Читать книгу Only Yours - Сьюзен Мэллери - Страница 6

MONTANA HENDRIX’S PERFECTLY good morning was thwarted by a hot dog, a four-year-old boy and a Lab and golden retriever mix named Fluffy.

Things had started out well enough. Montana had been determined to get the nearly a year old dog into a therapy-dog training program. Sure, Fluffy was exuberant and clumsy, with a habit of eating anything and simply being too happy, but she had a huge heart. If she was, in simple terms, a screwup, Montana refused to hold that against her. Montana knew what it was like to fail to meet her potential, to always feel she wasn’t good enough. She’d made a career out of it. Fluffy was not going to suffer the way she had. And even if she was projecting a little too much on to an innocent dog, well, sometimes that happened.

So there she was, on a beautiful Fool’s Gold summer morning, walking Fluffy … or, rather, being walked by Fluffy.

“Think calm,” Montana, holding firmly on to the leash, told the dog. “Therapy dogs are calm. Therapy dogs understand restraint.”

Fluffy gave her a doggie grin, then nearly knocked over a trash can with a sweep of her ever-moving tail. Restraint wasn’t in Fluffy’s vocabulary. She was barely calm in her sleep.

Later Montana would tell herself she should have seen it coming. This particular morning was the first weekend after school had let out and there was a festival to celebrate. Street vendors had been setting up for days. Although it was early, the smell of hot dogs and barbecue filled the air. The sidewalks were crowded and Fluffy kept pulling toward the children playing in the park. Her expression was clear—she wanted to be playing, too.

Up ahead, a mother paid for a hot dog. Her young son took it eagerly, but before he took a bite, he spotted Fluffy. The boy grinned at Fluffy and held out the food. At that exact moment, Montana was distracted by the latest display in Morgan’s Bookstore and accidentally loosened her grip. Fluffy lunged, the leash slipped and that was when the trouble started.

Offering a hot dog from a distance might have seemed like a good idea … until a ninety-pound dog came barreling toward the little boy. He shrieked, dropped the hot dog and ran behind his mother. The poor woman had missed the beginning of the encounter. All she saw was a crazy-looking dog headed right for her and her son. She screamed.

Montana started after Fluffy, yelling for her to stop. But it was as effective as telling the earth to slow down its rotation.

The mother scooped up her little boy and ducked behind a lemonade stand. Fluffy picked up the hot dog without breaking stride and swallowed it in one gulp, then kept on going. Apparently freedom called.

Montana hurried after her, the new summer sandals she’d bought the week before cutting into her feet. She knew she had to get Fluffy. The dog was sweet, but not very well trained. Montana’s boss, Max Thurman, had made it clear that Fluffy was not therapy-dog material. If word of today’s disaster reached him, he would insist the dog leave the program. Montana couldn’t stand for that to happen.

Fluffy was a lot faster than she was and quickly ran out of sight. Montana followed the sound of shrieks and screams, making her way through the streets of the town, dodging a peanut cart and narrowly missing a close encounter with two guys on bikes. She turned a corner just in time to see a tail disappearing through the automatic doors of a tall building.

“No,” Montana breathed, staring up at the hospital. “Not there. Anywhere but there.”

She raced forward, inwardly cringing at the thought of what Fluffy could do in a place like that. Big puppy feet on slippery floors were not a happy combination. She ran up the six steps leading to the entrance and dashed inside only to find a trail of havoc marking the way.

A supply cart was pushed against the wall. Linens spilled onto the floor. A little girl in a wheelchair grinned and pointed down the hall.

Montana got to the bank of elevators only to find several people willing to tell her that yes, a dog had gotten on. She watched the light panel to see an elevator had stopped on the fourth floor, then jumped in the next one and rode up.

The doors opened to the sound of screams. A chair lay on its side. More linens were scattered on the floor, along with a couple of charts. Up ahead double doors marked the entrance to the burn unit. Various signs explained what could and couldn’t enter that part of the hospital. A joyous bark told her Fluffy had violated every single posted rule.

Not knowing what else to do, Montana followed the sound and pushed through the doors. Up ahead several nurses were trying to corral the happy dog while Fluffy did her best to lick all of them at the same time. When Montana called her, the dog turned and raced toward her. Just as a doctor walked out of a nearby room.

