Grey looked at the paramedic standing at the front of Kelly’s gurney. The man looked back at him expectantly, prompting Grey to reply curtly. “What is it?”
“You need to move to one side so we can get the patients loaded into the ambulance.”
Grey got out of the way.
The icy drizzle had stopped and the clouds were breaking up. Although the temperature had risen into the forties, there was still a damp chill on the late-afternoon air. It hadn’t taken the paramedics long to arrive. Obviously well trained, they’d handled the rest of the delivery and cut the cord. They’d taken Kelly’s and the baby’s vitals. After giving each a cursory examination, mother and child were deemed stable and healthy and ready to transport. They were wrapped in warm blankets then lifted onto the gurney. Next, they were wheeled out to the ambulance waiting just outside the back door.
The little entourage didn’t draw much attention. Traffic was practically nonexistent on the street out front, and other than Kelly’s car parked in the middle of the parking lot, and Grey’s sport-utility vehicle sitting in his reserved space near the building, the lot was deserted.
“I should go with you.” It wasn’t the first time Grey had made the suggestion.
She smiled tiredly. “You’ve already done more than I will ever be able to repay.”
Repay?
“Excuse us, Judge.”
Grey stepped aside, again.
What did Kelly mean, repay? She’d done all the work, suffered all the pain, and with barely more than a whimper, too. He’d helped deliver her baby, but had been useless ever since the paramedics had arrived. He’d been all that was between Kelly and total aloneness. Now he was in the way.
That didn’t keep him from sticking close to the emergency vehicle while the paramedics got her and the baby secured, warm and comfortable inside. Any second now, they would close the doors. And then what? And then, nothing. His responsibility was over. End of story.
The first door clicked shut.
Grey slid his hands into his pockets for lack of a better place to put them. His feet were rooted to the pavement.
“Wait!” Kelly exclaimed.
This was more like it. Giving the paramedic a brief nod and an uncustomary smile, Grey eased closer to the open door. “Yes?”
Weak and beautiful in the gray light of the dreary afternoon, Kelly nuzzled her daughter’s tiny head, then said, “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”
Grey felt a strange, swooping pull at his insides. He couldn’t seem to speak, so he simply nodded.
“We’ll take it from here, Judge.”
He stepped aside for the last time. The paramedic closed the other door. The ambulance pulled away, leaving Grey standing alone in the parking lot in a puddle of melting ice, shivering, bare-chested inside his overcoat.
The wind blew through his hair, seeping through his clothing, reminding him that he couldn’t stand here forever. Coming to his senses, he strode past Kelly’s locked car, to his shiny, all-wheel-drive vehicle. His job was done. This episode was over.
It was time for him to go.
He wasn’t sure where he was going even after he’d gotten in and started the engine. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush, but he couldn’t bring himself to simply go home. He considered paying his cousin, Sheriff Bram Colton, a visit at the sheriff station. The two men were friends as well as cousins, Bram on one end of law enforcement, Grey on the other.
The golden-brown brick station came into view. For some reason, Grey drove right on by. He was always welcome at his parents’ house. Lately, Tom and Alice Colton had been feuding. A visit with them inevitably ended up with Grey’s father saying, “Grey, tell your mother that…”
And Grey’s mother saying, “Grey, your father can speak to me himself, and until he does, you can tell him what he can do with his suggestion…”
No. Grey was in no mood to deal with his parents today. What then?
He drove past a pool hall called the Coyote. Instantly, an image of gray hair and wise eyes peering out of a lined, beloved face came to mind. Doing a U-turn, he headed southeast toward his great-grandfather’s ranch near Waurika Lake.
Visiting George WhiteBear involved pursuit. It always had. And it was precisely what Grey needed to take his mind off Kelly Madison and the scrap of a baby girl born right into his own two hands.
He walked beside his great-grandfather on land that had belonged in the WhiteBear family since the early 1900s when the United States government developed a conscience and gave each Comanche family a portion of land to farm. In this day and age, a hundred and sixty acres was barely enough to scratch out a living on. George WhiteBear had never needed much. He raised some chickens, a couple of beef cattle and a few old horses that he rarely rode anymore. His three mongrel dogs were loyal, protective and showing their age. They had as much trouble keeping up with George as Grey did.
The black leather shoes he’d worn all day in court weren’t exactly made for trekking through underbrush and wet weeds. Consequently, his feet were soaked, a two-hundred-dollar pair of shoes probably ruined. The outing had been worth a lot more than a pair of shoes. He and his great-grandfather were on their way back from a scrubby knoll where George had last seen the coyote he believed was his guardian spirit.
Grey had some of George’s Comanche blood, and while he was intrigued by the ancient Native American ways and beliefs, he’d never experienced a visit from a guardian spirit himself. That didn’t mean he didn’t believe George had. There had been too many instances of late in which his great-grandfather had spouted wise words after encountering a dark-gray coyote with silver tips on his coat. Each time, the prophecy had come to pass. Secretly, Grey was relieved none of it had been focused on him.
The house, more ramshackle than run-down, was in plain sight when George stopped suddenly. He peered straight ahead, shading his eyes with a gnarled hand. Knowing better than to speak, Grey stood, quiet and motionless, waiting.
Finally, George lowered his hand. Pointing, he said, “The coyote waits. There.”
Grey saw some brush move, but nothing more.
George stared straight ahead, as if straining to hear something of grave importance. Finally, he spoke. “The gray wolf hides from the truth.”
George looked at Grey for so long that the hair on the back of Grey’s neck prickled slightly. He scanned the weeds and underbrush surrounding his grandfather’s house. Other than smoke curling from the chimney, nothing moved. He certainly didn’t see a wolf hiding. And he didn’t know what George was talking about. He couldn’t have been talking about him, because Grey Colton had made it his life’s work to flesh out the truth.
George said, “A wrong turn will lead the wolf to the right path.”
Now Grey knew his great-grandfather wasn’t referring to him. Grey didn’t make wrong turns.
“Come,” George said. “I cooked a
