If there were more births during a storm, maybe there were also more deaths, and I’d just never noticed it before. All of these people had died of natural causes. If there’d been a hint of anything hinky, I should have been called to the scene. Nevertheless, I made a mental note to speak with the funeral director.

Since I was up so early, I stopped at the clinic. The doctor was in.

“Grace.”

Ian’s smile was full of the memories of the last time we’d met. Though I’d like nothing better than to step inside and have a repeat, I couldn’t let myself be distracted. I had far too much to do.

Especially if I wanted to be ready for our date tonight—if he’d actually been serious. From the expression in his eyes, he had been.

“Would you make a house call?”

His smile widened as he reached for me. “Anytime.”

I stepped back, laughing. “Not that kind of house call. A real one, to a friend of my great-grandmother’s.”

“Oh.” The hand that had been extended toward my waist lifted to push his hair out of his face. “Sure. I thought—” He stopped. “Well, you know what I thought.”

“Yeah.” I couldn’t say that I wasn’t tempted, but if I was going to take Ian to Quatie’s, then get to work on time, I couldn’t allow the temptation to become reality.

“Be right back.”

He disappeared into the clinic, returning a minute later with a doctor’s bag that looked like something straight out of a seventies TV show-Marcus Welby, M.D., or maybe Medical Center. My brother Gene had always watched the reruns. He’d wanted to be a doctor, but he hadn’t had the grades or the money. Last I heard, he was a paramedic in Cleveland.

Ian and I piled into my truck—if I had time, I’d check on my new squad car later—and I pulled a U-turn, then headed for Quatie’s.

“You want to fill me in on this friend of your great-grandmother’s?” he asked.

I gave him what facts I knew, which weren’t many—an approximate age, no real knowledge of her medical history, my armchair diagnosis of age and arthritis.

“I’ve got more balm in my bag.”

Only a few days ago I’d have rolled my eyes or laughed out loud at the idea of herbal balm healing anything. But my nose didn’t hurt and the skin around my eyes was fading from green to yellow already. I’d become a believer.

At Quatie’s, we found her sitting on the porch as if waiting for us. When we climbed out of the vehicle, she frowned in my direction. “You didn’t have to come, too. You’re busy.”

Was that a dig?

No. Not Quatie. She just didn’t want to burden me.

Right now, I wanted to be burdened. Maybe coming here often enough would ease my lingering guilt; I hoped it would send the spirit wolf back where she had come from.

“I brought Dr. Walker.”

“You didn’t have to rush.” Quatie moved to the steps and began to descend, slowly, painfully.

Ian sprinted forward. “Don’t bother, ma’am. I’ll come up.”

Her round face became even rounder as she smiled. “Sweet boy. I’m so glad to see you.”

Ian took her arm, and she leaned on him, patting it as he led her toward the door. But she sat in the chair she’d just vacated with a heavy sigh, her smile fading, her face strained.

I stood in the yard uncertain if I should return to the truck. Was this a case of doctor/patient privilege?

“Could you grab my bag?” Ian had dropped it when he leaped to help her, so I scooped it up and climbed the stairs as he knelt at Quatie’s feet.

“If you could stay and give me a hand.” He glanced at Quatie. “All right with you?”

She seemed to hesitate, and I couldn’t blame her. Illness was private. But then she nodded. “Of course. I have no secrets from Gracie.”

Tags: Lori Handeland Nightcreature Paranormal
Source: readsnovelonline.net