Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
May’s phone buzzed right before dinnertime.
The vibration rattled against the wooden desk, breaking the quiet rhythm of the clinic.
She finished the line she was typing, closed out the note she’d been completing for a patient who’d fallen on a dock, and set the patient charts aside with careful precision.
The late-day light slanted through the blinds, thin gold bands stretching across the floor and climbing the opposite wall.
Her shoulders ached from hours of sitting, and the faint smell of antiseptic hung stubbornly in the air.
She answered on the second buzz. “Dr. Smirnov.”
“It’s Amos.” He cleared his throat, the sound dry and slightly breathless.
“Hey, Amos,” she murmured, relaxing into her chair. The man lived in the basement of the sheriff’s building and served as Knife’s Edge’s unofficial weather expert. “Do we have another summer storm coming?”
“Actually, we do. I don’t want to spook you, but we’ve got a fast-moving cell building west of Knife’s Edge. Lightning’s already popping inside it.” Papers rustled faintly on his end. “It’s probably going to make impact in about forty-five minutes. Less if the wind keeps pushing it.”
May straightened. Outside, the wind pressed against the siding in uneven bursts. “Okay.”
“The rain’s going to be heavy,” Amos continued, sounding distracted now, “and the gusts could get nasty.”
May pulled the elastic from her ponytail and rubbed the back of her neck, tension unwinding in a dull, persistent throb. “I understand.”
“The biggest danger I see,” Amos said, “is lightning strikes. Especially for the morons who keep fishing. With this wind, we could also see hypothermia.”
“Yes, I know.” Even in July, that was a distinct possibility around Knife’s Edge. The air could turn cold without mercy with the brutal rain slicing warmth straight from skin. “Anything else?”
He coughed lightly. “Maybe some boating accidents. We’re talking a really decent storm.”
May sighed. So much for a quiet evening. “Of course we are.”
“Otherwise I wouldn’t be calling you, Doc.” A beat passed, then he added, “It wouldn’t surprise me if we see power flickers or even a loss.”
“Our generator’s ready if we need it.” May’s gaze drifted to the emergency checklist taped beside the cabinets. If the trails turned to mud, she’d likely see twisted ankles and broken wrists before the night was over.
“Alrighty,” Amos said, his normal cheer returning. “Prepare for hypothermia and bad decisions.”
She grinned. “Always. Hey, Amos, thanks for calling.”
“You bet. There’s also activity going on up in the sheriff’s office above me. I hear rapid movement, but I don’t know what it is.”
She stiffened. “Thanks for the heads-up. Talk soon.”
“You’ve got it.” Amos ended the call.
May had planned to take a bubble bath and read a book after dinner. Instead, she stood and crossed to the window. Outside, clouds were gathering fast, thick and bruised, swallowing the last of the sun. A sudden arc of lightning split the distant sky with white fire tracing across the jagged peaks.
Excitement caught her. She scrambled through her desk drawer until she found her Canon EOS.
She lifted it, focused out the window, and steadied her breathing.
She’d captured several lightning shots over the past few months, but this one—closer, warmer, framed against those mountains—would be special.
Her phone buzzed again. She exhaled as frustration flickered through her.
“Oh, dang it.” She’d barely framed the shot.
The lightning had been perfect with a clean white vein across the darkening sky, and now the moment was already slipping away.
She lowered the camera, reached for the phone, and answered. “Dr. Smirnov.”
“Hey, it’s Brock.”
Her heart sank. Brock didn’t call for small talk. “Hey, Brock. What’s going on?”
“We’ve got two missing tourists. They went four-wheeling this morning and were supposed to be back by lunch. They’re five hours late, and there’s a storm coming.”
May’s gaze snapped back to the window where clouds were thickening by the second. “Do we know which route they took?”
“They went up Whisper Creek Trail.”
She winced. That trail branched like a nervous system once riders got high enough. “And after the split?”
“We don’t know. One of them’s diabetic.”
Fantastic. “How old?”
“Late twenties. Engaged couple from Washington State. They’re up here for a week of river rafting and fishing, pretty much like everybody else.” Papers shuffled on his end. “Johnny Wilson and Patty Young. Patty’s the diabetic.”
May catalogued the possible problems. “Do we know if she took glucose tabs or insulin?”
“We don’t.” Brock paused. “I’m assuming she did, so I’m not panicking about that. I’m more concerned about the storm and how late they are. They should’ve been back by now.”
