Deep Haven [02] Tying the Knot Page 18

  Sandra was manning the admitting desk, and she glanced up when she heard the scuff of Anne’s shoes. The woman’s welcoming smile told Anne she’d been missed. “Emerged from fighting the mosquitoes, huh? Any battle wounds?”

  Anne couldn’t even begin to explain. She answered with a smile. “Is Dr. Simpson in?”

  Sandra nodded. “Go on back. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  Anne heard Sandra’s voice announce her as she treaded back to the office. Dr. Simpson had risen from his desk by the time she reached the door. Her heart jolted at the strain on his gaunt face. Bags of sleeplessness hung under his eyes, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

  He greeted her, but his smile was forced. “Glad to see you, Anne. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you stopped in earlier. Did you get your key?”

  Anne fingered her key chain containing the addition of a new key to the pharmaceutical closet. Last week when she’d stopped in, Judy, the human-resources rottweiler, had issued her a new key, along with instructions to guard it with her final breath. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Please be extra careful. Report it if it’s lost.”

  “Of course.” Anne nodded. “Why?”

  Dr. Simpson paused, and in the brevity of silence, she heard him sigh, as if measuring his burden and her faithfulness. “Jenny Olson was attacked last night.”

  Anne blinked, braced herself on his desk. “What happened?” Her stomach clenched at the sudden image of Nurse Jenny, her gray hair pulled back into a sturdy braid, her blue eyes brimming with compassion as she tended elderly patients. “Did it happen on the reservation?”

  Dr. Simpson’s lined face betrayed grief. “No, outside her house. Someone was waiting for her and ambushed her when she came home.”

  A split-second image of a stranger with dark eyes flashed through her mind. Garth Peterson, freelance photographer . . . just looking for the perfect opportunity. What opportunities, exactly? Anne fought a shiver and forced her next question. “How badly is she . . . is she . . . ?”

  “No, thank the Lord. Her neighbor heard her dog barking, then Jenny’s screams.” Dr. Simpson sat back down and covered his face with his aged, elegant hands. “She’ll be okay. But she’s pretty rattled.”

  Anne understood how it felt to wake in a hospital, disoriented and grasping for comprehension. “Did they catch the person?”

  Dr. Simpson shook his head, and his face twisted. “I don’t know how to tell you this . . .”

  Anne had the oddest impulse to reach across the desk and squeeze the doctor’s hand. “What is it?”

  He looked away from her, his shoulders rising and falling with a sigh that clawed at Anne’s heart. She sank into the chair under the gaping jaws of the moose head and braced herself.

  “Jenny is the third nurse who has been attacked this month.”

  Anne swallowed hard. Shakily, she said, “Here in Deep Haven?” As if they would be from somewhere else. Panic tightened her throat at the notion of crime afflicting the shores of this town.

  “Chief Sam suggests that no one gets keys to the hospital unless they are checked in and on duty, but since you’ll be off campus, hang tight to yours.”

  Anne frowned. “Does he think the attacks have to do with the hospital?”

  Dr. Simpson met her eyes, and his face hardened. “Maybe. We have a shortage of a few prescription medicines. Drugs that have street value.”

  Percocet, Ritalin . . . her conversation with Sandra raced back into Anne’s head.

  Dr. Simpson folded his hands on his desk, as if stopping short of reaching across the messy top and holding her hand like a father. “Jenny is going to be okay, but I’m shutting down the Granite River Clinic for now. I want you to spend the summer at camp. You’ll fulfill my requirements of your internship and when the summer is over, we’ll talk about your future.”

  Anne blinked at him. A confusing ball of regret and hope lumped in her chest. “Jenny’s position?”

  “We’ll see. But I promised your aunt that I’d keep an eye on you, and I’d prefer if you’d spend the summer at camp, out of the reaches of some drug-crazed mugger.”

  Anne nearly rolled her eyes. Obviously the naive doctor had no idea the type of people she’d be spending her summer with. She managed a nod. “Are you sure you don’t want me visiting Jenny’s patients while she’s recovering?”

