His Medicine Woman

Seeing it was from the Brown Bear Cantina in Mescalero, he flipped the phone open and jammed it to his ear.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he answered bluntly.

A woman’s familiar voice came back at him. “Johnny, it’s me, Rosalinda. A couple of guys are here in the cantina right now looking to hire a hunting guide. I told them about you, but I didn’t give them your number. What with your grandmother sick and all, I thought I should call you myself first.”

“Thanks, Rosalinda. You’d better put them on to someone else. I can’t leave my grandparents right now. Not for any length of time.”

“Gotcha on that. She doing any better?”

“Holding her own.”

“Let me know if I can do anything to help,” she said, then after a quick goodbye cut their connection.

Johnny thoughtfully slipped the phone back into his jeans’ pocket and headed on down the path. Any other time he would have been more than glad for the work. Not that he especially liked being a guide for men who traveled out of the cities to hunt or fish in a rough wilderness that, more often than not, came as a rude awakening to them. He’d never been much of a people person. And he especially didn’t care for dealing with men, and sometimes women, who were so obviously out of their element. But other than the small fixed income his grandfather received for his retirement from the forestry service, his grandparents had no nest egg for their golden years. Being a fishing and hunting outfitter was a way for Johnny to make a fairly decent living and still be around to see after his grandparents and help with their living expenses.

You don’t have to cater to the whining demands of those people, Johnny. Ethan would jump at the chance to hire you to the force. You’d make a damned good deputy. Hell, all you’d have to do is give someone who was thinking about committing a crime one of those stares of yours and it would scare them into going straight.

Johnny’s lips twisted to a cynical slant. He didn’t know what made his friend, Brady, believe he’d make a good deputy. Sure, he’d served as a soldier in the army and completed two grueling stints in Iraq. And as a tracker, he’d worked with law enforcement agencies spanning several Western states. But that didn’t give him the right stuff to deal with thieves and drunks, domestic violence, vehicle crashes and all the other tragic situations that people got themselves into. A man needed patience for that kind of work and an innate understanding of human nature. He had neither. He’d learned that the hard way when he’d made a tragic mistake in the California desert. A child had died because of Johnny. Because he’d not been able to foresee or understand what had been guiding his little footsteps. Until it had been too late.

No, he thought grimly. Brady and Sheriff Hamilton might think he had the makings of a law officer, but they were wrong. Dead wrong.

Blowing out a heavy breath, he did his best to shake his mind of the past and quickly descend the last of the trail.

* * *

Bridget was sitting in the Chino living room, talking on her cell phone to her receptionist when the front door opened and Johnny entered the house.

Her heart lurched, then sped into a heavy thud as he gave her a cursory glance before walking on past her and out of the room.

“That’s fine, Janna. I’ll make my rounds at the hospital after I see my last patient at the clinic. Six-thirty, seven. We’ll see how it goes. Yes—probably in an hour. Thanks—bye.”

Rising from the couch, she clicked the phone shut and after dropping it into the pocket of her gray slacks, headed to Naomi’s room.

As soon as she rounded the open doorway, she spotted Johnny standing next to the head of his grandmother’s bed. The gentle expression on his features was a vast contrast to the hard glare he’d given Bridget after that kiss they’d shared earlier in the kitchen. But that hardly surprised her. She’d always gotten the impression that Johnny hated himself for wanting her, loving her.

Trying to ignore the wincing pain in her chest, she moved forward until she was standing on the opposite side of the bed from him, which was thankfully on the side where she’d erected the IV.

“Good news, Naomi,” she told her patient, as she shut off the flow of liquid medications. “It looks like I can unhook your IV now.”

“That’s all of it?” Naomi asked weakly.

Bridget carefully lifted the woman’s hand to clamp off the shunt. “We’re finished with this for today. But you’re going to need another one tomorrow. I’m going to leave all of this stuff in your hand so I won’t have to stick you again,” she explained. “But it’s all taped down securely so nothing should move or hurt. If it does, tell Johnny, okay?”

Nodding faintly, Naomi turned her milky gaze on her grandson. His only response was to touch a hand to his grandmother’s hair.

With tears stinging the back of her eyes, Bridget hurriedly gathered up her medical instruments and organized the prescriptions she was leaving for the woman to take later tonight.

“When are you coming back?” Naomi asked as Bridget hastily scratched instructions on a small piece of notepaper.

“Tomorrow. Unless you need me before then.” Turning back to the bed, she folded her hand around Naomi’s shoulder and gently squeezed. “I’m leaving my number on the nightstand. If you need me for anything—day or night—have Johnny call me. Okay?”

To Bridget’s delight, the old woman attempted to smile.

“Yes. I will. Thank you.”

Ignoring the usual doctor/patient protocol she normally practiced, Bridget leaned down and kissed Naomi’s cheek.

“You’re going to get better soon,” Bridget promised her.

After telling the woman goodbye, she gathered up her medical bag, then motioned for Johnny to follow her out of the room.

Once they were in the hallway, she purposely kept her words and her voice professional. “You’ll find her medications and the schedule for taking them on the nightstand. Keep offering her fluids throughout the day. If she needs to get up for any reason, like a trip to the bathroom, you or Charlie need to be by her side to assist her. She’s so weak she might fall and hurt herself. If you see any change for the worse don’t hesitate to call me. I’ve left my cell number with the medicine schedule.”

Except for his gaze traveling over her face, his expression was unmoving and she could only guess as to what he was thinking, feeling. To say he was a man who kept his emotions hidden was an understatement, but Bridget knew better than to pry or prod. She had always understood it was hard for him to share that private part of himself with anyone, even her.

He said, “I’m sorry this is causing problems with your schedule.”

His gaze followed her hand as it smoothed back her hair. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to having my days and nights interrupted. It’s just a part of the job. Now I’d better be going. I have to be back at the clinic in less than an hour.”

Not waiting for a reply, she ducked her head and started to step around him, but his unexpected words stopped her.

“I—was wrong to say those things to you in the kitchen,” he said in a low, strained voice.

“Yes. You were,” she agreed.

He closed his eyes and it was all Bridget could do to keep from dropping her bag to the floor and flinging her arms around him. To be close to him, to love him was all that she’d ever wanted, needed.

“These past two days have been very hard for me,” he admitted.

“I understand. You love your grandmother very much. You don’t want to lose her.”

His eyes opened to stare straight into hers. The contact jolted her, filled her chest with an ache so all-consuming it very nearly took her breath.

“I’m talking about you,” he said flatly. “You being here again. Touching you again.”