Wyoming Bold. Diana Palmer

she said, with heartfelt gratitude. “You see, we frighten most people, Mama and I.”

      “I’m not frightened of you. I’m intrigued. That injection will make you sleep. When you wake up, the headache should be gone. But if the headache worsens or you have new symptoms, you must call me.”

      “I will,” she promised.

      “And I think you should have a CT scan. Just to rule out anything dangerous.”

      “I hate tests,” she groaned. “But I’ve had them already. The neurologist didn’t find anything like a tumor in the scans. He said it’s migraine without a specific cause.”

      “Do you mind if I contact him?” he asked. “I know we’ve only just met...”

      She smiled. “I don’t mind at all.” It was very nice having a doctor who didn’t feel that she and Clara were “peculiar.” “I’ll write his number down for you.” She did, on a piece of paper, and handed it to him. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.

      He patted her on the shoulder. “When you’re better, I’d like to talk to you about this gift of yours. When I was in college, I did several courses of anthropology. I still audit courses on the internet, to keep up with what’s going on in the field. Every community since recorded history has had people with unusual gifts.”

      “Really?” she asked.

      He nodded. “As for psychic gifts, the government once had an entire unit of what were called ‘remote viewers.’ They were used to spy on other countries. Quite successfully at times,” he explained.

      “I’d like to hear more about that,” she said, becoming drowsy.

      “All in good time. If your headache isn’t better when you wake up, call me.” He pulled out a business card and put it on her bedside table. “My cell phone number is on there. Use it. I never answer the landline phone if I can help it. Only a handful of people know the other.”

      “That’s so kind of you.”

      He shrugged. “I loved medicine. I still do. I just hate all the nitpicky rules that have reduced it to red tape with pharmaceuticals mixed in.”

      “Thank you.”

      “My pleasure.”

      He left the room, pausing to speak to Clara. Tank smoothed back Merissa’s soft hair. “I’ll talk to you again, when you’re not in such bad shape,” he said with a gentle smile. “I hope you get better very soon.”

      She caught his hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

      He bent impulsively and kissed her forehead. “You’re easy to take care of,” he said softly.

      “You came to see me. What about?” she wondered.

      “You knew I was coming.”

      “Yes. I felt it.”

      He drew in a breath. “I talked to the sheriff in Texas. We both remember a man who seemed to have more than one face...”

      She sat straight up in bed. “That’s it! That’s it!”

      He thought she was having a reaction to the medicine. “Are you all right?” he asked worriedly, coaxing her to lie back down.

      “I kept seeing a man sitting at a dressing table, trying on wigs,” she blurted out in a rush. “I didn’t know what it meant. Now I do. The man who’s after you, that’s him!”

      He felt cold chills down his backbone. “Your mother said you think he’s coming here.”

      “Yes. Soon.” She held his hand. “You must be very, very careful,” she said, her face drawn. “Promise me.”

      Her concern made him feel warm inside, as if he were sitting in front of a cozy fire with a cup of hot chocolate. “I promise.”

      She sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m very sleepy.”

      “Rest is the best thing for you. I’ll come back another time.”

      She smiled. “That would be...very nice.”

      He got up. She was already asleep.

      A man sitting at a dressing table, trying on wigs. At least now, thanks to her, he had some idea of what might be coming his way. He would have to take precautions, and soon. He looked down at the sleeping woman with odd, possessive feelings. He wasn’t psychic, but he knew that she was going to play an important part in his life.

      CHAPTER THREE

      TANK PAUSED TO talk to Clara and the doctor when he left Merissa’s room.

      “She’s asleep,” he told them.

      Clara smiled. “I’m so glad. Those headaches are terrible. You think there may be something bad causing them,” she said to the doctor, who looked surprised at her intuition. Clara stared at him with wide, soft eyes that seemed almost transparent. “It’s not a tumor,” she said in a soft monotone. “There’s nothing...”

      The doctor laughed. “It amazes me, that you can see that.”

      Clara looked self-conscious. “It comes and goes. I never know when something will pop into my mind. Merissa has a true gift. She can, well, look at something and see what’s going to happen. I can’t.”

      “It’s a very rare ability,” the doctor told her.

      “It makes us outcasts,” Clara replied. “We rarely leave the house. People stare and whisper. I hate going to the grocery store. One woman even asked me if I kept a familiar.”

      “Good Lord,” Tank muttered.

      “We’re pretty much used to it by now.” Clara laughed. “And we do get a lot of people who ask us to read for them. That’s usually hit-and-miss and I tell them that, but they come anyway. Sometimes we’re able to see something that saves lives, or even marriages. It’s a good feeling. It almost makes up for the notoriety.”

      “You handle it well,” Tank said.

      “Thanks.”

      “She said her neurologist did tests and gave me his number,” he told Clara. “I’ll confer with him. But you’re right. She showed no signs of having any impairment beyond the migraine. You call me if she doesn’t get better,” Dr. Harrison told Clara firmly. “I don’t care if it’s two in the morning.”

      “I owe you a great debt just for what you’ve already done,” Clara said. She pulled out her purse. He protested but she handed him a large bill anyway.

      “Gas money,” she told him. “Don’t argue.”

      He just shook his head. “I’m on retirement, you know,” he said.

      “Doesn’t matter. You came here as if we were family, and retirement isn’t usually enough to buy food and medicine at once.”

      He smiled. “All right then. Thank you,” he said formally.

      She smiled back.

      * * *

      TANK WANTED TO STAY. He hated leaving that sweet blonde woman in the bedroom. He’d felt possessive while he was looking after her. It was a new, and strange, feeling. He’d had brief romances over the years, but he’d never found a woman he could think of in terms of a future together. Now, all at once, his mind was being changed.

      It disturbed him, thinking about the chameleon federal agent who had led him into the ambush on the border. He’d dismissed Merissa’s vision at the beginning, but after speaking to Sheriff Hayes Carson in Texas, now he was sure she was right.

      * * *

      A FEW DAYS later, the storm was still annoying everyone, but there were some changes going on at the ranch. All the men had started carrying