Wyoming Bold

“She said you’d come,” Clara said with a sheepish smile. “She’s lying down with a migraine headache,” she added worriedly. “She woke up with it, so the medicine isn’t working very well.”

“Medicine from a doctor?” Tank asked softly, and with a smile.

Clara lowered her eyes. “Herbal medicine. My grandfather was a Comanche shaman,” she said.

His eyebrows arched.

“I know, I’m blonde and so is Merissa, but it’s true just the same. I had a little boy just after I had Merissa. He died—” she hesitated, still upset about it after all the years “—when he was just a week old. But he had black hair and dark brown eyes. It’s recessive genes with Merissa and me, you see. Our coloring, I mean.”

He moved a step closer. He noticed that Clara, like Merissa, immediately backed up, looking uneasy.

He stopped dead, frowning. “Recessive genes.”

She nodded. She swallowed, relaxing when she saw that he wasn’t coming closer.

“Clara, I don’t really know you well enough to pry,” he began softly, “but it’s noticeable that you and Merissa start backing away from me if I come close.”

Clara hesitated. Oddly, she trusted Tank, even though she barely knew him. “My...ex-husband...he was scary when he lost his temper.” She managed a laugh. “It’s an old reflex. Sorry.”

“No offense taken,” he replied gently.

She looked back up at him with wide green eyes the same shade as Merissa’s. “I divorced him, with help from our local sheriff—the one before this one. He was so kind. He got help for us, sheltered us through the divorce and made sure my ex-husband left not only the town, but the state.” She managed a weak smile. She swallowed, not dealing with it well, even now. “We were always afraid of him, when...when he got mad. He was big, like you. Tall and big.”

Tank looked into her eyes. “I’m a teddy bear,” he told her with pursed lips. “But if you tell anybody on my ranch that, I’ll send an email to Santa Claus and you’ll get coal in your stocking.”

Clara, shocked, burst out laughing. “Okay.” She sobered. “Merissa says the man who led you into the ambush is coming.”

His face hardened. “When?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she said. “It’s why you can’t prove it scientifically, because experiments under scientific control very rarely work. It’s sporadic. I know things, but they’re usually nebulous in my mind and I have to interpret what I see. Merissa is much more gifted than I am. It’s made her the subject of much cruelty, I’m afraid.”

“I heard about that. May I see her?”

“She’s not well...”

“My older brother Mallory is subject to migraine headaches. He has high-powered medications that can prevent them if they’re taken in time. The ones he wakes up with, though, don’t even respond to meds. He has to try to sleep them off.”

“Merissa’s are bad,” she commented. “Come on in. I’m sorry I kept you out here talking in the freezing cold!”

“I’m wearing a very heavy jacket,” he assured her, and smiled.

* * *

MERISSA WAS NOT in bed. Terrible sounds of a meal returning were heard in the bathroom.

“Oh, dear...” Clara began.

Tank walked right into the bathroom, found a washcloth and wet it while Merissa, kneeling at the toilet, was still heaving.

“You shouldn’t...be in here!” she protested weakly.

“Bull. You’re sick.” He waited until the last of the spasm was over, flushed the toilet and bathed her pale face. Her green eyes were enormous. “Is it over, you think?”

She swallowed, tasting bile. “I think so.”

He pulled out mouthwash and poured a little in a cup, smiling as she took it and ruefully washed her mouth out. He turned on the faucet to flush it away when she pushed it out into the sink.

He bathed her face again, as he would a child’s, appreciating her delicate, elfin beauty. Her complexion was truly peaches and cream; exquisite, like that pretty bow-shaped mouth. “You are beautiful, you know that?” he murmured softly.

She stared at him blankly.

“Never mind.” He put the washcloth in her hand, swung her up in his arms and carried her to bed. He tucked her in. “Just lie still. I have a friend who’s a doctor. Do you mind if I call him to come out here?”

“Doctors don’t make house calls,” she protested weakly.

“Oh, this one does.” He pulled out his cell phone, punched in a number, waited for a second until it was answered. “John. Hi. Tank here. Have you got a couple of minutes to take a look at a young woman with a massive migraine and no meds?”

He paused, grinned. “Yes, she’s gorgeous,” he said, eyeing Merissa.

There was obviously a question.

“Merissa Baker,” Tank replied.

Merissa closed her eyes. He wouldn’t come now. He’d know it was the witch woman, whom everyone in town avoided.

But Tank was laughing. “Yes, she is a phenomenon. I can attest to her skills. Yes, I know you would. We’ll be expecting you. Want me to send one of the boys to drive you over?” He nodded. “No problem. I’ll call Tim right now.” He hung up, phoned Tim and gave him directions to get to the doctor.

He turned back to Merissa and sat down next to her on the bed. “His name is John Harrison. He’s retired, but he’s one of the best physicians I’ve ever known, and his medical license is kept current.”

Merissa removed the comforting cold wet cloth from her eyes and winced at the light. Photophobia was one of the symptoms of the condition. “Dr. Harrison? He’s fascinated with psychic phenomena,” she pointed out. “They say he was friends with one of the researchers who used to work in the parapsychology department of a major college back East years ago.”

“That’s true. He thinks you’re fascinating. He can’t wait to meet you,” he told her.

She sighed and put the cloth back over her eyes. “That’s a new thing, all right. Most people never want to meet me. They’re afraid I’ll curdle the milk.”

“You’re no witch,” Tank scoffed. “You just have a gift that’s outside the area of established science. In a couple of hundred years, scientists will research it just as they research other conditions. You know, two hundred years or more ago, there was no antibiotic, and doctors had no clue about exactly how disease processes worked.”

“We’ve come a long way from that.”

He nodded. “Indeed we have. Tummy feeling better?”

“A bit, yes. Thanks.”

Clara was standing in the doorway, looking perplexed. “The herbs always worked before,” she commented.

Tank looked up. “Can you make her a cup of strong black coffee?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”