Page 73 of Fairest of Heart

Suddenly, Lucky was there, barking and running a circle around him and Coy, urging them to hurry. The coonhound sprinted a few feet away, then stopped and looked back, his eyes dark pools. That’s when certainty settled in Enoch’s heart. This wasn’t a false alarm. Whatever had happened, it was bad.

He couldn’t afford the luxury of being a worried friend any longer. He had to be a physician. Only a physician. Shut off the valve to his heart, and work solely with his head.

His mouth firmed. His chin lifted. His shoulders straightened. I am your hands, Lord. Use me as you will.

Despite his mental preparation, his knees still nearly buckled when he rounded the barn and caught his first glimpse of the front yard.

Bodies. Four unmoving bodies strewn across the yard as if it were a battlefield.

“God have mercy,” Coy murmured beside him, his step stumbling a bit before he dropped Enoch’s arm and ran to where Jeb lay near the porch steps.

Dusty moved between Angus and Ike. Rowdy knelt beside Penelope, his ear pressed to her chest, as if trying to find a heartbeat.

Enoch set a course for Rowdy, his mind running through an invisible list.

“Coy, fetch my bag. Dusty, report.”

“There ain’t a mark on ’em,” Dusty responded. “No blood. No wounds that I can see. I don’t understand it.”

“Are they breathing?”

“Yessir. It’s like they just . . . fell asleep and forgot how to wake up.”

Chloral hydrate? An opiate? Chloroform?

Something had rendered them unconscious. Enoch kicked a tin cup out of the way as he moved to Penelope’s side, thinking only to remove the impediment, but then the significance of its existence clicked in his brain. He retrieved it and gave it a sniff. It smelled like apples, but there was a different sweetness present, too. A sickly-sweet smell reminiscent of opium.

Rowdy grabbed Enoch’s arm, his grip painful and panicked. Enoch glanced his way only to have a razor of dread slash through the professional curtain he’d gathered around his heart. Tears flowed unchecked down Rowdy’s weathered cheeks. His mouth worked over words that refused to come. Grief and guilt twisted his features.

No! God have mercy. I can’t be too late again. Not again.

Enoch pressed his fingers to her wrist but found no pulse. He switched to her neck. He waited. Adjusted his placement. There. Was that . . . ? A second faint throb registered against his fingers. Thank you, God! She wasn’t dead. But she teetered dangerously close to the edge. Her respiration was so depressed he couldn’t detect her chest rising. When he placed his cheek directly above her mouth, however, the barest whisper of breath grazed his skin.

Coy arrived with the doctor’s bag, but one look at Penelope’s ashen face, and his hand started shaking. “Is she . . . ?”

“Not yet, but it’s a near thing.”

“What can I do?” Coy’s voice quivered as he set the bag on the ground.

“Help Dusty get Jeb and the others into the house. Put them to bed and keep vigil. As long as they are breathing well, they should be fine. We’ll just have to wait for the effects of whatever drug is in their system to abate. If any of them take a turn for the worse, though, come fetch me.”

Coy nodded, but he didn’t move away. His gaze remained locked on the girl they’d all adopted in their hearts.

“Rowdy and I will tend to Miss Penny,” Enoch said gently, giving Coy a little nudge to get him moving. Then he glanced over at his companion to make sure he was up for the task. Rowdy set his chin and gave a firm nod.

Good. Rowdy was probably the strongest, physically, of all of the Diamond D men. He might be small, but he was tough as boot leather with muscles well-toned from constant exercise. Plus, he needed to be the one to help. He likely felt responsible for what had happened here. He wasn’t. The villain who’d dosed the cider with poison was to blame. But self-recrimination was a brutal foe. One that held grace hostage and buried forgiveness. Enoch had battled that demon for years. Best to get out in front of it before it found a foothold.

“Prop her head up with your jacket, then open her mouth,” Enoch instructed as he dug in his bag for his syrup of ipecac. “We need to rid her body of whatever poison has yet to be absorbed.”

All the dangers of dosing an unconscious patient with ipecac flooded his mind, pulmonary aspiration being the deadliest. But if they did nothing, they’d lose her for sure.

Rowdy stripped out of his coat in a heartbeat, folded it, and placed it gently beneath Penny’s head. Then he tugged her chin down and slid his thumbs between her teeth to hold the door of her mouth open.

Enoch positioned the medicine dropper above her lips, then looked to Rowdy. “I’m going to drizzle this on the back of her tongue. Once it’s in, close her mouth and tilt her head back. It’s going to make her vomit. As soon as she swallows, we’ll need to turn her onto her side. When the vomiting begins, lift her head and shoulders from the ground. We have to make sure she doesn’t breathe any of it back in. Understand?”

Rowdy nodded.

Enoch positioned the dropper, then paused.