Page 4 of Anchored

I screamed inside my head, both elated and embarrassed.

Holt gave me my first kiss!!!

ChapterTwo

Holt

Mookie looks up at me like she didn’t just leave the world’s largest dookie to come from the body of a seven-pound Yorkie. She stares at me with those dark unblinking eyes, like the queen of fuckin’ England, waiting for her loyal subject to clean up her mess. Which I do, because I’m a responsible pet owner. Plenty of kids run right through here during the summer as they play along the lake, getting out their energy before the parents call them inside for dinner.

“Did you get it all out?” I ask Mookie sarcastically as I bend over with a little plastic baggie over my hand. I hope to God it’s big enough to do the job. Mookie’s snout opens and she begins to pant with her tongue hanging out. She’s definitely laughing at me.

This is supposed to be a quick walk before I head off to work on this Friday before Memorial Day weekend. The town of Anchor Lake has a long list of activities planned for all ages, and I intend to indulge in as many of the activities as I can. I’ll be solo. As usual, but maybe I can strike up a conversation with some of the men around town. I’ve buried my head in work for far too long.

Mookie trots back into the cabin I’ve been renting for over two years now. It feels like home, way more than the Miami penthouse I freaking own. I get my rescue dog settled with plenty of food, water, and at least ten doggie toys before I climb into my Jeep and head to the retirement community for a full day of physical therapy appointments.

If you’d have told me five years ago I’d be settled back in my home town with a steady job, no longer traveling the country and building my therapy empire, I’d have called you nuts. The company I own mostly runs itself these days, and I’ve found the slower tempo of a small town to be soothing to my frenetic brain. I snort and shut off the engine once I find a parking spot. I must be getting old. Thirty-four is starting to feel like midlife if the highlight of my day is walking my itty-bitty dog.

“Good morning, Holt,” Megan purrs, leaning against the nurses’ station, her ass highlighted in bright pink scrubs as she sticks it out. She flips her long, curled red hair behind her shoulder, giving me a look I know all too well.

“Morning,” I reply curtly, breezing past her without a second glance. That nurse is dangerous. She’s been flirting with me since the day I moved back to Anchor Lake. So far, I haven’t taken her up on any of her blatant offers, and I don’t intend to. Everything about her screams psycho clinger. After one failed marriage, you start to be a bit more selective.

“Got a situation with Gracie,” Debbie chirps, shoving a file in my hands before I can even set my bag down. Debbie, Sunny Shores’ head nurse, wears scrubs too, but she doesn’t stick her ass out or resort to any other blatant flirting. She’s no nonsense like a drill sergeant. She also has the short haircut of a nineties Midwest woman with a propensity to go overboard on the gel. Roosters see her and experience jealousy.

After dumping my bag at my feet, I flip the file open and glance over it. “Shit.” Gracie Thatcher is my favorite patient. She’s also a permanent fixture in the Anchor Lake community.

“For fuck’s sake,” Debbie grouses, shoving a pair of glasses at me when she notices me squinting. I toss her a thank-you smile she ignores and then slide them on so I can accurately read the report. Debbie’s a hard nut to crack, but I know she loves me. Why else does she carry a pair of glasses with my exact prescription in her scrubs just to help me when I forget my own pair?

“I can help you out if you’re short-staffed,” Megan offers, inching closer. She gets cut off by Debbie.

“If you have free time you’re donating, you can start by giving John Betrowski his suppository.”

I barely swallow the bark of laughter. Megan leaves without another word, knowing it’s best to leave with your tail between your legs when Debbie’s in a mood. She’s watching the junior nurse walk down the hall. When she turns back to me, she scans my face, like she’s checking on me before she launches into what happened with Gracie.

I’m only here three days a week. The other two days are spent at another retirement center I own about an hour drive from here. I have plenty of staff to run both places without me, though I prefer to keep my hand in the mix of things. Most of the staff think I’m just the head physical therapist. Being the owner is a secret I intend to keep as it makes my life easier. People tend to clam up and act weird when they find out you own a multimillion-dollar company and have the authority to fire them. Debbie though? She knows all my secrets, even the ones I’ve forgotten about.

“She fell in the middle of the night, so we didn’t get to her until approximately an hour after when she finally remembered to press the button on her bracelet,” Debbie says quietly.

“Just a mild concussion, then?” The file didn’t mention any broken bones.

“Yep.”

“Did you contact Sean?” I mention the lawyer we keep on staff for Sunny Shores.

“Yep. First call after I got her doctor in to do a full physical.” Debbie puts her hand on my arm. “She’s not going to sue you, don’t worry.”

I snap the file shut. “I’m not worried about that. I’m thinking about the stat that’s drilled into our heads about the elderly being one fall away from death.” Leaning on the counter at the nurses’ station, I rub my forehead where a headache is brewing. “You know she used to hand out popsicles to us kids every summer. All the best flavors too. But if you tried to take two, she’d slap your hand for being a selfish asshole.”

Debbie chuckles, her double chin wobbling. “Yep, that sounds just like her. Sweet and spicy.”

I slip the glasses off my face and into the pocket of my scrubs. Debbie rattles off two patients I need to see before heading off to help the higher-level-care patients. I stow my bag behind the desk. Because I’ve hired enough physical therapy assistants under me to generally come and go as I please, I’m able to head straight to Gracie’s condo, where she’s been independently living for close to five years. The flowers in brightly colored pots outside her door are a nice touch that makes the condo feel like a real home, not just a place to sleep at night.

I knock on the front door but no one answers. I check my watch. Gracie’s usually awake by now and waiting for me to come say hello. It’s our little routine I’ve come to rely on almost as much as she does. Alarm bells ring in my head. The doorknob gives under my hand, silently turning and letting me push the door open.

“Hello?” I call in a whisper-shout, moving rapidly into the condo.

Gracie’s not in her usual chair in the living room, watching the news and lobbing her opinions at the newscasters. I pick up the pace and head for her bedroom. The door is pulled closed but not latched. With a slight creak, I push the door open. My feet stay rooted to the thick carpet at the threshold when I catch sight of a woman in a chair next to Gracie’s bed, where my favorite patient is sleeping.

The woman’s head snaps up and all the air leaves my lungs. She’s stunning. Long blonde hair with a beachy natural curl. Sky-blue eyes that turn up at the corners. Plump, pink lips against smooth pale skin. She’s not wearing makeup, at least as far as I can tell without my glasses and from this far away. Her lips part and I get this weird deja vu feeling that I’ve talked to this woman before.

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