Fairfield shoved the heels of his hands against the yielding flesh of Edith Potts’s chest, taking his turn at the grueling task of CPR. He felt the sweat of desperation on his own forehead and heard the despair in Cheyenne’s voice as she continued to call orders to them.
“Where’s that airlift?” Jill asked. “It should be here by now. It’s been—”
“Too long,” Cheyenne said, her voice brittle from the force of tight control. Grief drew lines of tension around her mouth and eyes.
It had been twenty minutes. Rex knew this would be a tough one for all of them. He also knew they had done more than was normal for a code such as this.
“Sheena,” Cheyenne said, “go ahead and—” She frowned, and Rex glanced at Sheena Marshall crouched in the far corner of the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself, eyes glassy as she stared at the floor in front of her.
“Noelle,” Cheyenne said, “call the airlift and cancel—”
“No!” Jill’s usually mellow voice broke, ragged with pain. “Please, Chey, just a little longer.”
Rex continued to pump rhythmically.
“It’s been taken out of our hands.” Cheyenne spoke with tender sadness.
Jill shook her head, short jerks of denial as she reached once more for the crash cart. “Atropine is next, isn’t it?”
“We’ve already maxed out the Atropine.” Karah Lee placed a hand on Jill’s shoulder and squeezed, her voice husky with sorrow.
“There’s some left, though. Can’t we just try one more—”
“Honey, it’s time,” Karah Lee said.
“Epi again, then.” Jill’s movements had taken on the frantic tightness of extreme anxiety. “One more dose, Chey. Please, just one…”
“Jill.” Cheyenne caught Jill by the hands. “She’s gone. We knew it was a reach when we saw the rhythm in the first place. We’ve carried this much longer than was warranted already.” She nodded to Karah Lee, who had taken over the recording from Rex. “Time of death, 2:30 p.m., September third.”
“Oh, Edith, no!” Jill’s cry filled the room.
Chapter Four
Fawn watched Bertie return to her work in the dining room, and then saw Austin Barlow’s broad shoulders slump as he reached for the handle of the front door. She suddenly felt sorry for him, though she couldn’t understand why.
The guy was a bigot. He’d accused Blaze of vandalism simply because Blaze was black in a cream white town. The former mayor had complained constantly about Dane Gideon and the boys’ ranch, and according to Blaze, he had even tried to cause trouble for Bertie Meyer.
Bertie didn’t hold grudges, and she’d been kind to Austin after the initial awkwardness. Still, she couldn’t pull a room for rent out of thin air. There was nothing to be had in town.
Fawn remembered a few more things Blaze had said about Austin Barlow. He was a real estate agent, and one time he’d rescued a starving horse from a pasture he had listed, then had taken the animal to Cheyenne’s farm, since he lived in town. When Cheyenne had hired Blaze to take care of the horse, Austin had been angry. The moron had actually expected to use the starving horse as an excuse to see Cheyenne more often.
Had to give the guy credit for originality, but it was still stupid. He must not know much about women.
“I hear you used to be the mayor.” The words slid from Fawn’s mouth before she realized she was going to say anything at all.
Austin turned and glanced around the room, and she could tell he hadn’t even known she was there. That ficus tree made a good eavesdropping blind.
She stood up.
He blinked, the heavy expression in his eyes suddenly lifting. “That’s right.”
“Sorry about your son.”
He nodded. “Thank you. So am I.”
“If you’re looking to stay a couple of weeks, Grace Brennan might sublet her apartment to you. She’s on tour this month.”
He stepped across the hardwood floor to the counter and leaned against it, obviously to get a better look at the instigator of this conversation.
“Grace Brennan’s on the road?” he asked.
“That’s right. She’s got a song that’s a crossover hit, and she and Michael Gold are getting married.”
Austin whistled softly. “When’s the wedding?”
“During the festival on the twenty-fifth of this month. Karah Lee Fletcher’s getting married to Taylor Jackson, too.”
Austin winked at her, his eyes suddenly teasing. “How about you? When do you get married?”
Fawn scowled. Now he was flirting, not taking her seriously. “I just turned eighteen. Why would I be getting married so young?”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember seeing you in Hideaway two years ago.”
She decided not to tell him where she was and what she was doing two years ago. She wanted to ask why his own life had gone down the tubes so quickly. But Karah Lee and Blaze were always reminding her that those kinds of questions weren’t polite.
“I came here one step ahead of some goon who wanted to kill me,” she said. “Karah Lee decided to keep me.”
Austin Barlow’s expression didn’t change, which intrigued Fawn. Usually, that announcement led the listener to ask for the whole story.
Fawn decided the winking and teasing were a cover. Austin had other things on his mind. “Why did you come back to Hideaway?” she asked.
“You should know why. You’re the one who’s been eavesdropping.”
“So you want to make amends? For your son’s actions? It’s not like you’re the guilty one.”
Austin scowled.
“Sorry,” Fawn said. “I guess a good father will always feel responsible for whatever his kid does.”
The scowl faded as he studied her more closely.
“Guess I wouldn’t know about that,” she muttered softly.
Austin’s eyes narrowed at her words, then he shook his head. “Guess I wouldn’t, either. But maybe it’s time to make up for a lot of things,” he said, almost as if to himself.
“Are you moving back to Hideaway?” she asked. Blaze wouldn’t be thrilled about that. Dane Gideon wouldn’t be happy, either, though he was too much of a gentleman ever to say anything.
Austin glanced around the lobby, appraising. “I’m not sure where I’ll
