for the anesthetic.
“Preston’s been an answer to a prayer for me,” Graham said as he worked.
“Hope you didn’t tell him that,” Willow said. “He probably wouldn’t appreciate the designation.”
Graham nodded. “He definitely isn’t interested in talking about spiritual things, is he?”
“No.”
“And you?”
“If you’re asking if I’m a Christian, yes, but don’t expect me to burst into song about the everlasting joys of living the spirit-filled life.”
He gave her a look of inquiry, and she shook her head. How could she explain, without getting too maudlin, that she and God weren’t exactly on speaking terms at this time? According to the books on grief written by the experts, she should be past that stage of the process. She’d left those books back in Kansas City. They were useless to her now.
“How was Preston an answer to prayer for you?” she asked, hoping to deflect the attention from herself.
“He and I met a few years ago at a weekend seminar on real estate investment, at Chateau on the Lake here in Branson. I discovered Preston wanted to work with rentals while he learned the business and earned the money that would make it possible for him to invest in his own property. I, on the other hand, needed to invest money immediately and needed a manager for my properties.”
“He worked as an accountant and financial adviser in Springfield for ten years after graduating from SMSU,” Willow said. “Then he got bored.”
“Well, he doesn’t have a problem with that now,” Graham assured her. “In fact, until tonight, I was pretty sure he was having the time of his life.”
“What are your renters going to do about a place to stay?” she asked.
“I’ve already made some calls, and they have rooms at a condominium down on Lake Taneycomo until they can return to their lodge. Preston’s cabin was the only building destroyed.”
“Any idea what caused the fire?”
“Not yet. I haven’t had time to worry about that. I’ve had my hands full with other things. Though the cabin was a few years old, I had it checked out before I purchased it, and it was in good shape structurally.”
“My uncle was a fireman before he retired,” she said. “He told me once that the investigation begins as soon as the first fireman arrives on the scene.”
“What first alerted you and Preston to the fire?”
“I saw a light outside. When I stepped out the back door I smelled something pungent, like turpentine or some kind of fuel. Then I smelled the smoke.” She paused, remembering. “When I reached the front, there were streaks of fire shooting toward the house across the lawn.”
He didn’t pause in his movements, but she felt, rather than saw, his sudden, startled interest. “Streaks?”
She nodded. “I remember thinking at the time about fuses. You know, like to a bomb.”
“Has anyone from the fire department or police department contacted you?”
“Yes, as soon as I arrived here with Preston, there was someone here to talk to me. I told him what I’m telling you.”
“I’ll have a talk with them. For now, you just relax.” After cleansing the site and setting up for sutures, Graham changed into sterile gloves and picked up the syringe filled with anesthetic solution to numb the wound.
He completed a two-layer closure in less than ten minutes.
After wiping the wound one last time with a saline-soaked swab, he invited Willow to examine the finished job. She nodded with admiration. The guy was good.
Graham removed his gloves and excused himself.
Willow laid her head back and closed her eyes in silent, automatic prayer for her brother’s life.
A moment later she heard a quiet footfall and jerked upright, eyes snapping open. A man in the doorway looked slightly familiar. In his mid-thirties, he had curly dark hair, a long face and warm, friendly brown eyes.
“Everyone okay in here?” he asked, taking a step closer to the bed.
“There’s just me, and I’m fine,” she said, frowning at him. Then she placed him. “You’re Rick Fenrow. Apartment Three B, right? Did you know about the fire?”
“Yes, I heard. You’re Preston’s sister, aren’t you?” He had a low tenor voice, with a northern accent.
“That’s right. I didn’t know until tonight that you worked here.”
“I haven’t been here that long. Did you know another tenant, Carl Mackey, works part-time at the hospital, as well? He’s in the pharmacy. The way things are looking tonight, we could have the whole complex here by the time the sun rises.”
“The fire hadn’t spread to the lodge when I left,” she assured him.
“That’s what the fireman told me. It’s a relief, too. Everything I own is in that place.”
“Are you a nurse?”
“Orderly. I usually work on the floor, but they were extra busy tonight, so I got called down here.” He looked at the chair that held her pajamas. “Caught you off guard, did it?”
“I’d say.”
Rick held up a hand. “I’ll be right back.” He winked and left the room. Moments later he came back, carrying a set of green scrubs. “These should fit.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“And don’t worry about Preston—he’s one tough guy. He’ll get through this just fine.”
“Have you seen Mrs. Engle?”
“She’s in some pain, but they’ve already called an orthopedist. She’ll be okay.” He patted her foot, then turned and left the room.
Less than thirty seconds later Graham returned to Willow’s treatment room. “Preston’s ready to see you before they take him to surgery.”
Holding her hospital gown with her good arm, she eagerly followed him into the trauma room, where Preston had been prepped for surgery. Blood infused through one of the two IVs in his arms, and a well-taped chest tube protruded from the left side of his chest, ending in an underwater seal device standing on the floor.
Preston’s upper chest and forearms had reddened; his skin was mildly blistered. EKG electrodes, an automatic blood pressure cuff and a fingertip pulse oximetry unit all connected him to a portable monitoring unit, which beeped with steady rhythm.
Willow noted that Preston’s blood pressure was a little low, his heart rate a little fast, but his oxygen saturation was excellent, and the cardiac monitor showed a strong, steady heartbeat.
“You
