Mending the Doctor's Heart

“Thank you.”

“You met Dr. Elliott, as well.”

Ben frowned, confused. How could the man possibly know he’d met Sara Elliott less than two hours ago?

Henry Rhoades wheeled himself behind the large oak desk with practiced ease and picked up a file. “Please have a seat. Relax.”

Following instructions, Ben did his best imitation of relaxing. “Yes, we did meet, and I have to admit that after talking to her, I’m a little confused. My last conversation with you indicated the final interview was, well...”

“A formality.”

“Yes, sir.”

“At the time I spoke to you, that’s exactly what it was, and as I said, your credentials are excellent. You were my first choice.”

Were?

“But I’ll get to that in a moment.” Dr. Rhoades glanced down at the now open folder on his desk. “Tell me about this sabbatical you’ve been on.”

Ben took a calming breath. “My sister died six months ago. I needed a break.”

“Your sister.” Henry Rhoades paused, taken aback for a moment. “My condolences.”

When the older man narrowed his eyes and stared at him, Ben realized he was seeing far too much. He glanced away from the perceptive gaze and instead watched the play of dappled light that streamed in through the window, its prism bending as it reached out and landed on a silver picture frame on the desk. The picture was of a young child and a woman laughing.

Dr. Rhoades cleared his throat and continued. “Loss is never easy. Are you sure you’re ready to get back to work?”

“Sir, I’m committed to giving you one hundred percent.”

“Fair enough.”

For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of a large antique clock on a bookshelf.

“Well now, let’s get to the point. Dr. Elliott’s father has become the benefactor for the new clinic. The project seemed stalled in perpetuity—until he stepped in.”

Sara Elliott’s father? Ben tried to wrap his mind around that bomb of information.

“I see.” What did he see? That his chance at redemption was being cancelled out by a bankroll? The gates to Paradise were closing fast, and he’d barely gotten his foot inside. He had to do something.

“The timing of this has me puzzled,” Ben admitted.

“Understandable. I apologize for that.” Dr. Rhoades removed his glasses, wiped a spot from the lens with his tie, and then slid them back on the bridge of his nose. “Hollis Elliott suffered a cardiac arrest less than a month ago. When Sara returned home, naturally her father saw a window of opportunity for his only child to remain in Paradise. Unfortunately it was only a few days ago that he notified me of his wishes, and by then the candidates for the position had already been narrowed down to you.”

Ben took a deep breath. So where did that leave him in the equation? One plus one was still two as far as he could tell, and there was only a single open position.

Henry Rhoades frowned for moment. “I trust you will keep what I’m about to say confidential.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve been the medical director here in Paradise for over twenty-five years. One thing I have learned is that sometimes it’s better to proceed and apologize later than ask permission.” He winked, and once again Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen that mischievous glimmer before.

“Sir?”

“Stay with me for a moment. I do eventually arrive at my destination.”

Ben nodded, amused and concerned at the same time. This was like no other job interview he could remember. Physician interviews were generally so starched, he could barely breathe. Yet Dr. Henry Rhoades was about as laid-back as they come, leaving Ben struggling to figure the man out, much less where the convoluted conversation would lead.

“Bequeaths and donations go directly to the hospital foundation, which is overseen by the Board of Trustees. The clinic is under that same board, so I have gone to them for assistance in resolving this situation. While Hollis Elliott’s generous funding has made the last phase of the clinic project possible, I am not without options.”

The phone on his desk buzzed.

“Excuse me.” He picked up the receiver. “Yes. Thank you. Send her in.”

The door opened, and Sara Elliott walked into the room.

Sara had changed clothes and now wore a simple yet elegant navy dress, her long hair free and flowing. This was quite a transformation from the cowgirl he’d met earlier.

Surprised, Ben caught his breath before he immediately stood. And stumbled.

Way to go, Rogers. Grace under pressure.

“Are you all right?” she murmured.

“Yeah. The carpet tripped me.” He adjusted his suit coat and cleared his throat.

A soft laugh tumbled from her lips. “Happens to me all the time.”

“Sara, my dear.” Henry Rhoades smiled. “You’ve met Dr. Rogers.”

“I have.”

Ben paused and cocked his head at the warm tone in Dr. Rhoades’s conversation with Sara. A warning bell sounded somewhere, but he dismissed it. After all, Paradise was a small town, and her father was, after all, the financier behind the clinic.

“I had the opportunity to see Dr. Rogers in action today,” she continued.

“Yes, and no doubt he will be on the front page of the Paradise Observer,” Dr. Rhoades said with a nod toward him.

Sara smiled as her gaze met Ben’s. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Ben blinked. Surely they weren’t serious.

Once Sara had settled in the leather Windsor wing chair next to his, Ben sat down again.

Henry Rhoades steepled his fingers and assessed them both over the rim of his glasses. “Now then, the matter at hand is the clinic position. What I’m proposing is that you work together this summer.”

Sara’s eyes widened as she looked from Dr. Rhoades to him. “Together?” She slowly repeated the word that had lodged in Ben’s own throat.

From directing a clinic to job sharing in less than thirty minutes.

