Safe Haven

by Hannah Alexander

  “You’re out a little early this morning, aren’t you, Taylor?” Dane called out as he nosed the canoe into an empty slip and tossed a rope onto the wooden dock.

  “We had an emergency call.” Taylor moored the boat, then shook hands with Dane when he stepped out. “What are you doing with the canoe? Did Blaze steal your Mystique?” Everyone in town knew in what fond regard Dane Gideon held his motorboat.

  “Karah Lee sounded like she needed help quickly when she called Blaze this morning, and I wanted the exercise, so I let Blaze take the boat, and told him I’d be in later for it.” Dane patted his stomach. “Too many meetings lately, and everyone wants to conduct business over a heavy meal. I want Cheyenne to recognize me when she gets back from Florida.”

  “How’s her mother?” Taylor asked.

  “She’s doing well, but I’m afraid Karah Lee’s going to have the clinic to herself for a few days yet.”

  “She can handle it.” Though she’d seemed a little hesitant with Ethylene this morning, Karah Lee had proven herself capable last Friday.

  “That’ll put the extra load on you again, since she can’t take medical call and first-responder call at the same time.” Dane turned and walked with Taylor, their footsteps echoing across the wooden dock and blending with the splash of water as a fish broke surface in a leap for breakfast. “Sorry to do that to you.”

  “I’ll deal with it.”

  “We missed you at the town-hall meeting last night.”

  “I had to find some lost hikers and guide them out of the woods. How’d it go? Is everyone still up in arms about Beaufont’s activities?”

  Dane nodded, his craggy, farmer-tanned face growing serious as he stared across the imported sand and the lifeguard stand on the eastern edge of town. Even this early, they could hear construction under way. “Beaufont was well represented last night,” he said. “That didn’t improve the mood. Our deputy sheriff was pretty outspoken.”

  “Tom? I’m not surprised. He blames Beaufont for anything that goes wrong around here.”

  “Him and half the town. Last night he went so far as to warn about an earthquake that’s being predicted down in Arkansas.”

  Taylor looked at Dane. “He mentioned something like that the other day. Him and his Web-surfing addiction.”

  “His concern is that any tremors that could reach this far up might endanger the town because of that ‘monstrosity of steel and concrete,’ as he calls it.”

  “What was Beaufont’s response?” Taylor asked.

  “They went into great detail to explain why something like that could never happen to their building. You know how deeply they blasted through the rock for a solid foundation. They also made light of Tom’s concerns about a tremor. Said it would never happen here.”

  “They can’t know that.” Taylor had also disregarded Tom’s prediction the other day. As had Greg. The Ozarks didn’t have earthquakes. Sure, there were fault lines, but the last major earthquake to hit anywhere near here had been across the state near the Mississippi River. Tom would be the butt of jokes once again.

  “I heard a rumor that you’re planning to support our pharmacist for the next election for mayor,” Taylor said.

  “That’s right,” Dane said. “I never wanted the job in the first place, and Trask grew up here, he knows the town, and he’ll do a good job, but that’s not going to happen for a while, unfortunately.”

  “You’re still taking heat from the locals?” Taylor asked.

  Dane nodded, casting a glance toward the skeleton of the building. “I’ve always pushed for progress, but not their kind of progress.” His steps slowed, and his voice lowered. “You know their party boat goes out twice a night now?”

  Taylor nodded. Beaufont’s paddleboat parties had become legendary in the past few weeks, with lots of onboard entertainment, lavish meals, free-flowing drinks and—it was rumored—other party “enhancers” that weren’t legal. As a direct result, law enforcement was becoming more of a problem. The sheriff had been forced to request backup at least three times lately after one of the excursions.

  “Marketing strategy,” Dane said. “Their guests don’t have to pay a dime for any of it.”

  All because Beaufont wanted to have all their condominium units sold before the project was complete. “I hope the investors will quadruple their investments, the parties will end, and all will be well,” Taylor said.

