forty-minute drive to the farmhouse of her grandfather, Gideon McCrea, usually gave her plenty of time to unwind from work. Especially when she could watch the early morning sun crest over the mountains and spread a golden haze across the desert floor. However, this morning a bank of clouds blotted out the sunrise and her thoughts were far away from the rough, open landscape.
Darn it! After three long years of working under Dr. Luke Sherman, why had she let his nasty mouth get under her skin? He’d said just as bad or worse to her before and she’d always allowed the barbs to roll right off her back. But this time his words had stuck and sunk too deep to ignore.
It was just as well, she thought glumly. During the past few months the tension of working with the demanding doctor had grown to such a point she’d sometimes felt herself close to crumbling. Especially when she appeared to be the only nurse in the ER that caught the brunt of his wrath.
When she finally pulled her economy car to a stop in front of her grandfather’s farmhouse, the clouds had moved north and the morning sun was already painting pink and yellow fingers across the porch sheltering the front and one side of the structure. Just the sight of the old two-bedroom house, with its rusty tin roof and gray, graveled tar siding, comforted her. No matter what took place in her life, this place would always be her home.
She was pulling her tote from the backseat of the car when the bang of the screen door had her glancing around to see Gideon walking onto the porch. His tall, thin frame was clothed in faded overalls and an equally faded chambray shirt. A mug of coffee was in one hand and a piece of food, most likely bacon, was in the other. As he took a seat in a rusty motel chair, he tossed the food to the dog lying near the end of the porch.
As she approached the house, she called out, “Grandfather, how many times have I told you not to feed Samson table scraps? They’re not good for him.”
“They’ve been pretty good to me for the past seventy-five years,” he argued. “And don’t be thinking Samson is stupid. He knows a piece of crispy fried bacon tastes a darn sight better than a chunk of hard dog food. That stuff isn’t much more than a corn dodger with a few vitamins thrown in.”
Paige wearily climbed the steps to the porch, then walked over and dropped a kiss on Gideon’s leathery cheek.
“Okay. Next time, we’ll buy canned dog food for Samson,” she told him.
As if on cue, the collie mix lifted his head and whined, which in turn made Gideon laugh. The interaction was enough to put a wan smile on Paige’s face.
“So did you leave any of that bacon for me?” she asked.
Gideon narrowed his faded blue eyes at her, then pulled a pocket watch from the bib of his overalls. “Am I mixed up this morning? Or have you come home early?”
He opened the watch and, after a careful check of the hands, snapped it closed.
“I’m early, Grandfather.”
“You’re usually an hour or two later. What happened? No sick folks coming in today?”
Paige could’ve told him there were plenty of ailing folks in the hospital. Including her. She was sick of Dr. Sherman’s endless demands and hateful attitude. She was fed up with looking at his face and wondering whether a nice guy had ever lived behind his handsomely carved features.
Sighing, Paige dropped her duffel and sank into the chair next to Gideon’s. “The ER was very busy. I, uh, had a little run-in with one of the doctors and decided it best I leave early.”
As he weighed her words, he passed a hand over waves of thick hair that had once been auburn but had grayed to a mixture of white and rust. At one time Gideon McCrea had been a young handsome man, working as a welder for the Virginia and Truckee Railroad. But once time had begun to catch up with him, he’d retired and contented himself with growing small crops of timothy and alfalfa to sell to the local ranchers. The profit he made wasn’t large, but that hardly mattered to him. He didn’t want much. Especially since his beloved wife, Callie, had died ten years ago.
“You going to quit being a nurse?” he asked.
Wow, she must really look stressed out, Paige decided. Or maybe Gideon was picking up some negative tone in her voice. Either way, she didn’t want him to worry about her.
“Oh, no, Grandfather. I’d never quit being a nurse. I just think it’s time for me to work in a different section of the hospital. I’ve decided I’m going to talk with Mr. Anderson about getting myself transferred out of the ER.”
Just speaking the thought out loud left her feeling empty and lost. The ER was her life. It was where she felt needed the most. Leaving it behind was going to be difficult. But not nearly as painful as trying to deal with another minute of Luke Sherman.
“When?”
Gideon’s question prompted Paige to refocus her attention on his weather-beaten features. Thankfully he didn’t appear overly concerned, but then he wasn’t a man who always wore his emotions on his sleeve. Mostly, she tried to gauge his feelings about a matter by how many words he spoke. More meant he was angry. Less meant worried.
“Later this afternoon. After I’ve had a little sleep.”
“Hmm. This doctor you had the run-in with, you don’t like him?”
Like him? She couldn’t associate such a meek word with Dr. Sherman. A person either admired him or detested him. During the past three years she’d worked with him, she’d forced herself to ignore his abrasive demeanor and focus on his skills. Because he was one of the best doctors she’d ever been associated with, she’d tried to overlook his shortcomings as a person.
Holding back a rueful sigh, she said, “He’s a super doctor. A stickler for details. And he genuinely cares about his patients. But to answer your question, no. I don’t like the man. He’s an ass.”
“Maybe he has to be that way.”
Paige frowned. “Why? Why would anyone have to behave in such a way? It’s just as easy to be nice as it is to be hateful.”
Gideon slanted her a pointed smile. “Not for a man. We’re wired different. You ought to know that by now.”
Oh, yes, she’d learned the hard way that a man’s behavior wasn’t always guided by his morals or conscience. Seven years ago, Paige had divorced her cheating husband and moved from a luxurious house in Reno to live here with Gideon. Most of her friends and coworkers found it hard to believe that she preferred living so far away from her job, with an elderly grandfather, in a small house that had seen very little changes since it had been built in 1940. None of them understood that being close to her grandfather meant more to her than anything. He loved her and needed her. That was more than her own father had ever felt for her and certainly more than her ex.
“Grandfather,” she gently scolded, “you could never be anything but nice.”
He chuckled. “You didn’t know me when I was a young bull and my fist was ruled by the fire in my hair. The years have mellowed me.”
Paige figured Luke Sherman’s age to be at least five years older than her thirty years. And though there wasn’t any fiery red in his sandy hair, she’d seen plenty of sparks in his green eyes. If he lived to be ninety, she couldn’t imagine him ever mellowing into
