Vivid by Beverly Jenkins Page A

available?"
    "No."
    "Then I will take it."
    Nate ushered them out and relocked the
door. He turned to his daughter and said, "Magic, run over to the store
and bring back some pastries and something cool for the doctor to drink. Meet
us back at my office."
    "Sure, Pa."
    After a short repast of the pastries and
the sweetest, coldest water Vivid had ever drunk, she and Nate drew up the
papers for the lease. When everything had been signed, he suggested they leave
for the Grayson home. Vivid agreed. She wanted to inspect the house she would
be occupying. Although she'd vowed to be content with whatever the fates
bestowed. Vivid dearly hoped the living accommodations were in better condition
than the store she'd leased for her office.

Chapter 4
    T he wagon bearing Vivid and the Graysons rattled along on the
pocked and rutted road. For a half hour, Magic sat between the two adults
trying to convince her father to build her a tree house. Vivid, sitting quietly
on the end of the seat, listened with a smile as Nate recited all the fatherly
reasons why a nine-year-old girl should not have such a place—safety
being his main concern. Vivid understood his anxiety, but since she herself had
had a tree house, she silently sided with Magic. However, she didn't offer any
opinions because she had no place in the discussion between father and
daughter, so instead she reviewed all that had happened. When she left
California, she'd imagined that coming to Michigan involved nothing more than a
simple introduction to Abigail Grayson and an immediate opening of a practice
in Grayson Grove. She'd not planned on Nate Grayson being the joker in the
deck. He impressed her as a stubborn, opinionated man, who'd become well
accustomed to having his own way. In all truth, she guessed he probably found
her cut from a similar cloth, but Vivid believed such traits were necessary for
females in a male-dominated world; in a man they were simply irritating.
    Her musings were interrupted by the
constant bounce of the wagon against the unleveled road, lifting her up and
bringing her down. Hard. After enduring the transcontinental train ride and the
jolting two-hour ride to Grayson Grove, her backside was decidedly unhappy. She
would surely be unable to sit on anything for at least a month if this kept up
much longer. "How much farther?" she asked. "About a mile,"
Grayson answered.
    While Magic continued to plead her case
for the tree house with all the fervor of a nine-year-old, Vivid returned her
attention to the view. Michigan was so unlike home. Here one could hear the
songs of birds, the wind whispering secrets from the endless stand of trees.
There were no mountains, but up ahead the land dipped and then rose. For as far
as she could see, there were trees, trees, and more trees. Here and there small
patches of cleared plots anchored by little houses and farms dotted the
landscape, but mostly the land exuded newness and raw vitality.
    "Rain ahead, Pa," Magic pointed
out.
    "I see it. Get the slickers. They're
in the bed."
    While Magic climbed into the back of the
wagon with the quick agility inherent in most children, Vivid worriedly scanned
the dark clouds filling the sky ahead. The trees she'd viewed earlier as just
examples of pastoral beauty began to respond with a distinct restlessness. The
wind picked up and was now blowing against her face.
    Once again in her seat, Magic handed a
patched and well-used slicker to her father and another to Vivid, who donned it
immediately while Magic shrugged into the last one, smiling. "I love
storms."
    Vivid wondered if the child had suddenly
become delirious. Magic watched the road ahead with unbridled glee as she said,
"There was a real bad one last year. Took Widow Moss's pigpen all the way
to the river."
    The first boom of thunder rumbled into
hearing. The trees were louder now, the tops bowing to the superior force of
the increasing winds. Vivid had been caught outside in a few showers back home,
but she doubted