“Yes,” Dr. Rhoades answered. “I’ve spoken to the board, and they are willing to subsidize two doctors through the first of September. At that time we’ll assess our options.”

“That’s a little over eight weeks from now. Are you saying we’re going to share the position for the entire eight weeks?” Sara asked, her tone incredulous.

“Since the clinic officially opens late September, there’s more than enough work to keep you both busy. Interviewing medical staff. Ordering supplies. Then there’s accreditation. I can assure you the time will pass very quickly.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “A lot can happen in eight weeks.”

“Precisely,” Dr. Rhoades responded with an enthusiastic wag of his index finger. “Think of this as a personal and professional due diligence. Paradise needs someone who’s ready to commit to a future here.”

Pink now tinged Sara’s high cheekbones. She grimaced and clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

“Eight weeks is plenty of opportunity to discover whether Paradise is a good fit for you and if you’re a good fit for Paradise, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Rogers?”

Confused at the subtle undercurrent, Ben slowly looked from Sara to Henry Rhoades before clearing his throat and agreeing. “Yes, sir.”

What else could he say? Paradise was slipping through his fingers, and he couldn’t...no, he flat-out refused to allow that to happen.

“Excellent.” Dr. Rhoades closed the folder on his desk. “You’re scheduled for Human Resources processing Monday, and then I’ll see you at the clinic on Tuesday. Dress casually. While the construction is basically complete, there is still quite a bit of dust and dirt.”

Ben nodded, but his head continued to spin as he stood. What had just happened? This wasn’t the outcome he’d hoped for, packed up his belongings and driven hours for.

“Have you eaten?” the older man asked.

“Sir?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Almost,” Ben responded.

“Almost?” Dr. Rhoades raised a bushy brow.

“I was headed to Patti Jo’s and never quite made it to a table.”

“Sara, take Dr. Rogers to The Prospector.”

Sara nodded, but didn’t appear any more enthused than he felt at the moment.

“I don’t want to impose,” Ben interjected.

“Nonsense. I’d take you myself, but I’ve got a previous commitment. Besides, you two should get to know each other since you’ll be working very closely together for eight weeks.”

Eight weeks.

Was that enough time to convince Henry Rhoades that he was the right person for the job?

Ben wanted the position more than ever. His troubled spirit had been soothed the moment he drove into the small town. Now he just had to make sure he got what he wanted.

* * *

Sara bit her lip and glanced quickly at Ben once they were seated. “I’m really sorry about this. I never expected that we’d be...” She paused, at a loss for words.

Ben shrugged. “Not exactly what I expected either, but hardly your fault.”

She fiddled with her napkin, grateful when their waitress approached them and slid a stoneware bowl of homemade pickles on the polished pine table.

“What do you recommend?” Ben asked, turning over the menu.

“The valley is known for their beef and bison.” Sara placed an order for a bison burger and handed her menu to the server.

“I’ll have the same thing,” he said.

She looked around at the rustic décor as if seeing it for the first time before meeting Ben’s eyes.

He gave a tight-lipped smile but said nothing.

“So you went to school in Colorado?” Sara asked, eager to ease the palpable tension between them.

“University of Colorado,” Ben said. “You?”

“Baylor.”

“Baylor?” He gave a thoughtful, self-satisfied nod, the implication clear.

Money. That was laughable.

Did he think she was a trust-fund baby? If only. No, she’d financed her education all by herself. At this point, the huge debt from medical school and residency was a tidy sum, the balance of which could probably cover the purchase of a small island in the Caribbean.

“Baylor is sort of a family tradition,” she murmured.

When Ben gave her yet another stiff nod, she put a smile on her face, determined to be polite, at least until the meal was over. She bit into a crisp, sweet pickle and concentrated on the burst of flavor instead of the man in front of her.

“Your father is a physician?” he asked.

“My father is a rancher,” Sara said.

“Ah, local beef.” He pinned her with his gaze. “How’d you end up in medicine?”

She slowly wiped her lips with her napkin. “My mother was a pediatrician.”

“Was?”

“I lost her when I was very young.”

Ben’s eyes clouded with concern, and he glanced away. “I’m...I’m very sorry.” The subtle antagonism in his voice vanished.

“Thank you.” Sara paused. “What about your parents?”

“My father is a general practitioner, and my mother is a nurse. They’ve been big on rural medicine all my life. Every vacation from school was a mini-mission trip.”

“You were fortunate.”

“Probably, but I didn’t think so at the time,” Ben said.

“I’ve spent most of my life in Paradise and the rest wishing I was back here.” She gave a small laugh. “I guess you just don’t appreciate some things until they’re gone.”

Her words hung between them for a moment before Ben answered.

“I guess you’re right.”

She took a long sip of her water and set her glass down. Ben’s direct gaze met hers.

“May I ask about Dr. Rhoades’s medical condition?”

“Incomplete paraplegia.” Her finger traced the moisture on the glass over and over as she spoke. “It was a car accident, many years ago. Emergency medical response couldn’t get to the vehicle due to a snowstorm.”

Ben inhaled sharply.

“Another reason why the outreach clinic is so important to him.”

Ben nodded slowly.

