Chapter 3 #3
I studied the sharp, chiseled line of his jaw as he shifted the vehicle into gear and steered down the gravel drive.
He handled the heavy machine with effortless mastery, leaning into the sharp curves and guiding us over rocky ruts without a single jarring jolt.
His massive hands rested easily on the steering wheel, callused and capable, the very same hands that had lifted my car as though it weighed nothing at all.
A sudden warmth bloomed low in my stomach, and I had to force myself to look away toward the darkened pines.
The medical compound appeared around a bend in the timberline, a stunning two-story lodgepole pine structure that looked freshly completed.
Built from polished golden logs with a standing-seam metal roof, it featured a wide covered entrance ramp, broad ground-floor bay windows, and private residential balconies on the upper level.
Ripplan parked near the entrance ramp and cut the engine. "The ground floor houses the examination rooms, trauma surgery suite, and pharmacy storage. Your private living quarters occupy the entire second floor."
I climbed out of the vehicle and stared up at the handsome building in disbelief. "All of this is for the clinic?"
"We do not cut corners when it comes to the safety of our people," Ripplan said, stepping up the wooden ramp and unlocking the heavy glass door.
The interior smelled wonderfully of fresh cedar shavings, clean liniment, and new paint. Recessed overhead lighting illuminated polished hardwood floors and soft sage-green walls.
The facility was an absolute dream for any healthcare provider.
Two spacious outpatient exam rooms were fully equipped with modern hydraulic examination tables, wall-mounted diagnostic monitors, and stainless steel cabinetry.
The trauma surgery suite at the rear of the hallway was outfitted with high-intensity surgical lamps, a digital autoclave station, and organized bins of sterile dressings.
The climate-controlled pharmaceutical room was secured with a digital keypad, its glass-fronted cabinets waiting to be filled with life-saving supplies.
I ran my fingers along the smooth laminate counter, my chest aching with professional pride and overwhelming relief. They had invested immense resources into this place, proving that their commitment to their workers was real.
Ripplan guided me up a wide central staircase that was easily broad enough to accommodate an emergency transport backboard.
The upper-level apartment took what little breath I had left.
An expansive living room opened up beneath vaulted pine ceilings, anchored by a river-stone fireplace with an iron insert and a deep charcoal leather sectional.
The western wall consisted almost entirely of floor-to-ceiling windows looking directly out toward the majestic peaks of the Continental Divide.
The adjoining kitchen was equipped with dark granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and heavy copper cookware hanging above a gas range.
Through an arched doorway, I caught a glimpse of a master bedroom furnished with a king-sized cedar bed, thick wool blankets, and an en-suite bathroom featuring a deep soaking tub.
It was more luxurious and spacious than any home I had ever lived in. For the first time in months, the heavy knot of anxiety that had lived beneath my ribs began to unravel.
"You should get some rest," Ripplan said from the doorway, his voice dropping into a quiet register that felt surprisingly intimate. "You have been driving for days. I'll have one of the hands bring you by some supper. "
Instead of sinking into the plush sofa, I turned on my heel and walked back toward the staircase. "I need to begin the baseline inventory."
Ripplan followed me down the steps, his heavy brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you doing?"
"I need to catalogue every single supply, verify the expiration dates, and build the tracking logs," I said, grabbing a clipboard and a fresh pen from the intake counter. "I want to be fully prepared the moment an injured hand walks through that door."
"You just arrived twenty minutes ago."
"And I take my medical oath seriously," I said, looking directly up into his eyes. "The sooner my clinic is operational, the safer your people will be."
Ripplan remained completely silent, studying my face with an intense, measuring gaze that made the air between us grow thick with unspoken tension.
"You truly care about the work," he said quietly, as though uncovering a piece of a puzzle he had not expected to find.
"I care about saving lives," I replied, turning my attention to the first glass cabinet. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have an inventory to complete."
I listened to the steady sound of his boots as he walked toward the exit, followed by the quiet click of the front door locking into place.
Standing alone in the pristine quiet of the clinic, I let out a long, shuddering breath, my fingers steadying as I uncapped my pen.
I had survived Arlo. I had escaped to the high country. I had a sanctuary, a purpose, and a clinic of my own, even if the Orc who held my fascination, despite my better judgement, seemed determined to keep his distance.
I set the pen to the paper and went to work.