Fluffy did her best to stop. Montana saw her puppy paws scramble as the dog tried to slow. But she couldn’t get traction on the floor. She started to slide, her butt went down, her front paws braced and then she was zipping along in a sitting position. She plowed directly into the doctor, sending him tumbling into Montana.

The doctor was about six inches taller and a whole lot heavier than Montana. His shoulder hit her chest, knocking the air out of her. They sailed across the floor, flying a few feet before stopping against the very hard floor, his body slamming into hers.

Montana lay there, dazed. She couldn’t breathe. All she felt was dead weight on top of her and a warm tongue licking her bare ankle.

The man got off her and knelt beside her.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded.

She shook her head, then managed to gasp in air. Fluffy moved closer and sat down, looking calm and well behaved. A trick Montana wasn’t going to fall for.

The man reached for her. He ran his large, long-fingered hands up and down her legs and arms, then felt the back of her head. His touch was impersonal, but it was the most action she’d had in months. Before she could figure out if she liked it, she looked at his face.

He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Eyes the color of green smoke, fringed by dark lashes. A perfect mouth, with a strong jaw. His cheekbone—

“She’s fine,” he said, turning to speak with someone behind him.

When he shifted his head she saw the other side of his face. Thick red scars grew from his shirt collar, along the side of his neck to his left jaw and cheek. They spiraled, creating an angry pattern that looked painful and pulled his skin.

She had a feeling her shock showed, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead he grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“Dizzy?” he asked curtly.

“No,” she managed, now that she could breathe again.

“Good.” He moved closer. “What the hell is wrong with you? What kind of irresponsible idiot allows something like this to happen? You should be arrested and charged with attempted murder. Do you know what kind of germs that dog has? That you have? This is a burn unit. These patients are vulnerable to infection. They are suffering with a level of pain you can’t begin to imagine.”

She took a step back. “I’m sorry,” she began.

“Do you think anyone here gives a damn about you being sorry? Your thoughtlessness is criminal.”

She could feel his rage in every word. Even more scary than what he was saying was the way he was saying it. Not with a loud voice and a lot of energy, but with a coldness that left her feeling small and stupid.

“I didn’t—”

“Think,” he interrupted. “Yes, that much is clear. I doubt you think much about anything. Now, get out.”

Embarrassment gripped her. She was aware of the other staff members hovering close by, listening.

Montana knew that Fluffy’s running through the hospital was a bad thing. But it wasn’t as if she’d planned the event.

“It was an accident,” she said, raising her chin.

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I suppose you’ve never made a mistake.”

His gray-green eyes flashed with derision. “Have you ever had a burn? Touched a hot pan or the burner on a stove? Do you remember what that felt like? Imagine that over a significant part of your body. The healing process is slow and what we do here to help it along is excruciating. On this ward, an infection kills. So any mistakes I’ve made have no bearing on this discussion.”

There was no point in telling him that the work she did was important. She often came to the hospital with therapy dogs. Those therapy dogs helped patients heal, especially children. But she suspected this particular man wouldn’t care about that.

“You’re right,” she said slowly. “There’s no excuse for what happened here today. I’m sorry.”

His mouth twisted. “Get out.”

His complete dismissal stunned her. “Excuse me?”

“Are you deaf? Get out. Go away. Take your damn dog with you and don’t come back.”

Montana was willing to admit fault and take the blame, but to have her apology ignored was just plain rude. Being a screwup didn’t mean she was a bad person.

“You’re a doctor?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer to the question.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

“You might want to take that stick out of your ass. It’ll make it easier to pretend to be human, which will probably help your patients.”

With that she grabbed Fluffy’s leash, ignored the fact that the dog was licking the doctor’s hand and walked out of the burn unit, her head held high.

On her way back to the kennel, she kept a firm grip on Fluffy, but no amount of holding could erase the fact that they’d both messed up big-time. Montana loved her job. It had taken her a long time to find out what she was supposed to do with her life. She loved training the dogs, and working with kids at the hospital and older folks at the nursing home. She’d started a reading program at all five local elementary schools.

