Healing Touch by Jenna Anderson

Healing Touch

Jenna Anderson

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright 2009 Jenna Anderson

    All rights reserved

    Cover art: Jeff Okerstrom

    Special thanks to my family and friends
    for their support of my writing
endeavors.
    Thank you also to Joan, Mat, Cassie,
Susan,
Melissa, and Roni for your advice and feedback. You guys are the
best!

    Smashwords Edition, License Notes
    eBook editions are licensed for your personal
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other people. If you would like to share an eBook edition with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person
you share it with.

    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s
imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be
made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

    What readers are saying about Healing
Touch:

    “…I was drawn right in on the first page and
didn't stop reading until it was done.”

    “…a feel-good romance.”

    “…engaging and thoroughly enjoyable.”

    Part I

    The magazine I held took the full brunt of my
anger. Images of happy housewives, mascara ads, and easy eggplant
recipes streaked past my vision. Pages snapped, crackled, and
ripped under my fingers. I couldn’t believe Dr. Nelson talked me
into coming back to the clinic. My pathetic behavior resembled a
lovesick teenage girl’s. Hearing his sexy voice may have helped
convince me to come in, but it would never persuade me into doing
another medical test. A biopsy was out of the question. I asked
myself for the tenth time in the last two minutes, “Why am I
here?”

    My hands continued to flip through the two
year old magazine. I paused briefly at an article showing the top
fall fashions for toddlers. The cheapest item was a $35 pair of
khakis modeled by a two year old boy.

    I snorted with disgust. “Yeah right. Cody
would have those ripped to shreds and covered in grass or blood
stains in less than two hours.”

    “Did you say something, Tracy?” asked a voice
to my right. Mrs. Busybody. Her name was actually Mrs. Larson but
anyone who has been the subject of her gossiping refers to her as
Mrs. B. Many “B” words fit the abbreviation.

    She sat too close to me, probably trying to
peek into my purse for something private or embarrassing. Aside
from the six disgustingly ugly blue chairs and a couple of old end
tables, we were alone in the clinic’s small waiting room. Mrs.
Larson had heard exactly what I said, but I wouldn’t give her the
satisfaction and repeat myself. I just smiled at her and returned
to my magazine.

    A word to the wise, never ever open up a
conversation with Mrs. Larson if you don’t have a preplanned escape
route. It’s best to say ‘Hi’ out your car window at a red traffic
light or just before the elevator door closes on her face. Not that
my tiny town had a stoplight or an elevator. The two story court
house didn’t even have one. I wasn’t sure how they got around the
ADA laws. I guess anyone in a wheelchair had to face the legal
system on ground level.

    I glanced at the clock above the
receptionist. Dr. Nelson was behind schedule. Fifteen minutes of my
lunch break was already gone. He better hurry up, call me in, tell
me whatever crazy crap he planned to today because I needed to get
back to work. A one hour lunch break shouldn’t stretch into two. If
I stayed out too long, I’d have to stay later this afternoon to
make up the time. If I did that I’d be late picking up Cody from
daycare.

    These thoughts made me quite disgusted. I
groaned loudly as I tossed the magazine onto the end table.

    “So, tell me dear, why are you here today?”
Mrs. Larson had such a sweet, innocent voice. Victims of her
scandalous talk lay scattered throughout the community, dazed,
confused, not knowing what