his ashen face. They seemed to look right through her. Then he slumped against the leather seat of Gil’s truck.
THIRTY-NINE
MATTIE DASHED TO JOHN’S BEDROOM AND FOUND THE NITROGLYCERINE tablets on his nightstand. Her heart beat wildly as she called out to Mildred for help. Fumbling with the tiny brown bottle, she hastened to John’s side and slipped a pill under his tongue as he labored for breath. She laid him flat on the seat and propped his head on her lap.
Mildred followed close behind and gripped Mattie’s shoulder.
“He was burning pasture. Shouldn’t have been out there.” Tears pricked Mattie’s eyes as she forced the words from her mouth.
Mildred turned to go into the house. “I’ll call an ambulance.”
John opened his eyes, his nostrils flaring. “No ambulance.” He rubbed his heaving chest and grimaced. “I’m okay . . .”
“No, you’re not okay,” Mattie told him and checked his pulse again. When his symptoms failed to improve, she gave him another pill. “Mildred, call 911.” She looked toward the smoking pasture. “Gil?”
“I’ll tell him and Jake what’s happened.” The woman stared directly at Mattie, her expression sure and composed. “Don’t worry. The old goat’s in God’s hands.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mattie followed the ambulance to the county hospital in Diamond Falls and watched the medics wheel John into an examining room. Unable to join him, she slumped in a waiting chair and covered her mouth. Anxiety washed over her in an overwhelming wave, like the ocean she’d viewed from the cliff less than thirty hours ago.
When a nurse came out of John’s room, Mattie rose to meet her. “How is Mr. McCray doing?”
“Are you family?”
Mattie swallowed. “No, but I’m the closest thing to it. His son, Gil, was burning pasture. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” She squeezed the nurse’s arm. “At least tell me if he’s going to be all right. Did he have another heart attack?”
The nurse shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry too much. He seems to have a great deal of spunk. Be sure and let us know when his son arrives.”
Mattie wrung her hands, hating the helpless feeling. She inched closer to John’s room and heard him complain about all the wires and gadgets connected to his body. Her animal patients might bite, but they were more amiable than John McCray.
The emergency doors opened and Gil strode in, his face and clothes covered with soot. Mattie rushed to meet him and launched herself into his arms, her heart hopeful the moment she felt his strong embrace.
GIL BRACED HIMSELF AS HE HELD MATTIE TIGHT. SHE’D NEVER LOOKED so glad to see him. “Where’s Dad? Is he okay?” He searched her face for reassurance that his father wasn’t dead.
Please don’t let him be dead.
“He’s conscious. He’s in there.” She gestured toward a nearby examining room. “What about the fire? Did you and Jake put it out?”
“Jake’s finishing up. The fire department arrived to help with the last of it.” Though he relished having Mattie in his arms, he reluctantly let her go.
“I take it you’re John McCray’s son?” The attending physician greeted him, a clipboard tucked under his arm. “Your father appears to have suffered a severe angina attack. We have a heart monitor on him, and we’ve sent his blood to the lab to test his cardiac enzymes, but at this time, we have no conclusive results. I’ve reviewed your father’s medical history and because of his heart attack in December, I want to send him to Wichita to be cared for by his cardiologist.”
Gil’s muscles grew weak at the sight of his dad, so pale and fragile. It left him speechless.
The doctor shifted his stance and pulled out his clipboard. “According to your father, these angina attacks are recurring more frequently and with more severity. Were you aware of this?”
Gil stared a hole through his dad. “No, I wasn’t.”
His father groaned in displeasure. “Don’t need more testing.” He coughed and a nurse held a plastic basin to his chin.
“He’s experiencing quite a bit of nausea,” the doctor explained. “I’ve already spoken to his heart specialist in Wichita, and he’s arranging for a heart catheterization to determine the location and severity of blockage in the arteries. Depending on the damage, they may or may not schedule him for surgery.”
Gil swiped his forehead and studied his father. Though in pain, the old man still had enough gumption to create a stir. Gil squeezed his dad’s foot. “Transferring you to Wichita sounds like a good idea. They’ll be able to figure