LITMIR.BIZ

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pushed her empty plate away. She’d thought she’d be too nervous to eat, returning to the scene of her complete lapse from sanity, but she’d managed just fine. Miguel’s mother was a great cook, and her chicken salad, Southwestern style, was the stuff of dreams. She’d eaten the sandwich and a dish of fruit salad besides. She picked up her glass of iced tea and took a look around.

      She’d only been in Miguel’s cabin that one time, and never in the kitchen. It was neat as a pin. The cabinets were pine and so was the paneling on the walls. The floors were tiled in the same soft sandstone color as the countertops. A traditional adobe fireplace was set in one corner with a drop-leaf pine table and two chairs in front of it. From where she sat in one of those chairs, Devon could look out the window and see part of a cabin farther up the mountain. She hadn’t realized Miguel could see her place from here.

      Her gaze swung from the view to the man sitting quietly in the other chair, making notations beside names on the guest list. He was frowning slightly while he wrote, winged eyebrows drawn together over eyes as dark as night, eyes that only hinted at the heat and light at his core. She slapped a lid on her thoughts. She wasn’t going to go there.

      “Okay, I’ve done the math. Put me and Nolan down for chicken. And your grandmother?” He gave her a quizzical look and she nodded. Lydia didn’t like fish. “My mom and dad will probably want the salmon.”

      “Mine, too.”

      “Your grandfather Kane isn’t coming, right?” he asked next.

      “His health isn’t good.” Lydia and Devon’s grandfather had been divorced for many years. He’d never known about Kim’s mother, the child Lydia had given away at birth years before he met her. But he was a kind and loving man who would welcome Lydia’s grandchild into his family, Devon knew. “Kim and Nolan are going to take Sammy to visit him before school starts.”

      “What about your uncle Bradley and your cousins?”

      “Uncle Bradley and Aunt Irene will be here. Derek and Jason can’t make it. They’re coming for Christmas instead.”

      “Fish or chicken?”

      She blinked. “I have no idea.” She should call her mother and ask, but if she did that, Myrna would insist on coming out to help plan the party. That was the last thing Devon needed. Her mother had a heart of gold, but she was also domineering and opinionated. She loved to run the show, and usually did. The few days she’d been in Enchantment after Lydia’s heart attack had been a strain on everyone involved.

      “Let’s say one of each then. Fish for Father Ignatio. His cholesterol is sky-high.” He made a check on the paper. “That leaves you and the bride. Which is it?”

      “Chicken for me,” Devon said.

      “And Kim?”

      “I don’t know.” The trouble was, even though Kim had asked her to be her maid of honor, she didn’t know her new cousin at all.

      “Ask her in the morning.”

      “Okay, I will.”

      Miguel tallied up the numbers. “That’s almost a fifty-fifty, providing Kim goes for the salmon, and I bet she will.” He was probably right. He was Nolan McKinnon’s best friend, so he had a direct line into Kim’s likes and dislikes.

      “The salmon’s five dollars a plate more. Maybe we should just go with the chicken.” Devon winced when she heard herself speak the thought aloud. Being responsible for keeping the clinic afloat was beginning to color her thinking in all sorts of ways.

      Miguel grinned across the table at her. “Do I detect a little penny-pinching here?”

      “We agreed on a budget, remember? I don’t want to go over. And aren’t Navajos supposed to not be interested in money?”

      “The Diné are interested in harmony. Too much money puts you out of harmony with yourself. I don’t have that problem.” He grinned. “I hear the salmon is excellent. And hey, nothing’s too good for Kim and Nolan, right?”

      “Right.” She smiled her agreement. It was nice to have someone to help make the decisions.

      A pager went off. Miguel’s hand went automatically to his belt, Devon’s to the waistband of her pink scrubs. “It’s mine,” she said. “I left my phone in the car.”

      Miguel waved his hand toward the wall. “Use mine.”

      She stood up a little too quickly and had to steady herself with a hand on the tabletop.

      “You okay?” He didn’t make even the slightest move toward her and Devon was glad. If he had, she might have let him take her in his arms and…

      “Just tired.” She punched in the clinic’s number.

      “The Birth Place,” a voice answered.

      “Trish?” Devon was a little surprised the clinic’s receptionist, Trish Linden, was still on duty.

      “Yes, I’m still here. Got some paperwork I wanted to finish up. One of your patients is on her way in. Carla Van Tassle. She’s spotting. Just a little, but she’s worried.”

      Devon sorted through her mental case file until she put a face to the name. Carla was seven weeks pregnant with her second child. Lydia had delivered her first, a little boy, twenty-two months earlier. “I’ll be right there.”

      “Wait a moment, Devon, your grandmother wants to speak to you.”

      “I thought you were taking the day off,” Devon said, when Lydia came on the line.

      “I did take the day off. I came in to catch up on some charting and to give Lacy Belton a follow-up phone call.”

      “I planned to do that a little later this evening.” Devon felt her neck and shoulder muscles tighten. Lacy’s temperature had returned to normal and stayed there after she had received the IV antibiotics Joanna prescribed. She and her baby had left the clinic shortly before noon.

      “I’m sure she would still appreciate your call. And you’ll probably want to set up a convenient time to check in on her tomorrow, anyway.”

      “Yes, I do.”

      “I just wanted to tell you that since I’m here already, I’ll examine Carla. I’m sure it’s nothing serious.”

      Spotting early in a pregnancy wasn’t unusual, but Devon would have taken a blood sample, checked hormone levels, maybe ordered an ultrasound to be on the safe side. Not Lydia. Not at The Birth Place. Her grandmother had decades of experience, four thousand healthy deliveries to her credit. She relied on her instincts and her personal knowledge of each and every patient that passed through her care.

      “I’ll be glad to come back.” Devon kept her voice even and pleasant. She was very aware of Miguel standing just a few feet away. She was usually pretty good at hiding her emotions—she had to be in her business. But he was also very good at reading people for the same reason.

      There was a small silence before her grandmother spoke again. Her tone was unusually gentle. “Devon, I assure you I’ll transfer Carla to Arroyo County for an ultrasound if I think there’s the least chance this is serious. I’ll notify you immediately if that’s the case so you can be with her.”

      Devon took a breath. This was Lydia’s way of apologizing for their disagreement over Devon’s handling of Lacy Belton’s delivery. If only they could do the same with the past. “Thanks, Lydia.”

      “Good,” her grandmother replied briskly. “As I said, I don’t anticipate any real problem with Carla, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Why don’t you take the morning off, come in after your visit with Lacy?”

      Devon opened her mouth to say she’d be in at her usual time, and then changed her mind. She could use a few hours to herself. “All right. I will. Good night, Lydia.”

      “Good night, Devon.” She replaced

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