Rancher's Refuge. Linda Goodnight

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      The three groveled around his boots, and the white-browed shepherd bared its teeth in a comical smile of welcome while the poodle pranced on hind legs in a dance of joy. In spite of her throbbing arm, Annalisa smiled, too. Austin dropped a work-gloved hand to the highest head and scratched while the other two butted up against his legs, waiting their turn.

      “Truck’s there.” He motioned toward the side of the house to a truck shed. Under an awning sat a white late-model Ford with big wheels flecked with mud. “I’ll grab the keys and we’ll go see the doc.”

      He tromped up the steps, taking a minute to stomp his boots on a black welcome mat before disappearing inside.

      Panic welled in Annalisa’s throat, a knot she couldn’t swallow. She was suddenly aware of how much the cowboy’s presence eased her anxiety. Now, alone in the open yard, terror rushed in.

      Pulse tripping wildly, her breath quickened as she hurried to the white truck and tried the side door. It was unlocked. She clambered inside, slammed the door and slapped at the lock with shaky fingers. Still, her heart raced as wildly as if she’d run all the way from the waterfall.

      She leaned her head against the tall seat, shut her eyes and breathed in the scent of new leather from an air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “Lord, if you’ll help me find a way out of this mess, I promise—”

      The driver’s door opened. Annalisa spun toward the sound. The movement sent shock waves from her shoulder to her wrist. Instinctively she curled inward and grimaced.

      “Easy.” The cowboy’s light green gaze steadied her.

      Before he could step up into the driver’s seat, the apricot poodle jumped onto the long bench beneath the steering column.

      “Get down, you wiggling wad of Brillo.” Face stern, Austin moved to one side and pointed toward the ground. Even though the poodle withered in dejection, her little fuzzy tail worked overtime. The cowboy’s voice gentled. “Go on, Tootsie. Get down. You can’t go this time.”

      Resigned, the dog obeyed. On the way out, the “Brillo pad” lifted up on her hind legs to swipe a tongue across Austin’s face. The cowboy grunted, shaking his head as he climbed into the truck. Annalisa was almost sure the corners of his mouth quivered with affection.

      Keys rattled and the truck engine roared to life. Austin adjusted the shifter, but as they backed out of the carport, a dark green Nissan whipped into the driveway and stopped. A woman in blue scrubs with a curly black ponytail strode toward Austin’s side of the truck.

      Curiosity curled in Annalisa’s belly. Was this the wife?

      Austin lowered his window. With a jerk of his chin toward Annalisa he said, “Found this lady at the falls. I’m taking her to see Dr. Ron.”

      The woman narrowed moss green eyes at Annalisa. “What happened?”

      “I fell.” The lie was easier this time.

      “The mountain trails are good for that. Anything I can do?” The last question was for Austin.

      “You can cook something.”

      “So can you.” The woman laughed, dimples flashing in a longish face. “I was asking if there is anything I can do for her.” She stuck her head through the window, stretching past Austin. “By the way, I’m Cassie. My big brother has no social skills.”

      An odd trickle of interest shifted over Annalisa as she introduced herself to Cassie. The sister, not the wife.

      “Are you a nurse?”

      Teeth flashed as Cassie laughed. “A hairdresser, but I know a bum arm when I see one. You need an X-ray. By the way, you have great hair. I’d love to get my hands on it.”

      Annalisa’s fingers flew to the dark blond mass of thick, shoulder-length waves. Inwardly she smirked at the vain reaction. Even an injury didn’t stop a woman from enjoying a compliment. “Thank you.”

      Cassie tapped Austin on the shoulder with a fist. “Get going. She’s in a lot of pain.” By now the three dogs were hopping around the sister. “Bring us a pizza. I’m in no mood to cook.”

      Austin groaned. “You brought pizza last night.”

      “So I like pizza.”

      “And hate to cook.”

      Cassie picked up the poodle and waved his paw. “Burgers, then. With fries and pies. Apple.”

      Austin didn’t argue. He put the gear in Reverse and headed away from the ranch.

      “How far?”

      “To the doc’s?” He glanced toward her and back to the bumpy gravel road. “About ten minutes.”

      With an acknowledging nod, Annalisa braced her arm against her chest, leaned back against the headrest and prayed that James had gone on without her.

      * * *

      Austin whipped the truck into the parking spot marked “Physicians Only” and killed the motor in front of Johnson’s Medical Clinic. Dr. Ron Johnson’s maroon Jeep was in the lot and he was the only physician for twenty-five miles. Austin figured the two extra physician parking spots outside the office were wishful thinking on the part of the overzealous town council.

      The town was like that these days, optimistic in the face of a lousy economy. Mayor Fairchild, whom everyone called Rusty, had asked the churches to pray, a request that had a handful of folks up in arms over the separation of church and state issue. Austin figured praying didn’t hurt anything. It just didn’t help.

      He hustled around the truck to open the door for Annalisa, something she was already struggling to do on her own. He helped her out and led the way up on the sidewalk and into the small, modern clinic. Inside, the usual scent of antiseptic cooled the air.

      At the receptionist’s window, Austin jerked a thumb toward Annalisa. “Got an injured woman here. Dr. Ron available?”

      “I’ll tell him, Austin. You all sit down and fill out this mess of papers.” She stuck a clipboard across the divider. “I’ll only be a jiff.”

      “Thanks, Wilma.”

      Austin handed the clipboard to Annalisa along with a pen, but his restlessness wouldn’t let him sit in one of the brown vinyl chairs. Coming into town was not a favorite activity, and usually when he did, he kept to the basics—the Farm and Ranch Store, groceries, gas. An injured woman raised suspicions, and he did not want anyone asking questions.

      True to her word, the bun-haired Wilma returned in a jiff to motion them toward an exam room. Dr. Ron waited inside, drying his hands on paper towels. Close to forty, the doc looked half that because of his boyish freckles and the cowlick torturing his sandy hair. He tossed the towels in a levered can and gestured to the exam table.

      “Who’s sick?” One quick look at Annalisa and then the chart Wilma poked at him and he said, “Never mind. What happened?”

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