Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Ghoul disappears into the clubhouse, and I manage to snatch a few more mouthfuls of coffee in peace before Dolly appears in the kitchen.
“Good mornin’, gorgeous,” she says, breezing in and pressing a glossy kiss to my cheek. She rubs my back affectionately as she talks. “You got a lot on today?”
As far as touching goes, Dolly is the only person I will let touch me. I don’t like personal contact, and I go out of my way to avoid it. But I don’t flinch from Dolly’s touch because she is like the mom I never had.
I wasn’t always like this. I mean, once upon a time, I enjoyed being touched. In fact, I loved it. Even craved it.
But now…
… now I can’t stand it.
I smile at her. “My dance card appears to be filling up mighty quick this morning. You need me to look at something?”
“Not me but Earl.” She gives me a mischievous look because she knows Earl hates hospitals and anything to do with doctors, and the last time she got me involved in Earl’s health, the six-foot giant almost knocked me out. “Now, before you start telling me that you ain’t interested in speaking to him because of what happened last time, let me just assure you that it ain’t nothing too serious. It’s just a case of arthritis in his hands. But it needs attention, or I might just cut the damn things off myself, so he’ll stop bitching and cussing all damn night about them. You got some of that oil you made for him last time?”
I make CBD oil. It’s no secret. There are hundreds of little bottles containing my oil on shelves throughout Tennessee. The recipe is a secret, the effects incredible.
“I’m out, but I’ll make another batch this weekend, okay?”
She gives me a bright smile and rubs my back again. “Thank you, sweetheart. Oh, and here...” She digs a fifty-dollar bill out of her impressive cleavage. “This is for the oil.”
“Keep it,” I tell her, standing and taking my cup to the sink to wash.
“We don’t expect nothing for free, honey.”
“It’s not about the money, Dolly.”
It has never been. In fact, I make fuck-all money from my oil, but a lot of people get some much-needed relief by using it.
“You’re a good boy, Doc.” She gives me a wink before tucking the fifty-dollar note into my belt. “But you get yourself something real nice for your troubles.” She saunters off, leaving a cloud of perfume in her wake. At sixty years old, she’s all glamor and sparkle, with the energy of a woman half her age.
Deciding to get started with my day, I head for the clinic which is in the basement of the clubhouse. It used to be a cellar back in the twenties and thirties when the clubhouse was a popular hotel for upper society. Renowned for its spectacular Appalachian landscapes, five-star service, and access to some of the best moonshine in the state, the rich used to flock to spend their summer vacations here or ride out the winter in the grand room with its massive stone fireplace and iron chandelier.
But after the mining corporations left Flintlock in the forties, like a lot of places around town, the hotel lost its favor and fell into decline. It stood empty for decades until Hutch Calley bought it for the club back in the seventies.
It’s changed over the years, but not by much. All the crown molding and ceiling roses remain, along with some of the stained-glass windows and the famed river stone fireplace. But now, there are a lot of mod cons, like the sophisticated sound system Gabe wired into the bar and the state-of-the-art security system Paw installed to ensure none of our rivals can get a jump on us.
The old cellar makes for a perfect clinic. It’s sterile and well-lit. It is also well-stocked, thanks to Jack’s sister, Faith, who holds a fundraiser every year to fund it and keep it up to date.
Just as I get to my desk, I hear the door open, and then someone walks into the room. It’s one of the twins, Bam.
“Need a checkup, Doc,” Bam says.
“You’re not feeling well?”
“Fit as a fucking fiddle.”
“Then what’s with the checkup?”
“There’s this girl—”
“Of course, there is,” I mutter to myself.
Twice in one day. Seems everyone is getting laid around here.
“She needs proof that I’m a clean skin before she... well, you know...”
“Sounds like a smart girl.”
He grins. “Oh, she’s something all right.”
I walk over to one of the supply cabinets leaning against the back wall and open a box of swabs.
“You think there might be a problem? Are you experiencing any symptoms?”
“Nope. I always wrap it.”
“Good.” I turn back to him. “But to make sure, I’ll need to draw some blood, and you’ll need to take a swab with this.”