Healing Her Boss's Heart

“Her name is Bella and, yes, she’s fine with cats.”

On hearing her name, Bella bounded in front of Carrie on the trail, leaving Carrie the last in line, feeling like a real slacker. Even though she prided herself on being physically fit, she had nothing on Jack Hanson, and it was easy to see that she was going to have to do better. Back in Chicago, she’d been proud of being the fittest one on her team. Here, in Marrell, she wondered if she even amounted to average.

“Well, she stays outside once we get there. I don’t want her getting in the way,” he said as he veered off the main path to the left, and totally disappeared in the dark for a moment.

“Dr. Hanson?” Carrie called out, not so much from being afraid of the dark, or being lost in it, but from the uncertainty of which way to go.

He spun around and flashed the light directly in her eyes. “Name’s Jack. Nobody’s very formal in Marrell.”

“And when we’re in class?” she asked, finally catching all the way up to him.

“Sir will be fine,” he said, taking hold of her arm and leading her off the path entirely.

Despite herself, she laughed. “You don’t have an inflated opinion of yourself, do you?” Up ahead, beyond a dense thicket of early-winter undergrowth, she could see the glowing lights from the cabin she assumed to be their destination. The house didn’t appear large, but it seemed...cozy. Something she’d always wanted for herself at some point in her life. Far, far down the line, if ever, she supposed.

“Of course I don’t,” he said, his voice full of a humor that was impossible to see in the dark. But was there, nonetheless. “But in my case, if I did, my opinion would be justified.”

Carrie laughed again, as they finally made it out of the trees and picked up speed across a lawn that was littered with snow-dusted gnomes and elves and flamingos she assumed to be pink. “You don’t bring your crown on house calls, do you?”

“My crown is always implied,” he said, as he stepped up onto the front porch, its wooden planks swathed in a dim yellow light. “As you’ll soon come to realize.” Then he opened the door. “Priscilla,” he called out, to which six or seven cats responded with a variety of meows.

She liked his sarcastic humor. It was...sexy, in an offbeat way. Kept her on her toes, made her think. She liked the way his niceness slipped in when he was trying so hard to keep it out, too. Trying so hard to be a grump. But he wasn’t grumpy. Not really. A little preoccupied, often totally focused, sometimes distracted. That really wasn’t grumpy, though. More like concerned or concentrated. Not fond of being interrupted in the moment. The way she was, come to think of it. Sometimes she would ignore someone or snap when someone interrupted her, but that wasn’t grumpy, the way Jack wasn’t grumpy when he did the same. Then there was his competence—it radiated from him. He was very calculated in what he did, didn’t waste time or effort, but he was methodical. And to her even that was sexy. In fact, the whole aura surrounding him was sexy. He was perverse, intense, maybe a little dark at times, but there was nothing wrong with that. Not personally. Not professionally. All in all, Carrie liked Jack Hanson. Not for a deeply personal relationship, since he was giving off absolutely no vibes in that direction, but maybe in a situation she would loosely define as a casual friendship. And the thought of him as her friend while she was here in Marrell—she liked that. It could work. If his crown didn’t get in the way.

* * *

Priscilla Anderson was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking like she was ready for a hike down the mountain. Probably something well north of seventy, she looked twenty years younger, all decked out in jeans and a red plaid jacket, with her long white hair pulled back into a ponytail. “Just let me get my boots on and I’ll be ready to go back down with you,” she said.

“How?” Jack asked, as Carrie sprang to action, checking the woman’s vital signs. “Your road’s icing over, and I’m going to be lucky to get volunteers in, let alone get you out of this damned isolated shack.”

“It may be a shack, Jackie Hanson, but it’s all mine. Which is more than I can say for that shack you’re living in. Willard Mason’s old run-down piece of trash. No running water, no toilet...”

“It has water, it has plumbing. And electricity. All the modern conveniences...”

“Which you had to pay to have put in.”

