his throat, trying to be professional. “As I’m sure you know, all five of your husbands were on a rig Shelby Howard built that stood on Montano land. The way I hear it from a few of the crew being treated for burns, J.D. planned to invest extra money in the rig so one of the bank officers, Kevin Allen, had to come along for the ride.”
He glanced at Randi and added, “Jimmy was there with Shelby. Helping out as always.”
“And how many workers were on the rig?” Helena asked, needing the details.
“None,” the doctor answered. “Jimmy had offered them a beer from the cooler in his trunk. From what I understand that is pretty much routine.”
His eyes bubbled with tears. “Only your husbands were standing on the rig when a box of explosives, that never should have been near the place, exploded.”
The women waited, knowing Dr. Hamilton had said the easy part of his tale. He stared just above their heads as he added, “Four were killed. The man still alive is hanging on by a thread. We tried to get a helicopter from Parkland, but the storm’s preventing that. I did get a specially trained nurse to drive over from Wichita Falls. She arrived about half an hour ago in her car packed with much needed supplies.”
The sheriff slipped into the room and stood behind the doctor. He was tall and solid in his tailored uniform. He stood at attention, official.
Hamilton continued, “I asked Sheriff Farrington to join us in case you have any questions. He’s here to help in any way he can. He’ll also see you make it past the reporters if you don’t feel like talking to them.”
Randi was the only one who glanced in the sheriff’s direction. The others waited for the doctor to continue.
Hamilton’s sorrowful gaze darted from one woman to the other. “I don’t know how to say this easily.” He clenched his jaw, forcing tears not to fall. His hand shook so badly he had to grip the lapel of his coat to keep his fingers steady.
Anna stood and folded her arms, hugging herself as tightly as she dared. Her riding jacket seemed to offer her no warmth now.
Randi pulled Crystal against her.
Meredith moved close to the door, looking as if she might bolt at any moment.
Only Helena faced the doctor directly. “We’ve waited long enough, Simon. Say what you have to say and get on with it. Bad news doesn’t get any better with age.”
The doctor nodded and turned to Meredith. She looked like a firing squad had just drawn aim on her. She did not move.
“I’m sorry, Meredith. We determined Kevin’s body by size and blood type. He was a good three inches taller than the others and the only O positive among the men.”
Meredith opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She would have slid to the floor, but Sheriff Farrington’s arm encircled her and held her up. He seemed a cold man and his hug felt cold now, as though he were only doing his duty, nothing more.
“Kevin,” Meredith cried. “I want Kevin. We’ve been together since we were sixteen. How can he be gone?”
“If it’s any comfort, Meredith, he didn’t suffer. We think the blast killed him, not the fire that followed.” The doctor swallowed hard. “I signed his birth certificate so I asked if I could sign the death certificate.”
The sheriff held Meredith steady. She turned her face into his shoulder and sobbed.
Dr. Hamilton looked at Helena. “I’m sorry, Helena. J.D. fought for life all the way into town but died before we could get him stabilized. He was a soldier to the end.”
Helena nodded but did not move. She sat like a statue at the end of the table. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle to be seen on her clothing, but her heart crumbled inside.
“The other three men were almost the same height and build. All B positive. They were burned so…” The doctor stopped, not wanting to tell more.
He stared at the center of the table.
“The one still alive only has a slim chance and, if he makes it, it will take months, maybe even years, of care and therapy. He wore a plain wedding band. We had to cut it off.”
A single tear rolled down Anna’s face. “D-Davis wore no wedding band,” she whispered in a blending of English and Italian. She took Helena’s hand as she joined the growing ranks of widows.
The doctor raised his fist and slowly opened his palm. “This will tell us who’s alive, I guess.”
All the women stared at the ring. A plain gold band, badly beaten and twisted, tarnished to black. It belonged to one of the Howard men, either Shelby, Crystal’s husband, or his nephew, Jimmy.
Tears streamed, for the first time, down Randi’s face. She choked in one deep breath. No one moved.
Anna raised her gaze to meet Randi’s terrified stare, then she thought she saw Helena nod slightly to Crystal. The movement was so small no one else but Crystal seemed to notice. In the length of a heartbeat Crystal nodded back, first at Helena, then at Randi.
Meredith’s wide-eyed look was unreadable as she stopped her sobbing and watched.
Crystal glanced around at each of the women, then straightened slowly. Her stare locked with Randi’s, not on the ring in the doctor’s hand. Understanding and sympathy passed between the two women.
Not a woman in the room breathed as Crystal slowly raised her hand and took the ring. She buried it into a white-knuckled fist and closed her eyes. “Shelby’s alive,” she whispered. “Shelby’s alive.”
Randi pulled her hands off the table, covering her left hand with her right. She huddled into herself as though the room had grown suddenly cold.
Among the riggers in the early days of the Clifton Creek oil boom the question wasn’t if you’d be hurt, but when. It was often said, after an accident, that fire climbed the rigs with lightning speed and no one within a hundred feet would be left untouched.
October 12
Just after midnight County Memorial Hospital—A makeshift ICU room
Pain materialized one inch at a time into his mind until it filled every pore, every cell of his body. He couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure he was even breathing on his own. There was nothing but fire seeping into his skin where it continued to smolder, burning all the way to his bones.
The weight of the sheet pressed agonizingly against him, while a tube choked past his swollen vocal cords, holding back a scream. Fighting with a strength borrowed from the deep recesses where life struggles to survive without consciousness, he pulled at tubes clawing their way into his arms. But his fingers had been individually wrapped with fine gauze and cupped, as if to hold a can, around a soft mass. The gentle splint rendered his efforts to touch anything useless.
Figures moved around him. Shouting. Ordering. Begging him to stop resisting.
He stilled, more from a need to conserve his last bit of strength than from cooperation. He tried to open his eyes but couldn’t tell if they were bandaged or swollen closed.
“Please
