Читать книгу Healing Her Boss's Heart - Dianne Drake, Dianne Drake - Страница 11

Chapter Two

CARRIE HANDED A dog treat to Bella, her large, black Labrador-mutt mix, and climbed into the pickup truck next to her, nudging Bella back over to the passenger’s side. “We’re in,” she said to her companion. Bella and Carrie had been together for a year now, resulting from an unintentional meeting. Bella had gotten caught up in some gunfire—an innocent passerby—and had taken a bullet to her hindquarter. Nothing serious—just a flesh wound. But she’d needed patching, and Carrie happened to be the one on the scene who could do that. Only problem was, after she’d dropped Bella off at the closest veterinarian’s office for better care, the bill had come to her since Bella was a stray. So, because she’d paid for the dog’s care, she’d kept the dog. Best thing she’d ever done. “He seems nice enough. Not very personable, but we’re not here to make friends, are we?” she asked her friend, as she eased her truck forward and started off down Marrell’s main street toward the one-room garage apartment she was renting.

By the time she reached her temporary home. Carrie was more than ready to go inside, kick back and spend the evening reading a medical journal. Maybe open a can of soup and heat it up over a single burner hot plate and snuggle in. She hadn’t expected to live in the lap of luxury, coming to Montana, but she’d hoped for something better than this. One room, a foldout sofa that converted to a bed, a tiny kitchen table for two with a wobbly leg, a chair. But it was warm, and given that it was almost October, and she’d already been caught up in light snow flurries, that warmth was a bonus. That, plus the fact that there was a little stretch of open land across the road where she could walk Bella without having to go too far.

“There’s no place to go,” she said, adjusting her cell phone to speaker so she could get comfortable talking to her former roomie, Hannah Clarkson. Hannah was a nurse practitioner who managed a small satellite clinic for one of Chicago’s leading hospitals. “I knew I’d be getting into some pretty remote areas, but I didn’t expect it to be quite so...isolated.”

“Have you made any friends?” Hannah asked.

“I don’t want to make any friends. I’m here to work hard, get through the program and figure out what’s next. The doctor in charge is already offering me a job here—well, almost—so who knows. If things work out...”

“Is he sexy?”

Leave it to Hannah to cut to the bottom line. “To you, maybe. He’s tall, well built. Rugged. But I’m not looking for sexy.” Dredging up a quick mental recall of Dr. Jack Hanson, she decided he was, indeed, sexy. Nice muscles. Strong. She especially liked the three-day growth of stubble on his face. His longish dark brown hair. His charcoal eyes. OK, maybe she’d been too long without a man in her life since just picturing him gave her a little tingle. But having a man, or not having one, had never been her focus. And she wasn’t about to make that any kind of a focus now.

“You’re not looking, period. Remember that firefighter...what was his name?”

“Um...I don’t remember.” Actually, she did. And he’d been a hunk and a half. And caught up in one of those complicated situations halfway between married and divorced. In her life, there was never room for anything complicated so she’d moved on. But that was going on to two years ago now, and she’d never had a date since. Even then, their dates hadn’t really been dates. More like chance encounters. A few minutes here, a few there. Nothing special.

“Liar,” her friend accused. “He was great.”

“He was thinking about going back to his wife.”

“OK, maybe he was a bad choice. But how will you ever know a good choice if you don’t allow yourself to look?”

“I’ll look. Just not right now.”

“Well, all I’m saying is keep your options open. You owe yourself a little fun. And a future outside your job.”

A future outside her job? The words rattled around in her brain long after she’d quit talking to Hannah. And, they scared her, because she was good at her job. Felt safe in it. But outside it...what had she ever had that was worth anything? Had there ever been anything in life that had made her feel safe? No, there hadn’t.

Well, Hannah may have been right about some things, but changing herself was easier said than done. Her life had always been about survival, and when you lived only to survive, everything else took a back seat. Quite honestly, she didn’t know any other way to live. Mentally and emotionally—sure, there was more to it, and she envied the people she could see having that kind of life. But for Carrie survival mode always took over. In and out of foster homes from the age of five until she was sixteen. Then bumped out to the street, living on her own, by her wits. Eating out of trash bins, avoiding the bad people, the bad influences. Always wanting more. Always knowing that if she could find the way, she could have it. Always fighting to get ahead and never giving up. That’s who she was because she didn’t know how to be anything else.