“Because I bought the place.” He bent to give his grandmother an affectionate peck on the cheek, then shoved one of her cats aside so he could sit next to her. “So, when did the pain start?”

“It’s not exactly a pain. More like a heavy sensation. And it started three hours ago. I’d have called you sooner, but I was hoping it was indigestion and it would go away.”

“Well, it didn’t.” He took hold of Priscilla’s wrist to take her pulse. Then looked up at Carrie. “Fast, but not thready.” Then he looked into his grandmother’s eyes, took out his stethoscope, listened to her lungs. When he went for her chest, though, she swatted away his hand.

“Let her do that,” she snapped, nodding to Carrie. “Don’t want you touching me so privately. Not respectable for a grandson to be doing that.”

“When did you become such a prude, old woman?” Jack said, standing up and stepping back from the bed, which allowed Carrie to get closer, check Priscilla’s heart and take her blood pressure.

“The day I heard you were taking over here as a doctor.” She looked up at Jack, and actually winked. “Scary stuff, Jackie, for an old woman who used to powder your behind.”

“Blood pressure’s a little elevated,” Carrie interjected, looking first at Priscilla, then at Jack. “Heartbeat’s strong, but tachy, like you said. I counted one-forty.”

“Who’s she, by the way?” Priscilla nodded toward Carrie, but didn’t look directly at her. “Your nurse?”

“Nope. Her name’s Carrie. She’s one of my new students,” Jack said as he pulled an IV setup out of his backpack and continued to talk as he worked. “From Chicago. A paramedic. Highly trained in dealing with people as stubborn as you. Oh, and she carries a gun.”

Priscilla arched appreciative eyebrows. “Well, good for you, Carrie. I’ve always admired a woman who could shoot.”

“Only on the job, Mrs. Anderson,” Carrie told her. “I’m a cop. Guns come with the territory. Out here, though, no guns. The only weapon I have is a wooden spoon that comes with the apartment I’m renting. I don’t do guns on my own time. Don’t even own a personal one.”

“Me either. Best weapon I’ve got is my brain. Use it wisely and I can get everything I want. Like a grandson who makes house calls in the middle of the night. Oh, and call me Priscilla. Mrs. Anderson is too formal.”

“Because I want to persuade you to move to town. To move in with me.”

Priscilla winked at Carrie. “Jackie seems to think he knows what’s best for me. Always has. Most of the time I just indulge him. It makes him feel better.”

“Then indulge me now,” Jack said. “Just say yes, and by the time I get you out of the hospital, I’ll have a room ready for you.”

“And my cats?” She looked up at Carrie again. “See, that’s the question I always ask him when he brings it up, because he won’t take the cats, and I won’t go without them. So this is where he shuts up about moving me and gets back to business.”

“This time, back to business means...” He waved an IV catheter at her.

“You’re not sticking that in me,” Priscilla warned him.

“If I have to tie you down, I will,” he said, pointing to the pillow at the head of her bed. “Now, jacket off, feet up, head where it belongs. And stick out your arm.”

“Don’t trust you as far as I can see you,” she grumbled, doing exactly what he said. “Never have.” She looked at Carrie. “No compassion for his elders,” she said.

Except compassion was all Carrie saw. It was touching, and sweet. Sweet—a word she was sure he wouldn’t like attached to him. But he was, and it was lovely to watch. He loved his grandmother dearly, and it showed in everything he was doing. It especially showed in the worry written all over his face. And seeing that worry—she fell in love a little bit. Not in the happily-ever-after sense, but in the sense that Jack had qualities she’d never seen in any of the men in her life, and she loved seeing them in him. Loved knowing a gentler side than she’d ever seen in another man—not that there’d ever been a significant man in her life, because there hadn’t been. But the ones she’d known—users, for the most part. Not Jack, though. She could tell he was a giver.

