On Monday morning, when Dr. Jama Keith stepped from her ten-year-old Subaru Outback onto the gravel parking lot in front of the brand-new River Dance Clinic, a chorus of birdsong merged with the familiar splash and gurgle of multiple waterfalls. A serenade. Like old friends welcoming her home.
A wave of unexpected hope and longing struck her.
She fought the hope. This would be a temporary stop. An extended one, yes, but temporary. She had to keep that in mind.
Maybe memories would be short for the citizens of River Dance, her tiny, isolated childhood home. Maybe, at least, those memories would be gentle, smoothed over and worn down by time.
“Hey, Dr. Keith!” someone shouted to Jama from across the street.
She turned to see sixteen-year-old Kelly Claybaugh on her way to school. Jama waved and smiled, surprised that she recognized the kid after so many years. And that Kelly had recognized her. And called her “Doctor.” Very cool.
“How’s your great-grandpa?” Jama called to the pretty teenager.
“Still at the nursing home. He said you visit him every time you come to town.”
“I’ll be by to see him in a couple of days.”
“He’d love that!” Kelly said, and Jama guessed by the perky sound of her voice and the bounce in her step that the girl must be a cheerleader at River Dance High. Her great-grandfather, Ted Claybaugh, former teacher and football coach, must be proud.
Jama was an hour early. She needed time to adjust before putting on her professional face for the new director.
River Dance, population eight hundred and thirteen, was a picturesque town built into the hillside above the northern bank of the Missouri River. The location’s charm and beauty drew tourists in spite of the remoteness from more commercial river towns such as Washington and Hermann and the state capital, Jefferson City.
River Dance had inspired more than one calendar company to feature the quaint, restored homes, gift shops, waterfalls, gardens and vineyards. The new clinic was within sight of two rivers, if one could catch a view through the trees. The scent of pine needles wafted over Jama, along with the moist perfume of fresh water and rich, freshly tilled soil.
The whisper of the wind in the treetops harmonized with the mad waterfall rush of the rocky Show-Me River as it danced steeply downhill and into the mighty Missouri. The springlike gentleness of the air belied the weather forecast of a freeze tonight.
Someone honked from the street, and Jama waved instinctively before she recognized Mildred Lewis on her way downtown to her café. Best pies on the riverfront for fifty miles in either direction.
Jama’s new, thick-soled shoes crunched gravel as she strolled to the log building that had recently replaced Charla Dunlap’s sprawling old bed-and-breakfast. To Jama’s joy, the construction crew had managed to preserve five of the seven grape arbors that Charla had so lovingly tended on her property over the years. Grapevines were the lifeblood of this town.
The solid pine porch of the new River Dance Clinic echoed Jama’s footsteps as she strolled past the wooden rockers to one of the multipaned windows and peered inside. The waiting room was well furnished, with tasteful prints on the walls.
She hoped Mayor Eric Thompson had arranged for enough staff to support this place. She grinned to herself. Eric Thompson. Who’d have thought that wild rascal would someday be mayor?
The racket of a loud engine broke the tranquility of wind and water. Jama turned to see a faded blue pickup slide into the parking lot and lurch to a stop barely three feet from her Outback.
She’d have known that farm truck anywhere—she ought to, she’d learned to drive in it. And the brawny sixty-year-old rancher inside had been her teacher out on the dirt tracks that crisscrossed the vast Mercer Ranch.
“Monty?” Jama rushed down the wheelchair ramp at the side of the porch and approached the truck as Monty Mercer slowly opened the door to the sound of protesting metal.
Though Monty’s short beard had aged from black to salt-and-pepper over the years, the big, strapping rancher had barely a touch of silver at his temples. “How’s my favorite blonde?”
“Nervous.” She stepped into his arms and hugged his weathered neck.
He patted her back instead of giving her his usual, bone-cracking bear hug. “First-day jitters?”
“Just settling in.”
“This is what you’ve been preparing for all these years. Kinda scary, huh?”
“Kinda.” What an understatement.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s up, kid?”
“Aren’t you still a city council member?”
He nodded.
“So you met Dr. Lawrence?”
“Can’t say that I did. She’s apparently a friend of the mayor’s, and he did most of the footwork on that one. Her credentials are in order, and she is well suited to the town’s seclusion. Eric said she’ll be driving back and forth from Hermann until a rental opens up in River Dance. You talked to her?”
Jama hesitated. “On the phone. Twice.” The woman had been curt to the point of rudeness, which boded ill for a comfortable working relationship.
Did Monty realize, knowing Jama so well, that she had already decided she would chafe under the leadership of Dr. Lawrence?
“You’ll be fine with her,” he said.
Yep, he’d realized it.
