JJ slowed the vehicle a bit more. “Sorry. I know how much bouncing can hurt.”
“That sounds like the voice of experience. I bet police work gets pretty rough.”
“Sometimes.” JJ hadn’t spent much time with Kit, but she was finding the woman was just as sweet as Frankie had said. “Back in Nevada, I got on the wrong side of a bullet during a drug gang’s takedown.”
At Kit’s wide eyes, JJ laughed. “No, no big holes. I had on body armor. But just the impact cracked a rib.”
“Sheesh, what a job.”
When they went over the next dip, Kit bent forward, making a pained sound. “Why does this section have so many ruts? The rest is in decent shape.”
“You can thank Mako for that.”
“Why?”
JJ shook her head. “You know this was Mako’s place at first, with the guys just visiting, right?”
“Actually, no.”
“Okay, let’s see. The sarge was retired career military, and he raised the guys out in the middle of nowhere, but when they grew up and left, he got…” JJ had slowed the car to a crawl. “During his service, he’d been deployed to Vietnam and some uglier areas, and suffered from PTSD and paranoia. Caz said he had a sense of impending doom—as though the world was going to go up in flames at any moment. He wanted to be prepared.”
“Frankie said he was a survivalist.”
“Big time.” JJ thought of the arsenal that would put most police station armories to shame. The tunnels under the houses. “He went way past the basic prepper stuff, like the solar panels and generators and stocking up on food.”
Kit gave her a smile. “I love the way the Hermitage is set up, actually. It makes my permaculture heart happy.”
“Agreed. The houses even shrug off earthquakes,” JJ said with a laugh. “But, back to the road. The sarge designed it so that, from Swan Avenue, it seems to dead-end. If someone does make it around the U-curve, this section is so rutted, it appears impassible. I must admit his strategy is effective. No tourists try to visit this side of the lake.”
As JJ stopped the car before turning onto Swan, Kit turned slightly to look behind them. “I see. You can’t even tell that the road turns and continues.”
“Right?” JJ pulled out onto the nice, smoothly graveled main road and was relieved to see Kit relax. “Sorry about the ride.”
“It’s certainly not your fault. I’m surprised the guys haven’t graded the road though. Since Mako isn’t here any longer.”
“They seem to have inherited some of his wariness.” JJ shook her head. “God knows they all saw combat, and maybe having a secure fortress for a home lets them sleep better at night.
And if a rutted road was what it took for Caz to feel at peace, she’d hack a few holes in it herself.
Although Kit might not feel the same.
At the soft sound of understanding, JJ glanced over.
“When I woke up in the hospital, I felt like I had the worst of lives, had made the stupidest choices, suffered more than most people. So self-centered.” Kit snorted. “But most of us run into bad stuff—and then have to figure out how to compensate for it. If the men who served our country need a rutted road, then that’s what we’ll make sure they have.”
JJ blinked in surprise, then pleasure. Here was a woman with a wagonload of compassion. No wonder she and Frankie were best friends.
Kit gave her a firm nod. “Next time, I’ll bring a pillow to brace against my midsection when we go over the bumps.”
A couple of hours later, Kit trudged out of her physical therapy appointment, wanting nothing more than to crawl onto a couch somewhere and take a nap.
Thank goodness her PT and counseling appointments were on the same day, and she wouldn’t have to suffer going down that road more often.
She was lucky that Soldotna’s agencies sent various therapists to Rescue’s medical clinic several times a week. Driving to Soldotna twice a week would not only have hurt, but also made her feel even more of a burden on Frankie and the others. Although JJ had been wonderful this morning, insisting that it was no problem to bring Kit in with her. The officer was a really nice person.
Kit looked around and sighed at the total lack of comfy sofas in the big municipal building lobby.
With a muffled groan, she settled into a wooden chair on the health clinic side. She could divert herself by watching the people coming and going from the clinic, the police station on the other side, and the town offices upstairs. The place was busy.
All the visitors stopped at the semi-circular receptionist desk staffed by a middle-aged, solidly built blonde. The nameplate on the desk read “Regina Schroeder.”
Two men in rubber boots, stained shirts, and jeans were telling the woman how one got injured. “Yeah, the damn bear wanted my damn fish, and excuse me, but I caught that salmon. I figured if I yelled loud enough, it’d leave.”
The receptionist snorted. “And how did that work out for you?”
“The bear charged him.” His friend grinned at the unhappy salmon owner. “You should’ve seen the way you dove into those bushes—with an Olympic medal-worthy dive.”
“Well, duh. Did you see the size of that animal?”
Kit shook her head. The poor fisherman had rips in his clothes and bloody scratches here and there.
The friend shook his head. “Trouble is, I think he sprained his wrist.”
“Trouble is the goddamn bear got my salmon,” the man said morosely.
Ms. Schroeder didn’t laugh out loud, but her lips were twitching. Receptioning in this place must be a crazy job.
Sitting back, Kit listened as Ms. Schroeder sent people upstairs to the town’s record office, the library, called JJ to report a fistfight at the post office, and juggled medical appointments. Incoming clinic patients got paperwork to be filled out for the medical aides.
Kit sighed, wishing she’d taken something for pain before coming in. At least there was an hour to relax before the counseling appointment.
Physical therapy was tough work. Since Kit was up and moving around, the focus had changed to her arm that was full of metal plates and pins and stuff. Talk about painful. The therapist, a very competent, kind, older woman, had just laughed when Kit accused her of practicing BDSM.
Grimacing, she shifted her throbbing arm to a better position in the sling.
It was all good, though. True, her muscles were weak and her fingers still fumbly, but her arm was improving.
Realizing she was going to get back to normal was so very heartening.
“Are you doing well there, Ms. Sandersen?” The receptionist sat down next to Kit. “Can I get you anything?”
Kit chuckled. “Was I looking pitiful?”
The answer on the woman’s face was easy to read.
“Really, I’m fine. I have a counseling appointment in another hour—and my arm aches from PT, so I thought I’d just sit here rather than wandering around town.”
“That makes sense.” The woman tilted her head. “I’m Regina, and you’re Frankie’s friend? When I saw her last night at the diner, she asked me to watch out for you.”
That was totally Frankie. “Yes, and it’s Kit. I’ve enjoyed watching you. You’re like a New York City traffic cop, sending patients, residents, police officers, and health staff to the right places at the right times.”