be that lucid. He would examine her, then look over her medications.
“Did she say if she was in pain?” he asked.
Later they would teach her ways to manage her discomfort. That’s what they called it. Discomfort. Not agony or torture or suffering. All the things a serious burn could be. Later she would learn about breathing and meditation and visualization. For now drugs would get her through.
“She said she wanted to hold the puppy.”
He drew in a breath. “It was an eighty-pound mutt that doesn’t belong in a hospital.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Riley’s eyes filled with tears. “We had a dog. A small Yorkie. She died a few months ago. I know Kalinda misses her terribly. I remember reading something about hospitals using therapy dogs. Do you think that would help?”
She was a mother who loved her child and would do anything to help her. To keep her from suffering. Simon had seen it hundreds of times. The greatness of a parent’s love never ceased to amaze him. Perhaps because he hadn’t experienced it himself.
Simon would rather eat glass than have a filthy animal in his burn unit, but he also understood that the healing powers of the human body could be triggered by unexpected sources. If Kalinda was to survive, she would need something close to a miracle.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” he said, and turned toward his patient’s room.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Riley said, smiling bravely through her tears. “You’ve been amazing.”
He’d done very little. Surgery was a learned skill. The gift he brought to those skills came at a price, but one he was willing to pay. He lived for his patients, to heal them as much as humanly possible and then move on. To the next tragedy. The next child whose life had changed in a single flash and the lick of a flame.
“YOU’RE NOT GOING TO PRISON,” Max Thurman said firmly.
“I should. He was right. What happened was criminal.”
Montana had had nearly an hour to beat herself up and she’d made use of every second. Her bravado when facing the angry doctor had faded and now she was left with little more than a sense of having messed up in the worst way possible.
“Dramatic much?” Max asked, his dark eyes bright with amusement. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”
“Fluffy was loose in a hospital. She ran around, knocked over a couple of carts, then got into the burn ward.”
“I’m not saying we want wild animals running through a sterile facility, but it was an accident and, according to the hospital administrator, no damage was done. You need a little perspective.”
They were in Max’s office, a bright room at the back of his house. The kennels were on his property, as was the training facility. Montana wasn’t a very good judge of how much land made up an acre, but she would guess Max owned more than a few of them. She knew she had to drive a good three minutes from the road to even get to the house. Which could be challenging in winter.
“If you’d seen that doctor …” she murmured, remembering his coldness most of all. “He was beyond furious.”
“So, apologize.”
“To him?” She never wanted to see him again. That would really work best for her. “Or you could call back the administrator and tell her I’m really sorry.”
Max’s blue eyes crinkled with amusement. “Very mature.”
“You know her.”
“So do you.”
“She likes you.” Every time they’d had a meeting, the administrator had been unable to keep from staring at Max.
Montana thought he was pretty nice looking, although a little, well, old. He had steel-gray hair, rugged features and piercing blue eyes. He was tall and rangy. He looked like the kind of man who could take care of himself in any situation. Although nearly sixty, Max looked and acted much younger.
“If you’re that concerned, you should call her yourself,” he told Montana. “She understands it was an accident.”
“Dr. Stick-Up-the-Butt didn’t,” she muttered, but without a lot of energy. Max was right. Montana should be the one to call. “I’m going to work with the dogs while I gather my courage,” she told him and left the office.
Once she was outside, she crossed the large expanse of thick, green lawn. To the east, she could see the mountains rising high against the blue sky.
Max’s property was nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada at the edge of the town of Fool’s Gold. South of Reno, east of Sacramento, the area was beautiful, with wineries, a large lake in the center of town and winter skiing only a few miles up the road.
Montana loved her town and she loved her job. She didn’t want to lose either. Not that anyone could take the town away from her, but still … She was feeling a little vulnerable. Despite Max’s support, she worried about what Fluffy had done. What she’d allowed to happen.
She walked around to the large play area where, during the day, the therapy dogs ran free, playing or sleeping in the sun. Several of them hurried up to greet her as she let herself inside the gate. She gave pats and hugs, then looked into Fluffy’s happy brown eyes.
“Max was right,” she told the dog. “You’re not therapy material.”
Fluffy wagged her tail.
“We’ll find you a nice home with kids. You’ll like kids. They have as much energy as you.”
She had more to say. She wanted to explain that none of this was the dog’s fault. That sometimes you had to try something before you could figure out you weren’t very good at it. But before she could get started, she heard a car pull up. She walked around to the other side of the play area and was surprised to see the town’s mayor climbing out of her car.
Marsha Tilson had been mayor of Fool’s Gold longer than Montana had been alive. She was a warm, caring person who had given up much of her life to serve the town.
“I was hoping to find you here,” the mayor called when she spotted Montana. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.”
Montana let herself out of the play yard and walked toward the mayor. The older woman was elegantly dressed in a suit and pearls. Her white hair remained perfectly in place, despite the light breeze. By contrast, Montana felt a little scruffy. Her sundress had been old last year and she’d slipped off her sandals as soon as she’d gotten in her car. Red marks from her new sandals dotted her feet, and a few puffy areas promised to turn into blisters later.
“There’s a conference room in the kennel,” she said. “Is that all right? Or do you want to go up to Max’s house?”
“The conference room is fine.”
Mayor Marsha followed her along the path, then into the large building. There was an office, a small bathroom, the conference room, a kitchenette, then wide doors led to the kennel area.
“Something to drink?” Montana asked when they’d entered the conference area. The oval table could seat twelve, although they rarely had that many people out for a meeting. “We have soda, or I could make coffee.”
“I’m fine.”
Marsha waited until Montana had pulled out a chair before taking the one across from her.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” the older woman began.
“To sell me raffle tickets?”
Marsha smiled. “I need your help on a special project.”
Montana’s first instinct was to bolt. A few months earlier, Mayor Marsha had asked Montana’s sister Dakota to help on a special project. Dakota