  “I’m praying that’s what will happen,” Dane said. “We did have one bit of good news last night. It looks as if we’re getting closer to a vote to purchase an ambulance and hire a crew.”

  “For Hideaway?”

  “That’s right. Have you ever managed an ambulance service?”

  “Me? No way. I’ve been a ranger for twelve years.”

  “Did you ever consider a career change?”

  Taylor realized that Dane wasn’t kidding. “They’re getting that serious about an ambulance service? In a town barely over a thousand in population?”

  “Branson was our size once.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Our revenue’s based on tourism, just like Branson’s, and we’re already more than a sixth the size of Branson. We may be growing in ways we don’t want to grow, but we still need good medical care, with good people running it.” Dane grinned at Taylor. “I’ve seen you handle everything this town has thrown at you for a year, and you’ve earned all the locals’ respect. Would you at least consider the possibility?”

  “There hasn’t even been a vote to do it yet.”

  “It’ll happen soon, and I want to be ready when it does. Would you think about it?”

  The offer was tempting. “I’ll consider the possibility.”

  Dane’s grin broadened. “Thanks. Now I’d better go open up the store before Bertie Meyer comes looking for me.” He started across the street, then stopped and turned back, serious once more. “By the way, I don’t suppose you’ve seen a stranger hanging around the square lately—female in denim with gray hair and a painful-looking sunburn?”

  “You’re kidding, right? This place is packed with sunburned strangers lately.”

  “Junior Short told me he was driving past the feed store loading dock yesterday evening and saw someone who fit that description climb up the steps and disappear inside. My customers always come next door and pay for their feed, then one of us goes over and loads them from the dock. I was just curious who it might be.”

  “Was anything missing?”

  “I didn’t notice anything last night when I went to close up.”

  “I know you’ve had some vandalism in the past.”

  “Not for nearly a year. Don’t worry about it, Taylor, I’m sure it’s nothing. You just keep thinking about that ambulance service.”

  Fawn slumped against an old tombstone in a cemetery next to a little white church building down the road west of town. She couldn’t take another step. In a minute, she’d try to crawl over to the lake and get a drink, but for now, she just wanted to sit here and rest.

  Her ears had started ringing when she crossed the street to leave the town square, and for a few seconds she’d thought it was a police siren, that they’d finally spotted her. All she’d felt was relief. Nothing could be worse than the way she felt right now.

  But as she looked around her at the headstones that filled this little cemetery, she knew she couldn’t give up yet. People could die. Bruce and others already had. If a sixteen-year-old hooker named Fawn Morrison had to risk her own life to keep others safe, wouldn’t it be worth it?

  If she could just rest awhile, drink a lot of water, stay hidden, she’d get better. All she needed to do right now was break the fever.

  Behind the church, the yard was shaded. There weren’t any houses nearby except for the Lakeside Bed-and-Breakfast down the road a few hundred feet. She could stay in the shade of the hedge out of sight.

  She just had to rest.

  Taylor strolled toward a deserted section of the shore east of
the boat dock, avoiding the imported sand on the beach. The fake-beach lovers would sleep until noon, and the only others he saw out on the lake this early in the morning were dedicated fishermen intent on their prey.

  If he were still married to Clarice, he would never have started smoking again. If Chip were still alive, it would never have been a consideration.

  But that was the whole point—Taylor had no one to answer to…except for Jesus, and that hadn’t exactly been a steady relationship. Would the Lord even notice?

  Taylor sank onto a concrete bench with a yawn, stretching his arms up and out as he gazed across the lake. The morning stillness of the water had enchanted him from his first day on duty here. There was a magical quality about the glow from a still-unseen sun outlining the hills and trees with ever-increasing detail. An Ozark sunrise could hold its own with anything the Grand Canyon offered.

  So why had he never felt settled here?

