Ride the Rainbow Home (24 page)

"This one's a special case, doc," Kurt answered. "She lost control of her car about eight miles out on I-40.I figure her left shoulder's hurt, possibly broken, but she hit her head too. She was unconscious when I got to her and she's looking pale and shocky, maybe a mild concussion."

The doctor, who had learned to trust Kurt's untrained but experienced diagnoses, told Myra to tell the patient in room two that he'd be delayed, and followed Kurt down the hall.

Half an hour later, Kurt's diagnosis was confirmed—all except the shoulder, which turned out to be sprained, but not broken. Alexa found herself being helped into a wheelchair, her arm in a sling. "But I can't stay," she argued weakly, fighting back tears. "You don't understand. I have to be in Burbank tomorrow morning. I
have
to!"

"Not in
your
car," Kurt said. "I just checked with the garage. It looks like you blew a wheel bearing. It'll take a couple of days to get the parts for that, and there was damage to the undercarriage when you went off the road."

"Then I'll rent a car," Alexa said, determined not to let anything keep her from her dreams.

"Not tonight. You simply cannot drive tonight, young lady," the doctor said, his tone even more patronizing than his words. "You are in no condition. You're suffering a mild concussion and some degree of shock. Add that up and you are legally impaired. If you attempted to drive, I'd be obligated to stop you."

Alexa heard the words and let them register, still unwilling to accept that her dreams could end like this. "There has to be a way," she said, searching the men's faces, and then appealing to the handsome cowboy who had been such a gentle rescuer. "How about a bus? Surely there's a bus line that comes through on I-40."

"Sure there is," the cowboy answered. She struggled to remember his name. Karl? Kirk, maybe? "The westbound stops through twice a day down at the depot." He looked at his watch, and then shook his head. "I'm afraid the afternoon bus has already gone. It'll be early tomorrow before there's another one headed that way."

"That's too late." She pursed her lips. "A plane?" she asked hopefully. If she added up everything in her purse, she might have enough for a ticket.

The doctor answered. “Not going
that
way. Not unless you charter. The only regular route is between here and Phoenix, and I don't think they fly again until tomorrow."

Alexa sighed, letting reality sink in. A single tear slid down her cheek. "I'm going to miss it," she said quietly. "All this time, all this way, and now I'm going to miss it."

The cowboy laid his hand over hers. "I'm sure you can reschedule. Come on. Let's find a phone."

Alexa didn't feel the same certainty, but she nodded anyway. "Thanks, doctor," she said, remembering her manners as she left. Until then, it hadn't occurred to her to wonder how her costs were being covered. She turned to the cowboy. "Where do I pay?"

"Don't worry about it," he said. "It's covered."

She drew together what little energy she still felt. "I can't allow that," she said. "I don't have a lot, but I can pay my own bills."

The cowboy waved her away. "It's nothing," he said. “We have a long-standing account here, both for the family and the farm help. Dr. Kemp will just add it to the bill."

"Really, I must insist..." She wished she could remember his name.

"Good-bye, Kurt," the gray-haired receptionist said as he wheeled Alexa past the front desk. The cowboy nodded in response.

"I really must insist, Kurt," Alexa continued, grateful for the timely intervention. "I like to pay my own way."

"Tell you what," the cowboy, Kurt, said. Alexa could tell he was going to adopt that reasonable tone again. "Let's go with it the way it is for now. Myra will put it on the family account and everything will be fine. Then when things work out for you and you get that great job you're going after in Burbank, you can send a check."

Alexa opened her mouth to protest, but she remembered how little she had in her purse. Her adventure had been a comedy of errors since she'd left Kentucky;
everything
had cost more than expected. Maybe she should just be grateful for this Samaritan—a rather nice-looking Samaritan—and let things stand as they were. "All right," she acquiesced. "Thank you."

"No problem," he said, and then helped her out of the wheelchair and into the truck. "Give me a minute to get this contraption back inside, then we'll find you a phone."

"I'll need one that takes coins," Alexa said as he returned, wishing she'd gotten around to fixing the battery in her cell phone. She was already formulating her speech for the man in Burbank, hoping against every expectation that it would be convincing enough.