by Jillian Neal
An hour later, due to her painfully slow speed, she finally reached the main road. “Thank God,” she breathed as she turned onto the pavement. She debated stopping and using the library’s bathroom, but didn’t want to park and have to back out in the truck. The streets had been cleared, but the parking lots were difficult to traverse. The library wouldn’t be opened that day, but not because she was spending it with her husband. She tried to care, but couldn’t access anything beyond fevered frustration at that moment.
Urgently, she picked up speed and hoped that Natalie wasn’t lying to her, and that she wouldn’t need to have made an appointment. Now, she just had to find the office.
Another thirty minutes passed, and she hadn’t seen any kind of office or any piece of land identified as the McElroy’s. Passing yet another rural road marker, she slowed and turned the truck on the desolate road. She had to back up and pull forward three times to execute the turn in Brock’s large truck. Attempting to swallow down ardent frustration, she headed back towards town with her eyes trained on the sides of the road in an effort to see the doctor’s office. She was going to wet her pants any moment. Wouldn’t that be great fodder for gossip all over this stupid town? Brock Camden’s wife is incontinent.
Suddenly, she tried to recall when she’d stopped referring to herself as Hope and had started identifying only as Brock’s wife. Lost in that despondent thought, her heart leapt into a panicked sprint when she glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the blue lights flashing behind her. Oh my God! I can’t get a ticket. I’ve never gotten a ticket before. She’d never even been pulled over before. Terrified to ease the truck off the side of the road lest she slide down an embankment, she simply stopped the car and let the panic consume her. Remembering that Brock and Austin always referred to the Sheriff’s Deputy as Barney Fife because they said he was as self-righteous as they came collided with thoughts of what Brock would say when she revealed the ticket she was probably about to receive.
She lowered the driver’s side window and shivered from the freezing cold on her fevered face.
“License and registration, ma’am.” The deputy demanded.
“Yes, sir.” She swallowed harshly and fished her wallet out of her purse. She didn’t have a Nebraska license yet. That was another thing Brock kept putting off. Handing over her North Carolina license, she prayed that the insurance card Brock had on the truck would somehow magically appear in her wallet, but magic didn’t seem to be on her side either. Leaning, she popped open the glove box, but there was no registration to be found.
“Um, my husband has the insurance cards, but I swear the truck is insured.”
“You’re Brock Camden’s wife aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” She wondered if that was going to be an asset at this point. The Camden cousins used to tease Deputy Fife, or whatever his actual name was, all through school.
“Brock know you’re out in his truck?”
Irritation fed the anger radiating in her weary body. “I do not need my husband’s permission to drive our truck,” she spat.
“Maybe not, but to drive in my county, Missy, you do need a legal license and registration.”
“My license is legal. It’s just not a Nebraskan license.”
“You moved to Camden ranch weeks ago, plenty of time to get a new license. I’m calling this in.”
Hope shifted uncomfortably and tried to wiggle the snap of her jeans away from her aching bladder. She wished she’d learned some old Gypsy curses from her father. They would come in handy just then. “Look, I’m on my way to the doctor’s office. I got lost. Could you just write me a ticket or whatever you’re going to do so that I can go? It’s urgent.”
“Doc Moore’s office is three miles that way.” He pointed the direction they were currently facing. “If you were coming from the ranch, you drove past it. Then you made an illegal turn in the middle of the road, which is reckless driving, and you were doing 45 in a 30. Seems to me you were trying to go somewhere quick. Does Brock know where you are, or maybe you weren’t coming from Camden Ranch? Maybe you’re somewhere you had no business being and were trying to escape before he figures out what kind of woman you are.”
Hope gasped in shock and then ground her teeth to keep from assaulting a police officer. “Look, Deputy Fife,” she sneered. “I told you I got lost. I don’t know how to get to the doctor’s office. I am the kind of woman that is sick and needs a doctor! What does any of that have to do with Brock?”
