A Daughter's Perfect Secret

by Kimberly Van Meter

  Rafe nodded, but a frown threatened over something Samuel had made mention of when Samuel had come to him regarding the implementation of a Devotee meal plan. Of course Rafe had offered suggestions but, in the end, admitted nutrition as a science wasn’t his forte, which was when Samuel had brought in Heidi Kruch. And Rafe agreed with Liza—the nutritionist was a bit of a Nazi when it came to calorie counting. But Samuel found her approach in line with his personal philosophy, so she became the clinic nutritionist and Rafe was encouraged to send anyone with weight issues to pay a visit to Heidi to “get with the program.”

  To date, Liza hadn’t gotten the message and not only was her weight ballooning, but her insulin levels were reaching dangerous levels. Rafe didn’t care if his patients were pleasantly plump as long their health wasn’t an issue. However, Samuel believed everyone ought to treat their body as a temple, and he aimed to see that everyone in Cold Plains was fit, healthy and happy. There were workout requirements, meal plans, tonic-water intake charts, morning yoga meetings and countless other measures aimed at creating exactly what Samuel was going for: cookie-cutter people.

  “Please consider giving Heidi another chance,” he’d said, hating the words coming from his mouth. “She’s good at putting together meal plans that will improve your insulin numbers and ultimately your overall health.” He felt as if he were reading from a script, and he had no interest in playing the part. When Liza’s expression turned dour, he said, “I know she’s not the most personable, but don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater. The patients who have followed her advice have been successful in losing weight and improving their overall health.”

  Liza sighed. “I’ll think about it, but only because you’re so nice about it, Dr. Black. Too bad you weren’t the nutritionist. I’d listen to what you have to say simply because you’re so cute.”

  “Ahh.” He chuckled, yet inside he was twisting with his conscience. Liza was the wrong candidate for a nutritionist at this stage in her food addiction. She needed more than charts and strict rules. Likely, she needed counseling to determine why she self-sabotaged with food even when her health was at stake. But Samuel didn’t like head docs, as he called them. No small wonder there, seeing as a psychiatrist might question the mind-scramble Samuel did daily on the local people of Cold Plains. “Well, I hope you change your mind.”

  He saw Liza out after she promised to check in with him in two weeks to do another insulin check. She never came back.

  Considering their personable patient-doctor relationship and her distate for Heidi, the nutritionist, he found her absence suspect and it only provided fuel for his suspicion that Samuel made people go away if they didn’t “get with the program.” But for now he put it out of his mind.

  Rafe spent the last few hours of the day tending to patients with various ailments—nothing more serious than the occasional flu bout or allergy flare-up—and when he flipped his sign and shut down his office, he wondered where Darcy was and what she was doing. The town wasn’t large, and there was little in the way of entertainment available that wasn’t sanctioned by Samuel. There was line dancing and ballroom dancing, knitting and quilting and creative brainstorming (a class Samuel suggested everyone take at least a few times a month to help with the marketing of the Cold Plains tonic water) but nothing like a dance club or bar that supported a wild time. He didn’t know Darcy, but he sensed she was a city girl, accustomed to everything a city had to offer.

  He was tempted to casually stroll the main street to see if she was in any of the small shops, doing the tourist thing, but as he shut the lights and started to head that direction, he stopped. What was he doing? He didn’t care what she was doing or if she was bored out of her mind in the small town. Doing an abrupt about-face, he went to his car and climbed in.

  He lived a short drive from town, but he appreciated the distance. Sometimes, playing the dutiful doctor wore on his nerves, and by the end of the day, he wanted to throw the mask across the room.

  But it seemed relaxation wasn’t in his future tonight because parked in his short driveway was Police Chief Bo Fargo’s cruiser.

  Rafe muttered a curse word but pasted a smile on for Fargo’s benefit.

  “Evening, Chief. What can I do for you?” he asked, not commenting on the odd fact that the older man was making a house call when he easily could’ve stopped by the clinic if he’d wanted to chat.

