"YOU TWO MADE one hell of a mistake, Missy." Warren
waggled a gnarled forefinger under Dr. Jill Edwards's
nose, his faded blue eyes fixed on hers with steely
resolve. "It isn't too late."
Jill smiled patiently as she finished checking the
surgical site on his chest, listened to his heart sounds
then draped the stethoscope around her neck. She pulled
the covers up to his shoulders. "That's the most
optimistic thinking I've heard from you yet, Warren. Given
that your son and I have been separated for four months
and that he lives two hours away."
"But you're not divorced," he countered
triumphantly. "Now, why is that?"
"I'm sure we'll get to it...soon. Very soon."
"He's a lawyer. Could have done it right away." Jill
sighed with affectionate exasperation. Warren was a
lawyer, too, and she knew he'd argue this case until
doomsday, but it wouldn't change a thing.
There were good reasons for the separation.
Painful ones — none of which would ever change. Given some
technicalities with their property ownership, there were
also very impersonal reasons for the delay of those final
papers.
"Let it rest, Warren. And while you're at it, I want you
to rest, too." She frowned at him to mask her worry.
"This was your second heart attack, and that congestive
heart failure isn't getting any better. You work too hard
and you drink too much. And — no matter what you tell me —
I know you're still smoking those cigars."
His expression grew thoughtful. "So I should take it easy."
"Exactly."
"And I shouldn't work such long hours."
"Not if you want to be around to see your first
grandchild. Which," she added quickly, "Phil and Sandra
are working on at this very moment." At the cagey gleam in
Warren's eyes, she knew what was coming before he even
started to speak.
"I think I'll take some time off. Tend my flowers. Give
the old ticker a rest." He nodded to himself, warming to
the idea. "God knows, I've let the place go since Marie
died."
Warren lived and breathed the law. His office lights
burned late into the night and he was there every morning
by eight. The likelihood of him staying away for even a
day was nearly impossible to imagine. Unless... "And of
course, I'll need someone to cover the office. For a
while, that is. Someone who knows the practice inside and
out. Someone who can relate to the fine people here in
Blackberry Hill. Someone who —"
"So you're going to ask Grant to come back." The weight of
the past settled heavily on her shoulders.
"Doesn't his brother need him?"
"Phil covered our office in Kendrick for years before
Grant joined him last fall." He shrugged. "I'm sure he can
manage a while longer."
"But Grant must have a personal caseload there, now. He's
probably very busy."
"It's only two hours away. If he needs to, he can commute
to his active cases there."
"But —"
"I'm sure he won't mind coming back here for a few months.
Not when his dad is so ill and all...then you wouldn't
have to stop by my place every day to check on things."
Warren's glance cut toward the bags hanging from the IV
pole by his bed. "Of course, if you think I'm ready for
discharge, then I probably wouldn't be needing any
help..." His voice trailed off, tinged with a hint of
hopefulness.
"You are such a stinker," Jill shot back, hiding a
smile. "If you're bargaining for a quicker discharge, the
answer is no. That infection was a doozy, and you've still
got eight more days of IV antibiotics.
After that, you'll need a week or so of rehab to build
your strength."
Harumph. Warren settled back against his pillow and
regarded her through narrowed eyes. "You and Grant deserve
each other."
She laughed as she picked up the clipboard on the bedside
table. "There, Warren, is where you are totally wrong."
AFTER FINISHING HER rounds at Blackberry Hill
Memorial, Jill crunched through the snow in the staff
parking lot, thankful for her heavy down jacket and warm
boots. Snowflakes swirled beneath the security lights
overhead, glittering like crystals against the black sky.
You and Grant deserve each other. Despite all of his
contacts in this small town, Warren really didn't have a
clue what had happened to his son's marriage. Either that,
or he thought an affair — especially an affair with a
client — was not a big deal.
With one mittened hand, she swept away the snow on the
driver's side window of her Sable station wagon. Beneath
the snow she felt a thick cobblestone layer of ice.
"Wind chill of minus-forty tonight. Wind's going to get up
to thirty miles an hour, I hear," Grace Fisher called out
from her own car another row over. The stocky older woman,
director of nursing at the hospital, waved her ice
scraper. "Need this?"
