Safe Haven

There was a slight hesitation, then, “He died. My mom and I don’t get along. They were divorced. That’s why I live at the boys’ ranch now.”

“Oh.” There you go, Fletcher, putting your foot in it again. “When did he die?”

“Last year.”

“Oh, man. Sorry. I lost my dad when I was just a little older than you.”

“How’d he die?” Blaze asked.

“He didn’t die. He left.”

It was Blaze’s turned to grimace, and he did it with his whole face, his thick, dark eyebrows drawing close above beautifully expressive eyes. “I think that’d be worse than having him die.”

Karah Lee nodded. “But I don’t think he’d agree.”

Blaze’s grimace lifted.

“So when can you see my cat?”

“Lunch break.”

“Karah Lee?” came her new boss’s voice. “You want to come in here a minute? I need a big, strong, brave patient.”

Karah Lee frowned at Blaze. “Patient?”

He shrugged at her. “Better do what she says. She’s a dead-on shot with pepper spray.”

“I heard that!” Cheyenne called from the other room.

Blaze grinned and rolled his eyes. “I’ll explain later,” he whispered.

After giving a report at the clinic, Taylor left the little boy and his parents in Dr. Allison’s capable care and strolled back toward his truck, glancing along the sidewalk in both directions as he stepped from the curb. He’d seen no tall woman with red hair in the waiting room, and she was nowhere on the street. No way would he ask about her at the clinic. It was no longer his business.

It wasn’t as if he wanted to run into Karah Lee—she might suspect him of stalking her.

He climbed into the Jeep and glanced toward the front doors of the general store next to the clinic. No, he would not buy another pack of cigarettes.

He was driving west on Hideaway Road, when he saw a late-model white Toyota Camry sedan parked alongside the road beneath a heavy overhang of trees. One man crouched beside the right front tire while another man was bent over, apparently searching through the trunk for something that didn’t seem to be there.

Taylor parked and got out of the truck. “Lose your jack?”

Both men looked up at him. He noticed the motor was still running. “Engine problems?”

The man stooping at the right front tire straightened and hurried around the car toward him. He wore a sleeveless white T-shirt, which revealed a tattoo of an eye on his left shoulder. “I’ll say. Thing’s been dying on us all morning, and then this.” He gestured with disgust toward the front, just as a car came speeding around the curve.

Tires squealed on blacktop as the driver caught sight of them and swerved to avoid a collision.

“You say you’ve got a jack?” Tattoo asked. “The one in the trunk’s busted, and it’s a little dangerous here on the road. Trouble is, there’s no shoulder.”

Taylor could only pray a car with a less cautious driver didn’t come barreling around the curve before they could get out of the way. “I’ll get my tools.”

Working as quickly as possible, Taylor helped the guys with their tire and had them on their way within ten minutes.

The last thing he did as the car disappeared from sight around the bend was write down their license number. It was a habit he’d picked up years ago, working the Canyon. Ordinarily, he’d have done a more thorough check immediately, but not with cars screeching around the hairpin curve at double the speed limit.

Thirty minutes later, he received a call about a stolen vehicle.

Karah Lee had her first taste of Cheyenne Allison’s bedside manner in exam room three in the presence of a frightened, screaming five-year-old boy named Jonah.

“There, now, it’ll be okay, sweetheart.” Chey’s voice settled into the room like a soothing blanket. “Let me tell you what I’m going to do. You see this big strong doctor?” She placed a hand on Karah Lee’s shoulder. “She has a bump on her head, too.”

The child and his parents turned their attention to Karah Lee, and she suppressed a groan. So much for confidentiality in this office. Hadn’t these people ever heard of government regulations?

Chey’s hand tightened on Karah Lee’s shoulder, urging her to lean forward; then, with her other hand she brushed Karah Lee’s bangs aside. The child’s eyes widened at the sight of the uncovered wound.

“Why don’t you watch how we fix her head,” Chey suggested. “Then, if she doesn’t cry, you won’t mind letting us do the same thing to you, will you?”

Like magic, Jonah’s tear faucet stopped. He studied Karah Lee with serious intensity, hiccuped, then sighed. “Does it hurt bad?”

“It did when I hit it.” Karah Lee leaned closer to him. “Want to compare? Hey, I think mine’s bigger than yours.” Truly, his injury didn’t look too deep.

From the periphery of her vision she caught sight of Cheyenne winking at the parents. Okay, this could work. Karah Lee had been mothered by manipulative medical personnel before. In fact, she tended to be that way, herself.

With the observant child watching, Cheyenne sat Karah Lee on a stool and cleaned her wound with gentle pressure. She dabbed away the excess moisture and applied a dermatological adhesive instead of sutures or bandages. Her style was a little unorthodox, but Karah Lee approved.

Ordinarily, a wound could be sutured without question up to six hours after the injury. Between six and twelve hours, closure of the wound could be questionable, and after twelve hours Karah Lee never attempted it. No one did. Even though it had been more than six hours after Karah Lee’s injury, the facial skin had a good blood supply, and this should heal quickly in spite of the delay of closure.

“All done,” Cheyenne said a moment after applying the adhesive.

Jonah’s eyes widened. He studied the repair job a moment. “Did it hurt?” he asked Karah Lee.

“I didn’t cry, did I?”

“Grown-ups never cry.”

“Well, it wasn’t as much fun as eating chocolate chip cookies, but it feels better than being socked in the nose by my sister when I was five. Can I fix your forehead now?”

“Will you stick me with a needle?”

Karah Lee glanced at the mother. “Has he ever had a tetanus shot?”

“Last year when he stepped on a piece of tin and cut his foot,” she said.

“Then I don’t think we’ll need to use a needle.” There would be no need for sutures on this one. Kids healed quickly, and Karah Lee held a minimalist approach when it came to risk of traumatization.

As she cleaned Jonah’s wound and soothed him and chatted with him about her big cat named Monster, and his dog named Bo, and her sister who was a bully, and his little brother who still wet his pants, she began to enjoy herself. Kids were so much easier to talk to than adults.

A couple of years ago, when Karah Lee was nearing the end of her first year in residency, one of the third year residents casually remarked that she shouldn’t go into pediatric medicine because her size might scare the kids. Instead of giving in to her knee-jerk desire to punch the dolt in the stomach, she’d challenged him to a duel to see who could finish up the year with the fewest crying kids. According to the nurses, Karah Lee had won by a huge margin.