Seven

Winsome’s closest hospital was six miles away, a distance Denver once again covered in record speed. Megan sat in the back, next to a medical kit and a box full of leashes, treats, and dog toys. Denver was of the habit of stopping to rescue stray and lost dogs and cats, and he kept everything from small cages to extra towels and blankets in his vehicle. Today he made room in the rear for Dillon’s belongings, which amounted to one small suitcase and a duffle bag of books and comics.

At the hospital entrance, they were greeted by a stern-looking woman in a beige suit. She let them know Dillon was on the fifth floor but reiterated three times that he was not allowed visitors.

“No problem,” Eloise said. “We’re simply bringing him his belongings.”

The nurse on the fifth floor was warmer but just as adamant. “You can leave everything here,” he said. “I’ll make sure Dillon’s agency gets the belongings when they arrive.” He glanced toward a uniformed officer standing guard by Dillon’s hospital room. “Technically he’s under police custody. I don’t think we can let you in there.”

“I’m his foster mother, and a doctor as well.”

The nurse smiled apologetically while tapping on the clip board he was holding. He was a tall man, well over six foot, and he loomed over even Denver. “You understand procedure.”

Megan and Denver exchanged a look. Megan hoped this wouldn’t get ugly. There’d been enough ugly for a while.

“Can you call Chief Bobby King of the Winsome Police Department?” Megan asked. “I’m certain he will okay a brief visit.”

“I don’t think so.” He glanced back at the uniformed officer. “We have our orders.”

“Please?” Megan said. She held the nurse’s stare. “He’s a kid. I know he’s not responding. Maybe seeing Dr. Kent will help.” The nurse’s expression softened, and Megan said, “Just a call. We have Chief King’s cell number. I can call him for you.”

The nurse glanced again at the officer. “Fine. Give me the number. I’ll call.”

Megan obliged, and the nurse walked away to make the call, his back to them. Moments later he came back looking chagrined. “The Chief said it was fine. But as part of Dillon’s medical team, I’m saying only you—” he looked at Eloise, “—and only for five minutes, tops.”

Eloise didn’t wait for him to change his mind. She thanked him and strode into Dillon’s hospital room. Megan watched her disappear from view.

“Thank you,” Megan said.

“I feel bad for the kid,” the nurse said. “He’s had a parade of officers and doctors in there. Maybe seeing someone who cares about him will make a difference.” He squinted at Denver. “But I heard what happened.” He shook his head. “Crazy world.”

“What did you hear?” Megan asked.

“I can’t talk about the patients.” The nurse flushed. “I just heard what was on the news. Someone was murdered.” He shrugged a shoulder in the direction of Dillon’s room. “And this patient is in police custody.”

Megan knew exactly what he was implying. “That could be for his own protection,” Megan said. “He was a witness. When he becomes responsive, they may want someone here to take a statement. It doesn’t mean he had anything to do with what happened.”

The nurse didn’t look convinced. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid time is up.”

Before he could evict Eloise from Dillon’s room, Megan heard voices coming from the room. It was Eloise—and a lower voice. Dillon’s voice.

The nurse’s eyes rounded in surprise. He beelined for the door. Denver held up a hand. “Can’t you give them some time?”

“I have strict instructions.” He didn’t have to say more. The uniformed police officer, an older man with a bushy mustache, had heard the boy’s voice as well and was entering the room.

I guess that will end any conversation on Dillon’s part, Megan thought.

Seconds later, Eloise was back at their side. Her eyes were watery, but her mouth was pressed into an unyielding line. “You go,” she murmured. “Leave me here. I’ll get King or someone to drive me home.”

“What did he say?” Denver asked.

“Nothing of consequence.”

The tear on Eloise’s cheek said otherwise.

  

Camilla was a welcome distraction.

“She looks good.” Denver was kneeling in the small pig’s pen. “You’re doing a fine job of caring for her, Bonnie.”

Bibi looked away, but Megan could see the edges of her mouth turned up in an almost-smile.

“Let me see you, little lassie.” With a gentleness that belied his strength, Denver picked up the animal. He looked her over and placed her back on the ground. She squealed, then ran in circles, small tail waving. Denver smiled, bringing out his dimples. “She’s a cute one. What will you do with her?”

