Mystic Cowboy(82)

Jesse donned the mask and gloves and then put himself on cleanup detail, giving his daughter a sponge bath and holding the bedpan for her when she threw up. Madeline felt proud of him, although she didn’t have time to stop and think beyond that. Even though he was a toddler, Mikey hadn’t been as far gone as Nelly was—he’d been a mess, but at least he hadn’t been bleeding. He only had one IV, and that was doing its job. And the three women all managed to keep their antibiotics down. All good things. She’d gotten to them in time.

But they weren’t the only ones who were sick. Before long, Madeline was in real danger of running out of IVs. She already had people lying on the floor and sitting in the waiting room, with the patients who could stand acting as human IV poles. Rebel had taken over Tara’s job, answering the phone and pulling files while Nobody made pass after pass of the place, trying to stay one step ahead of the mess. She thought Jesse was washing down all the kids, but she couldn’t be sure.

They were barely keeping their heads above water. The clinic got more and more crowded as people dragged themselves in. Everyone was throwing up, which was bad enough, but the diarrhea seemed to be hitting the kids the hardest. And the story was all the same. Everyone who was sick had gone to the church picnic. Everyone had eaten steak.

For Madeline, each hour had been the same as the one before. Sick people, not enough space, not enough supplies. She felt vaguely like she was stuck in a movie—everyone had had the fish, the pilot was ill and was there anyone on board who could fly a plane? That was just the exhaustion talking, she knew. It had all started to blur in a mess of vomit and saline and bleach when she looked up and saw it was seven in the morning. Dawn had happened at some point, which meant it was morning in Columbus.

It took three tries before Mellie answered the damn phone, but when she heard Madeline’s voice, she didn’t even whine about the ungodly hour. The woman was an Internet-stalking genius. In twenty minutes, Madeline had the home phone number of the owner of the medical supply place in Rapid City. She didn’t have time to do it Mellie’s way, so when the owner, one Mr. Hubert Terstrip, told her he couldn’t possibly make it to the store today because it was Sunday, she broke out the Mitchell sneer with enough force to make half the waiting room recoil in fear.

She sure as hell wasn’t going to let a little thing like Sunday keep her from containing this mess. “If I lose a single patient because you didn’t get me what I needed,” she shouted, not caring who heard her, “I’ll sue your ass back into the last century and then, once you’re there, I’ll sue it again. And I’m talking class action, Mr. Terstrip. Hordes of lawyers, all wanting a piece of you, for years. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging to open the damn store on Sunday and give me what I need.”

Even Rebel backed up a step. Well. At least the Mitchell sneer was working again, even with a surgical mask covering her mouth. She’d have to remember this version of it the next time she needed to put that man in his place—but that wasn’t today. She waited.

“Fine,” Mr. Terstrip said, sounding anything but happy about it. “But I’m not going in before nine, you hear me?”

“Fine. Nine it is. I’m sending an associate,” she replied, feeling the sneer crack just a little into something that might be a smile. Rebel’s eyebrows knit together in suspicion. She nodded, and he nodded back. Rebel was the only one who could do it right now. “He’ll pay with my check.”

With a snarl, Mr. Terstrip hung up.

“Supplies?” Was she insane, or did she hear a little joke in his voice as he dug out a pen and a piece of paper?

She snatched them out of his hand and chose to ignore whatever double entendre he may or may not be slinging at 7:46 in the morning on less than four hours of sleep. “Can you do this?” She needed more of everything—dextrose, saline, IVs for both kids and adults, more Zofran for the kids and lots and lots of antibiotics.

“You can count on me,” he replied as she dug out her checkbook.

“Can I?”

Over the top of his own mask, he gave her a look that said, “Oh, come on,” and she mentally winced. This was not the time or the place to get into that again, not when she needed his help. His help, she reminded herself. Not him. She signed the check and then looked at her balance. “I can cover four, okay?”

“Thousand?”

Damn, she hated it when he got mildly bug-eyed. Him looking freakish made her feel freakish. “Do the best you can.”

Rebel got himself back under control. After all, Madeline reminded herself, he’d been up for hours on heavens-only-knew what kind of sleep too. He took the list, read through it once and held out his hand for the check.