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The following silence vibrated with hostility.
“Hello? Mrs. Aiken?”
“Do you have anything tomorrow afternoon?”
Not a problem—the schedule was blank. “Three o’clock?”
“Fine.”
“Is he having any problems?”
“He’s going to have problems all his life,” the woman snapped. “Up until recently he was at a rehab facility in Billings, but now I guess we’ll have to see you.” She hung up.
The shelves behind the desk were filled with yellowed folders. Records going back for decades, many for people who’d probably long since died or moved away.
Jolie rounded the desk and ran a finger along the tabs. Twelve charts for various Abrahams...five Albersons...three Andersons. On the second shelf down she found three Aiken charts, misfiled.Bingo.
Pulling Dan’s, she took it down the hallway to her desk so she’d be sure to read it before he came in, then headed out the front door once again.
“Hey, Jolie!” a familiar voice called out as she finished locking the door.
She turned, and found an old Toyota parked at the curb. Cassie stood at the open door, her bright red hair aflame in the spring sunshine. Her seven-year-old son, Zak, sat in the front with his head bowed and didn’t so much as look up at Jolie’s approach.
Cassie laced her fingers and rested them along the top edge of her car door. “I was heading out to the ranch and thought I’d...um...just swing by and see if you were here. I’m afraid I wasn’t very sociable when we last met.”
The words were right, but Cassie’s tone was distant as ever, reminding Jolie just how far they had to go before they could be close. If that were even possible, given all that lay between them.
They’d always been polar opposites—Jolie, the older sister, the quiet peacemaker, admittedly a little too authoritative at times. Cassie, three years younger, the rebel, who resented Jolie’s interference. The difficult time after their mother’s death had only made things worse. Jolie’s departure for college had probably been a relief to all concerned.
“Do you want a tour of the clinic? Believe me, it doesn’t take much time.”
Cassie shook her head. “Another time. We’ve got to get out to the ranch.” Her expression turned pensive as she ducked down to look in at her son. “Can’t you say hi to your aunt Jolie?”
He darted a quick glance up, then riveted his attention on the coiled lariat in his hands.
Jolie headed for Zak’s side of the car and drummed her fingers lightly on the windshield to draw his attention.
As if he hadn’t heard, Zak continued to run his fingers along the stiff rope.
“His grandpa gave it to him,” Cassie explained as she straightened. “He practically sleeps with it.”
Jolie leaned down to admire it through the open window. “That’s a good one. Better than I had when I was your age. You’re probably already better with your rope than I ever was with mine.”
Zak twitched a shoulder—already emulating the silent, modest response of the ranch hands whenever a compliment came their way.
“Maybe you can show me someday, buddy.” She stepped away from the window and raised an eyebrow, and Cassie shook her head.
Little progress, then.Zak had been terribly withdrawn since Cassie’s divorce almost a year ago. Jeff Warren had walked away from the marriage without looking back and certainly hadn’t shown any compassion for or interest in his young son.
Jolie could think of more than a few things she’d like to say to that man if she ever ran into him.
“So how are things going?” Cassie asked. “With your clinic, I mean.”
“Fair.”
“Busy?”
Jolie gave her a rueful smile. “I’ve somehow acquired two employees, and I think we’ll outnumber the patients for some time to come.”