  Bo Fargo was a big man with a belly that protruded over his utility belt, and hard eyes that never seemed to smile. Rafe had heard stories that Fargo was a bully and that when he couldn’t get what he wanted with the strength of his authority, he used his meaty, ham-hock fists. But in spite of Fargo’s character flaws, Rafe couldn’t be sure if he was a Devotee or not. The man didn’t follow the meal plan, plainly didn’t exercise and didn’t seem particularly enamored with anyone, much less Samuel Grayson, so that made him difficult to categorize in Rafe’s book. He hadn’t mentioned to Fargo about his missing baby, but with each brick wall and dead end, he wondered if it wasn’t time to elicit the help of law enforcement. To Rafe’s knowledge, that jack wad outside of Laramie hadn’t placed a call to Fargo like he’d said he would, but after landing in Cold Plains, Rafe realized that was probably a blessing in disguise.

  Fargo acknowledged Rafe with a nod, then spit a sunflower seed shell onto the ground. “Evening, Doc. Got a minute?” he asked, the question plainly rhetorical, and they both knew it. Still Rafe smiled, as if being harassed by the local cop wasn’t an inconvenience at all, and leaned casually against his car.

  “Sure. What’s up?” he asked, purposefully omitting an invitation to go into the house. It was his perverse way of keeping Cold Plains on the outside and, hopefully, the craziness out of his personal sanctuary. “Something wrong? That ulcer giving you trouble again?” he asked, referencing a recent diagnosis and course of treatment that Fargo had plainly ignored.

  “Ain’t no ulcer. I’m fine,” he muttered, plainly irritated that Rafe had mentioned it. He narrowed his stare at Rafe, as if sizing him up and finding him worthy of a second, deeper look, and said, “Word around town is that you’re asking about some secret infirmary. That true? And if so, where the hell would some secret facility be hidden in a town as small as Cold Plains?”

  “Secret infirmary?” Rafe maintained his neutral expression, but inside, his gut twisted in warning. Fargo seemed a fair bit puzzled by his own question and the fact that he’d had to ask it. To be fair, it wasn’t a normal thing to ask. But then Cold Plains wasn’t normal. He crossed his arms and seemed to be thinking about the question. When he’d done a fair search of his memory, he flat-out lied with a rueful chuckle. “Can’t say that I have. But if we do have one, maybe I ought to find out if they’re hiring. Private practice is murder on the insurance,” he said playfully.

  But Fargo wasn’t laughing. Hell, Rafe wasn’t sure the man knew how to laugh. “Of course there’s no secret infirmary,” he returned roughly, glancing away. Rafe bit his tongue to keep from calling him a liar. He’d heard enough whispers, enough hushed talk to know something was out there. “But I want to know why someone would say that you’re asking about one when that’s plain crazy talk.”

  “I agree. I’d like to know who’s been saying that, because I can’t remember ever asking it or even hearing about one.”

  Fargo grunted and adjusted his girth. “Good, because you know Samuel doesn’t like rumors like that getting spread around. It erodes community spirit. Cold Plains is a good place to live. You know that or else you wouldn’t have moved here, right?”

  “Of course,” he said, a trickle of unease sliding down his back like a rivulet of sweat on a hot day. “Cold Plains is unlike any other place I’ve ever lived, and I like it here.”

  Satisfied, at least for the moment, Fargo climbed into his cruiser. His elbow out the window, Fargo said, “If you hear of anyone else spreading those kinds of poisonous rumors about our town, you let me know, you hear?”

  “You got
it, Chief,” he agreed, giving the impression he shared the chief’s concern. “If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to stop by my office.” And stop making house calls, you bloated bully. Rafe smiled for emphasis. Fargo grunted and pulled out of the driveway and then out onto the highway.

  It wasn’t until Fargo was gone and out of sight that Rafe breathed a little easier. That was close. He’d been sloppy, asking around about the infirmary to too many people who were apparently loyal to Samuel and his cronies. He’d have to be more careful.

  Or else he might find himself at the business end of Fargo’s gun.

  Because Cold Plains was a nice town.

  And Samuel aimed to make sure no one believed otherwise.

  Chapter 6

  Bo Fargo walked into Samuel’s office, his thoughts still on the doc. Rafe Black said all the right things, but Bo’s gut told him the doc was hiding something. He’d have to keep an eye on the man to see if his instincts were spot-on, or if he was just being extra paranoid.

