“Reporters?” He looked puzzled.
“If anybody knocks on the front door or rings the bell, don’t open it. And if the phone rings, and it’s somebody you don’t know, hang up. Entiendes?”
He nodded. “You want coffee, señorita?”
“Not this morning, thanks. But the rest of that wine is for you to take home and share with your wife.”
Leaving him with a smile on his face, she went outside and climbed into her father’s Cadillac, which still reeked of his mysterious girlfriend’s perfume. Maybe she had something to do with the trouble he was in. No woman who smelled like that was fit to be trusted. But try telling that to a man.
For the first few miles of highway, she drove with the windows down to freshen the air. But the sun was up by now, the dry summer heat coming in like the blast from a furnace. It was only a matter of time before Lauren had to close the windows and turn on the air conditioner. At least the darkly tinted glass offered some relief from the blinding sun.
By the time she passed the roadside diner, she was getting hungry. It might not hurt to stop and have a good breakfast, she reasoned. If her father needed her at the hospital, she could be in for a long day. Swinging the car around, she pulled up to the diner and went inside. A trucker at a table was reading an open newspaper.
TEXAS CONGRESSMAN TAKES DRUG MONEY. The blaring headlines on the front page screamed the story of her father’s disgrace. Forcing herself to look the other way, Lauren found an empty booth, where she ordered coffee and a cheese omelet. While she was waiting, her cell phone rang. It was Sky’s friend calling about the cleanup job. By the time the waitress had brought her coffee, she’d given the man directions and agreed on a price. One less worry, at least.
She and her father had never had much of a relationship. But maybe this crisis could be a turning point—a new beginning. If she stood by him against the world, maybe he would warm to her. Maybe he would look on her as a real daughter, not just a tool to be used in his political schemes. And when she moved out, as she still meant to, maybe it would at least be on friendly terms. She’d told herself she didn’t give a damn about Garn Prescott. It had taken this horrific event to make her realize how much she cared.
Sky had mentioned growing up fatherless. Lauren had pretty much done the same. But for everyone’s sake, she needed to mend things. If nothing else, she owed her future children their grandfather.
If only Sky would understand that she had to try.
Leaving a couple of bills on the table, Lauren picked up her purse and walked out to the car. The inside of the Cadillac was like an oven. Sweating, she cranked up the AC and pulled out of the parking lot. The dark-tinted windows of the car softened the glare of the sun on the parched landscape. Heat shimmered in waves above the road.
She touched the brake pedal as a lizard dashed across the highway ahead of her wheels. How could any living creature survive this heat, let alone set an unprotected foot on the melting black asphalt? At least the hospital would be cool.
Twenty minutes later she parked the car and walked into the hospital’s main lobby. “He’s in Room 233,” the receptionist told her. “The elevator’s just down that hallway. Push the button for the second floor. When you get out, just follow the signs.”
Alone in the elevator, Lauren mulled over what to say to her father. Nothing came to mind. She could only promise herself that whatever words she spoke would be gentle and forgiving.
She stepped out of the elevator and rounded a corner to a scene of controlled chaos. From far down the corridor a monitor shrieked its alarm. Nurses and doctors in scrubs were rushing to the sound. A garbled voice blasted over the intercom. Lauren caught the word stat. Some poor soul was in crisis. Here in the hospital, the only helpful thing she could do was stay out of the way and try not to look.
Walking down toward her father’s room, she checked the number posted next to each door. Lauren might as well have been invisible. She had just reached Room 233 when the door opened partway and the doctor she’d met yesterday stepped out into the hall. For an instant he looked surprised to see her. Then his features shifted into the impassive mask she’d seen the day before.
“I’m sorry, Miss Prescott,” he said. “Your father just suffered a massive heart attack. We did everything we could, but we couldn’t save him. He’s gone.”
Sky lifted the saddle off the blue roan and patted her damp withers. A sharp little mare, she’d performed well on the morning’s cutting maneuvers with the paddock cows. By next week she’d be ready to join Quicksilver and several other colts up on the caprock, working the herd with the cowboys. Sky tried not to get attached to the young horses he trained. But that wasn’t easy. They were the closest thing he had to his own children, and he took a parent’s pride in everything they accomplished.
To date, the training had gone well enough. But Sky couldn’t help worrying. Will was counting on the sale of the colts to shore up Rimrock finances. But if the drought didn’t end soon, what rancher would have enough spare cash to pay what they were worth? Sky knew better than to voice his concerns to Will. The boss of the Rimrock had enough trouble on his plate.
Eyes shaded by the brim of his Stetson, he gazed west. The first clouds of the afternoon were drifting over the escarpment—tantalizing white streaks that raised hopes but brought no rain. Yesterday he’d seen traces of virga, the phantom moisture that formed high and evaporated before it reached the ground. Ghost rain, his grandfather had called it. Sky still missed the old man.
So far he’d had no chance to talk with Jasper. The retired foreman had ridden into town with Bernice that morning and wouldn’t be back till later in the day. Meanwhile, Sky had plenty of work to do.
He’d just turned the mare loose in the paddock and was splashing his face at the outside tap when his cell phone rang. Seeing Lauren’s number, he picked up. Last night had been good between them. The thought of hearing her voice triggered a riffle of anticipation.
“How’s it going?” he asked. “You were sleeping like an angel when I left. Did I wear you out?”
“Sky . . .” Her voice quivered and broke. “Oh, Sky!”
“What is it?”
He listened in shock while she told him about her father’s fatal heart attack. “It must’ve happened just as I was going up to his room,” she said. “If I hadn’t stopped for breakfast, I might have been there to say good-bye—or even to call for help in time to save him. . . .”
She trailed off. Sky wondered if she was crying. “I’ll be right there,” he said. “Wait for me.”
“No, don’t come.” She sounded stronger now. “There’s nothing you can do here, and I can’t leave yet. There’s the paperwork, the insurance, the funeral home, and maybe even the police. Nobody was prepared for this to happen.”
“Lauren, I want to be there for you.”