Wyoming True - Diana Palmer Page 0,6
somebody wants to kill you, he can,” she added.
“If he wants money, killing you isn’t in his best interest, now, is it?” he returned.
“I guess not. I had a new will drawn up when he went to prison, guaranteeing that if I die, he inherits nothing.” She drew in a long breath. “The nightmares came back, when he called me.”
“You should be in the care of a psychologist.”
She shrugged. “I tried. It didn’t work.” She looked over at him. “My first husband was gay, but he was a better, more loving husband to me than Bailey Trent could ever be.”
He just smiled. “We all make mistakes.”
“Yes, but most of us don’t end up in intensive care when we make them,” she replied with a faint smile.
“You survived, at least,” he replied. “That’s something.”
“I guess.”
“I’m going to have Melanie call in a prescription for stronger anti-inflammatories,” he said, typing on his computer. “You’ll take them for five days only, then ten days off. That way you’ll be able to keep your liver and save your kidneys.”
“Powerful stuff,” she commented.
“Very. And don’t take them and try to drive,” he admonished.
“I won’t. Thanks,” she added. “For the meds. And for listening.”
“Who else have you got?” he asked reasonably.
“Sad but true.”
“You should come to supper one night,” he told her as he got to his feet. “Sandy would love to make you that terrific meat loaf she does, along with some homemade bread.”
“Your wife is a wonderful cook. And I appreciate the offer. But...”
He raised an eyebrow. “But?”
“Carl,” she said, “anybody I associate with could be in the crosshairs when Bailey comes after me. I’m not putting you and Sandy there.”
“Now, listen,” he began.
“No,” she interrupted. “But thank you. And tell Sandy one day I want her to try and teach me to do breads.”
“I’ll tell her,” he replied. “Keep in touch with Cody,” he added. “He’ll watch out for you.”
She nodded.
He hesitated. “For the record, Sandy and I are both sorry that we encouraged you to go back to Bailey. We didn’t know about him then.”
“You didn’t,” she agreed. “And I was too ashamed to tell you. That’s all in the past. No worries.”
“You take care of yourself.”
She smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Some gentle exercise would help strengthen those muscles,” he added.
“So you keep telling me. I bought a Tai Chi DVD,” she added. “It’s made for people with arthritis. So far, I’ve managed one whole form without falling over the coffee table.”
He chuckled. “Keep it up.”
She grinned. “I will.”
* * *
SHE WENT TO the counter and got her next appointment set, then walked outside. She pulled out her phone and hesitated. She really shouldn’t start anything with McGuire, she told herself. He didn’t like her, even though he’d been kind today. And she hesitated to put him in the line of fire. She should just call a cab.
She pulled up the internet on her smartphone and started looking for the number of the only local cab company. Before she could copy the number, a red Mercedes pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside her.
CHAPTER TWO
IDA PAUSED WITH the phone in her hand and her mouth slightly open as she stared at the man sitting in the big car beside her.
He powered down the window. “Calling somebody?” he asked. “A cab, perhaps?”
She felt a shiver inside. How had he known?
“Get in.”
She was too unsettled to argue. She climbed in beside him and fastened her seat belt. “How could you possibly know?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I get these wild notions sometimes. I don’t know where they come from. Well, that’s not quite true. An ancestor of mine ran afoul of the authorities in Salem, Massachusetts, in the sixteen hundreds.”
She pursed her lips and whistled softly.
“So I come by it honestly. I knew my parents were going to die. I dreamed it.”
“That must have been a hard gift to live with.”
“It still is. Do you have a prescription to pick up?”
She nodded. “I’ll check and see if it’s ready. You’re sure you don’t mind?” she added worriedly.
Silver eyes met hers and slid away. “If I minded, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Okay, then. Thanks.”
She phoned the pharmacy and spoke to Carol, a clerk she knew well. She asked about the prescription, smiled and thanked her.
She put the phone away. “She said they’re already working on it. They have the drug in stock.”
“What sort of drug?”
“Ibuprofen,” she replied and told him the milligrams.
“Good God, you’ll destroy your liver,” he muttered.
“Five days on, ten off,” she replied. “And