by Pamela Toth
The houses they passed were scattered and most of them were surrounded by barns and other outbuildings, just like Dr. Taylor’s place.
His house had been a surprise, since she’d expected something modern and showy, or rustic yet pricey like a couple of the log homes she’d driven past in the daytime. Instead, he lived in a boxy, old-fashioned farmhouse with deep porches and antique furniture.
The interior was attractive, if you liked that kind of decorating style. The wooden floors were refinished to a warm glow. The walls were freshly painted and covered with wainscoting and wood trim refinished in sparkling white. The kitchen and the powder room had been modernized, too, with granite counters and pewter fixtures. Anyone could see that he—or someone—had spent a lot of time fixing it up.
As her car approached the lights of town, such as they were, and the other girls finally fell silent, Zoe smothered a yawn. Social situations were always a little stressful, especially those with co-workers. Perhaps she found them so because her parents always seemed to combine business with pleasure. Growing up, Zoe had been expected to act in a certain way because—whatever the occasion—it seemed that there were always clients or other people underfoot. As far as she could remember, the only family milestone that hadn’t taken place in front of witnesses had been the final breakup of her parents’ marriage.
“Zoe?”
From Vadivu’s tone, it was clear that she had been trying to get Zoe’s attention from the back seat while the other girl—Megan, Zoe remembered suddenly—looked at her expectantly in the glow from the dash lights.
“I’m sorry?” Zoe glanced in the rearview mirror, but it was too dark to see Vadivu’s face.
“What were you and Dr. Taylor talking about for so long?” the Indian girl asked.
The directness of her question caught Zoe off guard. She didn’t know any of the other residents very well, since she didn’t live with them, but she and Vadivu had sat together in the cafeteria on several occasions. The girl seemed nice enough.
“Um, we were discussing a patient,” Zoe replied.
“What a bummer.” Megan sounded disappointed. “You looked way too intent to be talking shop.”
“Dr. Taylor is so handsome,” Vadivu added with a dramatic sigh. “And you are so beautiful.”
Her comment surprised Zoe, who wasn’t used to getting compliments from other women.
“Thank you,” she said, steering carefully through a bend in the road. “I wish that I looked exotic, like you.” She had seen the attention Vadivu attracted at the hospital. In addition to her black eyes and long, straight hair, she had clear golden skin and full red lips.
“Which case were you discussing with him?” Megan asked persistently. “Something gory?” Her features were plain and her hair was frizzy, so perhaps compliments about appearance made her feel uncomfortable.
Zoe thought quickly as she flexed her fingers against the steering wheel. With sudden inspiration, she described to them the young woman who had been so worried about a possible miscarriage.
With Ringo at his side, Chris stood gazing after the taillights on Zoe’s car until they had disappeared from sight. Then man and beast walked back up the driveway to the stable yard.
For the most part, the residents were a bright group and he enjoyed working with them. There was something, though, about Dr. Hart that especially intrigued him—both in and out of the hospital.
“Did the party poopers leave?” shouted Marty as he appeared around the corner of the utility shed. He’d had several glasses of wine with dinner, Chris had noticed at the time. His face was still flushed. It might well be from the cold, but Chris was glad Marty hadn’t driven out tonight, or he would need a designated driver to transport him back to town.
“If you’re referring to three of your colleagues, the answer is yes,” Chris replied pointedly as he joined the younger man, grinning to soften his comment. “Let’s find the others before they turn my horses loose.”
Chris was careful not to comment when Marty stumbled over a rut in the snow. It didn’t matter if the younger man was hungover in the morning, since he had already mentioned having a day off. Since Marty had great rapport with patients and was fast on his feet in the sometimes hectic E.R., Chris hoped he didn’t have a problem with alcohol.
As they walked through the open stable door, Chris felt the familiar sense of harmony descend on him, draining away his fatigue. He truly believed medicine was his calling, but spending time with his horses always served to renew his spirits. That was probably the reason he kept a couple of extra mounts available for anyone from work who might want to come out and ride.