The Deputy narrowed his eyes. “If I were you, Ms. Camden, I’d hold my tongue before I impound this truck and take you in. Then we’ll see just what Brock thinks of that. Serves him right, marrying a girl that’s just as pompous and loud-mouthed as he is.”
Her good sense returned to her, and Hope bit her tongue to keep from arguing. She might have been irked with their blessed ranch, but Brock was humble and kind to most everyone. She recalled the stories that the would-be deputy wanted to play football in Middle School with Brock, Grant, and Luke. He didn’t make the team and was relegated to water boy. Then Brock and his horse Lucky had beaten him numerous times in young rodeo competitions. The grudge was clearly still being held.
By the time the deputy ran her license and plates and phoned Sheriff Wilheim for good measure, Hope had broken out in a cold sweat. She swayed in her seat from the fever and desperation to get to a bathroom. The Deputy tore three tickets from his pad. “One for reckless driving and speeding, another for driving without insurance, and one for driving with an out of state license. Sheriff says if Brock’ll come by the office with proof of insurance he’ll waive the insurance one. When you get your license renewed, we’ll drop that one as well. After that little fit you pitched, I told the Sheriff not to be so light on you, but he’s been friends with the Camdens for years. He’s thrilled Brock’s back in town. Don’t expect to be treated so nicely when I become sheriff,” he smarted.
Unable to believe her current life, Hope stared in shock at not one, not two, but three tickets. How did a person go from having a perfect driving record to being the recipient of three traffic tickets? Certain that she was going to wet her pants if she didn’t get to restroom soon had her nodding her understanding. “Okay. Thanks.” She shifted the truck into drive.
“I shouldn’t let you drive without insurance, ya know?”
Closing her eyes and drawing a deep breath that made her wince, Hope attempted to summon calm. “I really appreciate you letting me go. I promise I’ll bring the insurance card to the sheriff’s office, and I will get my license renewed. I’m really feeling very sick. Could I please go … sir?” She opened her eyes and attempted a pleading look.
“Fine, but mind your speed.”
“I will. I promise.”
Hope checked the mile gauge. Anger gave way quickly to embarrassment over the incident. Brock would never want to teach her to drive in the snow when the first time she’d attempted it she’d ended up with three traffic tickets.
Her bladder gave another urgent cramp and another round of nausea built in her stomach. She longed to double over in the seat. She’d have to worry about the tickets later. There were far more pressing matters at hand. Three miles. That was actually helpful information. As she neared the three mile mark she noted an old brown one story building that had three garage bay doors on the side. Surely, this wasn’t the doctor’s office. It appeared to have been some kind of mechanic shop at one time.
Whatever it was, there were cars parked outside, meaning if she was lucky, there might be a bathroom inside. Deciding she wasn’t above begging to use the restroom, she threw the truck into park. When her feet hit the ground several feet below her, she winced as her hip reacted to the jolt. This was not her day, or her week, or her month it seemed.
Ignoring the protest of her hip, she raced through the front doors and halted abruptly. It was indeed a waiting room full of people. The front desk had been constructed out what must’ve been an old kitchenette. Glancing around frantically
, Hope didn’t see a restroom anywhere.
Heading towards the woman seated at the counter, she fought not to cross her legs once she’d arrived. “Um, is this Dr. Moore’s office?”
The woman, whom Hope assumed was Mindy, the receptionist, studied Hope like she was concerned she’d had suffered a blow to the head. “That’s what it says right there.” She pointed to an out of the way door near the back, what would have at one time led to the garage bays.
“Sorry, didn’t see that. Um, I need to see the doctor but … uh …” she leaned closer, “I’m pretty sure I have a bladder infection. I really need to use the restroom before I sign in.”
“Aren’t you Brock Camden’s wife or something?”
Weary of being asked that question, Hope sighed. “Yes, I’m Brock’s wife. Could you please tell me where the restroom is?”
“Sure, but you’re gonna have to fill out a bunch of paperwork.”
“Okay, but I have to go to the bathroom, now!”
