What to do about Samuel Grayson? Surely if he saw her face-to-face, he’d notice the striking similarity between them. Or maybe not. Maybe she’d slide under his radar. The man was probably pretty busy running the town, pushing his tonic water. Speaking of … She twisted the cap of the water and took a tentative sip. Eh. Not bad. But certainly not worth the $25 price tag, unless it truly did have restorative properties. However, not likely. She inhaled the sweet, clean air and then wrinkled her nose at the sharp unfamiliar scent of blue skies and green grass of rural Wyoming. She took another drink of the tonic water. No Starbucks or Pete’s that she could see, and she could really use a shot of espresso to clear her mind. She spied a small coffeehouse sandwiched between two other shops and made a beeline straight toward it. Cold Plains Coffee—straight to the point, she thought wryly and stepped inside.
A sense of foreboding followed Rafe after Darcy left. He’d told Hawk he’d hire the woman, and he had against his better judgment, but something else gnawed at him that he couldn’t quite place. And it wasn’t just that she was a beautiful woman. If he couldn’t handle himself around a woman who had a great body and a face to match, he had bigger problems because Cold Plains was full of attractive women. It was something else…. His gut told him she was trouble. He scrubbed his palms across his face and pushed Darcy from his mind.
He pulled his BlackBerry from his pocket and opened a file he kept in a cloud network that he could access from his phone. He didn’t trust an actual computer to keep his notes because computers could be breached. All the cloud network required was a smartphone with Wi-Fi connectivity, and he was good. He tapped in Darcy’s name and his initial impression of the woman: pretty—might be trouble. Hired as receptionist at clinic. Unknown if she’s a Devotee.
Rafe logged off and pocketed his BlackBerry, which he kept with him at all times. He used the excuse that his clinic phone would forward to his cell during off-hours, but that was just a ruse to keep Samuel off his tail. Keeping Samuel thinking that he was playing for the home team enabled Rafe to slip in and out of places he would’ve been barred from otherwise.
Unfortunately, the one place he hadn’t been able to gain access was the one place he needed to go—Samuel’s secret medical infirmary.
If there was one. That was the question he couldn’t seem to find an answer to. No one was willing to admit that certain patients never returned from a visit to the clinic.
He suddenly thought of Liza Burbage as an example, an older woman suffering from type 2 diabetes who’d ignored multiple attempts to get her to change her diet so her diabetes wouldn’t change from type 2 to insulin-dependent. He still remembered the conversation he’d had with her after Samuel had approached him regarding her health.
“Liza, you really need to start watching your diet. No more cookies or sweets. Vegetables and lean protein,” he’d said, troubled by her recent weight gain and instable insulin numbers. “The Glucophage at the current dosage isn’t working any longer to control your insulin. We’re going to increase the dosage, but after that, we’re out of options.”
Liza sighed, a sound heavy with self-condemnation, and said, “I know, Dr. Black. I’m trying. It’s just so hard. I crave sweets and carbs.”
“Did you go to the clinic nutritionist?” he asked.
She made a face. “That sour-faced stick woman? She wanted me to cut my calories so much, I’d likely starve. And she wanted me to do weekly weigh-ins and sign a document that said I’d accept responsibility for increased weight while on the program. I don’t know, but it just felt so regimented. I’m more of a free-spirited kind of person. You know? And I like a cookie now and then.” She offered a shy but sweetly dimpled smile and shrugged. “Oh well, it’s my health and my problem. Last I checked, being overweight wasn’t a crime,” she said with a laugh.
Rafe nodded, but a frown threatened over something Samuel had made mention of when Samuel had come to him regarding the implementation of a Devotee meal plan. Of course Rafe had offered suggestions but, in the end, admitted nutrition as a science wasn’t his forte, which was when Samuel had brought in Heidi Kruch. And Rafe agreed with Liza—the nutritionist was a bit of a Nazi when it came to calorie counting. But Samuel found her approach in line with his personal philosophy, so she became the clinic nutritionist and Rafe was encouraged to send anyone with weight issues to pay a visit to Heidi to “get with the program.”
To date, Liza hadn’t gotten the message and not only was her weight ballooning, but her insulin levels were reaching dangerous levels. Rafe didn’t care if his patients were pleasantly plump as long their health wasn’t an issue. However, Samuel believed everyone ought to treat their body as a temple, and he aimed to see that everyone in Cold Plains was fit, healthy and happy. There were workout requirements, meal plans, tonic-water intake charts, morning yoga meetings and countless other measures aimed at creating exactly what Samuel was going for: cookie-cutter people.
“Please consider giving Heidi another chance,” he’d said, hating the words coming from his mouth. “She’s good at putting together meal plans that will improve your insulin numbers and ultimately your overall health.” He felt as if he were reading from a script, and he had no interest in playing the part. When Liza’s expression turned dour, he said, “I know she’s not the most personable, but don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. The patients who have followed her advice have been successful in losing weight and improving their overall health.”
Liza sighed. “I’ll think about it, but only because you’re so nice about it, Dr. Black. Too bad you weren’t the nutritionist. I’d listen to what you have to say simply because you’re so cute.”
“Ahh.” He chuckled, yet inside he was twisting with his conscience. Liza was the wrong candidate for a nutritionist at this stage in her food addiction. She needed more than charts and strict rules. Likely, she needed counseling to determine why she self-sabotaged with food even when her health was at stake. But Samuel didn’t like head docs, as he called them. No small wonder there, seeing as a psychiatrist might question the mind-scramble Samuel did daily on the local people of Cold Plains. “Well, I hope you change your mind.”
He saw Liza out after she promised to check in with him in two weeks to do another insulin check. She never came back.
Considering their personable patient-doctor relationship and her distate for Heidi, the nutritionist, he found her absence suspect and it only provided fuel for his suspicion that Samuel made people go away if they didn’t “get with the program.” But for now he put it out of his mind.
Rafe spent the last few hours of the day tending to patients with various ailments—nothing more serious than the occasional flu bout or allergy flare-up—and when he flipped his sign and shut down his office, he wondered where Darcy was and what she was doing. The town wasn’t large, and there was little in the way of entertainment available that wasn’t sanctioned by Samuel. There was line dancing and ballroom dancing, knitting and quilting and creative brainstorming (a class Samuel suggested everyone take at least a few times a month to help with the marketing of the Cold Plains tonic water) but nothing like a dance club or bar that supported a wild time. He didn’t know Darcy, but he sensed she was a city girl, accustomed to everything a city had to offer.
He was tempted to casually stroll the main street to see if she was in any of the small shops, doing the tourist thing, but as he shut the lights