When she was growing up—and up, and up—Mom had always encouraged her to hold her head high and be proud of her height. Even Dad had told her to “suck it up,” because someday she was going to be a beautiful woman.
So when did “someday” come? At thirty-four, Karah Lee did not feel attractive.
She knew what she looked like. One elderly patient a couple of months ago had called her “handsome,” whatever that meant. At least her facial features were even, and her waist was still slightly narrower than her hips. Slightly.
This morning she wanted to make a good first impression, instead of blurting out the first thing that entered her brain—which was a habit she hadn’t been able to break. People who knew her became accustomed to this tendency, but strangers didn’t always know what to think about her—last night with poor Ranger Jackson being a prime example.
She took a final breath of the sweet, cedar-scented air and pulled open the glass door on the right. The sign on the window beside it stated Hideaway Walk-in Clinic. For Emergencies, call 911.
She walked quietly across the tile floor as the door whisked shut behind her. The clinic brooded in dim silence, not quite open for business this morning. To the immediate right were two vending machines, one with candy and chips and one with drinks; they combined with the row of windows behind her to provide the sole source of illumination at the moment. Another set of doors stood open to an empty, seemingly deserted hallway that held the smell of an old building, scrubbed to a shine with a lemon cleanser.
Voices and laughter reached her from the left, and she turned and glanced through another open door to find a waiting room and reception window. Lights blinked on in the office behind the window as she watched. Good, she wasn’t late.
She took a step in that direction, but then she saw a movement in the shadows at the far side of the vending machines. There was a thump, and a grunt, and she recognized with amusement the posterior section of someone bent forward from the waist, squeezed between the machine and the wall.
She cleared her throat. There was another thump, and a low mutter of words she couldn’t decipher. Definitely male.
“Hello,” she called out to him.
“’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.