She was lucky that Soldotna’s agencies sent various therapists to Rescue’s medical clinic several times a week. Driving to Soldotna twice a week would not only have hurt, but also made her feel even more of a burden on Frankie and the others. Although JJ had been wonderful this morning, insisting that it was no problem to bring Kit in with her. The officer was a really nice person.

Kit looked around and sighed at the total lack of comfy sofas in the big municipal building lobby.

With a muffled groan, she settled into a wooden chair on the health clinic side. She could divert herself by watching the people coming and going from the clinic, the police station on the other side, and the town offices upstairs. The place was busy.

All the visitors stopped at the semi-circular receptionist desk staffed by a middle-aged, solidly built blonde. The nameplate on the desk read “Regina Schroeder.”

Two men in rubber boots, stained shirts, and jeans were telling the woman how one got injured. “Yeah, the damn bear wanted my damn fish, and excuse me, but I caught that salmon. I figured if I yelled loud enough, it’d leave.”

The receptionist snorted. “And how did that work out for you?”

“The bear charged him.” His friend grinned at the unhappy salmon owner. “You should’ve seen the way you dove into those bushes—with an Olympic medal-worthy dive.”

“Well, duh. Did you see the size of that animal?”

Kit shook her head. The poor fisherman had rips in his clothes and bloody scratches here and there.

The friend shook his head. “Trouble is, I think he sprained his wrist.”

“Trouble is the goddamn bear got my salmon,” the man said morosely.

Ms. Schroeder didn’t laugh out loud, but her lips were twitching. Receptioning in this place must be a crazy job.

Sitting back, Kit listened as Ms. Schroeder sent people upstairs to the town’s record office, the library, called JJ to report a fistfight at the post office, and juggled medical appointments. Incoming clinic patients got paperwork to be filled out for the medical aides.

Kit sighed, wishing she’d taken something for pain before coming in. At least there was an hour to relax before the counseling appointment.

Physical therapy was tough work. Since Kit was up and moving around, the focus had changed to her arm that was full of metal plates and pins and stuff. Talk about painful. The therapist, a very competent, kind, older woman, had just laughed when Kit accused her of practicing BDSM.

Grimacing, she shifted her throbbing arm to a better position in the sling.

It was all good, though. True, her muscles were weak and her fingers still fumbly, but her arm was improving.

Realizing she was going to get back to normal was so very heartening.

“Are you doing well there, Ms. Sandersen?” The receptionist sat down next to Kit. “Can I get you anything?”