“Call it ‘assistant’ instead of ‘secretary’ and I’d feel better, but sure, I mean it,” he told her, surprised he hadn’t thought of this sooner. “It’s no worse than any of the other jobs I’ve had. Shoot, Jennie, I’ve worked at Mickie D’s, I’ve pumped gas in truck stops, I’ve even washed cars. This is cushy, compared to those jobs, and it’s sure as hell more of an intellectual stimulus. I know some about computers, and I’ve been a paralegal in about five states. And where else am I going to get a package that includes room, board, and Medicine training?”

She bit her lip and looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. “You know,” she replied, slowly, “if I had an assistant, I could take on a lot more cases than I do. I could train you, help you get your P.I. license. We don’t make a bad team.”

He snorted. “Hell, I think we make a great team. If you’re willing to make it a little more formal.”

She nodded, slowly. “Tell you what; let’s work out this Calligan thing and see if we can keep from killing each other, and after we get it wrapped up, whatever additional cases I can take in with you as an assistant, I’ll pay you for. Deal?”

“Deal,” he replied instantly. And with relief. This was something solid and settled. He’d needed “solid” for a while; he just hadn’t figured it out till now.

She grinned. “You know, you’re the one who’s going to have to do all the paperwork on yourself. Quarterlies, 1099s, the whole bit!”

“Not a problem. Now go bake yourself,” he told her. “We’ve both got early starts to make tomorrow.”

She wandered off down the hall; he closed up the office and headed in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen. He got himself a quick snack; glanced into the darkened living room, and saw that Mooncrow had already retired to his room. The old man had been “working” a lot; he probably needed a good night’s rest more than Jennie did at this point. Medicine sure can take it out of you, he thought soberly, heading back toward his own room, after making certain of all the physical locks on doors and windows and turning off the lights. I never knew that, either. It’s work, as hard as manual labor. Hell, no wonder the old man is in good shape. He has to be. Maybe that’s why Jennie took Tai Chi way back when. Maybe I ought to think about some kind of martial arts class, or aerobics, or something. …

As he turned off the hall lights, he saw that there was no light coming from either the sauna or from under Jennie’s door. Good, he thought with satisfaction. She needs the rest. I’ll just do a couple of chapters in that book about the Osage and—