Safe Haven

“’Morning,” he said without straightening. Though muffled, his voice sounded deep and youthful.

“We need to call an electrician to get this outlet fixed,” he said. “Dane’d kill me if I tried to do it. The light was blinking when I came in. Is it okay now?”

Karah Lee turned her attention to the steady glow against the potato-chip wrappers. “Looks fine to me.”

“Great, maybe that’ll hold it until they can get over here. I’m glad the pop machine didn’t kick off in the night.” There was a shuffle of feet as he backed out toward her, then straightened to turn. “I’d hate to have to replace all those cans of—” He saw her, and his thick, black eyebrows raised in surprise.

The young guy was obviously in his teens. He had broad, muscular shoulders, ebony skin, and very short, kinky dark hair. He wore green scrubs that matched the color of the cedars outside. As all this registered with her, Karah Lee saw the realization dawn in his expressive brown eyes that he hadn’t exactly greeted her—a stranger—with dignity. He grimaced with dismay.

He recovered quickly and gave her a broad display of straight, even teeth. “Hi, you must be our new doctor.”

Karah Lee nodded and held out her hand. He took it, and she was pleased by the confident grip. “Karah Lee Fletcher.”

“Gavin Farmer, but nobody calls me by my real name. You can call me Blaze.”

She gestured to his clothing. “Are you a nurse or a tech?”

“Tech and chief flunky. I help out here when I’m not in school.” He gestured toward the machines. “I’ve just been placed in charge of potato chips and soda, and I’ve already failed.” He didn’t sound upset about it. In fact, he struck Karah Lee as one of those terminally cheerful morning people who tended to get on her nerves.

“College?” she asked.

His grin broadened with pleasure. “Really? I look like a college kid?”

She nodded.

“Not for another year. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the staff and show you around the place, if they’ll let me.” He led the way across the cozy waiting room toward the reception window where a woman sat with her back to the room, listening to an ambulance radio at the far side of the oblong office space.

“Hey, Jill, look who I found,” Blaze announced as he stepped up to the window. “Our newest staff victim, Dr. Karah Lee Fletcher.”

Without turning around, the woman held her hand up to silence him. She had short hair that resembled a brown football helmet. Karah Lee thought that style had gone out of fashion in the last millennium, but she’d never been one to keep up with fads.

Blaze gave Karah Lee an apologetic glance. “Believe it or not, she’s usually friendly,” he muttered.

“Hush a minute, Blaze,” Jill said, her voice deep and raspy. “I’m waiting for some news.”

He shrugged and leaned toward Karah Lee. “Jill’s our nurse and general troublemaker. And she’s doing secretary-receptionist duties since we don’t have one right now.”

A voice shot over the radio. “Nothing here, Jill. Over.”

She pressed the talk button. “You’re sure about that?” She released the button and glanced over her shoulder at Blaze and Karah Lee. “A friend of mine got a call this morning from Mary Coley, who lives out by the road a few miles from here. Said somebody swerved to miss a deer and ran into a tree last night. That shy ranger, Taylor What’s-his-name, took the call, but he’s tight as a clam and never shares details. You hear anything about a wreck?”

Karah Lee felt a sudden buzz of discomfort.

“Not a peep,” Blaze said. “I want to introduce Cheyenne to Dr. Fletcher before we get too busy to—”

The radio chugged its static over the line again. “…the crew didn’t make any runs to Springfield last night…either dead or alive. Over.”

Blaze gave a long-suffering sigh and stepped forward. “Jill, would you quit playing?” There was a cajoling edge to his voice now. “This is our new doctor. At least say good morning.”

Jill turned from the radio and straightened, grimacing ruefully. “Sorry. Hi, Dr. Fletcher. Nice to meet you. We’ve got a bet going on how many car-versus-animal accident patients we’ll have for the month of June.” She raised her voice, as if speaking to someone in another room. “So far it’s three and I’m winning.”

“Last night doesn’t count until it’s confirmed,” came a slightly familiar voice from down the hallway. “And besides, our bet was on how many patients we received.” The sound of the voice drew closer. “I haven’t seen any patients yet this morning, have you?” The speaker stepped into view, and Karah Lee recognized her new employer, Dr. Cheyenne Allison.