"Got one — but thanks." Jill slapped her mittens together
to knock the snow off, then slid behind the wheel of her
car to start the motor. Retrieving her own scraper, she
got out again and started on the windshield. "I'll bet you
aren't going to miss these north-woods winters when you
retire."
Grace laughed. "If I'm not on some southern beach, I'll at
least stay by my fire with a good book."
Jill waved goodbye to her as Grace drove away, then bent
over the hood and continued chipping at the ice, her
cheeks and fingers already numb.
As soon as she cleared most of the windshield, she climbed
back into the car and wrapped her arms around herself,
shivering. She wished she had one of those remote car
starters so it could have been warm and ready for her.
She drove out of the staff parking lot and took a left,
heading down Main through the center of town.
Snow glistened beneath the street lamps, splashed with
color where it reflected the neon lights of businesses
along the three-block downtown area. In the summer, the
shops bustled with the thousands of vacationers who
swarmed to the beautiful lake district. Now, many of the
upscale shops were closed until May, giving the street a
rather melancholy air.
She passed the drugstore and the grocery store, both on
the edge of town, then drove out into the darkness to
Bitter Hollow Road, a narrow gravel lane a few miles past
the last street lamps. Without the moon and stars overhead
the darkness seemed impenetrable....
Until she rounded the last turn and found the lights
blazing at Warren's house.
Strange. He lived here alone. She certainly hadn't left on
the lights when she'd last stopped by to water the plants.
Fumbling for her cell phone, she slowed her car to a crawl
then stopped by the mailbox at the end of the driveway.
The wind was picking up, buffeting clouds of snow beneath
the faint light of the single security lamp at the peak of
the garage.
She squinted through the falling snow, trying to make out
the dark shape parked next to the garage and partially
hidden by a stand of pines.
A vehicle, certainly...possibly an SUV, but Warren hadn't
said anything about anyone else coming out here.
An intruder...?
With the press of a speed-dial button she called Sheriff
Randy Johnson's office before turning up the heater to
ward off the chill.
Five minutes stretched to ten, then fifteen.
At six o'clock, faint pinpoints of light appeared through
the increasing snowfall, then drew up behind her. The
sheriff briefly flashed the wigwag lights on the front
grill of his car to identify himself. He appeared at her
door a moment later.
She rolled down her window and flinched as a blast of icy
wind hit her. "Thanks for coming out."
"No problem, Doc." Middle-aged and burly, the sheriff had
always reminded her of a towering, congenial bear — one
that could overpower just about anyone who dared challenge
it. He squinted toward the house and garage. "Seen anyone?"
"No...but people inside the house wouldn't know I'm here.
I turned off my lights as soon as I stopped."
He nodded his approval. "You were smart not to go barging
in. For years, I've been telling Warren he should move
closer to town. Even with a security system, this is way
too isolated for the old guy."
"I'm supposed to be taking care of his plants," she said
through chattering teeth.
"My deputy and I will check this out. If you want to go on
home, that would be just fine. I'll give you a call in a
bit...or we can just stop up at your place."
Imagining that he wanted her out of the way in case of
trouble, she hesitated, then waved goodbye. She shifted
her car into Reverse, backed carefully around the patrol
car and headed slowly up the two miles to her own home on
Bitter Creek Road.
The Sable bucked through the drifts. She nearly buried it
at the low spot where the bridge crossed the creek, but
then the spinning tires gained purchase against the gravel
beneath the snow and lurched forward. Jill exhaled in
relief as she made it up into the timber, where the pines
and winter-bare under-growth of the forest blocked the
drifting snow.
At the top of Chapel Hill, the trees gave way to a small
clearing and the two-and-a-half-story, red-brick Victorian
she and Grant had bought last summer. Back when they'd
still imagined filling it with a half-dozen children
someday.
Back when she'd still believed in her own fairy-tale
ending. After growing up poor raised by her single mother,
the house had seemed like a dream come true.
By day, the fanciful cupolas and explosion of gingerbread
trim at every edge held their own drab charm. The paint
was faded and curling, some of the pieces missing or
sagging, but it was still possible to envision what it
could become.