Glumly, Carrie set aside her soup and put Bella on her lead, then walked over to the field and simply stood there as Bella sniffed around, then pulled her in different directions, investigating all her options. For her dog, it was an easy thing. Find it then follow it. But for her, that had always hurt. Too many times over her growing-up years she’d thought she’d found it, only to be turned away. She’d had to become hard to survive. She’d had to become disengaged to keep from getting hurt. Problem was she didn’t know how to engage now. At thirty-three she didn’t have a clue.

“Too many years alone,” she said to Bella, as they headed back to the apartment a little while later. “Sort of like the way you were when I found you. Alone, wounded.” Except Bella’s wounds had healed. Carrie’s, on the other hand, had not. They were too deep. Too ingrained in who she was. “Part and parcel,” she said, leading Bella up the stairs. “That which has to be accepted as part of something else.” Or, in other words, as part of her.

Once inside, Carrie debated returning to her reading or stretching out on the lumpy sofa bed. The bed won, so she stripped down to her undies, climbed in, pulled the blanket up over her and shut her eyes, even though she wasn’t the least bit tired or sleepy. But sleeping beat staying awake, thinking about her place in life. Something she was prone to doing too often.

And ten seconds later thoughts of Jack Hanson flashed across her mind. She tingled a little, unwilling recollections skittering across her mind. His body—the muscles. His eyes—so intense. And the smile that didn’t come easily, but when it did was so...warm. Inviting. She rubbed her arms against the goose bumps coming to life. All over an image in her head. Men didn’t affect her that way. She didn’t let them. But the more she thought about Jack, and the more she tingled, the more her goose bumps marched up and down.

Sighing, she turned on her side, hoping a new position would bring on different thoughts. But it didn’t work as Jack was still playing with her. She didn’t really know anything about him. He was gruff, which she didn’t mind. Very direct, which attracted her. And dedicated. Maybe that was his best quality. She liked dedication. Liked someone with a purpose, a destination, and it seemed that Jack had both.

He wasn’t married, she finally decided, after turning over to her other side, realizing she was fighting a losing battle. Jack would leave her mind in his own good time, and there wasn’t much she could do to control it. No, not married...at least, he didn’t wear a wedding band. No trace of one either. And there was nothing else about him to indicate he was.

His appearance was a little unkempt, in a rugged way. Didn’t have a wife’s finishing touch. Or what she thought should be a wife’s touch. What she’d do if she were a wife. But was he involved? Did he get involved or was he a player? “No,” she said, still trying to force the thought of him from her head as she climbed out of bed, headed to the sink for a drink of water, and was interrupted partway across the room with the “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik” jingle of her cell phone.

“Kellem here,” she said, when her caller ID failed to note who was on the other end.

“Jack Hanson.” Simple response. No embellishments.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Hanson?” she asked, not sure what to make of a call coming in at nearly eleven o’clock.

“We have a medical situation. You mentioned that you might want to take a part-time job as a paramedic. So, if that’s the case, you’re hired.”

“A case? As in?”

“Priscilla Anderson, one of our senior residents, is having a heart episode—not sure if it’s an attack or what—and she can’t get to us, so we need to get to her. I’m in my truck, I’ve got your address, and I’m two minutes away. Be ready. It’s going to be a hike, so be ready for that, too. Oh, and that garage you’re living above...there’s a better apartment over Millie’s Diner. A little more room, not as run-down. Probably safer.”

“And more expensive. This place is fine. Easy on the budget.”

“Suit yourself. But if you change your mind...” With that, he clicked off, leaving Carrie standing there, practically naked, staring at the phone, like that was going to give her more information. Which, of course, it didn’t. So, three minutes later, she ran down the outside steps of her apartment and straight to the pickup truck parked in front of it. With Bella at her heels.

“You’re not bringing that dog, are you?” Jack grumbled, instead of greeting her with a “Hello” or “Glad you could make it.” Or even doing the polite thing by opening the truck door for her.

“She won’t get in the way.”

“She’ll stay in the truck,” he said, as he gunned the engine, and the tires spun briefly on the icy road before they caught traction and the three of them were on their way.

“She’s had obedience training, and she carries my supplies. Assuming you’ve brought supplies for me to carry.”

“I have.” Jack glanced over at the dog, who’d managed to find her spot between Carrie and him. “And you expect her to carry them in that red pack she’s wearing?”

“Frees me up to take in additional equipment, if needed. Or, when I was working SWAT, carry a gun.”

“They let you take her in?”

“Nobody ever stopped me. Although I never put her in harm’s way. If there was gunfire, she stayed in the car.” She glanced over at Jack, saw the grim set of his face, and scooted back in her seat but didn’t relax. “So, why me tonight?”

“You were free.”

“You’ve got other students in town who could do just as well.”

