“Because it’s a need which I can fill, and I don’t need money. I’m…independently wealthy, Mr. Crenshaw. I do this because I love practicing medicine. And more than that, I love being a doctor—even if I don’t yet have the official MD after my name yet—to the kind, wonderful folks who live out here, where I live. I do it because I can, and because I want to. I accept value in trade because my clients may not have much by way of money, but they do have pride, and they make a living off the land. And while I may not need money, I do need to eat.”

He eyes me, and I can see his estimation of me rising. “Guess mebbe when I assumed you was a stuck-up city girl, I was wrong.”

“I guess maybe that’s true.” I pat his shoulder. ”Now, sit tight. I need to calculate the dosage for your antibiotics, and get them mixed up. You are very lucky, Mr. Crenshaw, that your wife coerced you into coming out here when she did, or you would have been too far gone for me to be able to do you any good, and then you would be doomed to a lengthy and expensive stay in the hospital.”

He eyes me. “Well, I guess I’d be the fool to not take you up on the offer of visits. My wife has been fighting the arthritis for a while now, and it ain’t gettin’ no better.” His eyes go to my belly. “But, you be careful on those roads, missy. I may be a cranky old country boy with no education and less sense, but I know bouncin’ around back roads like that ain’t good for th’unborn.”

I rub my belly, six months rounded. “Thank you for the concern, Mr. Crenshaw. I’ll be careful.”

Mr. Crenshaw writes out a misspelled I-O-U for several pounds of bacon and pork belly as value in trade for my services, along with a detailed map of how to get to his property.

The rest of the day is slow. The baby kicks, hard, and often, but I’m grateful for it, even when it hurts; being over forty, it’s a minor miracle that I could conceive.

There’s a young man skipping school who comes in for stitches after crashing his four-wheeler, and an elderly woman with a respiratory infection. There is, technically, a doctor in attendance—Dr. Oscar Gutiérrez—but he’s older than dirt and prone to long naps in his office, and he’s perfectly content to let me do things my way. And once I have my MD, which I’m trying to finish before I have the baby, he’ll officially retire and the community practice will be mine.

At closing time, I rouse Dr. Gutiérrez and send him home, and then head home myself.