never had that in her life, never had someone love her the way Priscilla loved Jack either. Or the way Jack loved Priscilla. It was nice. Gave her hope that it might be out there for her, someday.
* * *
There was something about this place—all the time he’d spent here growing up, the things his grandmother had taught him here, bringing Evangeline and Alice here... Priscilla had loved Alice deeply and dearly. They’d had a special bond. The same bond he’d shared with his grandmother when he’d been Alice’s age. Walks through her garden, fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies, and the stories... Nobody told better stories than Priscilla and he could almost see Alice and Priscilla sitting together on the floor, Alice’s brown Salish eyes wide with amazement as Priscilla told the tales of her childhood, or her own adventures in Saka’am, when she’d go to visit friends. It hurt. All of it hurt now. The memories. And images. He wanted them back the way they used to be, not the way they were now.
Except he couldn’t have that because everything was shrouded in grief and sorrow. That picture of Alice—the one where she and Priscilla were wading in the stream, drenched from a spill or two, looking all sloppy and wet and happy—Jack knew his grandmother had put it away because he couldn’t bear to look at it. Because it broke his heart when he did. And that afghan Evangeline had spent months crocheting—nowhere to be seen. Bits and pieces of his past all tucked away so he wouldn’t be reminded, but everything reminded him. Dragged him back to those days. To his wife. Especially to his daughter. “Oh, I have compassion,” he finally said in response. “I save it up for those who deserve it.”
“And I don’t deserve it?” Priscilla asked, pretending to be outraged.
“What you deserve is for me to come in here, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you down that mountain, like it or not.”
“Not,” Priscilla practically shouted. “And I’ll have you arrested—”
“You know, every family has one—the crazy relative nobody talks about,” he said to Carrie as he gave his grandmother’s hand a squeeze, once the IV was in place. “Well, this is the one who belongs to my family.” He bent and kissed Priscilla’s cheek.
“Never had a family, so never had the pleasure,” she told him.
Priscilla laughed, and reached over to pat Jack’s hand. “Well, my Jackie here is available. I’d die a happy woman if he could find someone again.”
Again? Carrie raised her eyebrows, but didn’t ask, much to Jack’s relief. “Except you’re not going to die,” Jack reassured her, as a telltale red started creeping from his neck to his face. He didn’t talk about Evangeline. Or Alice. Ever. And people who knew him knew better than to speak of her. “And I’m not looking to find someone. So, no more talking. I want you to save your energy for the trip back to Sinclair.”
“I know why you don’t want me talking, Jackie, and it has nothing to do with going to Sinclair. But I’ll cooperate.” With that, she pretend-zipped her lips, lay back into her pillows and shut her eyes.
“She’s pouting,” Jack said to Carrie, the red still evident. “Thinks it gains her some sympathy.”
“Well, I’m sympathetic.” Carrie sat down on the other side of the bed, then took Priscilla’s hand. “And for your information, Jack, I like your grandmother. I like her spunk and her attitude. You’re a lucky man to have her.”
“That’s what I keep telling him,” Priscilla interjected, opening her eyes. “So, when do we ride, Jackie? Because if I must do this, I want to get it over with so I can get back home to my cats.”
“Soon, Priscilla,” he said, feeling as helpless as he had the night his wife and daughter had died. Helpless, angry, and damned ready to kick in that wall. “Got a couple of people on the way up right now to help carry you out.”
“You can’t carry me?” she asked, her voice weakening.
“Too dangerous. Carrie’s not experienced on the mountain, and I can’t do it by myself...”
“He climbs like a mountain goat. Did he tell you that, Carrie? Jackie climbs like he was born on the side of a mountain. Taught him everything he knows about it.”
“You climbed?” Carrie asked her.
“Up until the arthritis got me a few years back. In fact, Jackie and I had a lot of good times together. He was a natural on the ropes. Liked to free-climb, too. Not me, though. I was always a little more cautious. So, do you climb at all, Carrie?”
“Never have. But I’m going to learn.”
“Good for you,” Priscilla closed her eyes again, this time finally succumbing to exhaustion. “Jackie likes his women strong. Likes ’em keeping up with him.”
“But I’m not—” she started to protest, then stopped. No point. Priscilla was sound asleep, her head leaning on Jack’s shoulder, and Jack’s arm around her, supporting her.
“She’s one tough old bird,” Jack said affectionately, as he took her pulse.
“A tough old bird who taught you how to rock climb.” Carrie broke away from Priscilla to check the drip of the IV.
“That, and other wilderness survival skills. She’s been a midwife of sorts for more than fifty years. There probably isn’t a mountain within forty miles of here she hasn’t climbed at one time or another, trying to help in a medical situation. People around here trust her, probably more than they’ve ever trusted my mom and me, and we’re both doctors.” Probably a whole lot more than he’d trusted himself as, for the past five years, he hadn’t had a lot of that going on.
* * *
The trip down the mountain wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated. Help had arrived, they’d carried Priscilla to his truck, and while the ride to the hospital was interminably long due to road conditions and safety concerns, three hours after getting to his grandmother, she was safely tucked into a hospital bed, with an IV drip in her arm and heart monitor leads stuck to her chest, fussing that she was feeling fine and she wanted to go home to her cats.
“She’s stubborn,” Carrie commented, as she passed by Jack, who was seated in the chair across from Priscilla’s bed, on her way to fill the bedside pitcher with water.
“And proud of it,” Priscilla said, even though her eyes were closed.
Jack glanced up at the heart monitor over her bed, glad it was reading normal. Glad that Carrie had been there to help him through this. But, most of all, glad that Carrie had met his every expectation of her as a medic. He didn’t always have a lot of patience with the people who worked with him. They were too slow to suit him. Or, didn’t have a technique or bedside manner he liked. But Carrie had been...perfect. She’d known exactly what to say, and do. And, most of all, she’d gained his grandmother’s trust, which wasn’t an easy thing to do, as Priscilla hated modern medicine. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping, old woman?” he asked, his eyes stuck on Carrie as she carried the water back to the bedside stand.
“How am I supposed to sleep when you’re hovering over me the way you are?”
“I’m not hovering,” he said, giving Carrie a wink. “I’m just being a good doctor and watching over my patient.”
“Which
