Note of Peril

by Hannah Alexander

  Both Cheyenne and Karah Lee Fletcher, the other doc who worked here, kept busy with an ever-increasing load of patients as Cheyenne continued her quest to have the clinic designated as a rural hospital.

  Michael was just turning on the lights in the clinic proper when the front door opened. He peered through the reception window to find Grace stepping inside, looking delectable in khaki slacks and a ribbed turtleneck the color of hickory nuts.

  He hid his surprise with a casual wave. Relax, Michael. You know she wouldn’t be here just to see you.

  “Hey. What’s up?” he asked.

  “My weight after breakfast this morning.” She frowned at him. “I thought you only worked here on Saturdays.”

  He grinned. “They got lucky this week. As Cheyenne always says, business is booming.”

  Grace strolled over to the coffee table in the waiting room and picked up a magazine, then settled onto the sofa, clearly prepared to wait.

  He allowed his gaze to linger on her a moment longer. She’d obviously lost weight, and she looked good. But Grace always looked good to him. Every single day.

  They’d been stilted with each other since Sunday, and Grace didn’t let the dust build up under her feet when the show ended at night.

  “You’re not sick, are you?” he asked.

  Grace shook her head, glancing up at him. “You remember I mentioned the other day I was having trouble with thirst? Something’s bothering my throat, as well.”

  “Sore? Need a strep test?”

  “No, it isn’t sore, but it’s been tightening up recently. Cheyenne’s helped me a couple of times in the past.”

  “Probably stress.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Grace said dryly as she tossed the unread magazine back onto the coffee table. She glanced back at him, then down at the floor, then stood and strolled across the room toward him. “Michael, I—”

  The back door burst open at the end of the long hallway behind him, and Gavin Farmer—aka Blaze—came barreling into the clinic, tugging off his heavy overcoat.

  “Hi, sorry I’m late. I overslept. Dane’s gone soft on me, and he doesn’t make me get up and milk anymore since I’ve practically started living here.” Blaze had beads of ice threaded through his kinky black hair, attesting to the fact that the teenager had apparently showered just before crossing the lake from the boys’ ranch that was his home.

  He hung up his coat in the break room, then joined Michael at the reception desk and spotted Grace. His black eyes widened, and he suddenly seemed to lose his ability to speak. Michael could have sworn a flush deepened Blaze’s ebony skin.

  “Uh. Hi.”

  Michael restrained his guffaw with difficulty. He had seldom seen this wonder teen at a loss for words, but everybody in the office knew Blaze had a humongous crush on Grace.

  She gave him one of her brightest smiles. “Blaze! I was hoping you’d be here today. Out of school for Christmas break?”

  The kid swallowed audibly. “Uh…not yet.”

  “Well, take time to enjoy it when it comes. Don’t let them work you through your whole vacation.”

  “I heard that.” Cheyenne Gideon’s voice sounded from the rear entrance. “Stop trying to influence the help, Grace.”

  Before Blaze could recover his command of the English language, Cheyenne personally escorted Grace to a treatment room and closed the door behind them.

  Blaze looked at Michael. “You’ve known her for five years, and you haven’t married her yet? Man, I thought you had a brain. I should grow up and marry her myself.”

  “You’ll have to learn how to talk around her first.”

  “You talking about Grace?” A voice came from the entry.

  Both men looked up to see white-haired Bertie Meyer striding toward them carrying a pink bakery box. She placed it on the counter. “Sarah told me to drop these off for you. Don’t let Karah Lee eat any of those doughnuts. She’s about to backslide from her diet.”

  “I’ll make sure she doesn’t see them.” Blaze took the box into the break room.

  Bertie glanced around the empty waiting area. “I thought I saw Grace come in here a few minutes ago.”

  Michael jerked his head toward the exam room. “Cheyenne already took her back.”

  Bertie gave the waiting area and door another fleeting look, as if to assure herself no one else was within earshot, then rested her arms on the counter and leaned toward Michael. “What put that hangdog expression on your face?”

  He smiled into the wise old eyes of the lady who had been like a grandmother to him for more years than he could count. “I don’t have a hangdog expression now that you’re here.”

  “Don’t start that with me, young man. I saw Grace come in here earlier, and I think the same thing that’s eating you is eating her.”

  Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The nice thing about small towns was the sense of belonging he’d always felt here, even after his family was gone. The bad thing about small towns was the open-door policy. Everyone knew everyone else’s business and took a personal interest in it. Too personal.

  “Work’s not the most fun place to be right now,” he said. “We’ll get a break soon, and things will smooth out.”

  “You know, it’s a funny thing about problems at work. They don’t seem nearly so bad when you share the load with good friends. But when those friends are at cross purposes, the whole world seems darker.”

  He nodded. “You taken to mind reading in your old age?”

  She chuckled, her blue eyes gleaming, and the ageless Hideaway rhythms caught Michael in their allure…that old bond of community. “Nope, just the grapevine alive and well. Whatever it is, you two kids can work it out. I’ve been waiting a long time to see you set that friendship to a new tune.”

  “Would you be too disappointed if it didn’t happen?”