“Phew,” Marty quipped, fanning his hand in front of his nose, “smells like a barn in here.”
Chris didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he went straight to the stall where Denver, his new black gelding, was holding court like a king with his subjects.
Barb extended her hand, palm up, for Denver to sniff. “What a beautiful animal,” she exclaimed, rubbing his nose. “Quarter Horse?”
“That’s right,” Chris replied proudly, pleased that Denver didn’t appear fazed by his visitors. “He comes out of the gate like a loaded spring.”
The horse’s ears twitched, and then, angling his head, he grabbed for the pom-pom on top of Barb’s hat.
With an easy laugh, she ducked away. “No you don’t, you big clown.”
“Whoa, look at the size of those teeth.” Marty hung back, wide-eyed. “Good thing it’s not a carnivore.”
“For you, he might make an exception,” Barb said.
The occupant of the stall next to Denver’s, an old palomino named Queen, whacked the wall with her hoof in a bid for attention. After Chris had slipped her a carrot from the nearby bin, he moved down the row to greet the rest of his horses with a word or a touch. He had spent a lot of time out here over the years, mucking out stalls, fixing tack and doing other chores with his dad while they talked about everything from feed mixes to character qualities.
“Do you show some of your stock?” asked one of the other residents, peering into the open tack room. Along with the saddles propped on stands and other gear hanging from hooks on the wall was a display case full of ribbons and trophies.
“I compete in local rodeos when I have the time,” Chris admitted. Before he’d grown too tall and sanity had prevailed—much to his mom’s relief—he had dreamed of becoming a professional bull rider like Willie.
“What event?” Barb asked, sitting down on a bag of feed. “I used to barrel race back in high school.”
Chris wished that Zoe had stuck around. He wondered if she liked animals.
“I’m training Denver to calf rope.” He loved the sense of teamwork between rider and mount as they bolted after the calf, of knowing just when to cast the loop and leap from the saddle as the horse braked. Chris would scramble down the taut rope with a pigging string clamped in his teeth, then toss the calf and tie three legs together as quickly as possible, thrusting his hands in the air to stop the clock. Talk about an adrenaline rush!
“Do you raise cattle, too?” Peter asked, nervously pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he did whenever he presented a case.
“Just a few head,” Chris replied. “My day job doesn’t leave me a lot of time to play rancher.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I’d better kick you all out so you can go home and get some sleep. Morning comes early.”
They filed out of the stable and he closed the door. Back at the house, they gathered up stray possessions, thanked him again for dinner and sorted out who was sitting where in the car. As they trailed back outside under a canopy of stars, they were arguing good-naturedly.
Barb was the last one to alight after patting Ringo’s head. This time, Chris didn’t stand around in the cold and wait for the departing taillights to disappear into the night as he had when Zoe had left. Hands stuffed into his pockets, he whistled for Ringo and headed back inside to enjoy the blissful silence
.
Chapter Three
Zoe’s next day off work fell on a Saturday, so she decided to take full advantage of the break. Because of her heavy schedule at the hospital—increased even more since the town’s population had begun to swell thanks to the gold fever—she hadn’t yet had the chance to explore downtown Thunder Canyon with its kitschy western theme. Except for work, the gas station and a few quick trips to the grocery store, Zoe had hardly gone anywhere.
Briefly she toyed with the idea of calling Vadivu or one of the other residents, but they were probably all either working or sleeping. Having grown up as an only child, Zoe didn’t mind doing things by herself.
The sun was shining and the temperature was surprisingly mild. Bypassing the purple parka hanging in her closet, she grabbed her green suede jacket and slipped it on over a cropped, white cotton-knit sweater and tan jeans.
When she stepped outside and slipped on her sunglasses, the air felt downright balmy compared to the chill when she’d left work the night before. An elderly patient had told her that a twenty-degree temperature rise in one week, from snow to shirtsleeves, wasn’t unusual in these parts.
