04 - Storms of Life
"Ben?" Matt had just rushed in and found Ben Devereaux standing in the waiting room of the ER at Hermann Memorial where CJ had arrived by ambulance over three hours earlier. "Any word?"
"The doc should be here pretty soon."
"Why in the hell isn't he here now?"
"She's supposed to be looking at some of the test results."
"So what are they saying?"
"Nothing yet."
"It's been over three damn hours! How can they not know something by now?" He looked around the bustling area. "Where is she?"
"They don't want-"
"I don't care what they want." He started up to the door leading back to the treatment rooms, the foreman going after him.
A voice met him as he reached the closed door. "And I'll just bet you're Mr. Houston." He stopped and looked in her direction, his eyes landing on a woman about five feet tall with long black hair, an olive complexion, and a hint of an attitude.
"I am. Where's my wife?"
"Let's go in here and talk first."
Reluctantly he followed along, Ben in his wake. "So how is she?"
In a terse tone the doctor replied. "She's going to be fine. So just settle down and have a seat." Pointing to a chair in the small consultation room she took another. After he was seated, she introduced herself. "I'm Dr. Marissa Ogilvy." There was a pause as she opened up a chart. "Mr. Houston, your wife sustained a concussion and a broken fibula."
"But she's going to be okay, right?"
"She will. We've run a CT scan to check for any signs of trauma from the blow to her head and it came back just fine. Right now they are setting her fracture and placing her in a cast."
"Can I see her?"
"Not at the moment."
"When?"
Ogilvy paused again. "There's one more thing: she also sustained a blow to the abdomen. She's suffered a miscarriage."
Matt froze.
"From your reaction I'm going to assume that you didn't know about the pregnancy."
His voice was very quiet. "No."
"I'm sorry. Thankfully she wasn't very far along - only about four weeks from my best estimation."
"Does she know?"
"No. She regained consciousness about half an hour ago and is a little groggy."
He nodded. Ben noticed relief on his face but there was also sadness. Placing a hand on Matt's shoulder he spoke. "She's gonna be okay, Boss Man."
Nodding again, Matt drew in a deep breath and looked up as there was a knock on the door. A nurse stuck her head in and spoke to Dr. Ogilvy. "We've got a room set up for Mrs. Houston now, Doctor."
"Would you please take her husband up to wait on her there?"
"Yes, ma'am." She held the door open for them.
Matt extended his hand to the doctor. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Ben noticed that her tone had changed slightly in the last couple of minutes. He couldn't understand why she had been so short with Houston: she had been nothing but nice to him since he had arrived with CJ in the ambulance.
In the elevator, the nurse gave Matt a reassuring smile. "She's doing fine, Mr. Houston. And Dr. Ogilvy is one of the best doctors we have on staff."
As they waited in the room, Matt opened the blinds and looked out through the window. The storm, although still strong, seemed to have lessened since he had exited the cab at the emergency entrance. The ride from the airport had been a tough one and he had given the driver $500, not even waiting to hear what the fare was. He turned back to face the foreman of CJ's ranch.
"So what happened? Sheila said that she went back into the arena for her phone?"
"We had to go meet the building inspector and he took forever and a damn day to get finished. CJ had called Sheila to tell her that we would be back in just a few minutes and laid her phone down on top of one of the rails while she was straightening up the papers from the inspection. About the time we got out to the truck she remembered it and went back in. And that's when the straight line winds hit. It took out that great big old oak closest to the arena and it hit the light pole and then both of them landed on the east side of the roof. I went in after her and found her underneath part of the roof. Looked like one of the beams had hit her head and her belly. Her leg was stuck underneath."
"Thanks."
Trying to lighten the mood a little he gave the man a grin. "Hey, she's my boss - I had to take care of her or risk getting fired, right?"
Smiling sadly, Matt replied. "Don't think that's something that you'll have to worry about."
"I'm sorry about the baby." The foreman watched as the man nodded and swallowed hard. "It happened to Marcy and me once."
"Thanks." He turned back to the window, watching as the wind driven rain fell in sheets but not really seeing any of it. He was thinking about the day he had left headed to Quantico. Although they had been trying for another baby, neither thought that she might be pregnant then. As bad as it was he realized that Dr. Ogilvy had been right: it was a good thing that she wasn't further along than four weeks. It would be easier on her physically. Now he wondered how she would feel when she found out.
Meanwhile just outside of Plano…
"Damn it, Zeke!" Donovan Biggs Lynch hefted his frame out of the leather desk chair and stood with his hands on the desk, leaning over looking at the foreman of his ranch. "How many times do I have to tell you not to hire these lame-brained boys?"
"Terrell isn't la-"
"So what do you call getting chased onto my property by the cops?"
"He was drunk."
"Well, then that's just fine." The sarcasm came through loud and clear in his voice. Shaking his head, he turned to look out the window as the rain continued to pour down, lightning strikes giving the greenish-black sky an eerie glow. "He was drunk so that makes everything okay, doesn't it?" There was no reply from the foreman and Lynch turned back around to face him. "I do not want the cops anywhere near this ranch. For a little bit more last night they could have found those girls."
"It won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't happen again." The portly man picked one of the Cuban cigars out of the desktop humidor and began toasting it, staring angrily at Zeke Varley as he began drawing on it. After exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air he spoke again. "I want him gone."
Varley stood. "I'll give him his walkin' papers."
"Not that kind of gone."
The foreman stopped in his tracks, turning to look at his boss. "He doesn't know anything about-"
"Do we know that for sure?"
Varley stared at him in shock.
"So take care of him. I want him bailed out of jail and then take care of him."
"But-
"No buts, Zeke." He watched as the foreman turned and quietly left the study. He sat back down behind the desk, puffing on the cigar as his mind went back to the night before when Terrell Snyder had been running from the police. Not only was he drunk, he was driving one of the ranch trucks when an officer attempted to pull him over. Instead of dealing with the consequences he had chosen to try to outrun the cop and plowed through one of the gates on the south side of the property. Lynch had been made aware of the situation by one of the officers who called in from the main security gate. It was too damn close.
Swiveling around he looked out into the gloomy afternoon and thought about the human livestock in the barn. That was all in the world they amounted to - at least to him. It had seemed like an easy way to stave off some of the boredom and a lot cheaper and safer than having to bring in hookers. Nobody would miss any of the girls: they were all from China. And really, why should it matter what he did with them? They were in the country illegally. To him they gave up any rights they might have had when they set foot on American soil without the proper documentation. They had gambled and lost.
Turning back to the desk he dislodged some of the accumulated ash on the end of the Cuban as he turned his thoughts to Zeke. Zeke's dad Zane had been the ranch foreman up until fifteen years previously when he had been struck dead of a heart attack out in one of the hayfields. The younger Varley had grown up helping out on the ranch and after the passing of his father, Donovan had offered the job to him. Up until the last few months he had never had any complaints about the foreman. But after the incident about three months earlier when the man had shifted the job of getting rid of the body of one of the Chinese girls to a fairly new ranch hand things had seemed to change. The young cowboy had nearly been pulled over by police in Dallas with the body in the back of a pickup and had dumped her in the downtown area. Lynch had ordered Varley to kill the hand and dispose of the body himself.
He heaved up out of the chair and waddled over to pour himself a drink, dropping three ice cubes into the glass before pouring the Kentucky bourbon over top. He then went back to the window and took a sip, the icy chill turning into waves of warmth as it went down. Maybe he needed to replace Zeke. And maybe he needed to get rid of the girls. Lightning struck one of the trees in a nearby pasture and he watched as a huge limb fell to the ground. He drew on the cigar again and thought about how to deal with both of his problems.