When he walked into the doc’s house, he saw a young blonde at the desk. “Hi, there,” she said. She stood up and he noted the pregnant tummy.
“Hey. Doc around?”
“Sure. I’ll get him for you. I’ve been here less than two years—does he know you?”
“Sort of, yeah.”
She smiled over her shoulder and went to Doc’s office. Momentarily, the old man was limping toward him, glasses perched on his nose, wild white eyebrows spiking. “Afternoon,” Doc said.
“Hey, Doc,” Ian said, putting out a hand. “Any chance you have anything on hand for a flu bug?”
“Sorry, son—I can’t remember the name. The face I know. You’re…？”
“Buchanan. Ian Buchanan from out on Clint Mountain. The old Raleigh place. I was the one taking care of him at the end.”
“Right,” he said. “That’s right. What’s your complaint?”
“It’s not me, Doc. I’ve got a visitor who showed up yesterday and she took sick in the night. Fever, chills, aches, sore throat…I’m giving her aspirin and juice. I didn’t want to bring her out in this cold—the heater in the truck isn’t too good. But if you have any medicine—”
“I’m chock full of medicine, boy—but I usually like to make my own diagnosis.”
“It’s way out there—You remember.”
“Yeah, yeah, can’t hardly forget that old coot. No problem—I get around. Let me stock up a bag and I’ll follow you back. Most roads out that way are a goddamn mystery.”
Ian felt the roll of bills in his pocket shrink. He was ahead for the winter, but if he ended up needing a lot of diesel fuel and propane through the cold months, he wouldn’t stay that way for long. Then in the spring, the tax bill would come on the property. Summers were easy; they weren’t hot summers but he didn’t need to heat food or water, daylight lasted a lot longer and so did his fuel. He conserved cash for possible truck repairs and things like that. He worked for a moving company on and off in the summer and was paid cash under the table. That gave him time for a garden, fishing and cutting down trees for the winter firewood. He’d get by fine if no major crisis came along—like a serious illness.
Really, the cost didn’t matter. No matter what she needed, even if it was the hospital, he’d find a way. He couldn’t let her be sick. In less than twenty-four hours, all he really wanted was to see her smile like she had in that old picture Bobby had shown him.
He was barely conscious that the woman in the office had made a phone call and shrugged into her coat.
When Doc returned with his bag, he frowned at her. It was more like a glower. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“With you. Jack has David and this is a woman. You’ll end up wanting me there.”
“You’re pregnant and don’t need to be around flu.”
She laughed and her face lit up so pretty. “Like I haven’t been drenched in flu since the cold and rain hit. Gimme a break. Let’s go.” And she headed out the door.
“Damn pigheaded woman,” Doc muttered. “She’d never take an order from me, but you’d think a little friendly advice would be welcome—” Ian held the door open for him. “Women are nothing but a pain in the—Why I never married. Not quite true, no one would have me.” He stopped and navigated the stairs down the porch with his cane.
“Um, Doc—you wanna lock up?” Ian asked.
“Nah. I locked up the drugs and Jack and Preacher are across the street. They smell trouble and they’re armed to the teeth. It’s a dead fool that bothers my place.”
“Hmm,” Ian said. They had it all worked out in this little town. Made him wonder just what that felt like. He hadn’t had things all worked out in a long, long time.
There was a shiny Hummer sitting beside his old truck and the pregnant blonde was at the wheel, waiting. They must do a brisk business these days to afford a ride like that. The roll of bills in his pocket shrank again.
Ian opened the door for Doc Mullins and Mel and once again, Marcie slept so soundly she didn’t realize he was back. “I’ll just check the stove for wood and then wait outside,” he said. Mel pulled a chair from the table and put it by the couch, giving it a tap so Doc would take a seat. Then she gently jostled Marcie’s shoulder and called out to her, talking over Doc’s shoulder. “Marcie, can you wake up? Come on, open your eyes.”