Tying the Knot (5 page)

Noah followed a worn trail down brown carpet, noting the few aerial photographs depicting the growth of Deep Haven on the walls. The lighthouse on the point had obviously been one of the town’s first buildings.

Dr. Simpson waited outside his office door and stretched out his hand in greeting two paces before Noah clasped it. His long face curved into a wrinkled smile, and the warmth of his green eyes immediately slowed Noah’s pulse down a notch. “What brings you to Deep Haven Municipal Hospital, Noah?”

“My camp, sir.” He followed Dr. Simpson into the office. The window was open and faced an empty, weedy field. An overhead fan mixed the office air with fragrant forest smells—pine, wildflowers, mossy dirt. Noah lowered himself into a wooden straight-back chair while Dr. Simpson settled into a creaky metal rolling chair from the sixties. Over the doctor’s head, a trophy rainbow trout sprang from a mount, and Noah could almost feel the breath from the moose head hanging high behind his chair. He noticed a rough-hewn statue of a bear in the corner and recognized the work of a local wood-carver, a man talented with a chain saw.

Noah gulped, hard. “I need some help.”

Simpson clasped his hands on a tattered blotter. “Wilderness Challenge, right?”

Noah blinked. “Right. How’d you know?”

“Dan and I have been praying about it for some time. Men’s Bible study.”

Noah kneaded a neck muscle. “We can sure use those prayers. I’ve got a place to stay, tents over our head, staff and a full roster, but I’m short funds to feed them.”

“How can I help?”

Noah took a deep breath. “I need a nurse.”

Dr. Simpson quirked a brow. “So, hire one.”

Noah studied his weathered hands. “With what money? I need someone willing to work for free, someone who has emergency training.”

Dr. Simpson pursed his lips. “I don’t know how to help you, son.”

Noah rested his hands on his thighs and let the silence stretch out.

“Unless . . .” Dr. Simpson leaned back and folded his arms across his white lab coat. “I have a young lady on her way here, due to finish her internship in community nursing. She has some EMT experience . . .”

Noah looked up and kept his voice even. “Yes?”

“Maybe I could assign her to you for the summer. If she wants to do rural nursing, a stint in the wilderness would only add to her resume.” He narrowed his eyes at Noah. “But something tells me you already knew this.”

Noah looked out the window. A deer had crept out from the clasp of forest. Noah stilled, watching it. “I think I met her yesterday on the road. Her car broke down.”

“Anne Lundstrom.”

“Pretty brunette, a dangerous amount of attitude. She mentioned she was doing an internship here this summer.”

“And you saw an opportunity.”

“No. I saw an open door and I’m walking through it.”

Dr. Simpson nodded, his eyes hard on Noah. “I don’t want her getting hurt.”

“I’ll take care of her.”

The doctor’s mouth tweaked into a smile. “She doesn’t give the impression of one wanting to be taken care of.”

Noah matched the doctor’s grin. “I caught that.” He edged forward in the seat. “Listen, she’s perfect for the job. And if I can get her on board, I might be able to get the funding I need. It’ll change these kids’ lives; I guarantee it.” He winced at the urgency in his voice, but he was willing to surrender a little pride for the sake of the kids.

The whir of the ceiling fan filled the silence. Noah met Dr. Simpson’s gaze and read in it the compassion he’d prayed for.

“Go back to the board. Tell them you got your nurse.”

The moonlight had turned the highway silver. Noah longed to pull off his helmet, let the wind sing in his ears and scrape cold fingers through his hair. Instead, it billowed through his leather jacket. His suit coat and tie were neatly rolled up in his saddlebag. He should have hightailed it back to camp after his meeting, but he’d let joy drive him straight to Pastor Dan’s office. The price of strangulation in a monkey suit was worth it. He’d earned the probational camp funding.

He gunned the engine and popped a wheelie. Only God could have put together today’s events. It was no small miracle that he’d met the answer to his problems while rock hunting and praying his way across the beach yesterday.

And an attractive answer at that. He easily conjured up her tentative smile and the needy, shocked look in her eyes when he offered to help. He had to admit, he was looking forward to the opportunity to erase the fear he’d seen on her face.
If
he could erase it. He’d avoided women long enough to have grown rusty in the charm area. Not that he’d ever had much, but there’d been a day, long ago, when he’d found it easy, perhaps
too
easy, to sweet-talk a lady. He cringed at the recollection. Anne Lundstrom wasn’t that kind of woman, and he certainly wouldn’t be sweet-talking her into anything.

But maybe he could change her opinion of inner-city kids. And he meant every syllable when he’d told Doc Simpson he’d take care of her. Nothing would happen to Miss Lundstrom on his watch.

He couldn’t stop a bubble of pleasure from leaking out into a song. “‘What a friend we have in Jesus . . .’” The motor and wind ate his words, but his soul danced to the music.

Noah rounded a bend just as a dark, hulking shape dashed across the road. Slamming on his brakes, he felt his bike skid. From somewhere in his periphery, he heard a scream, then throaty barks that thundered into his brain.

Fire ripped up his leg as the bike slid toward the shoulder. He gritted his teeth and held on to the machine, praying he wouldn’t crush the figure paralyzed in the ditch. The bike turned and threw him off. He tumbled into the grassy gutter.

He lay in stunned silence under the canopy of stars, hearing only the labored gasps from his own body.

“Are you hurt?” A feminine voice, rushing toward him. Feet thumped down into the ditch. “Lie still.”

He groaned and propped up on one elbow. Except for an agonizing burn on his calf, he seemed unbroken.