Dr. Allison had hair the color of midnight, cut in a wash-and-wear shag that barely reached her shoulders. She had dark brown eyes and an olive complexion that suggested a Native American heritage. At about five feet seven inches, she had to tilt her head to look up at Karah Lee.

“Oops, you caught us being unprofessional.” Dr. Allison opened the door between the waiting room and the treatment area and stepped out to shake Karah Lee’s hand with the same firm grip Karah Lee remembered from their interview in Branson earlier in the spring.

“Hi, Dr. Allison.”

“Shy.”

Karah Lee frowned.

“Call me Shy. Short for Cheyenne.”

Ah. Chey.

“First order of business,” Cheyenne said, “we’re all on a first-name basis around here, patients, doctors, staff. Some of the older patients like to be called Mr. or Mrs. and they insist on calling me Dr., it makes them feel more secure, but other than that we have a more relaxed office. Call me Chey or Cheyenne.”

“Chey. Fine.” Karah Lee pulled up an office chair and sat down. “I go by Karah Lee. So this is what you do for entertainment around here? Keep tabs on car wrecks?”

Jill and Cheyenne glanced at each other sheepishly.

Blaze chuckled. “Serves you right for betting.”

Jill shrugged. “We’re not betting for money, we’re just competing for one of Bertie’s black walnut pies.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. I’ve got dibs on a goat cheese,” Cheyenne said. “Not black walnut.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Karah Lee said. “I heard you didn’t exactly have a sophisticated palate.”

The gently angular lines of Chey’s face filled with amusement. “Who told you that?”

Jill laughed. “Anybody in town could’ve told her that. Hey, I heard the dummy who caused the accident last night had a cat in the car. Does that count as a patient?”

“No way!” Cheyenne protested. “That’s cheating.”

Karah Lee forced a smile. Time to get this over with. “Since the dummy’s cat suffered fewer injuries than even the dummy herself, I don’t think you can count him as a patient. We might be checking out the dummy later. Depends on how the day goes.”

If she hadn’t been the victim of this unintentional joke, she would have laughed at the expressions of surprise on their faces. Blaze did laugh. Loudly.

She reached up and pushed back her bangs to expose the injury. “Deer ran out in front of me and I swerved and hit a tree. Actually, it was my car that hit the tree. I had sunglasses clipped to the visor, and my head made contact during impact. End of story. My cat’s okay and everything is fine. You got any coffee? I could use another dose of caffeine.”

Static jerked through the ambulance radio and drowned out Jill’s abject apology. A disembodied voice announced the pending arrival of a small child who had slipped and smacked his head against the rocks while chasing a squirrel.

As the radio voice gave specifics, Karah Lee turned to Blaze. “You’d better give me that tour while we’ve still got time.”

Chapter Six

Taylor led the way to the clinic in his truck, checking the rearview mirror to make sure the parents of the injured child were keeping up in their own car. The damage wasn’t bad, but Dr. Allison—who preferred to be called by her first name instead of her title—would probably want to do a suture or two.

The radio buzzed at him again, and he received an updated report about the woman hunt in Branson. For some reason, authorities believed the suspect was still in town. To Taylor, that was stupid. With all the roads that led out of Branson, no murderer was going to hang around to get nabbed by the police.

Taylor switched off the radio as he parked in front of the clinic. He had more important things to take care of right now. Branson could keep its murderers.

Blaze opened the door to the fourth and last exam room. “I’ll never make fun of my patients. If I ever have any.”

Karah Lee glanced at him curiously as she stepped into the room and inhaled the familiar scent of iodine and alcohol. “You’re going to be a doctor?”

“A vet. If I can make the grades. What were you saying about your cat?” Blaze followed her inside. “Did he get hurt in the wreck?”

“He seems fine this morning, but I’d like to have a vet take a look at him.”

“You staying over at Bert’s place?”

“Bert?”

“You know, Bertie Meyer. She and Edith run the Lakeside.”

“Oh, that’s right.” A small town, where everyone knew everyone, just like Karah Lee’s hometown. “Yes, that’s where I’m staying.”

“I can run over there this morning when I get a chance and take a look at him for you. What’s his name?”

