Clay Read Free

future to offer hope.
    Waiting, endlessly waiting while watching her child endure the pain of intermittent peritoneal dialysis every other night of her young life had worn on Janna’s nerves until she could stand it no longer. She’d picked up the phone and called the number of a doctor whose name had been whispered to her the last time that she’d waited outside the door of the pediatric critical care unit. Dr. Gower was a miracle worker, the last hope for patients like Lainey. He had been most interested in Lainey’s case and certain that he could find an appropriate black market kidney for her. She only had to wait a little longer. It might not be the optimum solution, but was better than any other that was offered.
    Janna was tired of waiting. Now she had a solution of her own.
    “You didn’t have in mind to hurt Clay, did ye?” the old man asked.
    “No.” Janna looked away as she spoke. It was true in principle, wasn’t it? “I just…I was just going to keep him here for a little while. Until it’s…over.”
    Arty grunted, then appeared to ruminate while staring at his hat, which he turned around and around in his hands. Finally he said, “I guess I could maybe bring Beulah over here.”
    She swung back to face him at the hint that he would not interfere. “Arty!”
    “Now don’t go making nothing of it. It ain’t my business what you do, and I guess you got your reasons.”
    “You know…”
    “Don’t tell me!” he said in irascible haste. “Less I know, the better I like it. Besides, I got eyes in my head for what’s going on, don’t I?”
    Janna was silent as she wondered just how much the old man really did see. She glanced at Clay, who seemed to have drifted into deeper slumber now, then back again to Arty.
    As if in reply to the strained speculation of her gaze, he gave a curt nod. “I ain’t doing this for you, but for the little gal.”
    “It’s the same thing, really,” she answered, her voice quiet. “But I don’t care why you’re doing it. I’m still grateful and will love you forever.”
    “Be a waste,” he answered succinctly. “You’d do better saving that for some hunk like Clay, here. But enough palaver. You’ll be needing some help with him. Might be best if he’s well and truly hog-tied before he wakes up.”
    It seemed an excellent idea.
    Janna had heavy jute string that she used in her fabric dyeing, but couldn’t imagine it would be stout enough to hold a man like Clay. A diligent search turned up little else among her belongings or in the camp house. Just when she was becoming desperate, she found the veterinarian’s supplies on Clay’s airboat. The vials of muscle relaxants and other medical tranquilizers for large animals were tempting, but shesettled instead for an armload of animal restraints. At least, that’s what Arty called the bundle of nylon ropes and plastic covered steel cables and chains she showed him.
    Clay used the things to immobilize Beulah and other such patients, or so Arty claimed. He had trained as a vet and actually had practiced with the local horse doctor for a time. That was before he’d abandoned that career to devote his time to rambling through the swamps with camera in hand. He’d gained a measure of fame and glory as a nature photographer the year before with publication of his coffee table book on the Tunica Parish wetlands, and was working on a second book at present. Regardless, he still saw special patients, like Beulah, from time to time. His equipment appeared to be in excellent working order, especially with the addition of a couple of padlocks and keys taken from the boathouse.
    In a relatively short time, Janna and Arty had heaved Clay’s inert form onto the mattress of the iron bedstead and fastened his wrists in front of him with one short length of nylon rope with end loops. While she slid a second rope around his waist to secure him to the bed frame, she asked, “You know Clay well?”
    “I should smile, I