A Time To Heal. Линда Гуднайт
No. Too inconvenient.”
They laughed again, feeling silly. She and Susan hadn’t kidded around this way in forever. No wonder she was depressed and burned out. She had no life.
“Here.” Susan shoved the bowl of potatoes at her. “If you’re such a hotshot with a scalpel you should be able to peel these for dinner while I put together the chicken casserole.”
Kat groaned for effect before setting to work. Actually, she didn’t mind helping in the kitchen as long as Susan didn’t ask her to fry chicken or make gravy. Her idea of a home-cooked meal was microwavable Lean Cuisine. The rest of the time she lived on machine sandwiches, and doughnuts left in the doctor’s lounge by drug reps looking to make brownie points.
Other than knowing medicine, Dr. Thatcher was pretty much useless, a grim reality considering her decision to leave the field behind.
Susan, on the other hand, was Miss Susie Homemaker in the flesh. She loved to cook, sew and constantly tried out new ideas for renovating the old farmhouse or the rental cabins. Last year she’d gone into Colonial mode and painted all the cabinets blue. Currently, she was trying her hand at faux finishes. The woman never stopped creating and beautifying the world. It was who she was, a fact that kept Kat from complaining about Susan’s attempts to “fix up” her life in the same way she fixed up houses.
Kathryn took a fat potato from the bowl, challenging herself to peel the spud in one long curly piece.
“I’m moving over to the cabin tomorrow,” she said.
“Did you ask Danny?” Susan’s husband was in real estate and handled most of the rental property around the lake.
“It’s my house.” She lifted a shoulder to scratch her itchy nose. “Why would I have to ask Danny?”
“Because you told him to rent it out. You’re never here.”
“I’m here now.” Kat caught her bottom lip under her top teeth and stilled the flow of irritation. She had told Danny to rent the place. No use getting huffy now. “Is my cabin rented out?”
“Yes, it is.” Slowly wrapping an onion in plastic wrap, Susan turned to look at her. “Is staying with us so bad?”
“You have three kids, Suz. This place is Grand Central Station.”
“But the house is big and roomy. And you could use some TLC from the people who love you and can put up with your arrogant moods.”
“I am neither arrogant nor moody.”
“Ho-ho! And wet dogs don’t stink. This is your big sister you’re talking to. I know all your secrets.”
The thought grabbed Kat right in the center of her chest and squeezed. No, Susan didn’t know one of her secrets. But Seth Washington did.
Kat loved her sister and the noisy bunch of nieces and nephew, but she also needed her own space. After dinner she made excuses and went for a walk to clear her head.
The family home rested more than two hundred yards back from Wilson’s Lake, but the water sounds and smells carried on the breeze. A familiar trail led through the trees and underbrush to the shoreline. Still another meandered to the east toward Kat’s cabin. Without conscious decision, she headed in that direction, curious to see who resided there in her absence. After all the effort she’d put into making the cabin a lovely retreat, Kat didn’t want to live anywhere else. Maybe she could convince the renter to find another place now that she was home.
As she traversed the woods, a thousand other thoughts plagued her. She worried about the effect her abrupt departure from the medical center would have on the other staff members, about the patients she’d turned over to other physicians, but most of all she wondered about the future. As clichéed as it sounded, today was the first day of the rest of her life, and she didn’t know what to do with it. She’d worked too long and too hard to remain idle for any extended period of time.
The old trail hadn’t been used in a while and the blackberry thickets were taking over. Thorny vines, sprinkled with tiny white flowers, reached out and grabbed her exposed legs. She slowed long enough to direct the growth elsewhere, mentally marking the spot for later in the summer when black, juicy berries could become a cobbler. In Susan’s capable hands, of course. Certainly not hers.
As she rounded into the clearing at the side of Kat’s Cabin, as the family had dubbed the two-bedroom cottage, her spirits lifted. Though she spent little time here, she felt better knowing the small A-frame was available when she needed a break. And boy, did she need the familiar comfort of home right now.
The air was alive with spring smells and sounds, but her house was quiet. A bright-red riding mower was parked beneath a drooping mimosa tree in the front yard. Someone had recently cut the grass, but that someone was nowhere to be seen.
Kat craned her head toward the backyard where the fishing dock extended far into the lake. No one there, either.
She knocked and the action felt odd given this was her house. When no one answered, she reached under the top porch step. When her fingers touched the plastic holder, she grinned. The key was right where she’d left it.
Telling herself that she only wanted to check the place out, to make sure the renter was taking care of her property, Kat opened the door and stepped inside.
Nothing much had changed. Her living room furniture, a comfortable mix of favorite pieces, had been moved around to accommodate a big-screen TV. A basket of folded laundry rested on the couch and several magazines were stacked neatly on her maple end table.
Out of curiosity she moved closer, saw the laundry was mostly men’s shirts and socks, and the top magazine was a recent edition of True Crime. So, a guy had rented her cabin. At least he was fairly neat.
She wandered into the kitchen, found the room tidy and clean except for a peanut butter jar on the counter and a butter knife and a glass in the sink. Though she’d had no qualms about entering the cabin, she opted against climbing the steps to the loft bedrooms. A bedroom was personal and private.
Crossing to the rounded row of windows that looked from the country kitchen toward the lake, she peered out. The lake was serene; the fading sun glowed orange and gold across the glassy surface. In the distance a pair of boat fishermen stood silhouetted against the sky, fishing rods arched into the shimmering water. Kat breathed in slowly, deeply, refreshed just to be here. There was something so serene and calming about Wilson’s Lake.
Susan was right. Kathryn needed time to rest and unwind. And there was no place better on earth than her own private, isolated cabin. Whoever lived here would simply have to move. Maybe she could make him a deal. She was willing to help him find a better place and pay the difference in rents. Her mental and emotional health was worth the expense. Money wasn’t a problem. She had plenty of that. As a kid, she’d dreamed of the day she could say those words. But now that she had money, she never had time.
Well, she was taking the time.
Suddenly her tranquility was shattered. The front door banged opened, slammed against the wall and reverberated on its hinges.
Kat’s heart behaved in much the same way. It slammed hard against her rib cage.
A powerful voice yelled, “Put your hands in the air! Do it now!”
Kat spun around to explain, but the words froze on her lips. The biggest gun she’d ever seen pointed straight at her. Her mouth went dry and her knees began to tremble. She slowly raised both hands.
“Don’t shoot,” she squeaked, afraid to move, afraid to take her eyes off that deadly weapon. Had Danny rented her cottage to a serial killer? She started babbling. “I’m sorry. I should have waited for you to get home. I just…”
“Kat?” That quick, the man lowered the gun and stepped from the shadowed living room into the kitchen sunlight.
Kat’s wobbly knees almost gave way.
Standing