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“No, nothing like that. I’m not a doctor. I’m a paramedic. Currently, I’m working as the hospital liaison and the emergency air medical coordinator. But I’m also… My grandfather, Abe Mowak, is a Native healer. He practices a form of holistic medicine, and one of his specialties is arthritis. I studied with him my entire life.”
Ally knew she needed to tread carefully here. But she trusted her instincts and they rarely failed her. “This would just be a…discussion,” she finally said. “Like I’d have with a friend.”
Hannah seemed to ponder that before replying, “You know what? I’ll think about it. Right now, I need to go humiliate Park.”
* * *
TAG LIVED OUTSIDE Rankins on twenty-two tree-studded acres located approximately halfway between Bering and Emily’s place, which was a few miles away, and the town of Rankins in the opposite direction. Two years ago, the property had become available, and Tag had snagged it. With a family in mind, he’d built the house mostly himself, a roomy two-story lodge-style home. There were four bedrooms, one of which he used as an office, two and a half bathrooms, a spacious living area and, according to his cousin Janie, a “kitchen that would make a foodie drool.” He’d indulged in some extras like hardwood floors, exposed wood beams, copper sinks and a hot tub.
Upon finishing the house, he’d been surprised by two things: how much he looked forward to getting home each evening and how much he wished he had someone to share it with. Interesting double edge. Tonight, tired as he was, he was solely focused on the first, although it wouldn’t happen for at least a couple more hours. He had a stop to make.
Mickey Patterson had been his high school basketball coach, and Mickey’s wife, Sheila, his third-grade teacher. They owned the property next door, and even though Tag couldn’t see their house from his, that still made them neighbors. Mickey’s arthritis was gradually slowing him down, and Tag often lent him a hand with projects and tasks around his property.
As he approached the Pattersons’ driveway, a brand-new for-sale sign on the opposite side of the road caught his eye, and he braked, slowing the pickup to a crawl. Why would Park Lowell be selling his property? A shareholder and member of Snowy Sky Resort’s board of directors, Park had told anyone who’d listen that he planned to build his dream home out here.
He turned, traveling along the Pattersons’ long gravel drive until he reached their home. Parking behind Mickey’s rig, he then grabbed two hockey sticks from his back seat before scaling the steps of the porch.
Mickey opened the door before Tag could knock, stepped out and closed it behind him. Tone muted with anxiety, he said, “Thanks again for helping me out with this, Tag.”
“You know I don’t mind, Mick.”
“She’s real stubborn and uncooperative. I couldn’t get her to so much as flinch.”
“She’s determined, I’ll give her that. It might be time to move her out once and for all?”
“’Fraid so. I hate to saddle you with it.”
“It’s no problem.” Tag handed Mickey one of the hockey sticks. “Let’s go see if we can talk some sense into her.”
They headed toward the small workshop a short walk from Mickey’s house. Tag spotted the prickly female huddled calmly in the corner as soon as they entered the building. But, then again, a critter covered with quills didn’t have much reason ever to get riled.
Twenty minutes later, without incident, they’d herded the wayward porcupine into a pet carrier.
Mickey seemed pleased. “Time for a beer?”
“Sure.”
They settled at the dining room table. A Mariners game was on the TV in the living room beyond, and Tag noted happily that the team was up by two.
“Hey, I noticed a for-sale sign on Park Lowell’s place. Know anything about that?”
“Yep. I guess he’s selling. Goofy bird thinks he can get twice what he paid for it.”
“Really?” It used to be that Park was always up to one money-making scheme or another, but after he’d tangled with Hannah over a ploy involving the ski resort, Tag had thought those days were past.
