The Farm Girl

A month later, Jack was back at work. He had been in the hospital for nearly two weeks, recovering from the toxic gas. His doctor and the respiratory therapist said the damage done to his lungs was minimal and would heal in time. The rest of the time off had been a combination of respiratory treatments, some counseling dealing with his near death experience, and talking with lawyers about whether there was cause to sue the utility company for negligence.

Probably, his lawyer had told him, but given the utility's resources, and the relative monopoly they held, he would be lucky to get a settlement large enough to cover the lawyer's expenses.

He kept himself busy at work, accepting new cases whenever one was offered. On the Friday before the Labor Day break, the head of the clinic knocked at his office door. "Jack, you got a minute? There's someone here I want you to meet."

"Sure, Ron, come on in."

Walking just ahead of Ron as they entered was a tall, thirty-ish, honey amber blonde, with dark brown eyes, and the willowy athletic body of a swimmer. There was something hauntingly familiar about her eyes.

"Jack Jeffries, I want you to meet MaryKate Hoskins. She's joining our staff as of today. I want you to get her oriented to the routine of the clinic, and to the paperwork requirements, that kind of drill. MaryKate, I'm leaving you in capable hands. Jack is in charge whenever I'm not here."

She extended her hand to Jack. "Hi, Jack. It seems as if I've been waiting an eternity to meet you. Call me Irish..."

"Because your hair is the color of Bushmill's?"