She sighed, feeling as if she’d been crushed. She loved him, and he could treat her so badly.
“I’m going,” she said. “You don’t have to make threats to get me to leave. Please tell Winnie something came up.”
He didn’t answer her. He swept back down the hall, out the door and into what sounded like a pickup truck. It roared away as Keely started down the long driveway. Boone didn’t know that Winnie had driven her here. She didn’t have a way home. But she was too wary of Boone to go down to the bunkhouse and ask for a ride. It would do no good, anyway—all the men were out in the pastures, bringing in the crops.
She was wearing a long-sleeved blouse, she had no water, she wasn’t even wearing a hat. The sun was brutal. By the time she got out the gates and a quarter of a mile down the road, she was too sick and thirsty to go on. She’d sit in the shade by the highway, she thought. It was flat here. Winnie would come driving by sooner or later and spot her. Her white blouse would stand out in that grove of mesquite trees. She’d just have to be careful of the trees trailing limbs and long thorns, which were so dangerous that they could pierce a boot.
The big tree near the road afforded a little shade. There was a fallen limb next to it which seemed to have been there for a long time. She slumped down, exhausted by the heat, without looking first. That was a mistake. She heard the sound of frying bacon, which even her addled brain immediately connected with the source that would be making it this far away from a stove; a diamondback rattlesnake.
Before she could even turn her head to look for it, the snake struck. It bit her on the forearm and withdrew, still rattling.
Terrified, she jumped to her feet and ran backward before it could get her again. The bite mark was vivid, stained with blood. Tourniquet, she thought. Stop the blood running to the heart. Get the bite lower than the heart…
She dragged the handkerchief she always carried from her pocket and wrapped half of it around her forearm between the bite and her elbow. She grabbed up a stick and used it to tighten the handkerchief. Only use it to keep the poison below the skin, she recalled from the first-aid book she’d read, don’t tighten it enough to stop the circulation. Once tightened, don’t loosen it, get help.
Help? She looked both ways. The road was deserted. She’d been bitten by a poisonous snake. Her arm was already swelling as the poison tried to make its way to her heart. She kept her left arm down—it would be the one that was already damaged!—and tried to breathe slowly and shallowly. She’d need antivenin. Did they have any at the Jacobsville hospital? She didn’t have her mother’s cell phone. It was still on the counter in Winnie’s kitchen. The heat had already exhausted her and her head was swimming. She was nauseated. The bite hurt. It really hurt!
She closed her eyes, standing in the middle of the highway. If somebody didn’t come down that road soon, it would be too late. She thought of Boone, the way he’d been at the charity dance, holding her, kissing her so tenderly, almost as if he…loved her.
“Boone,” she whispered. And she fainted.
* * *
Winnie was cursing her own bad luck as she drove rapidly back to the ranch. Boone had called her, almost incoherent with fury, daring her to ever let Keely back in the front door. He had photos, he said harshly, of her with Clark that turned his stomach. He’d told her to get out and he never wanted to see her on the place again. He hung up before Winnie could tell him that Keely had no way home. Now she was hoping she could get back in time to save the poor girl a long and uncomfortable walk.
As she approached the ranch road, she noticed a bundle of rags in the road. But as she came closer, she realized it wasn’t rags—it was Keely!
She wheeled her car around and left it running, the door open, as she rushed to Keely’s side.
“Keely! Keely!” she called, as she whipped out her cell phone and dialed the emergency services number without hesitation.
Keely’s eyes opened groggily. “Winnie…snake…rattler…” She tried to lift her left arm. It was swollen and almost black already.
“Dear God,” Winnie whispered reverently. A voice spoke in her ear. “This is Winnie Sinclair,” she said. “Shirley, is that you? I thought it was. Listen, I’ve got Keely Welsh here in the middle of the highway with snakebite. It was a rattler, she said. I’m taking her to Jacobsville General myself, no time to dispatch an ambulance. Have them waiting at the door with antivenin. Got that? Thanks, Shirley. No, I can’t stay on the line, I have to get her in the car.”
She hung up and managed to get Keely into the front seat and belted in, in a matter of seconds, with strength she didn’t know she had. Her heart was pounding as she put the car in gear and left tire marks as she shifted into low gear.
A mile down the road she was met by flashing blue lights. She slowed. The car, Jacobsville Police, spun around in front of her. The door opened and Kilraven’s head poked out. “Follow me!” he shouted.
She nodded, relieved to have help. He took off and she followed close on his bumper. Cars got out of the way. They went right through two red lights and turned into the emergency entrance to the hospital.
As soon as she stopped the car, Kilraven came running back to get Keely and carry her to her door where a gurney and Dr. Coltrain waited.
“Snakebite,” Winnie panted. “Diamondback. She put on a tourniquet herself…”
“It’s all right,” Kilraven told her. “Shirley called them for you. Everything’s ready, except the antivenin,” he added quietly. “They don’t have enough, so they’re having a state trooper run it down here to the county line. Hayes Carson’s going himself to meet him and relay it back here.” He put a big hand on Winnie’s shoulder. “She’ll be all right. You did good.”
She bit her lower lip. Tears rained down her face. She turned it away from him and started up the steps.
He pulled her around and into his arms. “Don’t ever be ashamed of tears,” he said into her ear. “I’ve shed my share of them.”
That was surprising and sort of nice. It meant he was human. “Thanks,” she said huskily after a minute. She drew back and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I was scared stiff and I couldn’t show it. She’s my friend.”
“I know. Come on. I’ll walk you in. I had a call here anyway. Remember old Ben Barkley? His son put a bullet through his leg when he started beating the boy’s mother.”
“Riley shot him?” she asked, surprised. The boy was sweet and helpful when he called emergency services to get help saving his mother from his habitually drunk father.
“Riley did,” he asserted. He grinned, and bent low. “We’re going to take him out to our firing range and help him improve his aim, in case he ever does it again.”