“I said, lie still. You might have a broken bone.” She crouched next to him and ran a hand down his arm.

Noah shrugged her off. “I’ve been hurt worse than this, lady. Calm down.”

“You almost killed me.”

Noah’s mouth hung open as he stared at Anne Lundstrom. Sweatshirt hood up and dressed for exercise, her gaze surveyed him, not yet registering recognition. He swallowed and dredged up his voice. “Something ran across the street.” He worked off his helmet.

Anne sat back hard on her heels, mouth agape. Utter horror swept her expression. “You!”

In emphasis, a beast the size of a horse tackled him.

“Agh! Get away!” Noah pushed at hair—everywhere hair—and a slimy tongue licking his ear.

“Bertha, down. No!” Anne somehow hauled the animal off him.

Rescued, Noah sprawled in the grass, gathering his wits. When this lady invaded a man’s life, she left no room to breathe.

“Sorry about that.” She squatted beside him, restraining her brute. “Are you okay?”

He gave a small smile. “We meet again.”

“Are you following me?” Anger edged her voice.

“Hardly.” He couldn’t bear to admit he’d not only tracked her down, but would be her quasi boss for the next two months. She’d probably deck him into the dirt. “I was driving home. What are you doing in the middle of the road?”

She glared at him. “I was on the shoulder, and you were speeding.”

Irritation made the hazel in her eyes shine like gold. He tore his gaze away and examined the scrape on his leg. Luckily, his jeans had given first.

“You have a mild abrasion. You should get it cleaned and dressed.”

He had to smile at the warm concern in her voice. The hardened street kids would melt in a second. Never mind what it was doing to him. “How’s my bike?”

Hopping up, he groaned at the surge of pain that spasmed his leg. She gripped his elbow, as if to help him. The Suzuki lay on its side ten feet away in the middle of the road. Noah hobbled over, hoisted the bike up, and wheeled it to the shoulder. “I think she’ll live.” He didn’t mention the dozen or so dents the bike had acquired over the years.

“I live just down the road. Let me get my truck and drive you into town. A doctor should look at that, Mr. . . . um, Running Bear.” The wind had yanked off her hood, and now her hair shone bronze in the moonlight, tiny wisps dancing about her face. She was short enough to tuck under his arm, but her presence—the way she stood with her hands on her hips, the jut of her chin, and the tenacity in her eyes—made him feel small.

He searched for his voice.
“Standing
Bear. But you can call me Noah.”

“Well,
Noah,
you’re certainly not going anywhere until you get bandaged up.”

“I don’t—,” he started, then stopped at the cool arch of her brow. Obviously, arguing would only earn him more trouble. Besides, compliance might be a good way to let her in on their future association. He swung a leg over the bike and jump-started it. The motor churned the air and coughed up dirt.

She made a face.

“Hop on. I’ll drive you home.”

He couldn’t help but wince at the fear that leapt into her eyes.

They’d not only found him; they’d sent a watchdog.

He’d sat in his car and watched the flesh-and-blood Doberman roar out of the parking lot on his terror machine. It sent a chill of pure fear dripping down his spine.

Here, of all places, he thought he’d be able to hide.

And finish his business.

But they’d found him and sent a thug to hound him. A pair of biceps and a mangy face to never let him forget that they owned him. At least until he scraped up what they wanted. What they’d already paid for.

Did they think he couldn’t see through the man’s facade? Camping director? He wasn’t stupid. The guy looked like a recent escapee from the projects.

He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his short, sweaty hair. His stomach growled but it wasn’t food he needed.

Not right now.

He’d survive for a year on pure freedom if he could find a way to get his hands on it. Permanently.

Trust wasn’t a high value in this business, but he’d guaranteed them—especially when they pointed a Glock two inches from his nose—that he’d make good on their deal.

Then again, it had taken them nearly a month to find him. A month clear of shadows and death threats, four glorious weeks absent of panic in every footstep. He hoped to stay AWOL until he unraveled his mess and arranged his escape.

How was he supposed to finish the deal with a shadow nipping at him?

He tapped his manicured fingers against the steering wheel, watching the greedy gulls swoop out of the sky, screaming, fighting for scraps of meat. He knew how they felt. Desperate. Hungry.

Who would have thought fifteen years ago that he’d land in the exact pit from which he’d spent his childhood scrabbling to escape? He’d learned—back then at the gritty age of sixteen when he finally summoned the guts to swing back—that there was only one way to survive a sound beating from the bullies, the Dobermans of life.

Strike first.

3

Anne paced the hospital corridor, wearing a trail through the brown carpet. She had memorized the pictures on the wall, finished off an orange juice, and even made friends with the duty nurse down the hall, Sandra. Anne liked her. Something about a woman in her mid-forties still wearing her blonde hair in braids and adding a pink chamois shirt over her uniform resonated a chord of kinship in Anne. Wanting to fit into the local dress code, she had briefly considered returning home to change out of the black suit pants and silk blouse, but she didn’t want to miss Dr. Simpson when he actually showed up.

She returned to the small lobby and perched on a vinyl chair.

Sandra looked up from her desk. “I can’t imagine what is keeping him.” She glanced at the clock. “He knows you have an appointment.”

Anne forced a smile. Perhaps in the backwoods time ran like cold syrup. She smoothed her hands over the manila folder she held on her lap. Of course he already had a copy of her transcripts, but the write-up she’d received from her last supervisor couldn’t hurt his impression. Especially if she wanted to earn the freedom to stretch her wings and explore her new hometown.