  “Would you?”

  He would be devastated.

  As Bertie gave him a casual goodbye wave and left, he felt some of the heaviness lift. Bertie was right—he and Grace could work things out if they would. But would they?

  He could give Grace the time she needed to come to grips with their relationship. He loved her enough to wait until she discovered that she truly could trust him. Nothing was ever as dark as it sometimes seemed. God was in control of this romance, after all.

  Aren’t You, Lord?

  More patients arrived for their appointments, and Dr. Karah Lee Fletcher came breezing through the back door, red hair sticking up in all directions. She and Blaze began their usual morning fight over the doughnuts, and Michael realized he truly was a blessed man.

  He knew at that moment, with absolute clarity, where he belonged in the scheme of things here in Hideaway. They would need another doctor here someday. It was time to take his future in hand and make things happen.

  Grace watched as Cheyenne entered information on the computer in the treatment room. She was a beautiful woman with high cheekbones, olive skin and rich black hair. She had given up a lucrative career in emergency medicine in Columbia, Missouri, to move here and establish this clinic.

  “Hoarseness, huh?” Cheyenne unwrapped a tongue depressor and pulled a small flashlight from her pocket. “How long has this been going on?”

  “A couple of weeks.”

  “Since before your director’s death?”

  “It began around that time, I think.”

  Cheyenne did a quick check of Grace’s vitals, then replaced her stethoscope around her neck. “Your rate’s a little fast. Your speaking voice isn’t hoarse, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

  “The hoarseness comes and goes. It isn’t as bad this morning as it was last night during the show. If it gets worse, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Are you taking any medications that could be drying you out? Antihistamines for a cold, maybe?”

  “I know better. I don’t even touch caffeine. And I drink practically a gallon of water every afternoo
n during practice. It’s a running joke at the theater that I can’t practice if I get too far from my bottle. But my mouth still feels so dry.”

  “How dry? Like it’s filled with cotton?”

  “Stuffed to capacity.”

  “Any sore throat? Burning?”

  “Nope.”

  “No history of reflux disease?”

  “None I’ve noticed.”

  “And you’ve only been bothered by the problem when you’re doing a show?”

  “That’s when it seems the worst.”

  “Have you had any extra stress going on lately besides Henry’s death?” Cheyenne arched a dark eyebrow. “Or is that a stupid question?”

  Grace grinned at her. “I would never call you stupid.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “Stomp some toes at the theater so everyone will stop fighting, find out who’s been leaking information to the press and also who’s been having music boxes delivered to me during or after the show.”

  “I did hear you’ve been under the gun.”

  “My actions onstage are wooden, I’m feeling more and more paranoid and my voice has cracked a couple of times.”

  “Dane and I attended the show a couple of nights ago, and I didn’t notice a problem.”

  “No one’s mentioned it, but I can hear it myself.”

  Cheyenne pulled her chair from behind the computer and sat down across from Grace. “I know you don’t want me to medicate you for the stress.”

  “That’s right.”

  “How many hours a day do you use your voice?”

  “We practice at least two hours, then perform two.”

  “And you sing most of the songs?”

  “Yes, either as soloist or harmony.”

  “Are you singing any more than usual?”

  Grace frowned. “We seem to be practicing more new pieces, but I wouldn’t say there’s a whole lot more.”

  “How do you feel after these sessions?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “Why? You’re young and strong. You shouldn’t feel so tired after a simple practice.”

  Grace regarded her physician with curiosity. “You think there’s something else going on here?”

  “I’ll order a blood draw and do some testing, but for now, stress seems to be the causative agent, except for the dry mouth. That doesn’t sound like stress.” Cheyenne reached for an order sheet on the small treatment-room desk and jotted something on it, then frowned. “I notice you’ve lost some weight. Bertie says you’re on one of those low-carb diets.”

  Grace nodded. “If you tell me that’s causing the trouble, my agent will hire a hit man to shoot you.”

  Cheyenne smiled. “Tell her to back off. I haven’t heard of dry mouth as a side effect of those diets, but they do cause fluid loss, and that could cause dry mouth. I’ve never liked the idea of quick weight loss.”

  “I’ll be sure not to tell Sherilyn.”

  “For now, however, we’ll keep watch on you. Keep drinking the water.” She paused for a brief moment, her dark eyes narrowing. “Do you drink bottled water?”

  “Yes. I buy a case at a time.”

  “In the unlikely event that you’ve purchased something with a contaminant in it, try switching brands.” Cheyenne got up and went to the door, then turned back with a cheesy grin. “Brace yourself. Michael’s our phlebotomist this morning. You’d better hope he’s in a gentle mood.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Delight arrived at the theater Friday evening she noticed that the only other cars in the parking lot belonged to ushers, ticketers and concession-stand workers. And Denton Mapes. He’d driven his Jag.

  She’d avoided him since Sunday, ignoring the two messages on her answering machine, making sure she stayed with others in the cast when at the theater.

  She entered through the front lobby instead of the cast entrance, greeted Helen and Ben at the ticket counter and hovered at the new gift shop window display. She would avoid the backstage area for a few more minutes, coward that she was.

