I shake my head. “What exactly do you think he’s doing for me, other than keeping me here against my will?”

Lucinda opens her mouth, but a knock sounds on the door before she can reply.

“Hey, Dr. Amira!” A voice on the other side calls out. “Charlie said you were open for business now. Is that true?”

“That sounds like my friend Scarlett,” Lucinda says. “She’s pregnant too, and I told her you said me and all the other pregnant women needed to come to you for an exam.”

“That’s not exactly what I said,” I answer, even as I go to open the door.

I’m expecting to see this Scarlett, and sure enough, a woman with a pregnancy bump and dark red hair is standing at the top of the trailer's steps. But there’s also a line of ten other people behind her—both women and men.

Scarlett wasn’t the only one Charlie told I was open for business. From what I can tell, over the next few hours, everybody’s overdue for a checkup. Pretty much the whole trailer town has been waiting for what they keep calling a real doctor to get here—no matter how many times I remind them I’m a nurse practitioner.

I spend the entire day seeing patient after patient—none of whom are willing to pay me.

I can’t bring myself to charge the pregnant women. But I mention it to the first biker I treat for a skin rash that’s most likely an allergic reaction.

He looks away guiltily and tells me, “Waylon said we’re not allowed to pay you.”

Unfortunately, I also can’t bring myself not to treat all the patients who come to see me, even though they are unwilling to pay for my services.

Their care has been long overdue enough, and it's not their fault that their town founder is a psycho and a total dick.

Plus, what else do I have to do? Stew in the upstairs room at Meemaw’s house?

Over the next few days, I fall into a new routine of heading out to the medical trailer and seeing patients pretty much non-stop from nine to five.

I never minded the ER, but small-town doctoring is kind of refreshing. Lots of different types of cases, plus time enough to have a friendly conversation without worrying about getting beds turned over and a bunch of insurance paperwork.

Unfortunately, some of those conversations turn into my patients giving me advice I didn’t ask for from them. The figurative old ladies tell me I’m crazy for not living with Waylon in his trailer.