  Samuel Grayson, the man behind the plan, looked up from his desk, an efficient smile on his face. “How was your visit with Dr. Black?” he asked conversationally, steepling his fingers as he awaited Bo’s answer. The thing about Samuel was that he seemed soft and nice, but the man was meaner than a junkyard dog when riled. Bo found the contradiction a little disconcerting. He preferred that people act one way or another, not both in a sneaky way. But no one told Samuel how to act or be, not even Bo. “I trust he was cooperative?” Samuel asked.

  “Yes,” Bo answered, vacillating on whether or not to share his misgivings about the doc. For whatever reasons, Samuel seemed to like Dr. Black, and Bo didn’t like the idea of being the bearer of bad news. However, one thing Samuel didn’t abide and that was being in the dark, and since he counted on Bo to keep him apprised of the goings-on, he decided to spill. “He said all the right things, but I don’t trust that man. What do we know about him? Not much. I think he’s hiding something.”

  “Such as?”

  Bo shrugged. “Dunno. Just something in my gut that says he ain’t being truthful about everything.”

  “Interesting.” Samuel pursed his lips in thought. “What was his reaction when you asked him about the infirmary?”

  “Cool as a cucumber. He denied asking about one and even made some jokes.”

  “It would seem a man intent on finding something would be more surprised at being questioned. How reliable was your source of information?”

  Bo thought of the woman, a woman who had reportedly been turned down by the good doc for a date, and he realized the information might be unreliable, and he shared as such. “Seems the doc isn’t so much into dating. The woman who told me, word has it she’d been rejected in the romance department by the doctor.”

  Samuel chuckled softly. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right?”

  “So they say,” Bo muttered. Women served two purposes in Bo’s life: food and sex. And sometimes he preferred the food. He cleared his throat. “What now?”

  “Rafe Black is, by all accounts, a good man. He’s smart, responsible, yet keeps his head down. I like that in a Devotee. Work harder at bringing him into the flock. We could benefit from a man such as himself being on our side. And who knows? Maybe if he proves worthy, he will find himself working behind the curtain, in the infirmary. But until then, watch him. Carefully.”

  “You got it, boss,” Bo said dutifully, his belly starting to growl, signaling the dinner hour more efficiently than any clock. “Anything else?”

  “Yes, actually, there is.” Samuel’s expression lost its easy benign softness, that air that he was just a good-natured man out to better his slice of the world. Here was that duality that Bo found unsettling. Now Samuel looked hungry and ruthless. “I’ve tired of my present company. I want someone fresh—young, preferably, but not too young, of course—mid-twenties with a trim figure and nice big breasts. That’s important, Bo. The breasts must be natural, none of that fake silicone garbage. When I squeeze a woman’s breast, I want to feel the flesh give in my hand. Am I clear?”

  “Of course,” Bo said, hating these particular assignments. There was something unnatural about handpicking another man’s bed partner. But he did as he was told because he liked his life. It was easy and people respected him. Sure, it was out of fear, but Bo didn’t care. The women spread their legs for him when he wished and didn’t care to stick around longer than they were welcome, and he appreciated that most. One last thought… “Brunette or blonde?”

  Samuel spread his hands in a generous gesture. “No preference. Surprise me.”

  Darcy stepped into the bright morning sunlight and headed for her first day of work. She really didn’t have a clue as to what being a receptionist entailed, but how hard could it be answering a few phone calls for a small Podunk, Wyoming, doctor’s office? She took a quick minute to adjust her skirt and blouse and then walked into the cozy cottage with an engaging smile directed toward Dr. Black—Rafe, what a sexy name—she wanted to make friends, didn’t she? But when her smile was met with a subtle flash of a frown, she hid the disappointment by settling behind the desk with the studious intent of learning the ropes. “So, here I am bright and early. What are my job duties exactly?”

  Without so much as a hello, good morning, Rafe started in. “My first patient will arrive at eight-thirty, followed by another every forty-five minutes. Try to space the patients in such a manner, but if there seems to be an emergency, go ahead and book them, and I will make time. Also, anyone who has weight issues will be directed to the town nutritionist, Heidi Kruch. Here are her business cards, in case anyone asks.”

