Mystic Cowboy(84)

A manicured hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, goodness, what happened?”

Rebel stepped away from the counter, just in case Terstrip took advantage of this distraction and tried to bash in his brains. “Ma’am, we were at a church picnic, and most everyone got food poisoning. My niece...” He drifted off. It didn’t take much work to get choked up. He’d tried real hard not to think about what Nelly had looked like when Madeline found her, because she’d looked terrifying enough when he’d pulled her from the back seat of the Jeep. In that crystalline moment, he’d seen the sickness had come, but not with the silent, sterile whiteness of his smallpox vision. If he didn’t get the hell out of Dodge, and soon, Madeline would be fighting a losing battle with a death of moaning and retching and shit that reeked to high heaven. And he didn’t have to be a medicine man to see that Nelly would be first. “The children are suffering, ma’am. The doctor needs more supplies or we might start losing them...”

Mrs. Terstrip looked like she wanted to hug him. “Oh, you poor thing. Church picnic, you say?”

You poor thing. The words scraped over his ears like steel on flint. No, he yelled to himself. You’ve got her where you want her. Just reel her in, and then you can go. “Ma’am, the St. Francis parish on the far side of the White Sandy reservation.” He didn’t have a problem with Catholicism on the whole—they did good work and educated a hell of a lot of people who otherwise wouldn’t get anywhere, like Tara. However, they’d only added classes in Lakota culture to the curriculum a year or so ago. That was why Tara and Tammy and whole bunches of people didn’t speak the language. While it was true that he hadn’t been at yesterday’s picnic, he’d gone to one or two in the past. “It was a fundraiser for a new school,” he added, trying to sound mournful. “I’ve got the money to pay for the supplies, but I’ve got to hurry. My niece...she’s only five, ma’am.”

“Oh, goodness.” This time, she did touch him. She patted his arm with sympathetic sorrow, but Rebel couldn’t help but note that her touch lingered for about two seconds longer than it should have.

A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do, Madeline’s voice whispered in his ear. He gritted his teeth through the appreciative smile he was favoring Mrs. Terstrip with. And sometimes, he silently replied, a man’s got to do what a girl asks him to. He realized that no matter how hard this was for him, it had been a thousand times harder for her, but she’d done it anyway, for him. He saw exactly what kind of first-class jerk he’d been. Later, after the dust had settled and everyone was out of the woods, he owed her the biggest apology ever. He, of all people, should know about faking it. Like he was doing right now. “I do appreciate you took time away from your own worship to help us out.” This is it, he thought. Going for the kill. “You truly are doing God’s work today.”

Her hand was now resting on his biceps, and, given the warm weight of it, she was about ten seconds from squeezing. “Bless your heart,” she said, her eyes watering.

“Kathy!” Terstrip snapped from behind Rebel, making them both jump. “What the hell are you doing? This man is a criminal.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hubert.” Any trace of the caring-mother figure disappeared in a heartbeat. “You heard him. He needs his stuff.” She let go of Rebel and marched back to her husband. “Why are you just standing around? Go on, get moving.”

Mission accomplished, Rebel thought as he kept his victory grin to himself. As the two of them traded snipes behind the counter, he wondered what would be the best, least dangerous way to make it up to Madeline. Flowers weren’t enough, and she never wore jewelry. While he tried to come up with something that would convince her to take him back, he found himself looking out the front door at the manufactured-home lot. There, gleaming in the morning sun, was a pristine white house on cinderblocks. The porch ran the length of the house and was wide enough for some chairs. Or even a recliner.

The vision he’d had in the sweat lodge yesterday—although it felt like a lifetime ago—floated back through his mind and seemed to merge with the house he was looking at. He saw himself sitting on that porch in the early evening sun as Madeline pulled up in the Jeep. He saw her get out and rush up the porch, where he met her with a kiss. He saw the two of them settle back into the recliner and watch the sun finish setting.

He saw home.

Shaking back to reality, he glanced back at the Terstrips. Hubert had a couple of boxes on a wheeled cart.