“Monster. You already take patients?” She remembered Ranger Jackson telling her about him.

“Right now I’m all Hideaway’s got. My dad was a vet, and I worked with him.”

“So where’s he?”

There was a slight hesitation, then, “He died. My mom and I don’t get along. They were divorced. That’s why I live at the boys’ ranch now.”

“Oh.” There you go, Fletcher, putting your foot in it again. “When did he die?”

“Last year.”

“Oh, man. Sorry. I lost my dad when I was just a little older than you.”

“How’d he die?” Blaze asked.

“He didn’t die. He left.”

It was Blaze’s turned to grimace, and he did it with his whole face, his thick, dark eyebrows drawing close above beautifully expressive eyes. “I think that’d be worse than having him die.”

Karah Lee nodded. “But I don’t think he’d agree.”

Blaze’s grimace lifted.

“So when can you see my cat?”

“Lunch break.”

“Karah Lee?” came her new boss’s voice. “You want to come in here a minute? I need a big, strong, brave patient.”

Karah Lee frowned at Blaze. “Patient?”

He shrugged at her. “Better do what she says. She’s a dead-on shot with pepper spray.”

“I heard that!” Cheyenne called from the other room.

Blaze grinned and rolled his eyes. “I’ll explain later,” he whispered.

After giving a report at the clinic, Taylor left the little boy and his parents in Dr. Allison’s capable care and strolled back toward his truck, glancing along the sidewalk in both directions as he stepped from the curb. He’d seen no tall woman with red hair in the waiting room, and she was nowhere on the street. No way would he ask about her at the clinic. It was no longer his business.

It wasn’t as if he wanted to run into Karah Lee—she might suspect him of stalking her.

He climbed into the Jeep and glanced toward the front doors of the general store next to the clinic. No, he would not buy another pack of cigarettes.

He was driving west on Hideaway Road, when he saw a late-model white Toyota Camry sedan parked alongside the road beneath a heavy overhang of trees. One man crouched beside the right front tire while another man was bent over, apparently searching through the trunk for something that didn’t seem to be there.

Taylor parked and got out of the truck. “Lose your jack?”

Both men looked up at him. He noticed the motor was still running. “Engine problems?”

The man stooping at the right front tire straightened and hurried around the car toward him. He wore a sleeveless white T-shirt, which revealed a tattoo of an eye on his left shoulder. “I’ll say. Thing’s been dying on us all morning, and then this.” He gestured with disgust toward the front, just as a car came speeding around the curve.

Tires squealed on blacktop as the driver caught sight of them and swerved to avoid a collision.

“You say you’ve got a jack?” Tattoo asked. “The one in the trunk’s busted, and it’s a little dangerous here on the road. Trouble is, there’s no shoulder.”

Taylor could only pray a car with a less cautious driver didn’t come barreling around the curve before they could get out of the way. “I’ll get my tools.”

Working as quickly as possible, Taylor helped the guys with their tire and had them on their way within ten minutes.

The last thing he did as the car disappeared from sight around the bend was write down their license number. It was a habit he’d picked up years ago, working the Canyon. Ordinarily, he’d have done a more thorough check immediately, but not with cars screeching around the hairpin curve at double the speed limit.

Thirty minutes later, he received a call about a stolen vehicle.

Karah Lee had her first taste of Cheyenne Allison’s bedside manner in exam room three in the presence of a frightened, screaming five-year-old boy named Jonah.

“There, now, it’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Chey’s voice settled into the room like a soothing blanket. “Let me tell you what I’m going to do. You see this big strong doctor?” She placed a hand on Karah Lee’s shoulder. “She has a bump on her head, too.”

The child and his parents turned their attention to Karah Lee, and she suppressed a groan. So much for confidentiality in this office. Hadn’t these people ever heard of government regulations?

Chey’s hand tightened on Karah Lee’s shoulder, urging her to lean forward; then, with her other hand she brushed Karah Lee’s bangs aside. The child’s eyes widened at the sight of the uncovered wound.

“Why don’t you watch how we fix her head,” Chey suggested. “Then, if she doesn’t cry, you won’t mind letting us do the same thing to you, will you?”

Like magic, Jonah’s tear faucet stopped. He studied Karah Lee with serious intensity, hiccuped, then sighed. “Does it hurt bad?”