May was already moving, mind ticking through scenarios. “I can go on the search. I’ll leave Ivy here to handle anything that comes in, just in case.”
“Remember the rules, Doc. Two by two.”
“I know the rules. I helped set them up,” she grumbled.
He chuckled, sounding like Ace. “I know. We’re using Sam’s Tavern as the command center. We’ll send teams out from there.”
“I’m on my way.” She ended the call. The distant thunder rolled low, more vibration than sound. It was going to be chilly, for sure. She grabbed her raincoat and gloves, slipped off her tennis shoes, and pulled on her boots. The familiar motions steadied her.
She crossed into the reception area where Ivy and Nancy Phylets were chatting.
Nancy, in her early thirties, looked blissfully relaxed in that rare pocket of quiet she claimed the clinic gave her.
Four sons at home would do that to a woman.
Her hair was tucked beneath a hat, and her eyes carried that easy, borrowed calm. “Hey, Doc. What’s up?”
“We’ve got missing tourists and a storm on the way.
” May glanced at Ivy, who’d received a lovely bouquet of flowers from Jack earlier that day.
“I need you to hold the fort down while I go search.” She reached beneath the reception desk and pulled out her field kit.
The weight of it settled into her hand, solid and reassuring, as thunder bellowed again over Knife’s Edge.
The door opened and Ace stepped inside. May’s breath caught before she could stop it.
He looked even more handsome than usual with his dark hair ruffled by the wind and light green eyes intent and alert.
A five-o’clock shadow traced the angled planes of his jaw.
He wore jeans, a T-shirt, a loose jacket, and well-worn boots that carried the dust of the day.
“Hey, Doc. I’m your partner for the search. ”
Warmth slid through her, unexpected and low in her belly. She hated that her body reacted before her brain had a vote. “All right.” She ignored the interest that leapt into Ivy’s eyes and the small smile curving Nancy’s red-painted lips.
“We’re supposed to take Whisper Creek Trail, then turn north toward Deadfall Ridge. I know that area best. You okay riding with me?” Ace asked.
“Yeah. Definitely.” So okay. Way okay, in fact.
Ace nodded. “I had to give my spare four-wheeler to the other searchers. We really need to get more for the town.”
“Cotton balls first,” Ivy said dryly.
“Proceeds earned this tourist season should help,” Nancy chirped. “We’ve had a lot of visitors come in with really good insurance.”
May tugged on her gloves. “I can’t believe we think that’s a good thing.”
“Hey, cotton balls are expensive,” Ivy retorted. Then she softened slightly. “Check in, will you? I’ll let you know if anything’s happening here.”
“You’ve got it,” May said.
Ace held the door as she stepped outside. The wind hit her instantly, whipping against her coat and stealing the warmth from her skin. “Ooh, that’s a good one coming.” The temperature had dropped fast by at least ten degrees.
“Yeah.” Ace glanced up at a seaplane banking overhead. An unreadable expression crossed his face, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
She followed his gaze. “Are they using that for the grid search?”
“Yeah.” A muscle visibly clenched in his jaw.
“You want to be up there?”
“I’m… torn.” He dragged a hand through his wind-tossed hair and guided her toward his matte black Polaris Sportsman 570. The machine sat clean, as usual, dark and ready to go.
He lifted his helmet from the ATV rack. It was matte black with a faint gray osprey decal barely visible beneath a web of scratches.
The finish had dulled with years of use, tiny scuffs catching the fading light like old scars.
The distant thunder rolled again, low and steady, as the storm gathered strength over Knife’s Edge.
The helmet Ace handed her was white, glossy, and clearly newer than his. The surface was unmarked except for a thin silver stripe along the sides. The padding inside looked firm, barely broken in. “Passenger edition,” he said.
May turned it in her hands, eyeing him. “Why do I have a feeling a lot of women have worn this?”
Ace chuckled, the sound low and easy. “Not true. I’ll get you your own, May, if you want.”
She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her mouth as she pulled the helmet on.
The world softened once it settled into place, the clinic and gathering storm muted behind a layer of molded padding.
She handed him the pack, and he secured it to the rear cargo rack with two practiced pulls of a bungee cord.
The medical bag settled flat, tight enough not to shift.
Ace straddled the ATV and held an arm back for her without looking.
The gesture was confident and way too familiar.
May stepped closer and mounted behind him, settling onto the seat.
For a brief second, she hesitated. The heat of his back radiated through his jacket, solid and steady.
Then she wrapped both arms around his torso.