“No, ma’am, Dr. DeVane. Black Jaxx came around the barn lookin’ proud like he a’ways does when he’s thrown a rider. When I got to Granddad, he was on the ground.”
“You should have let the rescue squad bring him in the ambulance.”
“He’d’a killed me dead if I’d done that. Heck, he’ll yell at me anyway.” The boy rubbed the back of his thick neck.
“I know.” Maude put a hand on Jimmy’s arm. “He told Doc Avery he was too old to have a fuss made over him.”
Jimmy grinned, then his face got serious again. “Will he wake up? Do you think you can save him, Dr. DeVane?”
“I’ll know more after I examine him. If he wakes up soon, it’ll be best.”
Maude patted the old man’s bony thigh through his worn jeans and started a more thorough exam. She gently prodded and searched for signs of injury, and just as she was satisfied there was no other neurological deficit, Curly began to mumble and tried to reach across his body with his left hand. Maude gently put his arm back at his side and let a little of her concern lift. Purposeful movement meant a decent level of brain function.
When Abby pulled off one boot, he murmured a few words.
Another moment later, “Danged horse,” came out loud and clear, followed by something they probably didn’t want to understand, period.
As Maude reached for Curly’s right arm, he sat straight up. “What the hell’s going on here?”
“Granddad!” Jimmy cried.
Curly looked around, blinked a few times and then swatted at Abby, who was tugging on his other low-heeled boot.
“And you can leave that right where it is, missy.”
Abby easily evaded the swat and grinned at the old man. “Hullo, Curly Martin.”
He let Abby ease him back against the pillow.
“Nurse Abby. Didn’t expect to be back here so soon.” With that, he gave Jimmy a look that made the boy squirm.
“I’m glad he brought you in, Mr. Martin.” Maude put a hand on his shoulder to encourage him to stay put while she finished her exam.
Curly smirked his Montana charm and relaxed. “You’re lookin’ perty as a picture today, Maudie. But I guess it’s Dr. DeVane nowadays.”
“Well, Mr. Martin.” Maude let the diminutive given to her in this valley when she was a child slide off her. “Now that you’re smiling, you don’t look so bad yourself. Does anything hurt?”
He grinned. “Just this.” He held up the arm she had been about to examine. The bone under the brown weatherworn skin of his forearm jutted off in a slightly unnatural direction.
“Let me take a closer look at that,” Maude said as she cradled his deformed wrist in the palm of her hand.
Curly’s thick, frosty eyebrows drew together. “Nothin’ a little time won’t fix,” he said as he tried to pull away.
“Curly Martin, are you in here giving people trouble again?”
All heads turned as the sound of the deep male voice thundered from the doorway. Maude smiled at her predecessor.
“Doc, I thought you left for civilization already.” Curly grinned gap-toothed at Dr. William Avery, founder of the only clinic in her hometown, the place where Maude hoped to practice medicine as long as he had—hoped the town would let her.
“Don’t you have a great-grandbaby back East to help birth?” Curly continued.
“Doc” pulled off distinguished-looking even in his travel clothes. “I heard you came all the way in from the ranch to say goodbye, so I stopped by for a minute.” He gave Curly a cursory once-over, touching the bruise on Curly’s head.
“Guess I wasn’t glued on to that danged horse well enough.”
“Good thing you landed on your hard head.” Doc chuckled as he gently brushed a thumb over the wrist fracture.
“Dr. DeVane,” he said as he turned to Maude, “I know you have everything under control here. If you have any questions, call me anytime.”
“Thank you, I will. I hope you make it in time for the baby’s birth, Dr. Avery.” Maude smiled and kept her tone light. Doc Avery trusted her, but this visit would play differently through the gossip network. “Have a safe drive and a great retirement.”
He smiled at her, patted Curly on the shoulder, nodded at Abby and Jimmy and walked out the door to his new life, no doubt leaving a trail of wagging tongues. Old Doc Avery couldn’t even get out of town without checking up on Dr. DeVane one last time. Lordy, what’s going to happen to us when he’s gone?
Earlier at the grocery store she had overheard, “What if little Maudie messes up?” Did it not matter to anyone in this tiny throwback town that she had earned the M.D. after her name? She gave X-ray orders to Abby and left the room.
Well, she’d earn their trust. In the two years they had advertised for a doctor to take over the clinic, she was the only one to apply, and because she was their only choice of doctors in this valley, they’d have to give her what she needed to win them over—time.
TWELVE MOUNTAIN MILES northwest of St. Adelbert, on the Whispering Winds Ranch, where pine trees towered and snowcapped mountains etched the sky—the doorbell rang shrilly and repeatedly.
Guy Daley pushed away from the desk. Cynthia Stone, one of the participants in the executive development program, was at his door for the third day in a row with an excuse to chicken out of an activity. He had coerced her into the hike and the overnight, but this canyon crossing was going to be tricky.
The shrill bell rang again and he yanked the door open.
“Why’s the door locked?” demanded the child on the stoop. She looked twenty, but he knew she was not quite thirteen. Mascara smeared under her eyes. Jeans shredded on the bottoms. Tail of her smudged pink T-shirt almost covering her belly and a riot of red curls mashed in on one side. She wore a deep scowl, just like her father had all those years ago when he’d run away from home and shown up at Guy’s college apartment.
A fist of grief punched Guy in the gut. He took it and smiled at his niece.
“Lexie.” He should be shocked or horrified she’d found her way, probably by herself, from Chicago to Montana, but he was oddly glad to see her.
“Uncle Guy.” She glared at him, large blue eyes narrowed in challenge.
He reached for her bag, but she pulled away, so he stepped back to let her drag the purple duffle into the timbered living room. The last time he had tried to hug her, she’d slugged him.
“Does your mom know where you are?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Kelly’s too busy with the baby.” She hefted the huge bag and hugged it to her. “Maybe she knows by now. I’m supposed to be at my friend’s house until tomorrow.”
Red streaks scored the whites of her eyes. “When was the last time you ate?”
She lifted the shoulder again.
Dirty, tired and hungry.
“Leave the bag. Go wash your hands.”
She dropped the bag with a thud on the hardwood floor and headed down the hallway toward the bathroom.
“Eggs or cakers?” he called after her.
“Cakers.” She turned for a moment and smiled sadly at him. Her father, his brother, had called pancakes “cakers,” after a character in a kids’ book. “And coffee.”
“And