“It did when I hit it.” Karah Lee leaned closer to him. “Want to compare? Hey, I think mine’s bigger than yours.” Truly, his injury didn’t look too deep.

From the periphery of her vision she caught sight of Cheyenne winking at the parents. Okay, this could work. Karah Lee had been mothered by manipulative medical personnel before. In fact, she tended to be that way, herself.

With the observant child watching, Cheyenne sat Karah Lee on a stool and cleaned her wound with gentle pressure. She dabbed away the excess moisture and applied a dermatological adhesive instead of sutures or bandages. Her style was a little unorthodox, but Karah Lee approved.

Ordinarily, a wound could be sutured without question up to six hours after the injury. Between six and twelve hours, closure of the wound could be questionable, and after twelve hours Karah Lee never attempted it. No one did. Even though it had been more than six hours after Karah Lee’s injury, the facial skin had a good blood supply, and this should heal quickly in spite of the delay of closure.

“All done,” Cheyenne said a moment after applying the adhesive.

Jonah’s eyes widened. He studied the repair job a moment. “Did it hurt?” he asked Karah Lee.

“I didn’t cry, did I?”

“Grown-ups never cry.”

“Well, it wasn’t as much fun as eating chocolate chip cookies, but it feels better than being socked in the nose by my sister when I was five. Can I fix your forehead now?”

“Will you stick me with a needle?”

Karah Lee glanced at the mother. “Has he ever had a tetanus shot?”

“Last year when he stepped on a piece of tin and cut his foot,” she said.

“Then I don’t think we’ll need to use a needle.” There would be no need for sutures on this one. Kids healed quickly, and Karah Lee held a minimalist approach when it came to risk of traumatization.

As she cleaned Jonah’s wound and soothed him and chatted with him about her big cat named Monster, and his dog named Bo, and her sister who was a bully, and his little brother who still wet his pants, she began to enjoy herself. Kids were so much easier to talk to than adults.

A couple of years ago, when Karah Lee was nearing the end of her first year in residency, one of the third year residents casually remarked that she shouldn’t go into pediatric medicine because her size might scare the kids. Instead of giving in to her knee-jerk desire to punch the dolt in the stomach, she’d challenged him to a duel to see who could finish up the year with the fewest crying kids. According to the nurses, Karah Lee had won by a huge margin.

“Are you done yet?” Jonah asked as Karah Lee held the skin together for the bonding agent to set.

“Can you count to a hundred?”

“Yes,” he said, as if the question were an insult.

“Let’s hear it.”

Though aware Cheyenne was watching her, Karah Lee didn’t feel uncomfortable about being observed. She’d had plenty of that in the past few years.

The staff here seemed friendly, in spite of the disparaging remark Jill had made about reckless drivers. Karah Lee had made a few comments like that, herself, from time to time. Today she was learning a valuable lesson about prejudging patients.

Cheyenne left to take a telephone call before Jonah finished counting, and the treatment ended without mishap, or more tears. As Karah Lee walked the relieved family to the waiting room, Blaze stepped to the reception window and handed Jonah a bright red balloon animal in the approximate shape of a poodle. Jonah laughed and played with the poodle while Jill talked to the uninsured parents about the fee for treatment.

Blaze tapped Karah Lee on the shoulder from behind. “Chey wants to see you in her office as soon as you’re finished.”

“I’m done.”

“Okay, but tell her to make it quick. We’ve got incoming.”

“Tell her yourself. This is my first day on the job, and I have to make a good impression on the boss.”

She found Chey sitting in her office at the desk, reading a medical chart. “You wanted to see me?”

Setting the chart aside, Cheyenne glanced up at her thoughtfully. “Close the door and have a seat.”

“I guess you have paperwork for me to fill out.” The red tape could be daunting for doctors on a new job. Licenses, permits, clearing for insurance—both professional liability and various types of coverage for patients—took up a lot of a doc’s time, and it never seemed to end.

For a moment, Cheyenne remained silent. She didn’t smile as she glanced out the front window that overlooked the broad lawn and the lake.

The silence grew uncomfortable. “Did you have a problem with the treatment I gave Jonah?” Karah Lee asked.

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