“Oh, God!” she groaned.

“Shouldn’t she have something more for pain, Doctor?” Cheryl turned to ask.

“Not yet. The shot is going to have to hold her for a bit. Lor, call Mack and tell him she’s awake.” Hobie turned back to Cheryl. “I don’t want to drug her up any more until we know exactly what we’re going to do with her.”

“Where in the hell am I?” BJ called out.

Cheryl was the first to answer. “You had an accident and broke your ankle. The doctor set and cast it for you. You’ll still be a little groggy from the anesthetic. We didn’t give you any more than you’d have for a tooth extraction, but the doctor figured you’d be more comfortable that way. Everything is just fine now.”

“I consider that a matter of opinion.” BJ leaned up on one elbow and looked down at the white plaster monstrosity attached to her leg up to mid-thigh. “So who is this Dr. Kildare who set my leg?”

Hobie knew it was now or never. She stepped forward into BJ’s line of sight. “Um, that would be me.”

BJ furrowed her brow. The woman looked familiar. “And you are?”

Hobie wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. The question took her by surprise. In one hurried epiphany, Hobie understood she’d been granted her reprieve. BJ no more recalled Hobie than she remembered how many vodka gimlets she drank that night in Chicago. That realization didn’t exactly make Hobie happy. It should have, but at the same time, she was a little miffed, vacillating between profound thankfulness for her continued anonymity and righteous indignation for being so forgettable to BJ Warren.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hobie said once she realized that BJ was staring at her unamused. “HobieAllen. Look, I’m so sorry for—”

“So, Doc, besides being in complete agony, what’s the damage here?” BJ groaned, not having grasped what Hobie was trying to say.

“Well, you broke your ankle. I set and cast it.”

“Gee, can you try not to throw so much technical jargon at me all at once?”

Hobie arched an eyebrow. “All right. Technically, you suffered an oblique fracture of your fibula with the dislocation of the foot. It’s commonly called a Pott’s fracture. It’s a common injury. As a matter of fact, it’s one of the most frequently injured areas of the ankle joint. It was rather textbook. About three inches from the ankle, you had a fracture to the fibula. In addition, the medial malleolus was broken off, but luckily the end of the tibia was not displaced from the corresponding surface of the talus. At the same time, the foot was everted and the muscles in the calf drew up the heel. I repositioned the foot by flexing the leg at right angles with the thigh, which relaxes all the opposing muscles, and by making extension from the ankle and counter-extension at the knee.”

BJ leaned on one elbow and stared in silence for a few seconds. “You know, nobody likes a show-off.”

“Sorry.” Hobie tried not to smile. She attempted to come up with a plausible explanation for what had happened and how she had been involved. She was growing sick to her stomach from the worry and decided to tell BJ the truth. Unfortunately, before she could come up with a sparkling and witty way to put it, the matter was pushed into the light by her patient.

“You look familiar. Where did you graduate from, anyway?” BJ grumbled.

“Where did I what?” The question took Hobie by surprise. She’d been so focused on explaining the circumstances of the accident that she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.

“You’re not going to say you didn’t graduate, are you?” BJ managed a smirk, even though the pain in her ankle had most of her attention.

“Of course not. I happen to be a fully licensed physician. But—”

“No, don’t say but. See, whenever there’s a but, there’s bad news afterward.”

“Well, it’s not like that, but—” “See, there’s that word again.”

“Okay, let me take another route with this.” Hobie rubbed her sweaty palms along her rough cotton scrub pants. She knew exactly why she was so nervous. Breaking the news to this woman was going to cause fireworks. Hobie knew it. She would tell BJ that she had been responsible for hitting her, then BJ would tell her grandmother, then Hobie’s medical license wouldn’t be worth a nickel.

“You are a doctor, right?”

“Yes, I’m a very good doctor.” Hobie wondered if she sounded as defensive to everyone else as she did to herself.

Cheryl and Laura exchanged glances with Hobie. Laura shrugged as if to say she couldn’t understand why their patient was so obsessed with Hobie’s credentials.

“You see, in a way, I’m actually two doctors.” Hobie smiled and was about to make the jest she used with all her patients.

“In a way? Like in the ‘I went to medical school and graduated’ way? Or the ‘I got my degree out of a box of cereal’ way?”

