Chapter Six
Funny how a day could change so quickly.
One moment Garrett Marshall was enjoying a beautiful Monday morning in July. He was putting the finishing touch on the converted building that would now house the new medical clinic for the little town of Bisons Creek—a hand-carved and painted sign created by his artist brother, Dylan, announcing the medical practice of Dr. Rachel Vale. Garrett measured the sign and the space, calculating exactly where the hangers should go. Then he took his hammer and the first nail, cocked his wrist...
And slammed the face of the hammer directly onto his thumb.
“Damnation!” The hammer clanked to the floor of the porch as Garrett swore. Sucking on the injured finger, he glanced around to see if anybody had heard him. According to his congregation, ministers didn’t use such words, except in their sermons about the rewards of sin. Garrett didn’t want to shatter their illusions if he could help it.
Luckily, no one had been within earshot, but as he bent to pick up the hammer, a dusty green SUV pulled up to the curb in front of the clinic and stopped. The driver came around the hood of the vehicle to survey the building. “There’s no sign,” she called. “How will people find the place?”
“I’m working on it,” Garrett called back. “Give me two minutes.” Aware that he was being watched, he picked up the hammer he’d dropped and blew out a breath. “Focus...”
He didn’t hit his thumb again, though it took a few extra taps to get the first hanger firmly seated. The second went in with a little more finesse. Then he picked up the sign and hung it on the wall. “There you go.”
When he turned, he found the woman standing on the porch with him—and the close-up view took his breath away. Bright blue eyes and rosy lips, long hair in a shade of red he labeled russet, creamy skin and a curvy figure accentuated by a T-shirt and shorts...it all added up to perfection, as far as Garrett was concerned.
“It’s a nice sign,” she said, “but I’m not sure it will be visible from the street.”
She was also, he gathered, rather picky. “There will be a bigger, freestanding sign in the yard for the Bisons Creek Medical Clinic. It’s not quite finished.”
“That sounds great.” Smiling, she extended a hand. “I’m Rachel Vale.”
“Garrett Marshall.” Taking off his hat, he held her right hand in his and squeezed, but then couldn’t prevent a wince.
Her warm smile became a worried frown. “What’s wrong?”
“I hammered my thumb just before you arrived. Don’t worry—”
“Your right thumb?” She brought his hand closer to her face. “Are you left-handed?”
“I am, as a matter of fact.” He was also flushing in embarrassment at this point.
Dr. Vale hadn’t noticed, her attention being concentrated on his thumb. Her fingers were cool and gentle on his skin, and very clean. As she bent her head, he caught the crisp herbal scent of her shampoo. Unobtrusively, he drew in a deeper breath. Very nice.
“Has the pain diminished since it happened?”
“Yes, definitely diminished. I’m fine, really. Just feeling stupid.” Nothing like looking clumsy in front of a gorgeous professional woman. He might be a pastor, but he had his pride.
“It’ll be bruised.” She released his hand. “Ice would be a good idea. I’d offer some, but I have no idea if I even have any ice.”
“I’m okay,” Garrett assured her. Her touch seemed to linger on his skin. “Shall I let you inside? Or do you have the keys?”
“The mayor sent me a set,” she said, pulling a key ring out of her back pocket. “Let’s see how this works.” With a couple of quick twists of her wrist, the door swung open. “Ta-da! My own clinic.” She nodded toward the interior. “Want to share my first tour?”
For another smile, he’d hang around all day. “My pleasure.” He followed her into the waiting room, where a pass-through window opened into the receptionist’s office. “This building used to be a general store,” he said as she surveyed the space. “It had been empty for years but wasn’t too hard to clean up and renovate into what you needed. Mostly a matter of putting up walls and doors, dropping the ceiling and laying new vinyl over the concrete.”
“That all sounds pretty labor-intensive to me. I like the light gray walls and charcoal floor. Very soothing.” She went through the door patients would use into the back hallway, where there were two examining rooms, a laboratory and an office. “You’ve made a big effort.”
“We’re pretty excited to have a medical clinic. Driving to Kaycee or Casper isn’t an easy option for some folks.”
The doctor nodded as she peeked behind cabinet doors, opened drawers and examined the boxes of equipment stacked on the counter. “I grew up in a small town, with no local doctor and a mother who had health issues. Getting to and from her appointments could take up most of a day. And as a doctor, I’ve experienced firsthand how beneficial it is for patients in an isolated community to have accessible health care. Problems can be handled relatively easily in the office rather than exacerbated by patients’ reluctance to make a long drive, especially the elderly. It’s one of the issues I specifically want to address in my career.”
Talk about commitment! Garrett thought she might be too good to be true. “I’m glad to hear that. We have our share of older folks in Bisons Creek.” He followed her down the hallway. “I understand your training is in family medicine?”
“At the University of Washington, in Seattle. I’ve also worked in small towns in Idaho and Montana.” She stood at the door to the office. “But never with an office this nice. There’s even a desk and an armchair
