Her boots were loud on the stairs, and she jerked her head for Eden to open the door. No one was inside the main room. The door to Pete’s office was closed.
“Pete!” she shouted. She didn’t care if he took away her food again.
To her relief, footsteps sounded in Pete’s office. He opened his door, surprise in his eyes.
“Jessica?” He frowned at the boy she held tightly against her shoulder. “What happened?”
“Noah needs a doctor. Now.”
Pete’s face cleared. “I told—” he started in a patient voice.
“Now, Pete. Or by the time Jason returns, his boy is going to be dead.” She pinned him with a grim stare. “Do you want to be the one to inform Jason his boy died because you wouldn’t get him a doctor? Because I don’t.”
Behind her, Eden softly gasped. Mercy wished to comfort her, but Pete was her focus.
“What will the other parents think when this boy dies because you wouldn’t act? Do you think they’ll be understanding?”
Eden muffled a sob.
If that teenager’s sound of grief didn’t change the asshole’s mind, Mercy didn’t know what would.
“A doctor. We’re almost out of time,” she urged. She turned Noah’s face so Pete could see the lethargic boy.
Indecision flickered in Pete’s eyes, but he nodded. “Sean can drive him to the urgent care center.”
“Good.” If she hadn’t been so angry, her knees would have given way in relief.
“Sean’s at the construction site,” he told Eden. “Go get him.”
Eden dashed out of the room.
“I’ll go with him to town,” Mercy stated.
“No. Sean and another lieutenant can handle this.”
“But—”
Pete held up his hand, his eyes hard. “You’re getting your wish. Don’t push it.”
Mercy clamped her jaw shut, biting back another plea. Her arms locked around the boy as if her determination could keep him alive. It would be a struggle to release him to Sean. She and Pete stood silent, neither dropping the other’s gaze.
“Thank you,” she finally said. She was thanking him for crumbs again.
“I’m not without feelings.” His words were stiff. “I want what’s best for everyone.”
“I know.” She wanted to say a hell of a lot more, but she’d get at least another thirty-six hours without food. She’d plowed through several boundaries and knew Pete’s patience was wearing thin.
Dictators didn’t like agitators.
And since her first day, against all her good intentions, she’d rocked the boat.
Fifteen minutes later, a small crowd had gathered and watched as Sean and another man drove away with Noah. People whispered among themselves, and Mercy could feel their eyes on her back.
Will I be ostracized or lauded?
She didn’t care.
Mercy’s arms felt unbearably empty, missing the weight of the boy. She set a hand on Eden’s shoulder. The teen hadn’t left her side since she had returned with Sean.
“Will he be okay?” Eden whispered.
“I think he’ll be fine.” She leaned closer to the teen, feeling horrible that she’d mentioned Noah’s possible death in front of her. “I’m sorry if I upset you. It was the only way to let Pete know how serious the situation was and to get him to act.”
“I’m just scared for Noah.”
Me too.
The girl tipped her head against Mercy as they watched the taillights disappear in the murky gray afternoon. Mercy shook her head and blinked, trying to clear her eyes. Little things were floating in her vision.
It’s not my eyes.
Tiny bits of snow were falling, gently winding their way to the ground, where she focused on the delicate white sparkles on the dirt. She willed the crystals to melt. They didn’t, and icy foreboding crawled up her spine. Winter in the mountains had arrived.
Hurry back, Chad.
SEVENTEEN
Mercy helped another woman stack wood while several men chopped. The snow had let up after two inches had fallen, but she suspected more was coming. The stacked wood was covered with tarps, which annoyed Mercy. Unless someone was assigned to remove snow from the top and around the covered stacks every day, everyone would have to dig to get to the wood. It was best stored under a roof.
She’d mentioned the problem to the men chopping wood. They’d ignored her.
“Jessica.” Mercy spun around at Vera’s voice. Vera’s skin looked more yellow than usual against the snowy-white background. But her eyes and the force of her stare were as tough as ever. “You’re needed in the kitchen.”
The other woman stacking wood stopped and scowled. “I need her.”
Vera looked down her nose at the woman. “This is important. And I’ve been watching you for a full minute. You’re moving as slow as possible to make Jessica do most of the work.”
Mercy had noticed her partner slacking off but hadn’t cared. She had nervous energy to burn. Since Chad had left, she’d felt wound tighter and tighter by the hour.
“What do you need?” Mercy asked as she followed Vera through the snow, kicking the fluff out of her way.
“Cindy burned her hand,” she said, sounding exasperated. “I decided you should at least look at it.”
“How bad is it?” Mercy wondered if the other kitchen women had insisted on medical care. Vera didn’t seem happy to be fetching her.
“Covers most of her palm and fingers. Some blisters. Sort of a chalky white in spots.”
Alarm shot through Mercy. The chalky white could mean a third-degree burn.
And Vera had watched her stack wood for a full minute before saying anything?
Power trip.
“How bad is the pain?” Mercy crossed her fingers, hoping the shock and pain wouldn’t send Cindy into labor.
“Pretty bad. That’s why I came.”
And took your own sweet time.
Mercy wondered what she had against the pregnant woman. Vera’s frequent criticism of Cindy felt personal. Not that she treated the other women any better.
“I’m stopping at the supply depot.” Mercy jogged past Vera toward the little building straight ahead. She’d seen gauze and antibiotic cream among the meager supplies. That would help if Cindy had second-degree burns, but if they were third degree, there wasn’t much Mercy could do.
She could picture the recommended treatment for third-degree burns in her first aid manual. Call 911.
Her knock brought Beckett instantly to the door. He looked past Mercy at Vera. “What?” he asked the older woman.
Vera pointed at Mercy. “Cindy has a bad burn. Give Jessica what she needs.”
Thank you.
Beckett promptly brought the beat-up medical box. Mercy snatched the gauze, medical tape, and tube of antibiotic ointment. She squinted at the date. Two years expired. It was better than nothing, she decided. Rooting around in the box, Mercy found nothing else of help.
I’ve got nothing for her pain.
She handed back the box. “Vera will fill out the log. I need to go.”
Beckett glowered. “Now wait a minute.”
Vera glanced at the supplies in Mercy’s hands and lifted one shoulder in acquiescence.
Mercy darted away, cursing both stubborn people under her breath. No empathy. If Cindy went into labor, how many people would Mercy have to beg to get her to a hospital?