At that moment, an ear-splitting squeal pierced the air. It was evident that the howl wasn’t human. The sound came from the outer waiting room and left all four women in the surgery area in silence.

“What the fuck was that?” BJ shook her head as if the anesthesia still held her in its grasp. The squeal had sounded like a pig.

“Don’t worry, that’s just our next patient,” Cheryl said.

It wasn’t until that moment that Hobie realized BJ had no idea what kind of a doctor she was. Hobie took it for granted that everyone knew. When she looked up, BJ Warren was staring daggers at her. Hobie cringed. She could see her life falling apart in front of her.

BJ took in her surroundings as if for the first time. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on here?”

“I know this is going to sound a little strange. I am a doctor. Actually, I’m an MD and—”

“Where is your diploma?” BJ asked in a cold, flat voice. Hobie was proud of that diploma, but at that moment, words

failed her. She could only raise one finger to point to the wall behind the prone woman.

BJ craned her neck and read the framed document aloud. “Yadda, yadda...certifies that Hobie Lynn Allen...Veterinary Medicine...University of Flor—”

Hobie froze. She wished for an earthquake, a tidal wave, or any other natural disaster. She wanted nothing more than for the earth to swallow her whole and spit out the bad parts. When BJ turned back to face Hobie, Hobie swore she was looking into the face of a stranger. This woman’s angry gaze looked nothing like the sparkling gray bedroom eyes Hobie had been lost in only a day and a half earlier.

“Veterinary medicine?” BJ’s voice sounded strained, yet controlled as she spoke the words.

Hobie finally propelled herself into action. Actually, it was a lot more like backpedaling and groveling. “Okay, see, that’s what—”

“You’re a vet?”

The women in the office could hear the restrained voice beginning to shred at the edges.

“Technically, yes. But not just a vet. I—”

“Adoctor for animals?” BJ’s voice rose in volume and pitch. It was apparent the control was showing minute ruptures.

“Well, I wouldn’t—”

“A vet!” BJ shouted as any semblance of self-control ripped wide open and disappeared completely.

Hobie had been trying to get a word in edgewise, but BJ wouldn’t give her a chance to explain. Most people were impressed once she told them that she’d gone to medical school, then years later, studied veterinary medicine. Somehow Hobie didn’t picture BJ being impressed at all.

“Would you quit saying that like it’s some sort of crime?” Hobie finally shouted back.

“Crime? You people wouldn’t know a crime if it came up and bit you on the ass! A fucking vet just set my leg! That’s got to be breaking at least a dozen laws!”

“Let me explain—”

“You can explain to my lawyer!” BJ raved. Her leg slipped off the sandbags that held it in place and she groaned in pain.

Hobie rushed forward to assist. “Here, let me—” “Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch me!”

It was about this time that Mack, the local sheriff, walked into the room. “What the hell is going on back here?” He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with light brown hair that was speckled with silver and blue eyes. His physique strained against the tailored uniform he wore. He sported a large, well-trimmed mustache. For all his good looks, he was perhaps the last to know. His gentle smile and never-ending supply of wisdom suited him well for a job in law enforcement. His patience and sense of humor, however, made him the perfect sheriff for Ana Lia Island.

“Officer, arrest them.” BJ pointed to Hobie and her assistants.

“All of them?” Mack asked in confusion.

“Every last one of them. They’re all in on it, but especially her!” BJ looked menacingly at Hobie.

“Her, eh?” Mack’s mustache covered up most of his amused smile. “Hobie Lynn?” He looked down at the much shorter woman.

“Mack,” Hobie said dejectedly. Her day had started out so well. She wondered how it had gone so wrong so fast. She didn’t know whether to worry over her soon-to-skyrocket insurance rates, cry over the fact that BJ had found her thoroughly forgettable, or scream at the woman’s infuriating superior attitude.

“Well, are you going to arrest her?”

“What would you have me arrest her for, Ms. Warren?” “What for?” BJ shouted. “Look, Gomer, she performed a medical procedure without my consent, and to top it off, she’s not even a doctor! What the hell do I have to do—draw you a map?”

Mack took a deep breath. He had already spoken with Evelyn, and he knew all about Baylor’s infamous temper and outspoken attitude. Evelyn called her granddaughter “high strung.” Mack thought the old woman was being kind. He remembered BJ as a spoiled, self-centered young girl.