  “No. I’ll be looking in on them myself. You concentrate on finishing well. I know you expected more experience following on Jenny’s heels, but I think your time as an EMT prepared you better than six weeks in her shadow.” He stood and grinned. “And after this summer, you’ll have backwoods experience.”

  Anne folded her arms across her chest and steadied her voice. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize Noah’s camp, but really, someone should be warned . . . “Did you know that, uh . . . Noah’s campers are from Minneapolis?”

  Dr. Simpson raised one eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

  “As in inner-city Minneapolis. The urban jungle?” No response. “Gangbangers?” Her voice rose. “Thieves, criminals, hoodlums?”

  His smile dimmed. “Didn’t you know?”

  Anne’s words vanished and her chest felt strangely vacant. “I . . . uh . . . no.”

  “I see.” He rubbed his chin. “Noah didn’t tell you?”

  She grimaced. “He was pretty vague.”

  “Hmm. Well, I’m sorry it came as a shock. I thought you’d be a perfect fit for the job, with your EMT experience.”

  Aunt Edith obviously had kept Anne’s secrets, from Dr. Simpson, at least. Anne sighed. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “In fact, Noah’s told me more than once that you are a real answer to prayer. A gift from the Lord.”

  She fought to exorcise her sarcasm. “Yes, I know.” Obviously Dr. Simpson had no idea that those words felt like a knife through her heart. She dredged up a smile. “Can I see Jenny?”

  Dr. Simpson didn’t move. “I was against Noah’s idea, you know. The first time he suggested it, I hated it. But God reminded me that it’s not the healthy who darken my door who need my help. It’s the sickly. The blind, the deaf, the wounded. These kids are wounded, and they need all we have to give.”

  Anne clenched her jaw, but his words squeezed past her folded arms and tugged on the edge of her heart. “I already told Noah I’d stay and help him.”

  Dr. Simpson’s expression told her he hadn’t even considered otherwise. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  She gulped. What kind of wishy-washy, flimsy-hearted woman was she to walk out on a commitment, even if it pushed her to the edge of her courage? Sure, her boundaries felt invaded . . . but she’d walked into the mess of her own accord. She hadn’t needed a push to pack up her dog and her belongings and hightail it to camp after Noah had smiled in her direction. Just because life didn’t turn out the way she’d dreamed didn’t mean that she was allowed to cut and run. Besides, the little girl who’d been dragged into the inner city as a budding teen had learned a few savvy lessons. She lifted her chin.

  Perhaps God had sent her.

  Perhaps she was the person Noah needed.

  At least the person he needed to run his camp and keep his hoodlum campers alive. She tried to ignore the voices inside that told her Noah Standing Bear had unloaded both barrels of his charisma to hook her. To keep her on staff and make all his dreams come true. Her throat felt raw as she shook Dr. Simpson’s hand and went in search of Jenny.

  Noah stood at the edge of the dock, stopwatch in hand, timing the kids as they treaded water. They all wore life jackets, and their skinny bodies trembled as they practiced staying afloat. “Five more minutes!”

  A collective groan, punctuated by a few colorful adjectives, rose from the shivering tadpoles. Few of the boys and girls knew how to swim and they needed to learn how to stay upright in a life jacket in case the canoes capsized.

  Ross and Bucko were in the water treading alongside them, instant assistance should fear ris
e from the depths and cramp muscles. Katie and Melinda, both lifeguards, stood on the dock, and junior counselors Megan, Juanita, Carmen, and Elijah paddled in nearby canoes, poised to reel in the weary.

  On the shore, looking graceful in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, Anne watched the swimmers like a hawk, searching for panicked faces and possible cramping. A veritable human iceberg for the last three days, she’d yet to look at Noah, let alone warm him with a smile in his general direction. Just being close to her sent chills up his spine . . . unfortunately it wasn’t the type of chills he was hoping for. He’d done his best to keep clear of her. Making sure they were never alone, never in talking-close proximity, even in the chow line. But he felt like he’d taken out his heart and pinned it to his sleeve, and she took a good whack at it every time she passed him and didn’t even glance in his direction.

