"Look, lady…"
He faltered when a car pulled off the highway and into the parking lot. Its headlights swept the front of the store.
"Damn! Hey, lady!" He walked over to the cashier and nudged her with the toe of his shoe. "Get up. Turn off the lights and lock the door."
The woman shook her head, refusing to acknowledge either him or the precarious situation.
"Do what he says," the elderly woman said to her. "We'll be all right if we just do what he says."
"Hurry up!" The car rolled to a stop at one of the gas pumps. "Turn off the lights and lock the door."
The woman came to her feet unsteadily. "I'm not supposed to close until eleven. That's still ten minutes."
If circumstances hadn't been so tense, Tiel would have laughed at her blind adherence to the rules.
Ronnie said, "Do it now. Before he gets out of his car."
She went behind the counter, her mules slapping against her heels. At the flip of a switch, the lights outside were extinguished.
"Now lock the door."
She click-clacked over to another control panel behind the counter and threw a switch. With an audible snap, the door locked electronically. "How do you unlock it?" Ronnie asked her.
He was smart, Tiel thought. He didn't want to get trapped inside.
"Just flip this here switch," the cashier replied.
The cowboy and the two Mexican men were still lying facedown on the floor, their hands on their heads. They couldn't be seen by the man approaching the door. Tiel and Sabra were also out of sight in the aisle between two rows of shelves.
"Everybody stay put." Ronnie duck walked to the elderly lady and grabbed her arm, lifting her to her feet.
"No!" her husband cried. "Leave her alone."
"Shut up!" Ronnie ordered. "If anybody moves, I'm going to shoot her."
"He's not going to shoot me, Vern," she said to her husband.
"I'll be all right, as long as everyone stays calm."
The woman followed Ronnie's instructions and crouched down with him behind a cylindrical cold-drink cooler. From above the rim, he had a clear view to the door.
The customer tested the door, discovered it locked, and called out. "Donna! You in there? How come you shut off the lights?"
Donna, cringing behind the counter, remained mute.
The customer peered through the glass. "There you are," he said, spotting her. "What gives?"
"Answer him," Ronnie instructed her in a whisper.
"I'm…'s-sick," she said, loud enough to carry through the door.
"Hell, you ain't got nothing I ain't already had. Open up. All I need is ten dollars' worth o' gas and a six-pack o'
Miller Lite."
"I cain't," she called out tearfully.
"Come on, Donna. Won't take two shakes, and I'll be on my way. It ain't quite 'leven yet. Open the door."
"I cain't." She unraveled at the same time her voice rose to a full-fledged scream. "He's gotta gun and he's gonna kill us all." She dropped down behind the counter.
"Shit!"
Tiel didn't know from which man the expletive had come, but it echoed exactly what she was thinking. She was also thinking that if Ronnie Davison didn't shoot
Donna the cashier, she just might.
The man at the door backed away, then stumbled as he turned and ran for his car. Tires screeched as the vehicle shot backward, then spun around and pulled onto the highway.
The old man was chanting, "Don't hurt my wife. I beg you, please don't hurt Gladys. Don't hurt my Gladys."
"Hush, Vern. I'm all right."
Ronnie was angrily yelling at Donna for being so stupid.
"Why'd you do that? Why? That guy will call the police.
We'll be trapped here. Oh, hell, why'd you do that?"
His voice was tearing with frustration and fear. Tiel thought that he was probably as scared as the rest of them.
Maybe more so. Because no matter how this situation was ultimately resolved, he would be faced not only with legal
consequences, but with the wrath of Russell Dendy. God help him.
The young man ordered the cashier to come from behind the counter to where he could see her.
Tiel didn't know whether or not she obeyed him. All her attention was centered on the girl, who was in the grip of another contraction. "Squeeze my hand, Sabra.
Breathe." Isn't that what women in labor were supposed to do? Breathe? That's what they did in the movies. They huffed and they puffed and… and they screamed the house down. "Breathe, Sabra."
"Hey! Hey!" Ronnie shouted suddenly. "Where do you think you're going? Get back over there and lie down.
Hey, I mean it!"
Now wasn't the time to be provoking the rattled young man, and Tiel intended to tell whoever was doing so to cut it out. She glanced up, but the reproach died unspoken when the cowboy knelt down on the other side of Sabra.
"Get away from her!" Ronnie jammed the barrel of the pistol against the cowboy's temple, but it was ignored and so were the young man's shouted threats.
Hands that looked accustomed to handling tack and fence posts were placed on the girl's abdomen. They kneaded it gently.
"I can help her." His voice was scratchy, like he hadn't spoken in a long time, like West Texas dust had collected on his vocal cords. He looked up at Ronnie. "They call me
Doc."
"You're a doctor?" Tiel asked.
His calm gaze moved to her, and he repeated, "I can help her."