Tossing her purse on the passenger seat, Zoe backed her white Honda from its assigned spot and headed downtown. With a popular song on the CD player, she drove past joggers in shorts and kids riding skateboards on her way to the older part of town. The buildings there had been erected during the first mining boom.
She found a parking spot on a side street by a thrift store called Second Chances, where she had overheard one of the nurses say she took her kids’ clothes when they got too small. When Zoe walked past the shop, a bearded man and a woman with long hair were looking in the window at a display of tools and furniture. A little girl in a worn pink coat tugged on the woman’s arm, but she paid no attention. When Zoe smiled at the child, she ducked her head.
Next door, a tub of rainbow-colored primroses competed for attention with a ceramic pot filled with early crocus and variegated ivy vines. Back home, the flower beds would already be a riot of color and there would be hanging baskets everywhere, dripping blooms like jewels.
She passed an antique shop and a used bookstore, both busy with customers, and a small teriyaki café with tables on the sidewalk out front. Loud, choppy music, laughter and the smell of sautéed garlic spilled from the open doorway.
Someday when the sky overhead wasn’t as blue as the Pacific Ocean, she might take time to explore the former schoolhouse that had been turned into a local museum, or the souvenir shop with its racks of baseball caps and T-shirts. Wouldn’t her mother love a black one with COWBOY UP! spelled out in multicolored sequins across the front?
The image of Patrice Hart wearing a garment without a designer label made Zoe smile.
For today, she was content to wander down Main Street with its false-fronted buildings and old-fashioned streetlamps. As she studied the window displays, she dodged a woman with three kids and a pair of teenagers with their arms entwined. Most of the people she passed appeared to be in pairs or groups, but some—like Zoe—were alone. A few faces looked vaguely familiar, as though she might have treated them at the hospital. Two people nodded; one smiled, and a man with bulked-up, tattooed arms did an abrupt U-turn when he caught Zoe’s gaze. Her cool stare wiped away his leer. Grumbling to himself, he hurried away.
As she was walking, a maintenance worker from the hospital touched the brim of his cowboy hat. “Hello, Dr. Hart,” he said politely, stopping in the middle of the wooden sidewalk. “How are you doing this fine day?”
The title still gave her a quiet thrill. “I’m enjoying the sunshine,” Zoe replied, returning his smile. “How about you, Willie?”
He held up a paper bag. “Been to the hobby shop to get some glue. You be sure to stop by The Hitching Post for a bite if you haven’t been yet,” he added, pointing back down the street as he backed away. “Tell Martha I sent you and she’ll treat you real good.”
As soon as Zoe waved goodbye, a delicious aroma wafted past her nose. Despite the bagel and coffee she’d eaten earlier, she was suddenly hungry. Perhaps she would check out Willie’s suggestion and eat something before she went back to her apartment.
The Hitching Post was across the street from a historic-looking old hotel called the Wander-On-Inn. Going through the door into the bar and grill was like being transported back through time. In the dim light from the wagon-wheel chandeliers, The Hitching Post appeared to be one big open room. Half was crowded with tables and chairs, most of them full. A long bar made of dark wood curved along the other wall. Above it hung a painting of a woman, nude except for a wisp of sheer material that was strategically placed.
A gray-haired woman was seated at the register by the door. “Are you meeting someone?” she asked.
“No, I’m alone,” Zoe admitted, feeling slightly self-conscious. She hadn’t expected the place to be so busy. Perhaps she should have stopped at the little teriyaki café on her way back to her car instead, but it was too late now. She wasn’t about to retreat.
The bun on top of the hostess’s head quivered as she waved a menu to get the waitress’s attention. “Table for one!”
Several diners turned to stare. Head high, Zoe followed the waitress, who was obviously pregnant, to a small table near the empty dance floor.
“I’m Juliet,” the petite Latina said with a shy smile. “I’ll be right back to take your order.”