  “That sounds kind of personal,” she murmured, checking the card information. “Why would a doctor’s office recommend any one nutritionist? That seems like a decision best left to the patient.”

  His brief smile was patronizing. “This is Cold Plains. Not your ordinary run-of-the-mill town. But I think you already know that, right?”

  “Yeah, I think I’m getting an idea,” she said, pocketing a card. She wanted to see what this nutritionist was like. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. We also have pamphlets on the suggested daily workout and the menu planner if anyone needs them.”

  “Damn....” she exclaimed under her breath, almost without thought, at how controlled the people of Cold Plains were, down to what they put in their mouths and how many crunches they did, and immediately knew she should’ve kept her reaction to herself when Rafe frowned in disapproval.

  “Please, no cursing. Samuel isn’t a fan, and it reflects poorly on the practice now that you’re the friendly face behind the desk.”

  She bit her lip and nodded, strangely chastised. Louise had always been trying to get her to curb her tongue but sometimes a well-timed F-bomb was exactly what the situation warranted, such as when you got cut off in traffic or the ATM machine chewed up your card and swallowed it for a late-afternoon snack. But she supposed the doctor had a point; she’d really have to watch her mouth if she wanted to fit in. She couldn’t exactly get information if she was found to be undesirable company. “Sorry,” she said, offering a contrite smile. “No more potty mouth. It’s a bad habit I’ve been trying to kick,” she admitted. Louise was probably crowing up in heaven, happy to know that Darcy had finally found a reason to keep the profanities at bay.

  “Good.” There was a slight pause, then he asked, “Where did you say you were from?”

  Darcy smiled at the curiosity in his voice. “I didn’t.”

  As if realizing he’d somehow poked his nose where it didn’t belong, he apologized. “It’s none of my business,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she rushed to assure him. Was he always going to be this rigid? If so, this job might turn out to be more difficult than she imagined. She needed him to trust her, and it didn’t seem they were off to a good start. She tried again to disarm him with the power of a smile, albeit rueful thi
s time. “I was just kidding around. Sorry. My mom always said I have an odd sense of humor. I’m from Sacramento,” she lied, not wanting to share too much personal information until she knew who—if anyone—she could trust. “Big-city girl. This is a huge change for me, but I like it. Changing things up is good. Sometimes you get in a rut.” She was rambling a bunch of nonsense for Rafe’s benefit, but he seemed to buy it. She drew a deep breath and glanced at the clock. “Oh, almost time to open. Why don’t you show me the phone system and computer setup so I don’t have to bug you too much with patients.”

  Rafe regarded her with those dark eyes, and she immediately felt as if he was trying to determine whether or not she was being truthful. She refused the urge to squirm in her chair, knowing it would only make her look suspect, but she wondered just how close Rafe was to Samuel. For a wild moment, she hoped he wasn’t, because then she could, maybe, let down her guard with him. With that shock of dark hair and equally dark eyes, Rafe was worth a second glance, and in fact, she’d be a liar if she didn’t admit that when she first locked eyes with him from across the room at the community center her heart rate had kicked up a bit, but the last thing she needed was to start messing around with someone in this town. She risked a short glance from under her lashes and couldn’t help it when her gaze dropped to his ring finger. No ring. Well, at least she wouldn’t have to contend with a Mrs. Rafe Black popping in unannounced to check out the new employee. But how could a good-looking man like Rafe remain single in a small town filled with pretty people? Was there something beyond that classically masculine-cut jawline that gave his profile a certain outlaw charm in spite of his completely buttoned-down persona that turned people off? With a face and body like his, whatever lurked beneath the surface would have to be pretty bad indeed to get a woman to steer clear. What difference did it make? He could be Adonis for all she cared. She’d come for answers, not romance. She could count only on herself. She was alone in this world. To her horror, tears pricked her eyes and she turned abruptly so Rafe wouldn’t see. “Great. I think I can handle this,” she said, straightening the pencils and pens just so, giving the impression that she was the kind of person who cared if the pens and pencils were all facing the same direction when, in fact, most times she left them strewn in odd places because she never returned things where they belonged. Yet another of Louise’s little nags that she’d never really listened to or noticed until she was gone.