Vincent looked at me, and I could see him calculating risks and benefits. He knew me well enough to understand that I didn't make offers like this lightly, that in all my time working here I'd never crossed this particular line.
“Ibrahim's not going to like this,” he said finally.
“I'll talk to him,” I said. “This is my choice. My responsibility.”
Another pause. Then Vincent nodded slowly. “Three or four days, and then let’s see how you’re doing after that and we can reassess. Dr. Hart checks in twice daily by phone. Any sign of serious medical distress, you come back immediately.”
“Agreed,” Cord and I said in unison.
Vincent stood. “I'll have the cabin stocked with food. You can take one of the resort vehicles.” He removed a key from his key ring and handed it to me. “Dusty, you know where everything is out there?”
“Yeah,” I said with a grin as I pocketed the key. “I helped you reorganize the kitchen last spring, remember?”
A small smile crossed his face, the first break in his professional demeanor. “Right. The great spice rack intervention.”
Dr. Hart still looked concerned, his medical instincts warring with the situation. “I want to be clear. I can't condone this from a medical perspective. But if you're determined to do this...” He pulled out a card. “This is my personal cell. The Ranch's communication blackout doesn't apply to medical emergencies.”
Cord took the card, tucking it into his pocket. “Thank you.”
We all stood to leave, but Vincent called out. “Dusty? A word?”
Cord slid off the examination table. “I'll go pack.”
I nodded. “Meet you in the lobby. Give me an hour.”
After Cord and Dr. Hart left, Vincent closed the door again. For a moment, we just looked at each other, employer and employee, but also friends who'd known each other since this place was just his and Ibrahim's wild dream.
“This could get messy,” he said finally.
“I know.”
“Ibrahim's going to have concerns about liability, about setting precedents—”
“I know that too.”
Vincent sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. The first sign that this was affecting him more than he let on. “You care about him.”
It wasn't a question, but I answered anyway. “Yes.”
“And you're leaving soon.”
“I haven't forgotten.” The reminder sat heavy in my chest. Less than three weeks now until my carefully planned future began. Until I left The Ranch.
“Dusty...” He trailed off, then tried again. “I've watched you work with hundreds of men over the years. You're gifted at helping people, at creating space for healing. But this feels different.”
“It is different.” I leaned against the examination table where Cord had been sitting, still warm from his presence. The paper crinkled under my hands, and I focused on that small sound rather than the weight of Vincent's concern. “Maybe that's why I need to do this.”
“Or maybe that's why you shouldn't.”
I turned back to him. “Would you walk away from someone drowning because saving them might get you wet?”
“That's not—” He stopped, shook his head. “It's not the same thing.”
“Isn't it?” When Vincent didn't answer, I continued. “Then let me do this. Please.”
Vincent studied me for a long moment, and I saw when he made his decision. “I'll handle Ibrahim. But Dusty? Be careful. With his heart and yours.”
“I will.”
