Page 46 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

“Canceled.”

Her eyes open. “You canceled my appointments?”

“I closed the booth after you collapsed.”

“You had no right to cancel anything.”

“I instructed my employee to secure the area. Any waiting clients will be told that you became ill and need to reschedule.”

“That is not the same as canceled.”

“Then consider them postponed.”

Her stare should have more force behind it. Exhaustion weakens the effect.

I lower my voice. “Tell me what you need.”

The question interrupts her anger.

“I need a few minutes,” she says.

“You can have them.”

“And I need you to stop making decisions before asking me.”

The words hit with the quiet, solid weight of a truth neither of us could deny. I look toward the chair behind the reading table.

“May I help you sit there?”

“Yes.”

I guide her into the chair and crouch in front of her rather than standing over her. Her breathing has steadied, but she keeps rubbing her palms across her thighs as though trying to remove blood that was never there.

“May I arrange for your clients to reschedule?”

She takes a moment before answering. “Yes.”

“May I have my employee secure the booth?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe you can drive safely?”

Her mouth tightens. “No.”

“Will you come to the command cabin until you’re steady enough to decide what happens next?”

“That was almost diplomatic.”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

I rise and radio the instructions. My employee will inventory the visible merchandise with Loralee present, lock the crystal cases, and place the cash box in my vehicle. Nothing will be removed from the booth without her approval.

While he works, I retrieve the key that slid near the entrance. Loralee watches every step, correcting the candle count once and reminding us that the carved wooden box beside the register contains appointment forms.

Within fifteen minutes, the booth is secure. Loralee attempts to carry her canvas bag. I hold out my hand.