Dominique Burton - The Alaskan Rescue

Jake set his beer down and grinned at his friend. “Yes, you are a terrible fisherman. Remind me again why we’re friends.”

“Beats me. Yet you’re here paying for lunch.”

Jake straightened. “Now why is that? You’re the rich doctor. You should be paying.”

Cole shook his head. “Nope. You lost your bet. That last rescue we did—I said it would take three days to get out, and you said two, but I was right. Three horrible days.”

“I need another beer.” Jake swallowed the remains of the first, then called out to the waitress. “I hated that rescue. That guy—” he shook his head in disgust “—total jerk.”

Cole agreed. “Almost worse than Frank Marshall. What was his name? Brek?”

“Brekker. Brekker Harris from Colorado.” Jake imitated the man’s voice.

Cole burst out laughing. “The guy still thought he was some mountain man even though we had to carry him out of the bush on foot.”

“I don’t know how you handle dealing with Old Man Marshall as much as you do.”

“This trip has nothing to do with him. It’s about the lodge guests who are sick at his place.” Cole studied his friend. “Tell me—has Freddy been up to his old tricks lately?”

“Hey, are you asking me for info after you’ve only given me a few minutes of your precious time?” Jake’s face broke into a grin again. “I’m not talking. It’s part of my job.”

Cole finished his sandwich with one last bite. “Come on.”

Jake shook his head. “My lips are sealed.”

“Come on—” Cole threw his hands in the air and leaned back, cocking his head at Jake. “Did Freddy bring girls up from the lower forty-eight? He’s done it before.”

“You’re killing me, Cole. Okay. But this stays between you and me.”

Cole ran a hand through his short sandy hair. “Oh yeah, because I’m gonna gossip like a school girl. You know me better than that, Jake.” He leaned forward. “I’m waiting.”

Jake sighed. “Well, I just happened to do a random check on some of the Marshall boats while Freddy was out fishing. Every boat had fish catches over the limit. I issued a lot of citations that day.”

“That’s nothing new. Go on. What else?”

“Rumor has it that Freddy, who’s been attending college in Washington, D.C., brought four women there to work this summer at the resort.”

“And?” Cole began to drum his fingers on the table.

Jake leaned in closer. “All the women thought Freddy was in love with them. Apparently they each thought he’d brought her home to meet Daddy and propose. It’s been a really nasty summer.”

“Instead, he brought them home to work like slaves for his father,” Cole said flatly.

“You got it.”

“Typical Freddy.” Cole finished his soda. “Okay, pal, gotta go.”

It had been good to see Jake. While Cole was still remembering their conversation, the door of his plane was opened before he had completely shut the engine down. It brought Cole back to the present in a hurry.

“Good to see you, Doc.”

“You, too, Randy. I didn’t know you were working here now.”

“Had to. The cannery let me go. Now Shirley is pregnant with our third and ain’t feelin’ well. Fred Marshall made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“What’s the catch?” Cole knew there had to be one. Randy looked exhausted.

“I get a day off every other week.”

“How many hours a day are you working?”

“Eighteen. But this talk is between you and me, right? Doctor patient confidentiality and all.”

Aghast at Randy’s working conditions, Cole reached into the rear of the plane to grab his bag and a few supplies in case he needed to administer meds. When he turned back, he was calm enough to talk to Randy and stay out of his business. “Yes, Randy. What you say to me is confidential. You’re a good man and father. Just...take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

With that Cole climbed out of the plane, knowing Randy would keep an eye on things. He always found it difficult to come to such a stunning place where the rich and famous played, and see firsthand how much the staff, hired for the wealthy guests’ care and comfort, suffered. Now he needed to find Frank.

Cole walked into the main lodge. A large wooden structure, it had lacquered beams that reached at least thirty feet high. The lobby was centered by a rock fireplace rising to the roof. It took your breath away.

Today it was ablaze, creating a cozy atmosphere. For the visitors’ convenience, leather couches, with throws of various animal furs, were placed here and there, while the walls were covered with stuffed trophy fish, animal heads and incredible photographs of Alaska.

In the back of each alcove, where either a concierge or bellhop was stationed, was a mounted bear or mountain goat. A true fisherman’s and hunter’s paradise. Cole’s mind, however, was on the sick people. He went to the front desk, behind which stood a tall brunette. She smiled at him.

“Welcome to Marshall’s,” she said. “I’m Kendra. How may I assist you?”

“I’m Dr. Cole Stevens. Frank Marshall called me earlier to fly out and check on some guests who are ill.”

She nodded. “We’ve been waiting for you. Mr. Marshall has been very worried. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to him.”

* * *

IT WAS OVER AN HOUR LATER when Frank Marshall finally caught up with Cole.

“How did it go with the patients?”

Cole eyed the man who’d fed a lie to him before paying him to fly out here. Frank was a tall, handsome, charismatic man in his mid-sixties. Yet Cole knew he could turn into a viper if things didn’t go the way he wanted. His son, Freddy, was just as bad. “Luckily for you things are all right.”

“That’s great,” Frank said. “So nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t ever lie to me again. I don’t appreciate walking into a room full of vacationers from another country who could all have had a serious flu virus. You told me they were from Kansas! Fortunately what they had was strep throat and a bad case of sea sickness.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“And I don’t like not knowing what type of situation I’m walking into. I’ve started them on antibiotics. Keep them away from the other guests for a day or so, and everything should be fine. If something changes, take them to the clinic in Craig to be assessed.”

“All right, Cole. Listen. I have a bungalow on the water. It’s unoccupied. Why don’t you spend the night here on me? It’s eight o’clock and dark outside. Dinner’s over, but Bubba’s still in the kitchen. I’ll have him bring you something to eat at the bar. Everything will be on the house.”

“I’ll be sending a bill for the services rendered,” Cole reminded him.

“And I’ll pay it.”

“All right. I am rather tired and hungry.”

“So you’ll keep this outbreak of strep between you and me?” Frank seemed worried.

“I have to. No laws were broken. The guests have the right to get sick. I want you to know I checked their visas, Frank. They have to be out of the country by Sunday. Make sure they are.” Cole looked at him coldly. “If you need me, I’ll be in the bar.”

“I’ll have one of the girls bring you the key to your bungalow.”

Cole left Frank and followed the beautifully lit path surrounded by ancient pines and ferns to the bar. He took a deep breath of the invigorating air, the clean smell of wet earth and pine. The night sky was glorious, brimming with stars.

He was grateful he didn’t have to fly back home on such a magnificent night. He’d pulled an all-nighter at the hospital the night before and was beat.

The bar looked like a saloon from the gold-mining days at the turn of the twentieth century. He walked inside and could see people sitting at tables and the bar laughing and talking, while a handful of others danced to the music blaring from a jukebox.