agree. I’d like to know who’s been saying that, because I can’t remember ever asking it or even hearing about one.”
Fargo grunted and adjusted his girth. “Good, because you know Samuel doesn’t like rumors like that getting spread around. It erodes community spirit. Cold Plains is a good place to live. You know that or else you wouldn’t have moved here, right?”
“Of course,” he said, a trickle of unease sliding down his back like a rivulet of sweat on a hot day. “Cold Plains is unlike any other place I’ve ever lived, and I like it here.”
Satisfied, at least for the moment, Fargo climbed into his cruiser. His elbow out the window, Fargo said, “If you hear of anyone else spreading those kinds of poisonous rumors about our town, you let me know, you hear?”
“You got it, Chief,” he agreed, giving the impression he shared the chief’s concern. “If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to stop by my office.” And stop making house calls, you bloated bully. Rafe smiled for emphasis. Fargo grunted and pulled out of the driveway and then out onto the highway.
It wasn’t until Fargo was gone and out of sight that Rafe breathed a little easier. That was close. He’d been sloppy, asking around about the infirmary to too many people who were apparently loyal to Samuel and his cronies. He’d have to be more careful.
Or else he might find himself at the business end of Fargo’s gun.
Because Cold Plains was a nice town.
And Samuel aimed to make sure no one believed otherwise.
Chapter 6
Bo Fargo walked into Samuel’s office, his thoughts still on the doc. Rafe Black said all the right things, but Bo’s gut told him the doc was hiding something. He’d have to keep an eye on the man to see if his instincts were spot-on, or if he was just being extra paranoid.
Samuel Grayson, the man behind the plan, looked up from his desk, an efficient smile on his face. “How was your visit with Dr. Black?” he asked conversationally, steepling his fingers as he awaited Bo’s answer. The thing about Samuel was that he seemed soft and nice, but the man was meaner than a junkyard dog when riled. Bo found the contradiction a little disconcerting. He preferred that people act one way or another, not both in a sneaky way. But no one told Samuel how to act or be, not even Bo. “I trust he was cooperative?” Samuel asked.
“Yes,” Bo answered, vacillating on whether or not to share his misgivings about the doc. For whatever reasons, Samuel seemed to like Dr. Black, and Bo didn’t like the idea of being the bearer of bad news. However, one thing Samuel didn’t abide and that was being in the dark, and since he counted on Bo to keep him apprised of the goings-on, he decided to spill. “He said all the right things, but I don’t trust that man. What do we know about him? Not much. I think he’s hiding something.”
“Such as?”
Bo shrugged. “Dunno. Just something in my gut that says he ain’t being truthful about everything.”
“Interesting.” Samuel pursed his lips in thought. “What was his reaction when you asked him about the infirmary?”
“Cool as a cucumber. He denied asking about one and even made some jokes.”
“It would seem a man intent on finding something would be more surprised at being questioned. How reliable was your source of information?”
Bo thought of the woman, a woman who had reportedly been turned down by the good doc for a date, and he realized the information might be unreliable, and he shared as such. “Seems the doc isn’t so much into dating. The woman who told me, word has it she’d been rejected in the romance department by the doctor.”
Samuel chuckled softly. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, right?”
“So they say,” Bo muttered. Women served two purposes in Bo’s life: food and sex. And sometimes he preferred the food. He cleared his throat. “What now?”
“Rafe Black is, by all accounts, a good man. He’s smart, responsible, yet keeps his head down. I like that in a Devotee. Work harder at bringing him into the flock. We could benefit from a man such as himself being on our side. And who knows? Maybe if he proves worthy, he will find himself working behind the curtain, in the infirmary. But until then, watch him. Carefully.”
“You got it, boss,” Bo said dutifully, his belly starting to growl, signaling the dinner hour more efficiently than any clock. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually, there is.” Samuel’s expression lost its easy benign softness, that air that he was just a good-natured man out to better his slice of the world. Here was that duality that Bo found unsettling. Now Samuel looked hungry and ruthless. “I’ve tired of my present company. I want someone fresh—young, preferably, but not too young, of course—mid-twenties with a trim figure and nice big breasts. That’s important, Bo. The breasts must be natural, none of that fake silicone garbage. When I squeeze a woman’s breast, I want to feel the flesh give in my hand. Am I clear?”
“Of course,” Bo said, hating these particular assignments. There was something unnatural about handpicking another man’s bed partner. But he did as he was told because he liked his life. It was easy and people respected him. Sure, it was out of fear, but Bo didn’t care. The women spread their legs for him when he wished and didn’t care to stick around longer than they were welcome, and he appreciated that most. One last thought … “Brunette or blonde?”
Samuel spread his hands in a generous gesture. “No preference. Surprise me.”
Darcy stepped into the bright morning sunlight and headed for her first day of work. She really didn’t have a clue as to what being a receptionist entailed, but how hard could it be answering a few phone calls for a small Podunk, Wyoming, doctor’s office? She took a quick minute to adjust her skirt and blouse and then walked into the cozy cottage with an engaging smile directed toward Dr. Black—Rafe, what a sexy name—she wanted to make friends, didn’t she? But when her smile was met with a subtle flash of a frown, she hid the disappointment by settling behind the desk with the studious intent of learning the ropes. “So, here I am bright and early. What are my job duties exactly?”
Without so much as a hello, good morning, Rafe started in. “My first patient will arrive at eight-thirty, followed by another every forty-five minutes. Try to space the patients in such a manner, but if there seems to be an emergency, go ahead and book them, and I will make time. Also, anyone who has weight issues will be directed to the town nutritionist, Heidi Kruch. Here are her business cards, in case anyone asks.”
“That sounds kind of personal,” she murmured, checking the card information. “Why would a doctor’s office recommend any one nutritionist? That seems like a decision best left to the patient.”
His brief smile was patronizing. “This is Cold Plains. Not your ordinary run-of-the-mill town. But I think you already know that, right?”
“Yeah, I think I’m getting an idea,” she said, pocketing a card. She wanted to see what this nutritionist was like. “Anything else?”
“Yes. We also have pamphlets on the suggested daily workout and the menu planner if anyone needs them.”
“Damn….” she exclaimed under her breath, almost without thought,
