“I…dig. Apparently.”
Confession: I don’t know the first thing about how to dig, much less get used to Ridge Barnet’s weird vernacular.
He lets out a friendly snort, shaking his head.
“What?” I whip my face toward him, trying not to let his smile infect me.
“You, darlin’. Lighten up. I know you’ve got a lot of shit on your plate, but now’s not the time to worry yourself sick. Long as you’re under my roof—roof of this big fat truck included—you’re good.”
His eyes shift over. I can’t shake the sense that I’m very good.
“And I appreciate it, you just…you kinda have this eighties action hero thing going on.”
“Hey, I’m not that frigging ancient,” he growls, face going mock-stern and steely-eyed. “I’ll take it as a compliment. You ever see the ladies still pining away over gunslingers and ass-kickers in kilts from those days? I’ve heard about it from the actors. They keep sticks around to fight off the mobs. Fucking. Chick. Magnets.”
If he’s trying to make me laugh like an idiot…mission accomplished.
Whatever else happens, something tells me I’ll need a good long while to get over this man.
When my sides stop aching, I reach for the door.
“All right, Chick Magnet,” I say, unclasping my seat belt. “Thanks for the town history lesson and the laugh. And, um, for not having a mullet.”
I fly out onto the snowy pavement before he has a chance to give me a tongue-lashing.
The store isn’t far.
Pushing open the glass doors, I feel like bad eighties jokes aren’t the only reason I’ve stepped back in time. The drugstore could be right at home in a nostalgic magazine with its worn, hardwood floors and slowly rotating ceiling fans overhead.
I walk through aisles of greeting cards and cutesy souvenirs, trying to get my bearings.
Eventually, the shelves turn whiter and blander, filled up with Band-Aids, pain relievers, and various medical supplies that stretch to the back of the store.
The pharmacist is a young woman with short brown hair.
Dr. Milly is just as pleasant and attentive as her smile while I explain Dad’s history, symptoms, and that hideous rattling cough that follows him everywhere.
She goes over a few of their offerings, warning me the over-the-counter stuff will only go so far.
Big surprise.
With concern on her face, she says, “I highly recommend he sees a doctor ASAP. His infection could’ve been misdiagnosed, or you might be dealing with pneumonia now, considering the time that’s passed. That could be very serious.”
Crap. My blood runs warmer and I wipe the sudden sweat building on my brow. The fluorescent lights overhead feel like twin suns, though I know it’s just my imagination.
“Is there any way to know for sure?”
“X-rays and a full exam. Accept no substitutes,” she says, ringing up my purchases. “Our clinic is small, but it’s good, and so are the doctors. I can put you in touch with Dr. Elroy or Dr. Abrams later today, if you’d like.”
I’d like that a lot but…besides the impossible task of talking Dad into it, the sanest thing to do is keep a low profile while we’re here.
I’m already taking a small risk coming into town like this. What if Jackknife didn’t blow town?
“Thanks, it’s just…” I pull out my credit card, shaking my head. “My father’s so stubborn. You know how older guys are.”
“Oh, yes.” Her brown eyes glow with understanding. “Mine’s the same way. I don’t know why some men let their egos get in the way of their health. It’s easier with dogs. There are times when I wish I could just put my dad in a kennel and call the vet.”
“It’d make a lot of things easier.” Despite my anxiety over Dad, I laugh.
Milly smiles back. “Right? I’ve threatened it with my father and my husband both, but fortunately I haven’t had to follow through. These lunks call up the vet every time one of their cows sneezes, but for themselves? They think peroxide, gauze pads, and duct tape work miracles.”
“So true,” I say, shaking my head again. “That’s my dad and I wish it wasn’t.”
“Well, don’t give up,” she says, handing me back my credit card and the receipt. “Call the number on the receipt if he gets worse. Maybe I can convince him to go in. I’m very good at putting on my doctor’s voice and scaring a little sense into the folks who aren’t used to it.”
She winks.
“I appreciate it,” I say, putting the card and receipt in my purse.
“No problem.” She hands me the bag of over-the-counter meds. “Oh, and don’t forget the chicken noodle soup! There’s more research coming out every day that it’s more than an old wives’ tale.”
I take the bag and smile.
“I have a friend working on that right this instant.”
She nods, then points to a door past a display of reading glasses. “Use that exit. It leads into the alley between us and the grocery store. There’s a walkway between Filmore’s and the hardware store that we keep shoveled out so we can run over to the deli on our lunch break.”