Chapter Thirteen

EDDIE Linton had purchased acreage around the lake when he first started making money from his plumbing business. He also owned six houses near the college that he rented out to students, as well as an apartment complex over in Madison that he was always threatening to sell. When Sara moved back to Grant from Atlanta, she had refused to live in her parents' house. Something about moving back home, living in her old room, smacked of defeat to Sara, and at the time she was feeling beaten down enough without the constant reminder that she did not even have a space of her own.

She had rented one of her fathers houses her first year back, then started working weekends at the hospital in Augusta in order to save up a down payment for her own place. She had fallen in love with her house the first time the realtor showed her through. Built in a shotgun style, the house's front door lined up directly with the back door. Off to the sides of the long hallway were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small den on the right, with the living room, dining room, another bathroom and kitchen on the left. Of course, she would have bought the house if it had been a shack, because the view to the lake was phenomenal from the deck off the back. Her bedroom took full advantage of this, a large picture window flanked by three windows that opened out on either side.

On days like today, she could see clear across, nearly to the university. Some days, when the weather was right, Sara took her boat into the school dock and walked to work.

Sara opened the window in her bedroom so she could hear Jeb's boat when he got to the dock. Last night had seen another soft rain, and a cool breeze was coming off the lake. She studied her appearance in the mirror on the back of the door. She had chosen a wraparound skirt with a small floral print and a tight black Lycra shirt that fell just below her navel. Already, she had put her hair up, then let it back down. She was in the process of pinning it back up when she heard a boat at the dock. She slipped on her sandals and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of wine before walking out the back door.

"Ahoy," Jeb said, tossing her a rope. He tucked his hands into his orange life vest, affecting what Sara supposed he thought was a jaunty sailor look.

"Ahoy yourself," Sara answered, kneeling by the bollard. She put the wine and glasses down on the dock as she tied off the line. "Still haven't learned to swim, have you?"

"Both my parents were terrified of the water," he explained. "They never got around to it. And it's not like I grew up near water."

"Good point," she said. Having grown up on a lake, swimming came second nature to Sara. She could not imagine not knowing how. "You should learn," she said. "Especially since you're boating."

"Don't need to know how," Jeb said, patting the boat as he would a dog. "I can walk on water with this baby."

She stood up, admiring the boat. "Nice."

"Real babe magnet," he joked, unhooking the vest. She knew he was teasing, but the boat, painted a deep metallic black, was sleek and sexy, with a dangerous look about it. Unlike Jeb McGuire in his bulky orange life jacket.

Jeb said, "I'll tell you what, Sara, if you ever looked at me the way you're looking at my boat right now, I'd have to marry you."

She laughed at herself, saying, "It's a very pretty boat."

He pulled out a picnic basket and said, "I'd offer to take you for a ride, but it's a bit nippy on the water."

"We can sit here," she said, indicating the chairs and table on the edge of the dock. "Do I need to get silverware or anything?"

Jeb smiled. "I know you better than that, Sara Linton," He opened the picnic basket and took out silverware and napkins. He had also had the foresight to bring plates and glasses. Sara tried not to lick her lips when he pulled out fried chicken, mashed potatoes, peas, corn, and biscuits.

"Are you trying to seduce me?" she asked.

Jeb stopped, his hand on a tub of gravy. "Is it working?"

The dogs barked, and all Sara could think was Thank God for small favors. She turned back to the house, saying, "They never bark. I'll just go check."

"You want me to come, too?"

Sara was about to tell him no but changed her mind. She had not been making that part up about the dogs. Billy and Bob had barked exactly twice since she had rescued them from the racing track in Ebro; once when Sara had accidentally stepped on Bob's tail, and once when a bird had flown down the chimney into the living room.

She felt Jeb's hand at her back as they walked up the yard toward the house. The sun was just dipping down over the roofline, and she shielded her eyes with her hand, recognizing Brad Stephens standing at the edge of the driveway.

"Hey, Brad," Jeb said.

The patrolman gave a curt nod to Jeb, but his eyes were on Sara.

"Brad?" she asked.

"Ma'am." Brad took off his hat. "The chief's been shot."

Sara had never really pushed the Z3 Roadster. Even when she drove it back from Atlanta, the speedometer had stayed at a steady seventy-five the entire way. She was doing ninety as she drove the back route to the Grant Medical Center. The ten-minute drive seemed to take hours, and by the time Sara made the turn into the hospital, her palms were sweating on the wheel.

She pulled into a handicap space at the side of the building so she would not block the ambulance doors. Sara was running by the time she reached the emergency room.

"What happened?" she asked Lena Adams, who was standing in front of the admitting desk. Lena opened her mouth to answer, but Sara ran past her into the hallway. She checked each room as she went by, finally finding Jeffrey in the third exam room.

Ellen Bray did not seem surprised to see Sara in the room. The nurse was putting a blood pressure cuff around his arm when Sara walked in.

Sara put her hand on Jeffrey's forehead. His eyes opened slightly, but he did not seem to register her presence.

"What happened?" she asked.

Ellen handed Sara the chart, saying, "Buckshot to his leg. Nothing serious or they would've taken him to Augusta."

Sara glanced down at the chart. Her eyes wouldn't focus. She couldn't even make out the columns.

"Sara?" Ellen said, her voice filled with compassion. She had worked in the Augusta emergency room most of her career. She was in semiretirement now, supplementing her pension by working nights at the Grant Medical Center. Sara had worked with her years ago, and the two women had a solid professional relationship built on mutual respect.

Ellen said, "He's fine, really. The Demerol should knock him out soon. Most of his pain is coming from Hare digging around in his leg."

"Hare?" Sara asked, feeling a little relief for the first time in the last twenty minutes. Her cousin Hareton was a general practitioner who sometimes filled in at the hospital. "Is he here?"

Ellen nodded, pumping the cuff's bladder. She held up her finger for silence.

Jeffrey stirred, then slowly opened his eyes. When he recognized Sara, a slight smile crept across his lips.

Ellen released the blood pressure cuff, saying, "One-forty-five over ninety-two."

Sara frowned, looking back at Jeffrey's chart. The words finally started to make sense.

"I'll go fetch Dr. Earnshaw," Ellen said.

"Thanks," Sara said, flipping the chart open. "When did you start on Coreg?" she asked. "How long have you had high blood pressure?"

Jeffrey smiled slyly. "Since you walked into the room."

Sara skimmed the chart. "Fifty milligrams a day. You just switched from captopril? Why did you stop?" She got the answer in the chart. " 'Nonproductive cough prompted change,' " she read aloud.

Hare walked into the room, saying, "That's common with ACE inhibitors."