“When you used to work here.” He stretched out on his stomach and attacked the robot on the page with his red pen.
“You were born in Idaho, remember?”
He giggled. “I don’t remember being born.”
“Smarty-pants.” She pushed the jackets over the back of the chair and sat. “I worked for Dr. Cobb before I moved to Idaho. Before you were born. Before I became a nurse.”
“What was Grandma Gette?”
“Grandma Georgette had the farm,” she reminded him calmly. Small as it had been. Her mother had grown vegetables and raised chickens, though the lawyer had told Kelly the chickens had gone by the wayside a few years earlier. Which explained the broken-down state of the coops now. “The bedroom you slept in last night was my bedroom when I was your age.” She hadn’t been able to make herself use her mother’s room. Instead, she’d slept on the couch. It was the same couch from her childhood, with the same lumps.
“But then we went to Idaho.”
“Yes.” It had been one of the best decisions she’d ever made in her life. She held up the baggie. “Want another color yet?”
He stuck the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth, considering. “Green.”
They exchanged the markers. “Your robot is going to look like a Christmas robot.”
He grinned, clearly liking that idea. “Santa robot.” He held up his cracked cast. It, too, had started out a bright red. But in the weeks since he’d gotten it, the color and the various drawings and signatures on it had all faded considerably. “Santa’s gonna know where I am, right?”
“Santa doesn’t come until Christmas. That’s almost two months away. We’ll be home long before then.”
“Not before Halloween, though.”
She shook her head. Halloween was less than a week away. “I don’t think so, buddy. I’m sorry.”
“Gunnar’s gonna trick-or-treat without me.”
“I know.” She rubbed Tyler’s back. “I’ll figure out something for us to do on Halloween.” It wouldn’t be answering the door to trick-or-treaters, that was certain. Even back when she’d been a kid, children didn’t voluntarily knock on Georgette Rasmussen’s door. Not unless they were on a dare or something.
“I wish we didn’t have to come here.”
“I know.” She propped her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. “I wish that, too. We’ll only be here in Weaver for a little while, though.”
It felt like months since she’d had a moment to draw breath, when it had really only been three days since she’d gotten the call about her mother. One day to absorb the news that the woman she hadn’t spoken to in six long years had died of a sudden heart attack. One day to pack up and drive nine hours from Idaho Falls to Weaver, Wyoming. One day to meet Tom Hook, the attorney who’d contacted her in the first place.
That’s the way she meant to continue. Dealing with things one day after another until she and Tyler could go back home where they belonged in Idaho. Then she could examine her feelings about losing the mother who’d never wanted to be her mother in the first place.
She pushed away the thought and started to cross her legs, but the doorknob suddenly rattled and she heard muffled voices on the other side of the door. She sat up straighter and brushed Tyler’s hair back from his eyes again. “You’ll like Doc Cobb. He’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever known.”
“Is that why my middle name is Cobb?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Considering everything her onetime boss had done for her, she should have stayed in better contact with him. She held up the baggie. “Put your marker away for now.”
Tyler rolled onto his side and sat up but missed the bag when he dropped the marker. It rolled under the table.
“Good aim, buddy,” she said wryly and crouched down to reach blindly beneath the metal base.
She heard the door open behind her just as her fingertips found what she was looking for. “Sorry for the wait,” she heard as she quickly grabbed the marker.
She was already smiling as she straightened and turned. “Doc—” The word caught in her throat, and all she could do was stare while everything inside her went hot.
Then cold.
Not because good old Doc Cobb, with his balding head, wildly wiry gray eyebrows and Santa-size belly was standing there.
But because he wasn’t.
Instead, the man facing her was six-plus feet of broad shoulders and very lean, un-Santa-like man. Sharply hewn jaw. Unsmiling mouth. Dark, uncommonly watchful eyes. Even darker hair brushed carelessly back from his face.
Seeing Caleb Buchanan was like being punched in the solar plexus.
She hadn’t seen him face-to-face in nearly six years. But there was no mistaking him now.
And no mistaking the fact that—while she was blindsided at the sight of him here in Weaver, when he should have been a surgical resident somewhere else by now—he didn’t seem anywhere near as surprised by the sight of her.
Well, duh, Kelly. Her name was written plainly in Tyler’s medical chart. How many Kelly Rasmussens could there be, particularly in the small town of Weaver?
The young blonde nurse stepped between them as she rolled the cast saw unit into the room.
Panic suddenly slid through Kelly’s veins and she snatched up their coats from the chair.
“You can stay,” the nurse assured, looking as cheerful as ever. “The machine looks more intimidating than it really is.”
Kelly’s mouth opened. But the assurance that she was perfectly comfortable with the saw stuck in her throat. She didn’t dare look at Caleb. And Tyler was starting to look alarmed.
How could she explain to any of them her urgent need to flee?
Caleb took a step past her, approaching the exam table. “I’m Dr. C, Tyler. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
The nurse patted Kelly’s arm comfortingly as she moved the saw next to Caleb. “He’s going to cut off your cast and put the new one on,” she chirped. “Did you decide what color you want?”
“Red.”
“Again?”
“I like red.”
One part of Kelly’s brain observed the scene. The other part was imagining herself grabbing Tyler and running for the hills.
“I was expecting Dr. Cobb,” she blurted.
The nurse blinked, clearly surprised. Kelly felt an insane urge to laugh hysterically. The practice was still clearly Cobb Pediatrics.