She’d never had that in her life, never had someone love her the way Priscilla loved Jack either. Or the way Jack loved Priscilla. It was nice. Gave her hope that it might be out there for her, someday.

* * *

There was something about this place—all the time he’d spent here growing up, the things his grandmother had taught him here, bringing Evangeline and Alice here... Priscilla had loved Alice deeply and dearly. They’d had a special bond. The same bond he’d shared with his grandmother when he’d been Alice’s age. Walks through her garden, fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies, and the stories... Nobody told better stories than Priscilla and he could almost see Alice and Priscilla sitting together on the floor, Alice’s brown Salish eyes wide with amazement as Priscilla told the tales of her childhood, or her own adventures in Saka’am, when she’d go to visit friends. It hurt. All of it hurt now. The memories. And images. He wanted them back the way they used to be, not the way they were now.

Except he couldn’t have that because everything was shrouded in grief and sorrow. That picture of Alice—the one where she and Priscilla were wading in the stream, drenched from a spill or two, looking all sloppy and wet and happy—Jack knew his grandmother had put it away because he couldn’t bear to look at it. Because it broke his heart when he did. And that afghan Evangeline had spent months crocheting—nowhere to be seen. Bits and pieces of his past all tucked away so he wouldn’t be reminded, but everything reminded him. Dragged him back to those days. To his wife. Especially to his daughter. “Oh, I have compassion,” he finally said in response. “I save it up for those who deserve it.”

“And I don’t deserve it?” Priscilla asked, pretending to be outraged.

“What you deserve is for me to come in here, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you down that mountain, like it or not.”

“Not,” Priscilla practically shouted. “And I’ll have you arrested—”

“You know, every family has one—the crazy relative nobody talks about,” he said to Carrie as he gave his grandmother’s hand a squeeze, once the IV was in place. “Well, this is the one who belongs to my family.” He bent and kissed Priscilla’s cheek.

“Never had a family, so never had the pleasure,” she told him.

Priscilla laughed, and reached over to pat Jack’s hand. “Well, my Jackie here is available. I’d die a happy woman if he could find someone again.”

Again? Carrie raised her eyebrows, but didn’t ask, much to Jack’s relief. “Except you’re not going to die,” Jack reassured her, as a telltale red started creeping from his neck to his face. He didn’t talk about Evangeline. Or Alice. Ever. And people who knew him knew better than to speak of her. “And I’m not looking to find someone. So, no more talking. I want you to save your energy for the trip back to Sinclair.”

“I know why you don’t want me talking, Jackie, and it has nothing to do with going to Sinclair. But I’ll cooperate.” With that, she pretend-zipped her lips, lay back into her pillows and shut her eyes.

“She’s pouting,” Jack said to Carrie, the red still evident. “Thinks it gains her some sympathy.”

“Well, I’m sympathetic.” Carrie sat down on the other side of the bed, then took Priscilla’s hand. “And for your information, Jack, I like your grandmother. I like her spunk and her attitude. You’re a lucky man to have her.”

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Priscilla interjected, opening her eyes. “So, when do we ride, Jackie? Because if I must do this, I want to get it over with so I can get back home to my cats.”

“Soon, Priscilla,” he said, feeling as helpless as he had the night his wife and daughter had died. Helpless, angry, and damned ready to kick in that wall. “Got a couple of people on the way up right now to help carry you out.”

“You can’t carry me?” she asked, her voice weakening.

“Too dangerous. Carrie’s not experienced on the mountain, and I can’t do it by myself...”

“He climbs like a mountain goat. Did he tell you that, Carrie? Jackie climbs like he was born on the side of a mountain. Taught him everything he knows about it.”

“You climbed?” Carrie asked her.

“Up until the arthritis got me a few years back. In fact, Jackie and I had a lot of good times together. He was a natural on the ropes. Liked to free-climb, too. Not me, though. I was always a little more cautious. So, do you climb at all, Carrie?”

“Never have. But I’m going to learn.”