After Zoe decided on a spinach salad and iced tea, she leaned back and glanced around the busy room. Most of the other tables were occupied, as were all of the stools lined up along the bar. She imagined that the place really came alive at night with a band playing live music on the stage and the dance floor packed with people intent on enjoying themselves.
All of them doing something that involved flailing arms and swirling petticoats, she thought with a sly grin.
“Dr. Hart, would you mind if I joined you?”
She jerked up her head to see Dr. Taylor standing over her with his hand clamped on the back of the empty chair. She had been so busy studying the decor that she hadn’t been aware of his arrival. So much for feminine radar.
“I’d hate taking up another table when it’s so busy, unless you’re waiting for someone.” Along with his usual dazzling grin, he was wearing a T-shirt with a faded logo under a denim jacket and snug jeans.
She felt cornered, but she couldn’t very well say no. “Help yourself,” she replied with a smile. “I’m just grabbing a bite between errands.”
She had no reason to explain herself or to be concerned about him wondering why she was alone on her day off, but she wanted him to know she was in a hurry so she wouldn’t have to stick around and chat.
As soon as he sat down across from her, the waitress appeared with another menu. “Hi, Chris,” she said cheerfully as she handed it to him.
“Juliet,” he replied, glancing down at her ankles. “How are you, and how have you been feeling?”
Her cheeks turned pink. “Pretty good, all things considered.”
Zoe took the opportunity to study his face. His skin was that of a man who spent time outdoors, with tiny creases fanning out from his thickly fringed eyes. His profile was that of a Remington bronze. His bones guaranteed that he would still look great at seventy, no matter how many lines he developed along the way or how silver his hair turned.
If he had any hair left. Right now, it looked obscenely thick and silky—and in need of a good stylist.
“Zoe, have you decided?” he asked, shattering her attempt to picture him without hair.
She blinked, realizing that Juliet was waiting, pencil poised. Quickly Zoe reeled off her order.
“Dressing on the side,” she added automatically.
“Cheeseburger, rare, fries and tartar sauce,” Dr. Taylor said without opening his menu. “And a root beer, please.”
“I’ll get that right out,” Juliet promised.
“She shouldn’t be on her feet so much,” he muttered,
wearing a concerned frown as he watched her waddle away. “It’s too bad she can’t afford to take some maternity leave.”
“How far along is she?” Zoe asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure. You’re the expert, so you tell me.”
She snorted. Her mother would have cringed at her inelegant gesture. “Hardly that, and women vary too much to sight-read them by how much they show, especially ones as small as Juliet.”
They watched the waitress leave their order with the cook before hurrying over to clear the empty dishes from a nearby table.
“Is there a husband or a boyfriend in the picture?” Zoe asked curiously.
“I have no idea,” he said. “She doesn’t talk much about herself.”
They fell silent as their beverages were served, and Zoe scrambled to think of another topic to keep the conversation going. An older man sitting with his family waved at Dr. Taylor, who smiled and nodded. Having been raised here, he must know everyone in town.
“How did your surgery with Olivia Chester go?” he asked Zoe. “What was the procedure?”
Zoe was surprised that he would remember something she had mentioned during the snowball fight a few days before. “It was a C-section because of the mother’s preeclampsia.”
When a pregnant patient developed high blood pressure, causing a decrease in the blood supply to the placenta, a Cesarean was required. Dr. Chester had allowed Zoe to do most of the procedure herself.
“I’m happy to report that the surgery went well and they’re both doing fine,” she added, trying to suppress her elation.
“You can learn a lot from Olivia,” Dr. Taylor replied after he’d taken a pull on his soda. “She’s a talented OB.”
A shapely redhead wearing a cropped tank top and low-cut jeans stopped at their table on her way past. She put her hand with its maroon nails on his arm and gave him a fifty-megawatt smile.
“Christopher! How wonderful to see you.”
Zoe recognized her from the hospital accounting office and the way she strutted through the cafeteria trolling for dates.