“Give it a chance.”
Jama glanced up at him. Okay, reading her so well, did he also know about her recent drama with his son? Had Tyrell said anything to him?
And did Monty understand her trepidation over returning to a place where everyone was aware of all her past sins?
Or at least most of them.
Monty kept a heavy arm over her shoulders as he turned to walk with her toward the building. “Got any keys to this place yet?”
“Nope. Dr. Lawrence is supposed to show up before nine, but I…thought I’d come early. This is the first time I’ve seen the building all completed and ready to go.”
Monty released her and sank slowly onto one of the wooden rockers on the front porch with a muffled groan.
She eyed him critically. “Been working too many hours again?”
“Something like that.”
“I know you’re a hunk in top form, but even you have your limits, and—”
“And I’m not getting any younger,” he muttered, without the dry humor that typically laced his tone. “The latest studies show that people who remain active throughout their lives will—”
“I know, I know, but I’m just saying—”
“We’d hoped you’d stay with us at the ranch last night, maybe even agree to lodge with us for a while. Do you know Fran hasn’t seen you in at least a month? And you haven’t returned her last two calls. She’s reminded me about that at least twice in the past twenty-four hours. She’s eager to see you.”
Jama sat in the other rocker and allowed the motion to help calm her as she listened to the sound of wood gently moving against wood. “Sorry. My housemates decided to throw a party for me last night, so I stayed in Columbia and drove here this morning.”
“And the calls?”
“Sorry about that, too. It’s been a hectic few days, settling my affairs at the hospital, trying to find someone to sublet my share of the house in Columbia, staying—”
“Staying away from Tyrell.” Monty gave Jama a look. “He’s at the ranch now, you know.”
Her rocking motion stopped. “He’s back in River Dance already?”
Monty rested his head against the pine rocker, closing his eyes to the early-morning sun. “He’s staying in the apartment over the garage. He’s ready to shove all kinds of new ranching ideas down my throat.”
“He told me a few weeks ago that you’d already purchased that new tractor he showed you.”
“I didn’t say I disagreed with his ideas.” Monty opened his eyes and fixed his attention on Jama again. “What’s going on with you two? Last we saw of him, we were sure he would pop the question.”
Jama studied the wooden floor of the porch, but she didn’t see wood grain; she was seeing Tyrell’s face, the light of love in his dark blue eyes. She heard his voice so clearly telling her that he wanted her in his life for as long as he lived. He’d asked her to marry him.
How could it all have gone so wrong? A dream she had nurtured for so many years finally coming true, and she’d been unable to embrace it.
And when she looked up at Tyrell’s father before her, she felt the throbbing ache inside.
“Is that why you came this morning?” she asked Monty. “To heal the breach?”
“At least you admit there’s a breach,” he said. “Tyrell won’t admit that much. All his mother and I know is that he’s changed. He’s not his usual, cheerful—” Monty grimaced, and his face whitened.
“Monty?”
He held a hand up and gave a brief shake of the head.
“Seriously, what’s up with you? Did you pull a muscle or something?”
“I’m not feeling the best, okay?” As he said the words, Jama spotted a streak of blood seeping through the blue sleeve of his chambray shirt.
She sprang from her chair and dropped to her knees beside him. “What happened?” She reached for his arm.
“Had a little accident with a ladder out behind the barn.”
“You fell from the ladder? And you didn’t tell me about it immediately?”
“It wasn’t at the top of my list.”
“I’m a doctor now, remember? We need to see to this.” Jama unbuttoned his sleeve.
“Think that director of yours will be here any time soon?”
Jama slid his sleeve up. “I’m not sure, but I’ll call and find out. Tell me exactly where you’re hurting. How did you land?”
“Think I might’ve busted a rib or two.” He grimaced again.
Jama saw a superficial cut on his wrist. The arm didn’t appear to be broken, but she would delay judgment about that until she had an X-ray. “Why didn’t you say something when you got here?”
“I wanted to meddle in your life while I had the chance, before you could pull out the doctor’s bag.”
“You can meddle as soon as we get you taken care of.”
“Promise?”
“Sure, whatever. First, I’ve got to get you inside. Sit tight.” She clipped her Bluetooth to her ear and punched in the new director’s number on her cell phone. She hadn’t bothered to incorporate the voice recognition for Dr. Lawrence’s name, because she had, without doubt, subconsciously hoped that somehow the director would just go away before the need arose to connect with her again. The woman was as cold as a well digger’s—
“How far did you fall?” Jama asked as she waited for Dr. Lawrence to answer the call.
Monty looked up at her, his face a frightening gray. The director picked up the call just as Monty slumped over, unconscious.
“Monty!”