  A teenage girl stepped from the ticket line and shyly approached Delight. “Aren’t you in the show?”

  Delight nodded and smiled.

  “What’s it like to work with Grace Brennan? Is she as nice backstage as she is on?”

  Delight swallowed her disappointment, making sure nothing showed in her expression. “She’s even better.”

  An older woman spoke from the line. “So sorry to hear about her abusive childhood.”

  “I was, too.” Delight sweetly excused herself and escaped.

  As always, music from past performances drifted down from overhead speakers, with Grace’s clear voice singing “Daddy, Don’t.” Delight heard her own voice harmonizing, along with Michael’s and Blake’s, until Grace took her solo to the upper ranges of the rafters, a cappella.

  Delight stopped walking and listened. Really listened.

  For a moment she held her breath, and in that moment she heard the true notes of the song for the first time with honest appreciation. Grace hit every note with perfect pitch, and with such appropriate emphasis that the song had the power to bring tears.

  Delight closed her eyes. She’d tried often to match the heartbreaking vibrato in Grace’s voice. Last time she’d listened to a recording of her own voice—this morning, in fact—she’d realized that when she tried to sound like Grace she actually sounded more like a kitten trying to cough up a hair ball.

  Grace’s voice brought out a deep blend of emotions, from grief to humor to worship, coming from deep within herself…or maybe it came from somewhere outside herself. Maybe Grace really did have a special connection to heaven.

  Delight knew her own feet were firmly planted on this earth.

  As if held by the power of her discovery, she strolled to the end of the corridor to the group entrance and glanced at her reflection in the plate glass.

  More than anything in the world she wanted to see that reflected image at center stage someday. She wanted to walk through the lobby and hear her solo voice raising the rafters, have people step out of the ticket line just to talk about her, not to ask her about someone else.

  One day…

  Someone appeared in the reflection behind hers. She stiffened.

  “You haven’t returned my calls.” The crackly tired voice of Denton Mapes sounded in her left ear.

  She whirled and looked up into his craggy, lined face. Instinctively she stepped backward.

  He sighed with obvious weariness. “Would you mind telling me why you’re shying away from me like a wild animal all of a sudden?”

  She glanced past him. They were alone in the wide corridor.

  “Delight, you act as if I’m going to attack you. Would you relax?”

  “I can’t help it. I was stalked once, when I was sixteen, and that’s what this feels like.”

  “I’m not a stalker. I’m—”

  “And the pictures? You had my pictures in your bedroom.” She could still close her eyes and remember the tenth-grade dropout who had developed an insane crush on her, carrying her picture around in his billfold, telling people he was going to marry her.

  One night, when she’d skipped out of a church party to go riding around with friends, the dropout had followed her into the mall parking lot and grabbed her from behind.

  Good thing she had a strong voice.

  “I don’t think we’ve got anything to talk about,” she said. “If that means you’re going to fire me, then you’ll just have to fire me.”

  “Forget about that,” he snapped. “I’m not going to use my authority to force you to listen to me, but I would like to be able to talk to you without feeling like a dirty old man.”

  Delight blinked at him. That had been pretty much her opinion. Older man hoping to get lucky with a young, reasonably attractive musician and willing to dangle a carrot of career in front of her to lure her in, just as Grace thought.

  “I don’t know how many ti
mes I have to tell you that I am not interested in you in a physical way,” he said.

  Delight suppressed a snort. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that line? ‘Oh, Delight, it’s not your body I’m after. I love you for your mind.’ What a crock.”

  “You’re comparing me to your high school dates?” Amazingly, in spite of everything, he sounded amused. A little irritated, maybe, but amused.

  “You want to hear something strange?” Delight asked. “For some crazy reason I can’t even understand, something my parents preached to me actually stuck. My body is mine, and it never belonged to anybody else—except God, according to them—and it’s not going to belong to you. If I don’t have the talent it takes to make it in this business, then I’ll go back to college like my parents want me to do, and I’ll learn some other profession.”

  “That statement is a testament to your immaturity,” he said quietly.

  She glared at him.

  “Only the arrogant and the very young think that just because they have talent they can take on the world without any formal training or experience.” He gestured toward the autographed photos of country stars on the walls of the corridor. “This town is packed with talented musicians. Your father knows that, which is why he’s willing to give you a taste of the competition so you’ll realize what you’re up against.”

  “If you feel that way, why are you trying so hard to give me more exposure? Why me?”

  He hesitated, then looked beyond her. She turned to find a bus unloading its tour group directly outside the doors.

  Time to leave. “We don’t have any more to talk about,” she said as she rushed past him.

  Grace entered her dressing room to find Delight sitting in front of the makeup mirror, staring as if mesmerized by her own reflection. When she caught sight of Grace, she flushed.

  “Hi,” Grace said.

  Delight turned on the stool to face her. “I was hoping you’d show up before I had to go get dressed.”

  Grace laid her purse on the table behind her. “This is a surprise. What’s up?”

  “Got any advice for someone looking for a job in Branson?”