“Good for you,” Priscilla closed her eyes again, this time finally succumbing to exhaustion. “Jackie likes his women strong. Likes ’em keeping up with him.”

“But I’m not—” she started to protest, then stopped. No point. Priscilla was sound asleep, her head leaning on Jack’s shoulder, and Jack’s arm around her, supporting her.

“She’s one tough old bird,” Jack said affectionately, as he took her pulse.

“A tough old bird who taught you how to rock climb.” Carrie broke away from Priscilla to check the drip of the IV.

“That, and other wilderness survival skills. She’s been a midwife of sorts for more than fifty years. There probably isn’t a mountain within forty miles of here she hasn’t climbed at one time or another, trying to help in a medical situation. People around here trust her, probably more than they’ve ever trusted my mom and me, and we’re both doctors.” Probably a whole lot more than he’d trusted himself as, for the past five years, he hadn’t had a lot of that going on.

* * *

The trip down the mountain wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated. Help had arrived, they’d carried Priscilla to his truck, and while the ride to the hospital was interminably long due to road conditions and safety concerns, three hours after getting to his grandmother, she was safely tucked into a hospital bed, with an IV drip in her arm and heart monitor leads stuck to her chest, fussing that she was feeling fine and she wanted to go home to her cats.

“She’s stubborn,” Carrie commented, as she passed by Jack, who was seated in the chair across from Priscilla’s bed, on her way to fill the bedside pitcher with water.

“And proud of it,” Priscilla said, even though her eyes were closed.

Jack glanced up at the heart monitor over her bed, glad it was reading normal. Glad that Carrie had been there to help him through this. But, most of all, glad that Carrie had met his every expectation of her as a medic. He didn’t always have a lot of patience with the people who worked with him. They were too slow to suit him. Or, didn’t have a technique or bedside manner he liked. But Carrie had been...perfect. She’d known exactly what to say, and do. And, most of all, she’d gained his grandmother’s trust, which wasn’t an easy thing to do, as Priscilla hated modern medicine. “Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping, old woman?” he asked, his eyes stuck on Carrie as she carried the water back to the bedside stand.

“How am I supposed to sleep when you’re hovering over me the way you are?”

“I’m not hovering,” he said, giving Carrie a wink. “I’m just being a good doctor and watching over my patient.”

“Which is the same thing as hovering. So, go hover somewhere else.” She opened her eyes, reached over and squeezed Carrie’s hand. “And you, young lady, look like you could do with some sleep.”

“So she gets to sleep while I have to go hover?” Jack asked, as he pushed himself to his feet, then walked over to the bed. He bent over and kissed Priscilla on the cheek. “You take care of yourself tonight, Priscilla,” he said. “And call me if you need anything. I’m ten minutes away.”

“I’m fine, Jackie,” she said. “Just had a little scare.”

“Which gave me a big scare. Now—sleep.” With that, he took hold of Carrie’s hand and led her from the room. Once in the hall, he slumped against the wall, shut his eyes and simply stood there for a minute before he said anything. “If anything happened to her, I don’t know what...” He opened his eyes and stopped. He was revealing too much of himself. He’d almost allowed Carrie into places no one was allowed. But she was easy to talk to, to be around. Which meant, he was going to have to be more careful. “Look, Carrie. I appreciate you going out there with me. Priscilla can be difficult at times, and the way you were with her...again, I appreciate it.”

“Why do you call her Priscilla, and not Grandmother or Grandma?” she asked.

He chuckled. “When I was young, she made me call her Mrs. Anderson. Said it was all about proper respect. It wasn’t until I was about fourteen or fifteen that she let me call her by her first name. She said I’d earned that right.” Carrie had earned that right immediately. He was impressed, as Priscilla was a hard person to reach out to. But Carrie had reached out and touched. Which made him feel...good. Yes, he felt very, very good about Carrie. Maybe that even went a little beyond her medical skills. He felt good about her in general.

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