  True, he didn’t like law enforcement. What he did like, more and more as time went on, was rescuing people. And now there might be a chance for him to do that full-time.

  He lit up, took the first smoke-filled breath and imagined the calming drug entering his bloodstream. He exhaled, and with his second puff he felt a heaviness pass through him.

  He relaxed a little and took another drag, watching an older gentleman across the lake help a sleepy-looking child cast his line. Two mallards swam toward the dock, where later in the day groups of tourists would lean over the wooden railing and toss bits of bread into the water to feed the fish. Taylor knew from experience they would be out of bread long before the ducks, or the fish, stopped coming.

  Footsteps whispered in the grass behind him, and he stiffened a fraction of a second before Karah Lee’s voice flicked over him.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  He didn’t turn around. “What’s that?” Stupid question.

  “You smoke.”

  “I don’t do it often, and when I do, I like it to be a peaceful process.”

  “Secondhand smoke is not peaceful.” Though she didn’t raise her voice, outrage curled around every word.

  “There’s no one else nearby, and I didn’t expect you to come out gunning for me.” Cool it, Taylor. She’s had a rough morning, with Ethylene’s acerbic personality.

  “Cancer isn’t peaceful.”

  “Neither are you, but I’ve never seen a warning label on you anywhere.”

  “I don’t cause cancer. Why would a grown man experiment with the slowest suicide legally available today?”

  “I’ve heard the sermon, so can the corn, Fletcher. I’m not giving any more excuses.”

  “There’s no excuse—”

  “Shut up, Fletcher. Okay?” Finally he turned enough to glare at her over his shoulder.

  She didn’t even wince. She looked wide-awake and fresh, without a trace of makeup.

  “Has anyone ever told you how obnoxious you are when you’re trying to be bossy?” He winced at his own words. Here she was, not only shouldering the responsibility for the whole clinic with Cheyenne gone, but also brave enough to show concern about his health, and risk getting her head bitten off. And he was doing the biting.

  “The truth isn’t always popular,” she said quietly, “but sometimes it saves a life.”

  “Okay, never mind.” Taylor got up from the bench, strolled casually over to the lake, and jabbed the smoldering end of his cigarette into the water. Without looking at Karah Lee, he took the soaked cigarette to the nearby trash can and flipped it in. He felt like a schoolboy caught by the teacher, and in spite of Karah Lee’s obviously good intentions, he resented it. Because she was right, of course.

  Dusting his hands together, he walked back to Karah Lee. His initial irritation disappeared with the last whiff of smoke when he saw the look of worried distraction in her eyes. “Happy?”

  “For your information, I didn’t come out here to sharpen my claws, I came out to ask if anyone called you about a child missing in the neighborhood last night.”

  “Why?”

  “Someone’s been sleeping in our beds, eating our food, playing on our compu—”

  “Look, if you want to find Goldilocks, why don’t you call Greg or Tom? I’m not even officially on duty yet this morning, and downtown Hideaway isn’t my usual jurisdiction even when I am on duty.” Okay, so he was still a little irritated with her.

  He could tell by the brief flash of irritation in those golden-amber eyes that she’d taken the hit, and again he was sorry he’d been so sharp with her.

  She slapped her forehead in an exaggerated gesture of dismay and pivoted back toward the clinic. “Of course. I’m such an idiot. What could I have been thinking, just taking for granted you might be concerned about some little lost child or his overwrought parents? I mean, you’re not even on duty here, and just because you came rushing right up to my doorstep this morning when you also weren’t on duty yet because you wanted to snoop around the property that also isn’t your jurisdiction—”

  “Okay, that’s enough, I’m sorry, okay?” She didn’t sound angry, she sounded as if she enjoyed goading him.

  “No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” she insisted. “I’ll call—”

  “Would you stop it?” He caught up with her and matched her long-legged stride. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a bully?”

  “Yes, actually, they have. It’s a point of family pride. Bullying and manipulation are my most effective methods of coercion.”

