Safe Haven

by Hannah Alexander

  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.

  “Are you done yet?” Jonah asked as Karah Lee held the skin together for the bonding agent to set.

  “Can you count to a hundred?”

  “Yes,” he said, as if the question were an insult.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  Though aware Cheyenne was watching her, Karah Lee didn’t feel uncomfortable about being observed. She’d had plenty of that in the past few years.

  The staff here seemed friendly, in spite of the disparaging remark Jill had made about reckless drivers. Karah Lee had made a few comments like that, herself, from time to time. Today she was learning a valuable lesson about prejudging patients.

  Cheyenne left to take a telephone call before Jonah finished counting, and the treatment ended without mishap, or more tears. As Karah Lee walked the relieved family to the waiting room, Blaze stepped to the reception window and handed Jonah a bright red balloon animal in the approximate shape of a poodle. Jonah laughed and played with the poodle while Jill talked to the uninsured parents about the fee for treatment.

  Blaze tapped Karah Lee on the shoulder from behind. “Chey wants to see you in her office as soon as you’re finished.”

  “I’m done.”

  “Okay, but tell her to make it quick. We’ve got incoming.”

  “Tell her yourself. This is my first day on the job, and I have to make a good impression on the boss.”

  She found Chey sitting in her office at the desk, reading a medical chart. “You wanted to see me?”

  Setting the chart aside, Cheyenne glanced up at her thoughtfully. “Close the door and have a seat.”

  “I guess you have paperwork for me to fill out.” The red tape could be daunting for doctors on a new job. Licenses, permits, clearing for insurance—both professional liability and various types of coverage for patients—took up a lot of a doc’s time, and it never seemed to end.

  For a moment, Cheyenne remained silent. She didn’t smile as she glanced out the front window that overlooked the broad lawn and the lake.

  The silence grew uncomfortable. “Did you have a problem with the treatment I gave Jonah?” Karah Lee asked.

  Cheyenne shook her head, still frowning. “You’re good with kids, obviously. If I’d had any doubts about your skills, I wouldn’t have hired you.” She folded her hands together and leaned forward. “But keep in mind that I’m the only one who makes decisions about personnel in this office.”

  Oh, great, Fletcher, what have you already done to tick off your boss? “Excuse me?”

  “Do you know anyone named Kemper MacDonald?”

  Karah Lee flinched. Ah. Ugly enlightenment. “He’s a state senator.”

  “Any reason why his office would be calling to check on you?”

  For the second time within twelve hours, Karah Lee felt the flame of humiliation heat her face. “He called here?” He had no right.

  “His office called, whoever that was. Asked to talk to me.”

  “Did they say why?”

  Cheyenne tapped the tip of an ink pen on the desktop for a moment, then looked back up at Karah Lee. “So you’re not aware they’ve called here previously?”

  Karah Lee’s fingers gripped the arms of her chair as if by instinct. “When?”

  “Three months ago, after I interviewed you for this job.” Cheyenne held Karah Lee’s gaze.

  “And what did they say then?” She didn’t really want to know, but forewarned was forearmed when it came to that overbearing, arrogant, self-serving—

  “Only that you came highly recommended by his office,” Cheyenne said. “And that you had received the governor’s award for—”

  “My father tried to pull strings to get me hired here?” Karah Lee’s voice filled the room with a burst of unprofessional outrage, and she heard the chatter in the outer office grow quiet. She was going to strangle the man.

  Cheyenne sat back, her dark brown eyes narrowing slightly. “Your father is Kemper
MacDonald?”

  “He wouldn’t be my first choice,” Karah Lee snapped. She was acting like a jerk in front of her boss. She needed to cool it. “I’m sorry, Chey. I didn’t ask my father to help me get this job, if that’s what you’re getting at. I didn’t even know he knew I was applying. It isn’t as if I communicate with him on a daily basis.” Or even a yearly basis when she could help it.

  Cheyenne sighed, still tapping the ink pen on the desk. “You and your father are estranged?”

  “You could put it that way.” He’d done the estranging years ago, splitting their family right down the middle. It hadn’t helped family dynamics when she’d changed her last name. “So, what did he want today?”