She could lose everything because of what had happened today. If the administrator called Max and insisted Montana not be allowed back in the hospital, her boss would fire her. A fair amount of the therapy work took place there. If she couldn’t go to the hospital, she wasn’t much use to him. And then what?

She knew she only had herself to blame. Max had made it clear Fluffy wasn’t going to be successful in the program, but Montana had wanted to give the dog another chance.

All her life Montana had been different. On her good days, she told herself she was a little flaky. On her bad days, well, the words were a lot worse than that.

Regardless of the label, it appeared that nothing had changed. She was still incapable of getting anything right.

ORDER WAS RESTORED on the burn ward in a matter of minutes. Simon Bradley dismissed the intruder from his mind and continued his rounds. His last patient of the morning was the most worrisome. Nine-year-old Kalinda Riley had been brought in two days before when the family’s gas barbecue had exploded. Kalinda was the only one hurt.

She’d been burned over forty percent of her body. He’d performed surgery yesterday. If she survived, it would be the first operation of many. For the rest of her life, her existence would be defined by her burns. He should know.

Her parents were devastated and frightened. They wanted answers and he had none to give them. The next few weeks would decide if the little girl lived or died. He didn’t like to guess or assume, but he also couldn’t escape the heaviness in his chest.

“Dr. Bradley.”

He smiled at Kalinda’s mother. Mrs. Riley was not yet thirty and probably pretty when she wasn’t pale with worry and fear. Kalinda was her only child.

“She’s been quiet,” the mother continued.

“We’re keeping her sedated as she heals.”

“There was a dog here before.”

Simon tensed. “It won’t happen again.”

Mrs. Riley touched his arm. “She opened her eyes when she heard the commotion. She asked to see the puppy.”

Simon turned toward Kalinda’s room. The child shouldn’t be that lucid. He would examine her, then look over her medications.

“Did she say if she was in pain?” he asked.

Later they would teach her ways to manage her discomfort. That’s what they called it. Discomfort. Not agony or torture or suffering. All the things a serious burn could be. Later she would learn about breathing and meditation and visualization. For now drugs would get her through.

“She said she wanted to hold the puppy.”

He drew in a breath. “It was an eighty-pound mutt that doesn’t belong in a hospital.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Riley’s eyes filled with tears. “We had a dog. A small Yorkie. She died a few months ago. I know Kalinda misses her terribly. I remember reading something about hospitals using therapy dogs. Do you think that would help?”

She was a mother who loved her child and would do anything to help her. To keep her from suffering. Simon had seen it hundreds of times. The greatness of a parent’s love never ceased to amaze him. Perhaps because he hadn’t experienced it himself.

Simon would rather eat glass than have a filthy animal in his burn unit, but he also understood that the healing powers of the human body could be triggered by unexpected sources. If Kalinda was to survive, she would need something close to a miracle.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said, and turned toward his patient’s room.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Riley said, smiling bravely through her tears. “You’ve been amazing.”

He’d done very little. Surgery was a learned skill. The gift he brought to those skills came at a price, but one he was willing to pay. He lived for his patients, to heal them as much as humanly possible and then move on. To the next tragedy. The next child whose life had changed in a single flash and the lick of a flame.

“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO PRISON,” Max Thurman said firmly.

“I should. He was right. What happened was criminal.”

Montana had had nearly an hour to beat herself up and she’d made use of every second. Her bravado when facing the angry doctor had faded and now she was left with little more than a sense of having messed up in the worst way possible.

“Dramatic much?” Max asked, his dark eyes bright with amusement. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“Fluffy was loose in a hospital. She ran around, knocked over a couple of carts, then got into the burn ward.”

“I’m not saying we want wild animals running through a sterile facility, but it was an accident and, according to the hospital administrator, no damage was done. You need a little perspective.”

They were in Max’s office, a bright room at the back of his house. The kennels were on his property, as was the training facility. Montana wasn’t a very good judge of how much land made up an acre, but she would guess Max owned more than a few of them. She knew she had to drive a good three minutes from the road to even get to the house. Which could be challenging in winter.

“If you’d seen that doctor …” she murmured, remembering his coldness most of all. “He was beyond furious.”

“So, apologize.”

“To him?” She never wanted to see him again. That would really work best for her. “Or you could call back the administrator and tell her I’m really sorry.”

