Plain Protector. Alison Stone

hadn’t offered to help. No, it took several hours and a heaping dose of remorse before he came back to her, pleading for forgiveness with a promise to never lift a hand to her again.

      Until the next time.

      “Do you think you can make it into the clinic? If not, I can get a wheelchair from inside.”

      Embarrassment edged out her feelings of anxiety, two emotions that twined around her lungs and made it difficult to breathe. “I can walk in.” One thing her ex-boyfriend had taught her was to pretend to be tough.

      She had gotten good at pretending. At a lot of things.

      Sarah stood and the officer hung close by her side, holding her elbow. He obviously wasn’t convinced. When they reached the door of the health-care clinic, it was locked. He buzzed the intercom and a crackling voice responded. “Who is it?”

      “Christina, it’s Nick. I have a patient for you to examine.” He was talking into the intercom but his intense brown eyes were locked on hers, unnerving her.

      “Urgent?” came his sister’s one word response.

      “No, a few stitches.”

      “Not a good idea,” Sarah muttered. She tried to pull away, but Nick gripped her arm tighter. She winced and he eased his hold, but not completely. She must have appeared as unsteady as she felt.

      “I’m not going to let you go home with a head wound. I don’t want to get a call that you ended up dying in your sleep.”

      Sarah wasn’t sure if his words were an exaggeration to wear down her resistance or a flat-out lie. She hardly thought her injury was that serious. “I was cut by glass, not hit by the rock.” She lifted her eyebrows and could feel the stiffness of the dried blood on her forehead.

      The annoying buzzer released the lock on the door. As the deputy pulled it open, he whispered, “I’m trying to help you. Are you going to fight me every step of the way?”

      She shrugged. She imagined she’d thank him one day for insisting she be treated for the cut on her head, sparing her from a lifetime of explaining how she got the scar, but today wasn’t that day.

      They reached the dated waiting room. Dark stains—including a now-black piece of bubblegum—marred the bluish-gray carpet. Nick didn’t ask her to sit down on one of the blue plastic chairs, something her pounding head definitely would have appreciated. Instead he guided her through the office with a gentle hand on her waist and found his sister on the phone in the back.

      The attractive woman, her long dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, mouthed without making a sound, “Give me a minute.” Her gaze traveled the length of Sarah, a scrutiny Sarah had tried to avoid at all costs since she had moved into the small cottage in Apple Creek and set up her quiet practice through the church.

      Sarah’s face heated and the urge to flee nearly overwhelmed her. Don’t have a panic attack. Don’t have a panic attack.

      The physician pointed at the open door of an adjacent examination room. Nick understood the silent directive and led Sarah into the room. At his insistence, she sat on the exam table, the white, protective paper crinkling as she scooted back. Nick stood sentinel at her side, and an awkward silence joined the steady hum of an air conditioner. Sarah was grateful for the cool air blowing across her skin.

      The doctor’s appearance in the doorway was never more welcomed. Her gaze went from her brother to Sarah and back to her brother.

      “Sarah was cut by broken glass. Someone threw a rock through the basement window of the church.”

      If Sarah hadn’t been watching the doctor’s face, she might have missed the slight flinch. “The church, huh? Is nothing sacred?”

      Sarah lifted a shoulder, finding it difficult to respond.

      “I don’t have insurance,” Sarah repeated her lie. “I can pay over time if that’s okay?”

      “We treat a lot of patients without insurance. We’ll figure something out. First things first.” The physician grabbed a clipboard. “Do you mind filling out this form?”

      Sarah took the clipboard in her shaky hands and stared at it. Her pulse rushed in her head and the letters forming the words Name, Address, Phone number scrambled in her field of vision. She placed the clipboard down on the crinkly white paper and slid off the table.

      Nick gently touched her elbow.

      The world shifted around Sarah, and she grabbed the smooth vinyl edge of the table to steady herself. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here.”

      “You need to have that cut looked at.” Nick, in his crisp sheriff’s uniform, loomed over her, his commanding voice vibrating through her. The walls grew close. Too close.

      Sarah pushed past him. “I don’t have to do anything.”

      “Wait,” the physician said. Instinctively, Sarah stopped in her tracks. “You.” The physician pointed at her brother. “Wait outside.” She turned to Sarah. “And you. Please, let me look at your injuries.”

      A small smile touched the attractive doctor’s face. “You don’t have to fill out any paperwork.”

      Sarah let out a long sigh, and without meeting Nick’s gaze, she returned to the exam table. The deputy slipped outside and closed the door.

      The physician examined her in silence. The young doctor smelled like flowers and coconut lotion. She brushed a damp gauze pad across Sarah’s wound. “I’d feel better if we put a few stitches in this cut. I’d hate for you to have a huge scar.”

      “Do you really think that’s necessary, Dr. Jennings?” Sarah didn’t notice a wedding ring on her finger, and since she was the deputy’s sister, she made the leap that her last name was the same as Nick’s.

      “Yes, I do. And feel free to call me Christina. If I wanted to be Dr. Jennings I would have stayed at the big research hospital where I did my residency before I opened this clinic.”

      Christina got out her instruments, and Sarah found herself wrapping her fingers around the edge of the table as another wave of panic crested below the surface.

      “Perhaps you should lie down. I’d hate for you to pass out while I’m working on you.” With her hand to Sarah’s shoulder, Christina guided her patient to a supine position.

      Christina cleaned the wound with a cool swab. “I’m glad you caught me. I was about to close up for the night.” The doctor ran the back of her protective glove across her forehead. “It’s been a long day, and the paperwork is endless.”

      As Christina leaned in close to examine Sarah’s wound, Sarah noticed creases lined the physician’s pretty brown eyes, making her a few years older than Sarah first would have guessed.

      “Thank you. I appreciate you taking the time. I had tried to tell your brother I didn’t need medical attention.”

      Christina made a sound with her lips pressed together, a cross between an “I see” and “let me make that decision.” Sarah didn’t ask what she meant by that because she figured it didn’t matter. If she got these stitches maybe Nick would leave her alone and she’d resume her quiet life. God willing.

      Unless Jimmy had found her...

      Sarah swallowed back her nausea, fearing if she let her worries take root, she’d have a full-blown anxiety attack.

      Dear Lord, protect me and please, please, please keep me safe from Jimmy.

      They fell into silence as Christina focused on the task of suturing Sarah’s wound. After Christina finished, she placed a small bandage across Sarah’s forehead near her hairline. Christina smiled at her work. “I think that should heal nicely. My father once suggested I go into plastic surgery, but my heart had more humble goals.” Christina’s brown eyes met Sarah’s as if to say, “So, here I am in this small-town health-care clinic.”