  He grieved for what they’d lost. Even if she could never love him, never again surrender in his arms—and that thought made him ache—he longed for her friendship. Her laughter made him feel new and whole. And the sunlight in her eyes reflected an image of himself that didn’t resemble a seedy hoodlum but a man she’d trusted. He’d never had a lady as a friend, and now he knew why. Losing Anne felt as if he’d been scraped out from the inside. He put his hand on his chest and pushed against an ache that went so deep he wondered how he was still standing.

  “Okay!” he yelled, incredibly grateful for these real-life distractions that kept him partially sane. “Time’s up! Haul yourselves to shore, get changed, and meet me in the mess hall for snacks!”

  The campers were too tired to whoop for joy. Some of them made a dramatic show of crawling onto shore and landing in a heap.

  Darrin had made a pal, George, a kid with dark eyes and Native American ancestry who took great pride in the braid he wore to his waist. The two snapped towels at each other, following Bucko and Elijah toward their tents.

  Katie and Melinda rounded up their girls, wrapped in towels and shivering like wet cats, and scooted them off to change. The sounds of laughter and screaming peppered the air.

  Three days and no mishaps. Noah hadn’t stopped thanking God for the holy intervention. He’d outlined the dress code both before and after the kids arrived, just in case it didn’t sink in. The last thing he wanted at Wilderness Challenge was gang borders being drawn. He’d told them, accompanied by gentle threats, that gang identifiers would send them into the red zone and solitary confinement. Signs included “representing,” or flashing gang hand signals, hats being bumped or tilted to indicate gang affiliation, pants worn rolled up, or pockets pulled out. Earrings had been confiscated, and tattoos covered with Band-Aids.

  He had no doubts, however, that gang pride hadn’t been surrendered. Bucko and Ross patrolled their cabins like alpha wolves looking for dissent.

  It pained him that he had to police ten-year-olds with the vigilance of a sheriff, but he’d made promises—to parents, to churches . . . to Dr. Simpson.

  Noah watched Anne as she followed the children. He had to admit that regardless of her fears, she had true-grit spirit. She knew how to dish out exactly what these kids gave in a way that told him it wasn’t an act. She understood kids and how to deal with them. Unfortunately, they had yet to see her soft side, the side that laughed and teased. The side that nurtured.

  Noah gathered the life jackets and hung them on the post near the beach.

  Movement on the trail leading behind the lodge caught his attention. He stilled, watching as George emerged from some clasp of forest where he’d hidden. Before Noah could bark at him, the boy started toward the outfitter’s shack, which housed the canoeing and backpacking supplies.

  Noah quietly stole after him. He hadn’t cultivated his stealth skills in the hood for nothing.

  George crept up the path at a speed that told Noah the kid had felonious plans in his boyish heart. Noah stopped where George had hidden and watched through the trees as George snuck up to the porch and swung himself over and out of view.

  Noah narrowed his eyes. Was the kid after food? Noah had a strict rule—no goodies in the tents. Granny D. offered plenty of snacks . . . Noah picked up his pace and edged along the shack.

  He heard voices, then a giggle and his heart sank. He peeked around the corner and saw George working male magic on a brunette named Shelly. She had her arms over his shoulders. Noah recognized the moves of a boy who had been introduced to girls way too soon. George moved close, whispered something into her ear, and she laughed again.

  Noah felt sick and he fought his roiling temper. Not so many years ago he’d been this kid, enthralled with the intoxicating amphetamine of girls, amazed that they even noticed him let alone melted at his fumbling charm. He dug up a measure of mercy and approached slowly.

  Shelly saw him first. Her eyes widened, and she dropped her arms and cleared her throat. When George turned, shock was replaced much too quickly with a chip the size of an iceberg.

  Cold silence spoke Noah’s reprimand.

  George glared at him.

  Noah shook his head. “You know the rules, George.” He stepped aside, and George stalked past him, muttering beneath his breath. Noah grabbed him by the arm, stopping him in midstride. He leaned close to the kid, smelling on him lake water, sweat, and not a little defiance. “Watch yourself, George. I’m not stupid.”

  Every muscle in George’s young body stiffened, and he yanked his arm from Noah’s grip.