Max’s blue eyes crinkled with amusement. “Very mature.”

“You know her.”

“So do you.”

“She likes you.” Every time they’d had a meeting, the administrator had been unable to keep from staring at Max.

Montana thought he was pretty nice looking, although a little, well, old. He had steel-gray hair, rugged features and piercing blue eyes. He was tall and rangy. He looked like the kind of man who could take care of himself in any situation. Although nearly sixty, Max looked and acted much younger.

“If you’re that concerned, you should call her yourself,” he told Montana. “She understands it was an accident.”

“Dr. Stick-Up-the-Butt didn’t,” she muttered, but without a lot of energy. Max was right. Montana should be the one to call. “I’m going to work with the dogs while I gather my courage,” she told him and left the office.

Once she was outside, she crossed the large expanse of thick, green lawn. To the east, she could see the mountains rising high against the blue sky.

Max’s property was nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada at the edge of the town of Fool’s Gold. South of Reno, east of Sacramento, the area was beautiful, with wineries, a large lake in the center of town and winter skiing only a few miles up the road.

Montana loved her town and she loved her job. She didn’t want to lose either. Not that anyone could take the town away from her, but still … She was feeling a little vulnerable. Despite Max’s support, she worried about what Fluffy had done. What she’d allowed to happen.

She walked around to the large play area where, during the day, the therapy dogs ran free, playing or sleeping in the sun. Several of them hurried up to greet her as she let herself inside the gate. She gave pats and hugs, then looked into Fluffy’s happy brown eyes.

“Max was right,” she told the dog. “You’re not therapy material.”

Fluffy wagged her tail.

“We’ll find you a nice home with kids. You’ll like kids. They have as much energy as you.”

She had more to say. She wanted to explain that none of this was the dog’s fault. That sometimes you had to try something before you could figure out you weren’t very good at it. But before she could get started, she heard a car pull up. She walked around to the other side of the play area and was surprised to see the town’s mayor climbing out of her car.

Marsha Tilson had been mayor of Fool’s Gold longer than Montana had been alive. She was a warm, caring person who had given up much of her life to serve the town.

“I was hoping to find you here,” the mayor called when she spotted Montana. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.”

Montana let herself out of the play yard and walked toward the mayor. The older woman was elegantly dressed in a suit and pearls. Her white hair remained perfectly in place, despite the light breeze. By contrast, Montana felt a little scruffy. Her sundress had been old last year and she’d slipped off her sandals as soon as she’d gotten in her car. Red marks from her new sandals dotted her feet, and a few puffy areas promised to turn into blisters later.

“There’s a conference room in the kennel,” she said. “Is that all right? Or do you want to go up to Max’s house?”

“The conference room is fine.”

Mayor Marsha followed her along the path, then into the large building. There was an office, a small bathroom, the conference room, a kitchenette, then wide doors led to the kennel area.

“Something to drink?” Montana asked when they’d entered the conference area. The oval table could seat twelve, although they rarely had that many people out for a meeting. “We have soda, or I could make coffee.”

“I’m fine.”

Marsha waited until Montana had pulled out a chair before taking the one across from her.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” the older woman began.

“To sell me raffle tickets?”

Marsha smiled. “I need your help on a special project.”

Montana’s first instinct was to bolt. A few months earlier, Mayor Marsha had asked Montana’s sister Dakota to help on a special project. Dakota had ended up working on a reality show as the liaison between the town and the producer. The good news was Dakota had met the love of her life, gotten pregnant, engaged and had adopted a beautiful baby girl. It had been a busy time.

But even if the idea of another special project made Montana nervous, running wasn’t an option. She was a Hendrix and a member of one of the founding families of the town. Not exactly as thrilling as being a member of the Daughters of the Revolution, but history was important.

“How can I help?” Montana asked, knowing she was making her mother proud.

Marsha leaned toward her. “There’s a doctor visiting town. A gifted surgeon. He’s brilliant, a little difficult, but what he can do for people…. Simon Bradley specializes in patients who have been burned. He also performs regular plastic surgery. We have him here for nearly three months. That’s what he does—goes from place to place performing miracles, then moving on. I want him to stay. He would be a wonderful asset for the town.”