“The owner will turn up,” Bonnie muttered.

“Oh, I don’t think anyone is inclined to give the pig back to someone who kept her in a storage unit. Inhumane and against the law,” Denver said. “Someone named Saul Bones, no less.”

“Maybe we could keep her?” Megan glanced at her grandmother, who had picked up a broom and was suddenly engrossed by a need for cleanliness. “Bibi?”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we need to.”

“We’ll keep her,” Megan mouthed to Denver.

Denver smiled again. “Okay, then, Bonnie. We’ll see what happens. In the meantime, some fresh air and more good food for this wee one.”

“Too much food and she won’t be so wee,” Bibi said. But she grabbed a handful of fruit and vegetable slices from the Tupperware container on the floor and fed them one by one to the pig.

“Come for a walk?” Denver said to Megan. “I think Camilla is in good hands.”

Megan followed Denver out of the barn and up toward the old Marshall property—now her property. When the Marshalls moved out and abandoned the property, they stopped all maintenance. The large yard had gone to seed and was a meadow full of thistle and grasses and wildflowers. The old house stood as it had for the past several decades, parts of it worn, parts in disrepair. The fascia was crumbling, the piers holding up the front porch had long since rotted away, and Megan knew from previous visits that the interior was mice-infested and marred by vandalism caused by the occasional intruder. Fixing the house itself would be a project. And they were still awaiting the engineer’s reports.

The new barn, on the other hand, consisted of a large hole in the ground and a poured foundation. The bones of the building would be going in soon. Megan couldn’t wait. The barn would give them a place for community programs, healthy cooking classes, gardening club meetings. Clay’s vision of making Winsome a hot spot for sustainable agriculture and locavore living had become her own. Even Bibi shared the passion.

Right now, the place looked like a war zone.

“I can see it, you know.” Denver took Megan’s hand. “What this will be.”

Megan smiled. “And what exactly do you see?”

“The finished inn. The barn. Bibi teaching classes on bread-making and baking her signature scones. Lively discussions about types of turnips and the absolute best color for a broccoli head.” He picked Megan up and swung her around. “And maybe a few dogs and wee ones running around.”

Megan felt herself go stiff. “Wee ones? As in goats or pigs?”

Denver must have felt the change in her demeanor. He put Megan down on the ground. “Wee ones. Kids.”

“Whose?”

“Ours.” Denver’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so bad, Megan?”

Megan turned away, her eyes suddenly moist.

“Whoa. How did we get here?” Denver asked. He touched her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Kids, Denver? Kids?” she said softly. “It’s a big step.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” When Megan didn’t answer, Denver said, “Let’s forget I mentioned it. It was just a fantasy. A vision.”

He marched on, toward the woods. But there was an iron in his voice that wasn’t lost on Megan.

Megan felt badly about snapping at him, but they never really discussed marriage much less a family. “Denver…”

He stopped walking. “What?”

What? Megan wasn’t sure. Once upon a time, she’d envisioned a home with her late husband Mick. A few kids. Sadie. Maybe a cat or two. A secure job in a law firm. Mick as a career soldier, or perhaps retiring to open a business of his own. She never in a bazillion years saw herself on a farm back in her hometown of Winsome, with two dozen animals and a Scottish vet as a boyfriend. Megan considered herself a rational person, and she knew she was being unfair. Irrational even. Even if Denver’s vision included their children, he had a right to that expectation. They’d been together more than two years.

And although Megan was reluctant to admit it in case fate snatched it away—she was happy. No, more than happy. At times, she felt true joy in her life. But with children inevitably came worry and heartache and even loss. Parenting, loving someone that much, demanded courage and faith, and since Mick’s death, Megan was afraid—terrified, really—that she was low on both. Deep down, she was afraid suffering that kind of loss again would break her.

Denver’s expectant look passed, and he turned to walk away, this time back toward the farm. “Wait,” Megan said.

He stopped.

“I love you,” Megan said.

“But?”

“No buts, Denver. I love you.” She moved alongside him and took his hand. “One day at a time?”

He stared into her eyes for a long while, searching for something. Megan wanted to look away, but she held his stare, feeling on some gut level that he was taking her measure. Finally, he squeezed her hand.

“I love you too.”