a mere touch of hands. Like most men, Quincy had a private life, and there were certain aspects of it that he preferred not to share with anyone. It had bothered him to think that Loni might see him with a woman in an X-rated moment.

Now, after coming to know Loni, Quincy realized that whatever she saw when they made physical contact was immediately buried deep within her. She had no desire to inflict harm or embarrassment with her gift of second sight. Over time, Quincy had stopped worrying about that. If Loni had ever seen him during an intensely private moment, she’d never let on, and he’d finally come to trust that she would never breathe a word of it to anyone, not even to Clint. After that, growing to love her hadn’t been a big jump for him.

Now it was a done deal. He could almost see her, big blue eyes dominating a heart-shaped face framed by a wealth of dark, glossy hair.
Pretty
. But, more important, she was every bit as sweet and dear as she appeared to be. No wonder Clint suddenly looked as if he’d been run over by a semi truck, his burnished face tinted with undertones of gray, his brown eyes, so like Quincy’s own, filled with inexpressible worry and pain. Clint adored his children, but it was Loni who was the true center of his life. Without her, how would he go on? Just thinking about it made Quincy’s stomach roil.

Though March had finally arrived, the air was so cold it burned Quincy’s lungs when he drew a deep breath. He wished he’d thought to grab his lined Levi’s jacket before leaving the house. Icy fingers curled over his shirt collar and sent a chill crawling down his spine. From the holding sheds, he heard equines neighing and grunting, their way of calling for breakfast. The sound helped to center him and clear his head. He had animals counting on him, and he’d best kick it into high gear.

Just as Quincy reached the berm of snow that had collected over the winter under the eaves of the arena, his cell phone emitted the sound of a horse whinnying, a tone reserved only for members of his family. As he jerked the device from his belt, he half expected to see his dad’s name on the screen. Frank had rented a hotel suite near the cancer institute, and he and his wife had been at Clint’s side ever since Loni had been admitted there. Always an early riser, Frank often buzzed Quincy to give him an update before the sun came up.

Quincy’s pulse stuttered when he saw that the caller was Clint. “Hey, Clint,” he said. “How is she?”

Silence. Then Clint’s voice came over the air, wobbly and hoarse. “It’s bad, Quincy. Real bad. I just talked with the team of specialists taking care of Loni.”

Quincy had never heard Clint sound so shaken. “At this hour?” It was all Quincy could think to say—a futile attempt to sound normal when his brother’s world might be tipping off its axis. “I thought only ranchers were crazy enough to start work this early.”

“They’re busy men, and a lot of lives are in their hands.” Clint swallowed. The sound came through to Quincy, a hollow plunk that painted a picture he didn’t want to see. “Loni has acute myelogenous leukemia, a very aggressive strain that’s often unresponsive to treatment. The doctors say they told me the name of it a while back, but apparently it went in one ear and out the other.”

Quincy wanted to ask Clint more questions, but he sensed that his brother needed to get this said without interruption.

“Now they’ve finally determined her AML subtype. I guess they had a devil of a time doing that—something about the AML morphology under a microscope not matching up quite right with any other cancers they’ve seen.”

“What’re you saying, Clint—that she’s got one-of-a-kind leukemia?”

“Something like that. By now the doctors would be willing to settle for a close match just to begin treatment. Problem is, she’s so far gone, it’s way too late for remission-induction therapy. Her platelet counts are too low for her to undergo chemo or a bone-marrow transplant.”

“Whoa.” Quincy stepped over the pile of snow to lean a shoulder against the eastern exterior wall of the arena. Quelling rising panic, he managed, “If she’s too sick for either of those, what kind of treatment can they give her?”

Quincy’s blood ran as cold as the crystallized air when he heard Clint sob. He could not recall ever having seen or heard his oldest brother cry as an adult. “Nothing,” Clint said brokenly. “There’s . . . nothing . . . they . . . can do. At best, they give her . . . a week or two . . . but it’ll be a miracle if she holds on that long.”

The mug of coffee slipped from Quincy’s hand. He flinched as hot liquid slopped onto his pant leg. His brain told him to pull the drenched denim away from his skin, but he couldn’t get the message to his hands. He stared stupidly at the spray of brown on the snow. None of this was happening. It couldn’t be. Fury at what he was unable to control shot through him in a painful rush. Words blasted out of him.

“Then we need to get her to another center! The Mayo Clinic, maybe. Samantha’s brother-in-law, Rafe Kendrick, is standing by to fly her anyplace you name. In his jet, she’ll have all the comforts of home. We can’t just let her—” Quincy couldn’t finish the sentence. “There are all kinds of treatments. Somebody, somewhere, can do something! A really good team of doctors can put her into remission. I know it.”

