secretary.
However, as soon as he reached his aunt’s house, he would memorize everything in the file. His guns would definitely be loaded when he started on the hunt.
Business was booming, a fact that gave Clark the urge to pat himself on the back. He’d certainly done his share and more to make the company what it was today. But then, he was amply paid for what he did, not only in money but in stock. He had no kicks coming on that score.
One thing for sure, people would keep growing old, and the need for nursing homes and other special-care facilities would forever be in demand. And he planned to meet that demand, be Johnny-on-the-spot, to buy and sell those facilities in order to turn a profit.
Once he had himself a sizable nest egg, however, he’d always said he would retire. At thirty-four he had that goal already within reach. A grin teased Clark’s mouth as he thought about his cattle ranch in East Texas where he planned to settle.
But he wasn’t near ready to leave the city, to wake up to the sounds of nature instead of sounds of human beings. Maybe when he was too old to do anything except rock on the porch, he’d seriously consider making the move.
Yet there were times, like now, when he wished he were at the ranch helping his foreman Joe Hanover brand cattle, especially with the cool snap they were having, which accounted for his added energy.
However, that energy would be better used on the job he was sent here to do. Acquiring the nursing facility, Quiet Haven, and the surrounding land would be a real coup for Norton and Associates. He was the man who could pull that off.
In fact, this deal had the potential to be the biggest ever. An interstate was due eventually to go through the area which meant the property would be worth millions.
But it was imperative that he move fast while the news of the pending highway was still under wraps.
Now as he whipped his vehicle into his aunt’s drive and killed the engine, he sat for a few minutes and stared at the place where he’d spent his teenage years after his parents’ death in a house fire.
He knew Zelma had done the best she could with an orphaned boy who was headstrong and most times belligerent, who was more interested in kissing the girls than getting his lessons.
Not much had changed on that score, he thought with a cynical smile before reaching in the back seat for his briefcase. He stretched to grab the handle, as the case had shifted during the drive.
“Hellfire!”
That wrenching cry came from his toenails. His back! He’d thrown his back out again.
Clark cursed a blue streak, but it still didn’t change the fact that he was frozen in pain, at least for the time being. But dammit, he had to move. He couldn’t sit in the vehicle indefinitely.
Gritting his teeth and ignoring the sweat that poured profusely from his skin, he opened the door and eased his feet onto the ground. Bent to one side, he crept onto the porch and lowered himself gingerly onto the swing.
Nausea almost got the best of him before he could suck enough air into his lungs to stave it off. But the pain. Oh, the pain. He’d swear someone was poking him with a hot cattle prod.
He was in one helluva mess.
“Whoever you are, mister, you’re on private property.”
Clark smothered another curse, having recognized the stale voice right off. It belonged to Daisy Floyd, Zelma’s neighbor, who was older than dirt, blinder than a bat and the biggest gossip in town. Oh, dear Lord, please deliver him. What had he done to deserve her?
He opened his eyes to find Daisy’s wrinkled face peering at his, her cloudy blue eyes narrowed to slits and her false teeth not quite in place.
“Hello, Daisy,” he managed to say, though it took almost all his existing energy.
“Is that you, sonny boy?” she yelled.
Clark cringed, having forgotten that she was deaf as a post to boot. “Yes, Daisy, it’s me.”
“What’s the matter? You look plum green around the gills.”
Maybe the old busybody wasn’t as blind as he’d thought. Or maybe he looked worse than he thought. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding some relief from the sharp, shooting pain.
“It’s my back. I pulled it out of whack.”
“How’d you do that?”
“How doesn’t matter, Daisy,” Clark said through clenched teeth and with as much patience as he could muster, which amounted to very little. He had to get rid of this pesky woman and do something, anything to get relief.
“Have you been to see Zelma up at the nursing home?”
“No, Daisy.”
“Figures. You ain’t never been concerned about her.”
“I just got into town.”
“That’s no excuse. She asks for you all the time, you know?”
He didn’t know, and now that he did, it made him feel worse. Guilt became another source of pain, but only for a second. Hell, he wasn’t about to fall into that old gar hole and let Daisy Floyd jerk his chain as she’d done so many times in his youth.
He wouldn’t be rude to this old lady, but he didn’t intend to take any crap from her, either. He wasn’t a teenager without a home any longer.
“Daisy, thanks for checking on me, but I know you have things to do.”
“No, I don’t,” she said in a voice that sounded like scrunched up parchment.
Clark blew out a breath as another jolt of pain hit him. “Well, I do,” he said, pushing his words through jaws that felt locked.
“What’s wrong with your back, sonny?”
“I told you, I pulled it out. I have a bunch of messed up vertebraes.”
“You need a doctor.”
No joke, he wanted to lash out, but refrained. It wasn’t her fault that he’d injured himself. Why didn’t she go away and leave him alone to suffer in silence? But then, she’d never left them alone. His aunt hadn’t liked her any more than he had.
“Since old Newt retired, I know there’s not a doctor in this one-horse town.”
“You watch your mouth, boy. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with this town, you hear?”
“You’re right, Daisy. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“We do have a doctor.”
Clark’s spirits brightened considerably, only to dim just as quickly. He couldn’t believe the old bat knew what she was talking about. Surely another doctor in his right mind wouldn’t set up practice here. But at this point, he’d settle for a good vet.
“Who and where is this doctor?” Clark asked in a tight voice.
Daisy beckoned with her head. “Down yonder.”
“Where’s down yonder?” His pain and his temper were fast reaching saturation level. He didn’t know how much longer he could remain on an unsteady porch swing or put up with this aggravating old broad.
“On Windom Street. Six-nineteen to be exact.”
“What’s his name?”
“It ain’t no he.”
“You mean the doctor’s a woman?”
“Yep. And she’s a sight better than any doctor where you come from,” Daisy continued, “if you’re not too high and mighty to go to her, that is.”
Clark let that one slide. Besides, this conversation had run its course. Even if he had to crawl back to his vehicle, he was getting rid of