Mystic Cowboy(50)

Jesse looked around the room, silent except for Mikey squealing in delight at the strange hair that tickled his hands and Tammy politely making small talk with Madeline. Big risk, Jesse’s surprised look said.

Rebel knew this. But he’d done it anyway, despite it not being a good idea at all. He shrugged.

Jesse wagged his eyebrows, and Rebel knew exactly what he was thinking. He made a motion to kick Jesse’s cast, but Jesse cut him off at the knees. “Doctor, I’m glad you could come and see me,” he said with that impish smile that Rebel fiercely hated, his eyes not leaving Rebel’s face. “When the hell can I get out of this cast?”

The spell of the room seemed to shatter into chatter. Tara and Tammy roundly scolded Jesse for cursing in front of the children, Madeline shook her head at him like he was acting like the irritating little brother he really was and people met Rebel’s eyes, nodding their heads.

And through it all, Madeline kept an eye on Rebel.

“Three more weeks,” he heard her say. He snapped his attention back to her. “I’m sure Rebel will truck your butt in when you’re good and ready.”

“You have no idea,” Jesse moaned in a slightly faked whine.

“Sure I do. Broke my leg falling off a horse when I was fifteen,” she replied. “Now, where’s Albert?”

“Kitchen,” Jesse replied. “He’s always in the kitchen.”

With a nod of her head, Madeline motioned for Rebel to lead on. The kitchen was warm to the point of sweaty. Albert was in his normal chair, looking better now than he had when Rebel had left a few hours ago. The color had returned to his face, and the pain had eased back from his eyes. He could pass for normal.

Walter White Mouse was sitting across from him, cigarette dangling out of his mouth as he boomed laughter across the room. Irma was standing next to Terry, Tara’s mom, as they made the fry bread and peeled the potatoes. Nelly was on sink duty, rinsing strawberries with her head cocked in the way that said she was struggling to understand the jokes Walter and Albert told in Lakota.

Albert looked up at the two of them, almost side by side in the doorway, almost touching. And he smiled. “Hemaca wakta niye au cante skuye,” he said.

“What?” Madeline’s smile faltered, just a little.

Nelly turned around, half-eaten strawberry in her hand and her face scrunched in concentration. “He’s glad you came, wight? That’s what he said, wight, Webel?”

Thank heavens Nelly hadn’t blurted out the part where Albert called Madeline sweetheart—as in Rebel’s sweetheart. “Good. That was good, Nell-Bell.” This was the most normal thing in his world, the grocery-day party, the people crowded in and around the tiny house, the traditions passing from one to the next. And Madeline was right here.

She hadn’t run screaming. Hell, she hadn’t even broken stride.

She belongs here, he thought, his arm itching to wrap around her waist. She belongs here with me.

As if he was reading Rebel’s mind, Albert nodded with a smile.

After Irma got her some tea, Madeline gave the old man a thorough work-up—as thorough as she could in the kitchen, anyway. When she finished, her brow was wrinkled.

“Well?”

Her eyes settled on him, and she chewed on her lip. “Has he always had that skip in his heartbeat?”

His heart. Rebel should have guessed. “It’s off?”

“It’s a little irregular,” she admitted. “But I don’t know if that’s normal for him or not. I didn’t bring his file... Otherwise, he seems okay. Definitely not the flu,” she added, shooting him a sharp look.

He felt the blood fade away from his face. With an ache of certainty, he knew what had happened. Albert had had a heart attack last night. A small one, maybe. One that left him up and walking. But a heart attack all the same.

He looked at his grandfather, who was telling another joke in Lakota that Tara would blush to know her daughter was hearing—and understanding. As he watched, Albert reached out and patted Nelly on the head, and then went back to his stories. He glanced up at Rebel and nodded again.

His time was coming. And he knew it.

That ache ran deep, and for a moment, Rebel felt not just nervous, but a full-on panic. Albert had made him what he was. Albert had saved him. He was a Lakota because that was what Albert had taught him. Without Albert...

The panic burned away with a certain knowledge. Albert had made him what he was, and what he was now was a medicine man, here to shepherd souls on to the heavens. He would be okay. They all would, because that was what Albert had prepared them for.

Albert looked at Madeline and his gaze darkened a little. He was worried about her, Rebel realized again. After all, she didn’t know much of a good Lakota death.