“But, as I said, we’ve got some hiking to do, and you seemed like the one to do it.”

“Do you always make house calls?” she asked him.

“When I have to. In areas like this, you do whatever it takes. Tonight it’s going to take a half-mile hike up a steep trail, because the road that winds up to Priscilla’s place is iced over and not safe to drive.”

“So, how do we know it’s a heart episode?”

“That’s what she said when she phoned me. And she only calls for help if she thinks it’s serious, so I have no reason to doubt she got it wrong. Symptoms fit. She has a history of mild heart disease. Asthma, too.” He elbowed Bella back toward Carrie. “Look, I’m not happy that you’re bringing the dog, but since she’s here there’s nothing I can do about it. So, please, keep her off my lap and don’t let her lean on me. Or drool on me.”

“You don’t like dogs?”

“One thing you’ll discover about me the further into training you get is that I’m not always the most tolerant person. Fair warning. I’m good at what I do, but sometimes I’m not the nicest person to be around.”

“Any particular reason for that?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I try to keep myself focused on my work, and I’m not good with distractions. Like dogs. Personally, I like them well enough. Just not with me on a house call.”

And that was the last thing he said until he brought the truck to a stop on a winding, narrow road and hopped out. “Your supplies are behind the seat. Put them in the doggie bag, if that’s what you want to do. And stay as close to me as you can, because you don’t know the area, the path is going to be slick, and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Guess we’d better hurry,” she said, slinging her bag of supplies over her shoulder, then scrambling along after him, trying to stay close enough that she could benefit from the flashlight he shone on the trail ahead of him.

While she didn’t know much about mountain rescue yet, she did know that the last thing she needed was to be out on a mountain trail, in the cold, after dark, lost and alone. Not that he would care. Or even notice. Because, from her little corner of the world, it seemed that Jack Hanson wasn’t the type of person who got himself caught up in anything other than his work, the same way she didn’t. Which made him a perfect match for her—medically speaking.

She liked that. In fact, she got excited about it as, outside her training, she’d never worked with anyone before. Always alone on the job. With backup, of course. But the medical duty had been up to her, and there had been no one there beside her to help.

Now that Jack was practically her first partner, it felt nice. Gave her a different kind of confidence, as if, because of him, she could do more. Do better. Even the thought of watching his hands work—gentle hands, she assumed—gave her a little jolt. Competent hands. The hands of a skilled lover... No—She wasn’t going there. That was way too far. Mind on the job, Carrie, she warned herself. She had to keep her mind only on the medical and not on the other potential non-medical skills of Jack’s hands.

“What do we do when we get there? How do we get her out, since we can barely get in?” she asked, hoping he didn’t notice the smidgen of wobbliness in her voice.

“I’ve got a couple of volunteers coming in behind us, about an hour out, if we’re lucky, and they’ll help us get her back to the truck. After that...” He paused, turned to shine the light on her face. “She’s my grandmother. I’ve got an airlift on standby if she’s too bad to keep at Sinclair. Which makes her one of the lucky ones, because I can afford to do it. But there are hundreds of people living out here who don’t get that benefit. Which is why we need to get in to them better than we’re able to do now. Give them a quicker response, an earlier intervention.”

“Your grandmother lives out here alone?” That surprised her, as she’d never known anyone who lived so remotely. Even in her worst days, living in alley doorways, she’d been surrounded by civilization. But to live so far out... It wasn’t exactly an unappealing idea. A scary one, but one she might have to get used to if Jack hired her after the program was finished.

“Always has. She homesteaded the area with my grandfather, and stayed on after he died. Won’t leave. Stubborn, like you are.”

“But she gets to Marrell occasionally?”

“When she wants, which isn’t very often. She lives life on her own terms, and nothing’s going to change that.”

Like Jack? she wondered. Because he, too, seemed like he lived life on his own terms. “So, what’s the plan after we get there?” she asked, fighting hard to keep up with him as he turned back to the trail and doubled his pace. He was strong. Had huge hiking skills, the likes of which she’d never seen before. And, for the first time, she got a good sense of what he wanted out of his program. Saw the vital necessity of it.

“We’re going to stabilize her for transport. That’s all we’re equipped for right now. Get an IV going, get her on oxygen, give her cardiac meds if she needs them, and kick the wall and curse because we can’t do more.” He slowed just slightly. Not enough to make much of a difference, but enough so it gave Carrie a chance to almost catch up to him. But before she did completely, he started off again as fast and furiously as before. “And feed her cats. She’s got a bunch of them, and she’s more worried about them than she is about herself. Hope your dog is OK with cats.”

“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.