Montana frowned. “He sounds really great, but what can I do to help?” She was assuming Marsha didn’t want her to set herself on fire to get close to the good doctor. No doubt he was the type who would—

She instinctively started to stand, then forced herself to remain sitting. The room suddenly seemed a little stuffy. She wanted to say it wasn’t possible, that no one’s luck was that bad. But she knew differently.

“You, ah, said he’s new in town?” she asked.

“Yes. He’s been here about a week.”

Montana swallowed. “Have you met him?”

“Yes. As I said, he’s not the most talkative of men, but he has a gift.”

“Does he also have a scar on his face? Just on one side?”

“Oh. You know him.”

“Not exactly. I had a run-in with him earlier. Literally.”

Montana explained what had happened. Instead of looking shocked, Mayor Marsha started laughing.

“I wish I’d been there,” she admitted with a chuckle.

“Only if you’d taken my place.” Montana sighed. “As much as I’d love to help, you can see why I’m the wrong person.”

Marsha’s humor faded. “Not really.” She leaned forward. “You are absolutely the best person I can think of.”

Montana nearly fell off her chair. “Why?”

“I have a feeling in my gut. I can’t explain it better than that. I’ve met Dr. Bradley and there’s something about him.”

“A stick up his butt,” Montana muttered under her breath. “He’s already mad at me. Don’t you want someone without such an unfortunate history?”

“I want you. Just be your normal, charming self. Befriend him. Show him around, maybe take him to meet your family. That sort of thing. Help him to see that Fool’s Gold is a wonderful place to live.” The mayor straightened. “I need you, Montana, and so does the town.”

Montana wanted to offer more reasons why this was a mistake but the mayor had already said the magic words. Giving back was part of Fool’s Gold’s culture. When asked, the good citizens said yes. Even if they really, really didn’t want to.

“I’ll talk to him,” Montana promised. “But if he still hates my guts, you’ll have to find someone else.”

She couldn’t imagine any circumstances under which Dr. Simon Bradley would want to spend time with her, which made her acceptance slightly less meaningful.

“Agreed,” the mayor said, coming to her feet. “If the good doctor refuses to have anything to do with you, I’ll find someone else.”

Montana stood as well. They walked toward the door.

“I’m glad you’re growing your hair out,” Mayor Marsha told her. “It makes it so much easier to know which triplet is which. I don’t have any trouble telling you three apart, but I’ve had complaints.”

Montana laughed as she fingered the hair that had grown down to the middle of her back. “Seriously? People have complained?”

“You have no idea what I deal with on a daily basis.”

Montana led her outside. “Last year my hair was dark. That should have helped.”

“It did, although I prefer your natural blond color.” As the mayor spoke, she eyed Montana speculatively. “I wonder if Simon likes blondes.”

Montana held up both hands. “How far exactly am I supposed to go to convince him to stay in town?”

The mayor laughed again. “You don’t have to sacrifice your virtue, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Virtue as in … virtue? That ship had sailed several years ago but she wasn’t going to discuss that with someone old enough to be her grandmother.

“I’ll do my best,” she said instead.

“That’s all anyone can ask for.”

After the mayor left, Montana returned to the play area and worked with the dogs. Max was a big believer in constant reinforcement. Therapy dogs were expected to be well behaved and well trained. She worked with those dogs still in training twice a day and ran the more experienced members of the team through different sequences a few times a week.

Working with the dogs meant not having to think about the mayor’s extraordinary request. Montana knew she would have to do her best but had exactly no idea of where to start. Apologizing to the man in question was probably a good place.

At noon, she went into the house to tell Max she was heading into town for lunch and would be back in an hour. Her boss grinned when he saw her.

“Guess who called,” he said.

“Publishers Clearing House? I’ve won twenty million dollars?”

Max laughed. “Not exactly. Dr. Simon Bradley phoned. He would like to come by this afternoon.”

Montana’s appetite vanished and she had to resist the urge to whimper. “Why?”

“He wants to talk to you.”

“Talk or throw rocks at me?”

“He said talk. Maybe he wasn’t as pissed as you thought.”

Oh, he’d been plenty pissed, Montana thought as she walked to her car. The question was what he was going to do to her as punishment.