“Through that door, turn right, walk down the hallway. Doc’s hound dogs are back there so try not to wake ‘um. You’ll see it on your left. I put some apple potpourri back there.”
“Thanks.” Hope raced through the door and almost ran head long into a man in a white coat with a name tag identifying him as Dr. Moore. “Sorry, sir.” Hope whimpered. “Bathroom?” She pointed to her right as Mindy had directed.
“Yes ma’am. It’s that way. I’m sorry I wasn’t expecting someone to be coming through the door so exuberantly. I didn’t bump into you, did I? You’re not hurt?” Dr. Moore was a kind old man with a pot belly, white-grey hair, and deep blue eyes that reminded Hope of Santa Claus.
She half-grinned and half-grimaced. “I’m fine. Sorry, I was the one that rushed through. It’s my fault.” She was out of time. She had to go now. Backing away from the doctor she turned and sprinted past two sleeping hound dogs as she barreled into the restroom.
Brock fished his buzzing cell phone out from under the full chaps he’d put on to ward off the cold. Smiling, he was certain Hope was calling to see when he’d be back home. His brow furrowed. It wasn’t Hope. He didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Mr. Camden, this is Deputy Sheriff Clarke Newsome.”
Brock rolled his eyes and slowed Cinder to a trot. “Clarke, I’ve known you since you were five. Can all of the Deputy Sheriff shit. What do you want?”
Huffing and puffing as only he could, Clarke bellowed, “I’ll have you know, Brock, that I just pulled your wife over for reckless driving, driving with an out-of-state license, and operating an uninsured vehicle on a state road.”
“You’re so full of it. My wife is in our bed, beautiful, and perfect — and waiting on me.” He threw in just to make Newsome jealous.
Clarke laughed haughtily. “I figured as much. You can’t even keep up with your own wife. I warned Sheriff Wilheim about you moving back here. You’re no better than your father. After she performed a three-point turn in the middle of the highway and got caught traveling 15 miles over the speed limit, your wife told me she was trying to find Doc Moore’s office. I wrote her three tickets myself.”
“You did what?” Fury scalded Brock’s resolve. How had Hope gotten to town on her own, and why the hell hadn’t she called to tell him she was going somewhere?
“I wrote her three tickets. You’ll need to come by the sheriff’s office and bring your proof of insurance on your 2013 Ford F-350 dually pick-up, black, license plate number 479KH.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s my truck. I get it. I’ll be there later. You said Hope was going to the doctor’s office?”
“That’s what she told me. Probably a lie. Who doesn’t know where Doc Moore’s office is? You ought to keep an eye on her. She’s trouble. I always know.”
With a grunt of annoyance, Brock muttered, “Sure, whatever, Clarke. I’ll see you in a little while.” Kicking Cinder back to life, he galloped towards Ev, Luke, and Austin on the other end of the back fields trying to round up the Gilbert’s cattle. What the hell was wrong with Hope? Why did she need the doctor, and why hadn’t she told him she was leaving? Frantic with worry, he shouted that he had to go back home as he neared Austin. They nodded, and he was off.
After borrowing Grant’s truck, he made it to the highway in under twenty minutes. He’d grown up driving trucks all over the ranch. Hell, he was driving the massive feed trucks pulling hay trailers when he was ten. Driving in snow didn’t concern him. Whatever was wrong with his wife did. If Clarke had said anything that upset her or had made her sicker because he was being a douchebag, Brock would string him up by his vocal chords and whip his ass so hard the annoying little pipsqueak’s tenor voice would be soprano for the rest of his life.
Chapter Nine
Complete mortified and still unable to believe this was how it worked in this doctor’s office, Hope carefully carried the cup full of her own urine through the waiting room to Mindy at the front desk as the nurse had instructed her. Without meeting any of the eyes peering at her with a mix of curiosity and disgust, she set the cup on the desk and raced back to the room she’d been assigned. Climbing dejectedly up onto the paper lined exam table, Hope studied the brown paneled walls of the room. It seemed when Dr. Moore set up office in the old fix-it shop they’d used paneling to divide out hallways and rooms. It felt a bit like sitting inside her own house of cards.
