Furiously pulling her rucked-up sundress down around her thighs—fairly sure it was too late to avoid Tiny’s owner getting an eyeful of her white lace underwear—Flora sat up...and almost groaned out loud. Of course. The pain of a few scratches couldn’t compare to the humiliation that set her face on fire. The way this day was going, it had to be him. The good-looking doctor who worked at the Main Street Clinic. Where Flora was viewed as the enemy.
Last time she’d seen him, Leon Sinclair had been professionally smart in black pants and a crisp blue button-down shirt that clung lovingly to his biceps. Now he was sweaty and mussed up in jogging pants and a T-shirt so faded it was impossible to read the logo. Both looks worked equally well for him.
“You called that thing Tiny?” It was the most scathing, spur-of-the-moment comment she could come up with.
“In my defense, he was tiny when I adopted him.” He reached out a hand. “Are you okay?”
She let him help her up, huffing out a breath as she did. “Yes, but it’s no thanks to your dog.”
Did his lips just twitch? She’d seen him around town a few times, but, until now, his facial muscles had never relaxed into anything that came close to a smile. “My dog apologizes, and so do I. He’s just a puppy.”
“Are you sure?” She eyed the half dog, half buffalo combination in disbelief. “What breed is he?”
“Closest I can tell, he’s a cross between an Irish Wolfhound and Great Dane, and he’s ten months old, so I guess he’s at the phase where he’s learning not to be a puppy.”
“He needs to try harder.” She rubbed her sore backside reminiscently, blushing as she became aware of the way his eyes followed her hand as it skimmed her buttocks.
“I’m not trying to make excuses for Tiny’s bad manners, but we don’t often encounter other people out here on our evening run. I guess the excitement was too much for him.” His gaze swept over her. “You don’t look like you’re planning on doing any hiking.” She was wearing a short cotton dress, light-weight sweater, and high-top sneakers.
“No, I’m not here for my daily exercise,” she confirmed.
It was early evening, and they were at the point where the road became a narrow track before it led on to the Stillwater Trail, the main tourist route. During the day, the lower levels were popular with walkers. Higher up, the going got tough and only serious hikers and hunters ventured that way. This was lake and mountain country. The route started out in the town itself, leading upward from Stillwater Lake, passing the smaller lakes known as Tenderness and Wilderness before winding onward until it reached the highest point in the county, the treacherous mountain known as the Devil’s Peak.
“I’m looking for Joy Valeski’s house.”
“Joy lives over there.” Leon pointed along the track in the direction from which he’d come. “We’re neighbors, although our houses aren’t exactly close. Out here, we have a long way to go to borrow a cup of sugar.” He studied Flora’s face. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m one of the doctors at the new Ryerson Medical Center. Joy is my patient.” She cast a glance his way to see how that went down. His nod was tight-jawed. Clearly, they were still at the raw stage where work was concerned. The whole “this town isn’t big enough for two medical practices” thing wasn’t going away anytime soon. “She didn’t turn up for an appointment today and I haven’t been able to contact her. I don’t usually stalk a no-show, but Joy has been good to me since I moved to Stillwater. My boys have eaten more meals cooked by her than by me. I thought I’d stop by and see if she needs anything. I drove most of the way and knew I’d have to walk a little way to reach her house.”
There was another reason, one she didn’t care to discuss with Leon. Since the Ryerson Medical Center had only recently opened, and Flora had moved to Stillwater for her new job, all Flora’s patients were new to her. During her initial assessment with Joy, the other woman had divulged some worrying information. As a result, Flora had set up a follow-up meeting between Joy and a colleague so her patient could get a second opinion. Joy had missed that appointment. Since the information she had shared with Flora concerned another doctor and could lead to an allegation of malpractice, the situation was not exactly routine.
She cast a side-long glance in Leon’s direction. “Am I right in thinking Joy used to be a client at the Main Street Clinic?”
There was that nod again. It was barely a movement, more a tensing of his muscles. “Before she made the switch to your center, she used to see my colleague, Alan Grayson.”
There was more in what he left unsaid than in the words themselves. It seemed Leon’s loyalty to his friend and employer at the established Main Street Clinic was as strong as his resentment of Flora. There was already a perception that the new medical center would poach clients from the traditional firm.
When she had relocated from her post as a family doctor in Denver to her new job, Flora had known there would be challenges. The trustees of the new center had anticipated there might be hostility from existing clinics. The RMC’s new facility was part of the Mountain States Health Group, a not-for-profit health care organization with a network of nineteen hospitals and forty-eight clinics across Montana, Wyoming, and Colorado. It offered enhanced and localized services for which locals previously
