Mystic Cowboy(17)

Clarence had a stack of boxes on a hand truck. “Hiya, Rebel,” he said with a grunt as he lifted another box.

“Hiya, Clarence. That’s a lot of boxes.”

He looked from the hand truck to the Jeep. “I think she managed to get forty boxes in here. And so far, they all weigh a ton.”

Rebel peeked in. Boxes were crammed in, floor to ceiling, window to window—passenger seat included. “What on earth did she get?” He’d only given her a grand. A grand went a long way for him, but he didn’t think it would cover this much. He picked up a box marked FRAGILE. X-RAY FILM.” A ton didn’t begin to describe it.

“Everything, I think. There’s got to be five thousand bucks’ worth of stuff in there.”

Wow. That’s why she bought a white Jeep. She was a wealthy lady. Just not old. “I brought Irma in. I can help until she’s done.”

Even with the two of them, it still took over an hour to get all the supplies in. As they wheeled the last boxes in, Rebel noticed Tara was smiling. It didn’t happen very often, not unless Nelly was behaving herself. “Better day today?”

Sipping a Diet Coke, Tara nodded. “She hasn’t yelled once. It’s been almost pleasant. I thought she might be even grumpier about spending all that money...”

His curiosity got the better of him. “How much?”

“More than eleven grand.” Tara’s voice was a true whisper, like she was afraid to name the number out loud. “She gave me the receipts to file. That’s a lot of money.”

Rebel whistled. That wasn’t a lot of money. That was a hell of a lot of money.

Who the hell was Dr. Madeline Mitchell?

It took nine hours to unpack eleven grand worth of medical supplies. He even took Irma home and then borrowed her car to come back and keep helping, much to Blue Eye’s disappointment. When Albert showed up, Tara left to get Nelly at four thirty, marking the official end of the work day. Clarence held out until five thirty before he bailed. Albert asked if he should help, but she must be picking up on some of the language, because she yelled from the stock room that Albert was sweet for asking, but he should go home and check on Jesse, which Rebel duly translated.

And it was just the two of them.

By seven, they were done. She sprawled out at Tara’s desk, her head down as she ran her hand over what was left of her pony tail. There wasn’t much there, but damn it all, it was smooth.

Rebel took up residence on the floor in front of the fan, watching her through narrow eyes. She was exhausted. Would she own up to it, or pretend everything was fine?

“Thank you for your help, Rebel.” It was muffled by the crook of her arm, but he heard it anyway. It wasn’t the first time she’d said his name, but it did mark the first time she said it without sneering.

The fan wasn’t cooling much. “Glad to help. That was a hell of a lot of stuff.”

“I believe the technical term is a shitload of stuff.” She pulled her head up and smiled weakly as she rotated her head from side to side. She was funny. He found her unintentionally humorous, but she could even be funny on purpose—when she wasn’t trying to run the world.

“You got all that last night?” True, he was dancing around the eleven-thousand-dollar question. But every pass got him closer to some of her truth.

She shot him the I-got-what-I-wanted look. With her mussed hair and tired smile, she definitely looked like she belonged in a bed. Or at least a sleeping bag. “That medical supply place didn’t want to stay open past eight, but money talks, you know.”

Getting closer. He edged away from the fan. “That didn’t look like money talking. That looked like money screaming.”

Her back stiffened and she spun the chair away from him. He was losing her. “Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t want to lose her, not yet. “Can I worry about you?”

“Can you? Sure. I can’t stop you. But I’m not giving you permission.” Damn it all, he’d lost her. Right before his eyes. “You may not worry about me. I’m fine. It’s just been a long week.”

Did she think he was going to buy that load of shit? “You can’t live here. The clinic is not a life.”

She snorted. “Says the man who’s been here every day of the week and isn’t the least bit sick.”

Busted. But she wasn’t the only one who could ignore the obvious. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why?” She spun around to face him. The exhaustion was gone. Instead, he found himself staring into clear eyes the color of winter ice. No defenses, no second nature. She was just a woman, and he was just a man.