“Ms. Camden, we meet again.” Dr. Moore bustled in the room chuckling at his own joke.
Hope was far too humiliated over her morning to join in his laughter.
Concern wiped the grin from his face. “Nurse Carmichael tells me you’re showing symptoms of a urinary tract infection. Have you been running a fever, dear?”
“Yes, sir. I think that’s why I was so cold yesterday, and why I fell asleep and let our dinner burn.” Oh my God, Hope, shut up. That was entirely more information than he needed.
Dr. Moore nodded. “Well, the wind and weather can be a little rough on a newcomer until they’ve gotten used to it. It’s normal to feel tired while your body is adjusting to winters here.” Before she could respond, he shook his head. “Forgive me, that was presumptuous of me. I’m certain you’ve figured out that everyone knows everything about everyone else in this town. I already know you married Brock Camden and that you’d moved to the ranch. Perhaps, I should have started with welcoming you to Pleasant Glen.” He offered Hope a very kind smile, and a sense of calm managed to work through her anxiety-ridden body.
“Oh, it’s all right. I know everyone knows I’m married to Brock and living on the ranch. Um, while I’m here, could I go ahead and get a renewal on my Ortho-novum prescription?” For some unfathomable reason, she just kept blurting things out. Sinking her teeth into her tongue she ordered herself to calm.
“I don’t see why not. I’ll need to do a quick pelvic examination first.”
Hope fought not to whimper. She didn’t want this strange man with hound dogs in his office performing any kind of exam on her, even if he did seem very kind. Swallowing down the tension that settled in her throat, she called herself a baby for the tenth time since setting foot in the office. She wanted Brock.
“How long have you been taking Ortho-novum?”
“Since I was 18.” She tried not to blush, but felt her cheeks flood with another round of heat. “I was put on it for irregular periods.” Shut up, Hope! No one cares about that.
“I understand. No need to be embarrassed, dear. I try not to believe anything I hear and only half of what I see.” Dr. Moore stood and placed his stethoscope on her chest. “Deep breath.” He listened for a moment and then gave her another smile. “And you’re happy with Ortho-Novum for birth control as well as treating your irregular periods?”
“Yes, sir.” There. That’s good. Just answer the questions like a normal human being.
“Any other concerns other than the frequent urination and fever?”
“Um, no, everything is fine other than that. Well, my stomach hurt a
ll afternoon and evening, but I’d had a horrible day. I fell in a manure pile.” She cringed. Clearly, she would never be capable of keeping her mouth shut.
When he finished listening to her heart, he went back to the chart the nurse had started for her and nodded. Moving back to her, he reclined her on the table and pressed around her abdomen. “Would you mind unsnapping your jeans for me just a little?”
“Oh, sure.” She wondered if she should ask for a nurse to be present. Somehow, in this tiny town, in this tiny doctor’s office that used to be a mechanic shop, things like that seemed unnecessary. She eased her pants down just a little so he could press around her bladder.
“Hmm, interesting. You said you fell asleep yesterday afternoon?”
Hope nodded.
“When you say you were sick to your stomach, did you vomit?”
“No, sir. I don’t think I have a stomach virus or anything.”
“And when was your last menstrual cycle, Hope?”
“Oh,” she thought back, “I guess about a month ago. I’m down to my last few placebo pills, so I should be starting any time now.”
“How did you get that?” Breaking from his current line of questioning, Dr. Moore gestured to the bruise evident on her right hip.
“I fell yesterday. I slid on a patch of ice and landed right there. That’s how I ended up in a manure pile.”
“You’re certain you fell? If there’s anything you need to tell me Hope, whatever you say in here won’t leave these walls.”
Sitting up, Hope tried to fathom what on earth he was asking her. “I swear. I fell yesterday on a patch of ice in our front yard. What on earth are you talking about?”