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she couldn’t say no.
    When she put down the phone, the man was still standing there, waiting for her answer about accepting the job.
    “Two weeks only,” she said, “then I have to be back.”
    Only after she agreed was she told that her new patient was staying in a remote cabin high in the Rockies and the only way to get there was by helicopter or horse—but there was no place for the ’copter to land. Since the idea of being lowered on a rope from a helicopter didn’t appeal to her, she said she’d take the horse.
    Early the next morning, she hugged and kissed Eli as though she were going to be away from him for a year or more, then got into a car that drove her thirty miles into the mountains. An old man named Sandy was waiting to take her up to the cabin. He had two saddled horses and three mules loaded with goods.
    They rode all day and Miranda knew she’d be sore from the horse, but the air was heavenly, thin and crisp as they went higher and higher. It was early autumn, but she could almost smell the snow that would eventually blanket the mountains.
    When they reached the cabin, a beautiful structure of logs and stone, she thought they must be in the most isolated place on earth. There were no wires to the cabin, no roads, no sign that it had touch with the outside world.
    “Remote, isn’t it?”
    Sandy looked up from the mule he was unloading. “Frank made sure the place has all the comforts of home. Underground electricity and its own sewage system.”
    “What’s he like?” she asked. Because of the narrow trail, they hadn’t been able to talk much on the long ride up. All she knew of her patient was that he’d broken his right arm, was in a cast, and that it was difficult for him to perform everyday tasks.
    Sandy took a while to answer. “Frank’s not like anybody else. He’s his own man. Set in his ways, sort of.”
    “I’m used to old and weird,” she said with a smile. “Does he live here all the time?”
    Sandy chuckled. “There’s twelve feet of snow up here in the winter. Frank lives wherever he wants to. He just came here to . . . well, maybe to lick his wounds. Frank doesn’t talk much. Why don’t you go inside and sit down? I’ll get this lot unloaded. If I know Frank, he’s out fishing and won’t be back for hours.”
    With a smile of gratitude, Miranda did as he bid. Without so much as a glance at the interior of the cabin, she went inside, sat down, and immediately fell asleep. When she awoke with a start, it was about an hour later, and she saw that Sandy and the animals were gone. Only a huge pile of boxes and sacks on the floor showed that he had been there.
    At first she was a bit disconcerted to find herself alone there, but she shrugged and began to look about her.
    The cabin looked as though it had been designed by a computer, or at least a human who had no feelings. It was perfectly functional, an open-plan L-shape, one end with a huge stone fireplace, a couch, and two chairs. It could have been charming, but the three perfectly matched pieces were covered with heavy, serviceable, dark gray fabric that looked as though it had been chosen solely for durability. There were no rugs on the floor, no pictures on the walls, and only one table had a plain gray ceramic lamp on it. The kitchen was in the corner of the L, and it had also been designed for service: cabinets built for use alone, not decorative in any way. At the end of the kitchen were two beds, precisely covered in hard-wearing brown canvas. Through a door was a bathroom with a shower, white ceramic toilet, and washbasin. Everything was utterly basic. All clean and tidy. And with no sign of human habitation.
    Miranda panicked for a moment when she thought that perhaps her patient had packed up and left, that maybe she was here alone, with no way down the mountain except for a two-day walk. But then she noticed a set of doors beside one of the beds, one on each side, perfectly symmetrical. Behind one,