  “He wanted to thank me for taking his advice.”

  Karah Lee groaned and slumped in her chair. “What did you tell him?”

  For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, a trace of humor lifted the corners of Cheyenne’s mouth. “Well, after insisting that his secretary put me through to him personally if he was so bent on contacting me, I asked him if he was getting his information from you.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “That’s what he told me, but since he’s a politician, and I’m not very good with some politicians, I chose not to rely on his word for it.”

  “You’re even smarter than I thought. He fools most people.”

  “Not that it’s any of my business, but your name is different from your father’s.”

  “I changed my last name when my parents’ divorce became final and my mother reverted to her maiden name. I was eighteen, so I could do it legally. I know it sounds like a spiteful thing to do, but I was feeling spiteful at the time. So what did you tell my father on the phone?”

  “I told him that he had no right to interfere with the way I ran my practice, and if he wanted you to keep your job, he’d better not try it again—not that I’d planned on letting you go now that I’ve got you tied up with a contract for a year.” Cheyenne winked and grinned. “Then I hung up on him.”

  Karah Lee relaxed completely. She was going to like this woman with the irreverent attitude. “I’ll get a message to him that he needs to stop interfering, just in case he didn’t hear you.”

  “Don’t worry, I think he already got the message. If I’ve offended you by speaking to your father like that—”

  “You haven’t.”

  “Good. I’m glad you’re here. We lost our nurse-practitioner a month ago, and then our secretary got married and moved out of state. I’m under contract until September to work part-time as an E.R. doc in the hospital at Dogwood Springs. That’s about fifteen miles south of the lake.”

  “I heard business was picking up here at the clinic.”

  “Yes, and if I’d known that would happen, I wouldn’t have been so quick to sign a contract somewhere else.” Cheyenne yawned and stretched, settling back into her chair. “I try to be here in the clinic at least four days a week, plus work a couple of nights in the E.R. It’s becoming too much. We’re getting a lot more patients than I’d anticipated. I can’t believe how it’s picked up, especially since spring. How are you with emergencies?”

  “I’ve done my share at the University Hospital, and I’m a paramedic.”

  Cheyenne nodded. “I read that on your curriculum vitae. With the number of traumas they get at University, I’m sure you’ve had plenty of clinical experience. That means I can leave you on your own and you’re not going to panic.”

  This time Karah Lee did hesitate. “I won’t panic.”

  Cheyenne studied her expression and leaned forward. “Is there something I should know about?”

  “Let’s just say that the only person who’s ever been able to undermine my confidence has been Kemper MacDonald. When he discovered I quit the university to stay home and care for my mother when she developed cancer, he tried to have me declared incompetent to care for her. My sister tried to convince me he was only doing it for my own good, so I would continue college, but his efforts came to light later when I tried to get into med school.”

  Cheyenne’s eyes narrowed. “He sounds ruthless.”

  “So you can see why I want nothing to do with him.”

  “Yes, but—”

  An intercom speaker crackled at the corner of the desk. “Chey, they’re backing up out here in the waiting room. We’ve had some walk-ins. We need help out here.”

  Cheyenne pressed a button atop the speaker. “We’re coming.” She released the button and looked at Karah Lee. “Are you ready to hit it?”

  “Let’s get to work.”

  Chapter Seven

  For the second time that day, Taylor pulled into his favorite parking area at the crest of the cliff overlooking Hideaway, and saw a slender, balding, middle-aged man in khakis and a burgundy pullover walking toward him. The victim of the crime.

  The police were already on their way to intercept the thieves—one of whom had an eye tattooed on his shoulder—but for an experienced ranger to have actually stopped and helped the thieves escape? Unforgivable. Taylor smarted with the humiliation.

  He parked and got out of the truck, then immediately reached back inside and pulled a bottle of water from his cooler. He handed it to the man. “Are you Mr. Freise?”

  “That’s me. Thanks.” He took the water with one hand, while dabbing the sweat from his forehead with the other. “I can’t believe it. I was just away from the car for a few minutes, thought I’d check out the trail.”