“She already has a really good team of doctors, some of the best.” For several seconds, Clint rasped for breath. The sound reminded Quincy of the story he’d once read to his little sister, Sam, about a tiny train that huffed and puffed to get up a steep grade. “It’s not their fault she has some weird subtype they’ve never seen! And it’s . . . too . . . late to take her somewhere else. She . . . could . . . die during a long flight. This is my . . . fault, Quincy, all mine. I screwed around, thinking she had a bad case of flu. Jesus, help me. I . . . should . . . have realized! If I’d gotten her up here sooner, they might have been . . . able . . . to . . . save her. Now all they can do is give her transfusions . . . and . . . IV fluids. That helps, but it’s a short-term fix, and now she’s getting so dehydrated, they have to poke her and poke her to . . . even . . . find . . . a vein.”

Quincy hauled in a ragged breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
Focus,
he ordered himself. His brother needed him to say all the right things, and his mind had gone as blank as a crashed computer screen. “Clint, no matter what happens, this isn’t your fault. You took her in to see competent doctors here. They just didn’t realize what they were dealing with at first, and we lost precious time. If you’re sure she’s in the best hands available, then we just have to trust in the team up there and pray like crazy that she takes a sudden turn for the good.”

“I’m fresh out of prayers.” Clint sniffed, and Quincy heard a muffled sound like cloth brushing the cell phone. He could almost see his brother wiping his nose with his shirtsleeve. “The worst part is that she’s begging to go home.”

To die,
was Quincy’s first thought.

Clint blew that theory all to hell by saying, “She’s convinced she isn’t dying. She says she had a vision and saw our third child, a little boy we’ll name Francis Wayne after Dad. I can tell she believes it, clear to the bottom of her heart. She thinks she’s going to get well and have another child.” A brief moment of quiet came over the air. Then Clint added, “You know how, when I first met Loni, I discounted her visions as a bunch of hocus-pocus crap, but she made a believer out of me? I’ve never doubted her visions since—until now.”

Quincy felt tears trickling down his cheeks and turning to ice where they gathered at the corners of his mouth. “What she sees in her visions is never wrong. Hell, even the FBI acts as if everything she tells them comes straight from the Holy Grail.”

“Exactly,” Clint said, his voice pitched barely above a whisper, “and now I’m doubting what she tells me. Five specialists out in the hall, telling me she’s dying. Her looking like a corpse already and spinning dreams I know can’t happen—” He broke off. “She’s dying, Quincy. I see the signs. No matter what she saw in her vision, I’m going . . . to . . . lose her. And God help me, I don’t know how I’ll survive it.”

Quincy tried to gather his wits. This was new ground for him. As the oldest, Clint had always been the one who held everything together, the one who spoke while everyone else listened. Quincy knew Loni’s divinations hadn’t been wrong yet, but there could always be a first time. Loni had never been able to see her own future, only those of others. Wasn’t it possible that she had indeed seen a third child, named after their father, Frank, but the little boy wouldn’t be born to Loni? Maybe in the future, Clint would start over with a second wife, and she would be the one to present him with another son.

The very thought of Clint with some other woman made Quincy want to puke.
No
. It just couldn’t happen. Clint was loyal to the bone. He’d never love anyone but Loni.

“You wanna hear the worst part?” Clint asked. “She’s clinging to life by a thread, and that vision of a third child is her only hope. What if she looks into my eyes and sees I’m not convinced, that I believe the doctors and not her?”

Quincy had no clue how to respond. His mind kicked into autopilot.
Get there.
He had to help his brother. “I’ll book a charter flight. I can be there with you in three hours.”

“No. As great as it’d be to see you, I’m honoring Loni’s wishes and taking her home this morning. We’ll be there by late afternoon. Dad and Dee Dee flew out last night and are at their place now, probably sleeping off the red-eye flight. Parker and Rainie just left for the airport. Zach and Mandy are staying with me to provide moral support, and they’ll fly back with me and Loni on the charter jet.”

“But, Clint, you need me right now.”

“What I need is for you to be
there
looking after my place. If I come home to a disaster in my stable, I’ll lose it, I swear to God. I’m counting on you.”

Quincy nodded. “You got it, bro. Everything at your ranch is running like clockwork, and I’ll see that it stays that way. If need be, I’ll call Dad for help.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll mosey over when I wrap it up for the day.”

Quincy ended the call and stared blankly at his iPhone, a recent purchase that did everything but tap-dance. Too bad it couldn’t also perform a miracle and save the life of his sister-in-law. As he slowly became aware of his surroundings again, he realized that making his feet move took a gargantuan effort. With only determination fueling him, he strode toward the north end of the arena to enter by the personnel door.