Wanted By The Marshal. Ryshia KennieЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter One

      Cheyenne, WyomingLate spring

      Kiera Connell grabbed her bag and headed with a smile to the exit of the Prairie Seniors’ Care Home. Few things made her happier than her work here. In fact, she often came in for extra hours beyond those they paid. She supposed it was because of her own lack of family that made being here so special, made her feel so included. She’d lost her mother when she was a toddler and the aunt who had raised her had died seven years ago. The seniors and the other caregivers were, to her, like family. Today, she’d filled in on an earlier shift before working her scheduled evening shift. It was late, and her car was in for repairs. It was a nice night and only a twenty-minute walk home. She planned not to waste any time getting out the door.

      Her hand was on the knob when a quavering voice stopped her.

      “Kiera? Do you have a minute?”

      She turned around without hesitation. “Sure, Ann,” she said. She guessed that the elderly woman had hurried down the hall after her as fast as her walker would take her. Kiera must have been caught up in her own thoughts, for she hadn’t heard the shuffle of Ann’s feet as she had struggled to follow.

      “What’s up?”

      “I wondered if you could pick up a magazine for me tomorrow.”

      “I will,” Kiera said as she put a reassuring hand on her arm. She’d promised she’d run the errand for her only an hour ago. She’d also promised an hour before that. But Ann, like many of the other residents, had dementia. “I’ll get one with racy pictures.”

      Ann smiled. “You’re a tease,” she replied. “But thank you.”

      “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kiera promised. “Now get some sleep.”

      After watching Ann turn slowly around and make her way painfully down the hallway, she headed for the exit. But she glanced back and saw Ann take a wrong turn to get to her room. It was a simple setup, a small facility, but for someone with memory loss, nothing was simple.

      Kiera dropped her bag and hurried down the hall. She could leave Ann to find her way to her room on her own. She knew that she would eventually get there. For one corridor only met another and circled back to the starting point. She could wait and let the plan of the hallways take Ann the long route back to where she wanted to go. But she couldn’t do that. It wasn’t in her nature. She slowed her step as she walked beside the woman. She chatted to Ann about her day, her plans for tomorrow and the promised magazine. It was a conversation she’d had three other times since supper. Once, when she’d brought Ann’s medication. Once, when she made sure that she was ready for bed and again when she checked on her later in the evening. She’d completed the same ritual for half a dozen other people as well, but Ann was one of her favorites. While some of the work was repetitive, it was the people that made this job one of the best she’d ever had. As a nurse-practitioner, it was her that the staff turned to when health issues cropped up. She loved the challenge of keeping this community of seniors healthy. She loved it every bit as much as she loved being part of their support structure.

      “Kiera,” her supervisor, Beth, called as she left Ann in her room and headed back down the corridor. “What are you still doing here?”

      “I was delayed.”

      “Ann again?” Beth shook her head and smiled. There was no danger of Ann overhearing their almost maternal hovering; she’d disappeared into her room. And, like many of the residents, she was hearing impaired. “I could have given her a hand.”

      “I know,” Kiera replied. “But I was here so...” The words trailed off as she shrugged. She looked at her watch. It was almost midnight.

      “Are you sure you don’t want to take a cab home?” Beth asked. “It’s late.”

      “I’ll be fine. It’s a warm night and a short walk.”

      “Be careful,” Beth warned with a wave.

      She gave a wave back and headed out the door. It was a beautiful late spring night. She was walking down well-lit streets in an area of the city where she’d always felt safe. The air seemed to caress her skin. She walked by one of the city’s eight-foot-tall, artist-painted, decorative cowboy boots. A streetlight splashed light on the gold-and-brass spur and revealed a cloud-studded, bright blue Wyoming sky above a mountain range. The beautiful scene was painted on the body of the boot. The boots were all unique and were displayed randomly throughout the city. They were one of the many things that made Cheyenne special to her. Tonight, this one marked the halfway point, ten minutes from home.

      She began to hum a little tune. And, as she walked by a local coffee shop, she noticed a man sitting slouched on an outside bench. It wasn’t unusual to see the occasional homeless person in the area, especially during the warmer weather. She thought nothing of it and instead considered jogging the rest of the way home.

      “Miss.”

      The soft male voice came out of nowhere and startled her. But there was no threat in the voice, only a kind of lost hopelessness. She’d heard that tone before. The streetlight pushed the shadows away as another man in a ragged T-shirt and baggy jeans rose from the sidewalk where he’d been sitting cross-legged with cup and a sign