  “And guilt trips,” he said. “You’re good at those.”

  “I learned it on my father’s knee.”

  “You shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”

  “Fine, I’ll call Tom as soon as I get back to the clinic. I think he’s on duty this morning.”

  “That wouldn’t be my first choice. Tom’s never been married, never had kids, and wouldn’t make your problem a top priority like I will. He’s more worried about some earthquake predictions in Arkansas.”

  She flicked him a gaze full of disdain.

  “So tell me what’s up,” he said.

  “Someone was apparently in the clinic last night after Blaze and I left a little after six. It looks like they slept in exam room four. Their choice of reading material was children’s books. We thought maybe we had a young runaway on our hands. A neighborhood kid, perhaps.”

  “You’re not joking?”

  “Come and see. I’ll let you check the place out while I find someone to drive Ethylene home.”

  “Doesn’t she have friends or family?”

  “If she does, she’s not saying. How many cigarettes do you smoke a day?”

  “A few.”

  “A few, as in three or four? Or a few, as in twenty or thirty?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Well, even one is dangerous, but it’ll probably kill you more slowly than, say, a carton a day. You know, like I’m sure you can tell I don’t miss many meals, and that’ll kill a person, too. So I don’t want to sound like a hypocrite or anything.”

  “Why, Karah Lee Fletcher, I never thought I’d hear you backpedal.”

  “I’m not backpedaling, I’m just trying to come to terms with the disappointment of seeing you smoke.”

  She said it lightly, with just the right amount of teasing sarcasm, as if attempting to take the sting from her words this time. Still, they stung, because he realized he didn’t want to disappoint her. And he didn’t want to be so disappointed in himself. Clarice’s father had died of lung cancer, and the doctors had made it abundantly clear that it had been a direct result of his two-pack-a-day habit.

  “You know, I’m trying to be compassionate and identify with your pain,” she said.

  “Well, don’t get stupid and start smoking to make the identification easier.”

  “Smoking isn’t my weakness. Like I said, I go a little overboard in the eating department.”

  He glanced sideways in appraisal. She hadn’t taken the time to c
hange from her rescue clothes this morning, and she had the best legs he’d ever seen on a woman. They could be quite distracting at times. The rest of her could be, too. She didn’t look overweight to him. Full-bodied might be the word he’d use, though not aloud. He knew she was muscular, because he’d seen her lift Mrs. White from her seat the other day as if the lady were a child. Muscle did weigh more than fat. And Tom was good at guessing age and weight. He had plenty of time to practice because he didn’t have a life.

  “It’s not polite to stare,” Karah Lee said.

  “What are you, about two-twenty?”

  She stopped at the side of the street, then blinked at him as if he’d slapped her. “What!”

  Oh, no. You idiot. Never listen to Tom. The blood in Taylor’s system chose this moment to rush to his face. “I’ll kill him.”

  “Speaking of killing—”

  “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Last physical I weighed one-eighty-three,” she said. “And it’s possible I’ve gained a pound or five since then, but—”

  “Somebody played a practical joke on me.” Face still burning, he glanced around, hoping no one had overheard him.

  “Using my size as the butt of their jokes?”

  He grinned at the pun, then glanced at her face and realized she wasn’t smiling.

  “You know, it’s been a few months since someone made fun of my size.”

  “I honestly wasn’t making fun, Karah Lee, believe me. I just don’t judge weight very well, apparently, and—”

  “It’s not polite to try to guess a lady’s weight.”

  “Really, I’m sorry.” He touched her arm and stopped her before she could cross the street. “I wasn’t using my brain.”

  She glanced at him. “One-eighty-three for a woman my height isn’t bad.”

  “Obviously it isn’t. Look, the guy who told me that isn’t the kind of person who would think about your feelings.”

  “Sounds like Tom.”

  Taylor didn’t respond. She was good.