  Noah watched him walk away, a swagger to his step that told Noah that he hadn’t won the war. Noah sighed and turned to Shelly. The young lady rubbed her arms, embarrassment pinking her skin.

  “Shelly, you know George is after one thing. Please, don’t be a fool.” And please, don’t tell me he loves you.

  She raised her chin. “George isn’t like that. He cares about me. We’re together.”

  Noah shook his head. “Not here, you’re not.”

  Shelly harrumphed and marched past him, spiking him a glare that could peel skin, a look inherent in women’s genes. With a heavy heart, he watched her stomp back to her tent.

  Noah turned to return to the beach and halted at the sight of Anne, paused in the path. Miss Doom-and-Gloom stood with her hands on her hips, eyes hard on his, her mouth a muted line. His throat thickened at the sorrowful look she gave him. Then she held up one finger and moved her lips, no sound.

  One week.

  18

  Anne sat three seats away from Noah at the dinner table, and she could still feel him gloating. He’d honored her request and hadn’t said two unnecessary words to her in a week, but after seven days without a major shakedown at camp, he didn’t have to actually speak for her to hear him shouting for joy.

  She could see it in his eyes. His beautiful soul-piercing eyes. For the first time in a week, she wanted to chance looking at them, to suppose that she’d been wrong. In fact, she wanted him to be right. Wanted to believe that plucking these kids out of their concrete dungeons and letting the forest work its magic had freed them from the despair that hovered like Big Brother. Perhaps she’d been overreacting, listening to her fears instead of hope. Whatever the case, Noah Standing Bear knew how to tame their wild hearts with a smile, crazy games, and a slew of nutty songs he taught them at the campfire each night.

  Whoever heard of rapping “To God Be the Glory”? Noah had pulled it off so well the kids rapped the chorus in their free time.

  Noah had certainly done a number on her calloused heart in the three weeks since she’d known him. She couldn’t even breathe the same air as the man without feeling his presence as a sweetness to her soul. The delicious ache told her that Noah wasn’t going to be exorcised out of her life by pure will. Even now, his laughter drifted down the table and tugged at her. Wherever he went, Noah’s charm, patience, and gentleness paved a road before him into the souls of the campers. Even George, the local Don Juan, had stopped trying to woo the girls, leaving Anne to wonder what power Noah wielded.

  Either that or God had begun
to soften their hearts, including hers. The dramas and talks at the campfire each night drew her in and soothed her wounded soul. Only God’s Word, His truth spoken plainly under a brilliant night sky, with the wind reaping the blossoms from the forest, and crickets and bullfrogs singing the melody of twilight, could minister to her ragged spirit. If God had been trying to wrap His divine arms about her and remind her of His love, He couldn’t have picked a better place. Never once in the past ten years, and especially through the trauma, had she doubted God’s existence.

  It was His love with which she struggled. Why did it feel so rough and prickly while others had a God who filled their lives with cotton? She’d met other Christians who seemed to live in a puff of soft marshmallow, troubles only glancing off them. Like Noah. Didn’t he ever struggle with his faith?

  She wondered if he’d grown up in Minneapolis—hadn’t Joe mentioned that Noah had gone to his hometown to pick up the kids? But Noah simply didn’t fit the image of inner-city gangbanger, at least not on the inside. She couldn’t deny it—Noah was morphing back into a real-life hero. Maybe it was time to actually talk to him. As in words, cordially spoken. It was getting nearly impossible to hang on to her fury. Especially when the man looked like he’d drop to his knees in apology if she ever gave him a second of attention.

  The awful truth was that she missed him. Missed his kooky jokes, the way he wrestled with Bertha and teased her about his junk-food habits. He’d reached down with his kindness into her frigid, wounded heart and wrapped his strong arms around her. With Noah and his friendship, she felt . . . safe. Even if he had connived and deceived her to get her to stay, he’d gone out of his way to make sure she felt appreciated and welcome.

  Lately, he’d been going out of his way to stay out of hers. It cut like a switchblade to see him hanging out with Katie or Melinda, watching their eyes light up when he made them laugh.