  “Was there anyone else at the trailhead at the time?”

  “Nobody. I didn’t see anything suspicious.” The man reached down and pulled a key ring with two keys from the right front pocket of his khakis. “I took these with me and everything. I couldn’t have been gone more than ten minutes.” He looked as if he’d been hiking much longer. His thin hair was matted with moisture, and his glasses looked as if they’d steamed over, and droplets had formed on them when he tried to wipe them clear.

  Taylor had heard of a car-theft ring working the Branson area, but they’d never had trouble with it here. No one wanted to come this far out of their way to steal a car, and there was only one paved road out of Hideaway.

  Mr. Freise took a long swallow of water, his Adam’s apple working up and down his throat, then caught his breath and wiped at his mouth, raining more droplets of moisture over his sweat-dampened shirt. “I’ve already called the rental-car company in Springfield. Can you believe it? I’d have expected this in the city, but here?”

  “It’s unusual,” Taylor agreed. “Unfortunately, we don’t have electric fences to keep thieves out, Mr. Freise. There are a lot of places to hide on these back roads and in the overgrown brush. Did you lock the car when you left?”

  The man frowned, then shook his head. “I thought I did. I always do, but that wouldn’t matter, would it? A thief with one of those jimmies can open a car as fast as they could with a key.”

  “And hot-wire it just as easily.” Which was probably why they hadn’t turned off the engine all the time they were changing the tire. Taylor didn’t have the guts to tell this poor man about his having helped the crooks get away.

  “I don’t suppose you could give me a lift down to the village, could you?” Mr. Freise mopped the moisture from his head again. “I need to find a place to stay until I can get a replacement car, or catch a ride down to Harrison. They got my luggage, my water bottle, everything.”

  “Hop into the truck and I’ll give you a lift to the general store. They have travel supplies, and you can catch a shuttle from there.”

  Mr. Freise shook his head again as he climbed in and settled back in the passenger seat. “I just wanted to get a look at the trail. The wife and I thought we might buy one of those condos if the price was right. I’ve got a meeting in Harrison this afternoon, and I thought I’d check the place out, take a look at things while they were building. You know, make sure it would be a good deal.”

  “And was it?”

  The man
shrugged. “Hard to tell at this point. Getting my car stolen isn’t a good sign.”

  “I’ve heard rumors about the big plans they’ve got to turn Hideaway into a resort area.”

  “You must’ve seen the brochures they’re mailing out,” Mr. Freise said.

  “Brochures?”

  The man unsnapped his seat belt, reached into his back pocket and pulled out a glossy advertisement folded into thirds. He tossed it onto the seat and resnapped his seat belt as Taylor cruised around a curve in the road, descending into town.

  A quick glance at the brochure showed a beautifully landscaped village bright with flowers, picket fences, perfectly trimmed hedges, man-made waterfalls and pools.

  “It looks like a theme park,” Taylor said.

  “That’s right. The guy I talked to this morning told me they thought it would be more popular than Silver Dollar City, because tourists would get to stay in the town.”

  Taylor felt a renewed wave of discomfort. “But the Beaufont Corporation doesn’t own the whole town. This place isn’t a sideshow.”

  The man shrugged. “That’s what I told the guy this morning. You know what he said?”

  Taylor was silent.

  “He said he knew a lot of folks were willing to sell at the right price. He thinks they’ll own the town before the end of the year.”

  “What do you think?” Taylor asked.

  “I’m not willing to buy into it just yet.”

  Taylor couldn’t help wondering how many people already had.

  They arrived at the general store, and Taylor let Mr. Freise out. He was about to go inside for a soda, when he received word that the thieves had been apprehended. Unfortunately, the car had to be impounded. Mr. Freise had to go to Branson to pick up another rental, and Taylor arranged for transportation via a tour bus that was going that way.

  An hour later, after watching the bus leave, Taylor strolled along the shore toward the building project. He didn’t like the new skyline, with a crane and steel girders jabbing into the bright blue canopy of this summer day, and the echo of hammers and drills and men shouting. The activity seemed like an intrusion.