Her cell rang, and she dug in her purse. “It’s my father. Do you mind if I take it?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Dad, everything okay?” Sara looked toward Ben and then away. “Yes, I’ve met with Uncle Henry. I’ll be home soon. We can talk then. I have to go now.”

Shaking her head, she put the phone away.

“Dr. Rhoades is your uncle.” Ben’s voice was flat and tight, the words punctuated with a nameless accusation.

Their meals were set in front of them, and Sara waited until the waitress left before responding.

“He is my uncle. But it’s not what you think—”

“It’s not?” His brows shot up. “How do you figure?”

“Ben, Dr. Rhoades is going to hire the right person for the job.”

He stared through her, his jaw rigid. “You mean Uncle Henry?”

“There’s no need to be condescending, Dr. Rogers.”

Ben released a frustrated breath. “Look, maybe you think I’m being harsh, but consider the situation from where I’m sitting. Your father subsidized the project, and your uncle manages the program. Those are the facts, correct?”

She nodded.

“What I don’t understand is why your uncle doesn’t just hire you. Why not let me down now instead of eight weeks from now?”

The thick burger and hot fries in front of her suddenly lost their appeal. Sara sighed and pushed aside the large white platter. “Because last time he hired me, I left him high and dry.”

The long silence between them stretched, until Ben finally spoke.

“You quit?”

“It’s not something I’m proud of, but yes. I was on staff at the hospital, and I broke my contract and resigned.”

“When was this?”

“Two years ago.”

“I guess I don’t understand.”

“All you need to know is that I’m not the front-runner for this position. You may think I have the home-team advantage, but clearly you are my uncle’s first choice.”

He raised his palms. “So what’s changed in twenty-four months?”

Sara swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat. “My father’s heart attack made me realize that as much as he exasperates me, I’m still his daughter. His only child. And I love him. So I’ve got to try to put the past—my mistakes and his—behind me and move on.” She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “That also means I need to find a way to make peace with him.”

Ben stared at her for moments, his lips a grim line. “Sometimes the answer is to simply give the situation to God. Turn it over to Him and trust that He can find a way.”

Sara was silent, surprised by his faithful words and by the way his gaze searched hers. She glanced away.

“That’s a huge step of faith,” she murmured before looking up again. “Do you really think that the Lord can find a way when things are such a mess?”

“I’m banking on it,” Ben said. He inhaled and then slowly exhaled. “So I guess we’ve both got a lot invested in the next eight weeks.”

An awkward tension once again settled between them.

Ben looked from her untouched dinner to his own. “Maybe we could call a time-out,” he finally said. “Because I’m really starving.”

She shook her head at the plea in his voice, then inched her plate close again, picking up her napkin and silverware. “This doesn’t have to be adversarial, you know.”

“Perhaps not, but make no mistake. I want that position, Sara.”

She peeked at him from beneath her lashes.

Yes, he wanted the position, but there was more going on here. Why was the position so important to him? And what exactly was Ben Rogers running from?

He had more than his own share of secrets. She recognized a wounded soul in the tall, lean physician. Whether he knew it or not, she suspected he was on his own mission trip right now.

Eight weeks. Was it enough time to find out what was going on behind those sad eyes? She sure could use an ally if she was going to find the courage to stay. Ben might just be that ally.

Could it be they needed each other as much as they needed Paradise? That possibility worried her more than anything, especially since every time her gaze met his, she glimpsed something she wasn’t prepared for. A spark of something that terrified her—because there was absolutely no way she was prepared to risk her heart again.

Chapter Three

Sara drove her Jeep past the iron gates of the Elliott Ranch. She hit the horn in a double beat and waved at the new supervising foreman, Mitch Logan, who had taken over all the duties of the ranch and then some since her father’s heart attack. Mitch turned from his position on the split-rail corral fence he straddled to raise a gloved hand in greeting.

Ahead at the sprawling two-story house, her father sat on a green Adirondack chair beneath the sloping eaves of the front porch. So much had changed. Last month the patriarch of Elliott Ranch could only be found on that porch when rain forced him to slow down. Now he perched on the edge of the chair, refusing to lean back and relax. A black Stetson rested on his head and hid his face as he watched the world go by, hating every minute of his forced convalescence.

Sara tried not to think about the phone call from Uncle Henry that night. Her father’s heart attack was as unexpected as the Colorado storms that whipped through the valley. Before that, Hollis had convinced his daughter as well as the rest of the world that he would live forever.

Oh, yes, she should have known the hardworking, and equally hardheaded, rancher would eventually wear out the heart the good Lord had given him, but she hadn’t expected it would be this soon.

Hollis Elliott was stubborn and unyielding, but he was still her father. She loved him, but could she forgive him? Could she maintain the necessary boundaries needed in order to live the life she wanted instead of the life he continued to try to orchestrate for her?

Sara pulled her Jeep into the gravel circular drive in front of the house and parked next to her father’s Land Rover and their housekeeper’s ancient wagon. She was anxious to get out of a dress and into boots and jeans. There was plenty of time for a long ride, and she intended to take full advantage. She missed the time away from the ranch and her horse, and wasn’t ashamed to admit where her roots were. Elliott Ranch was home, and definitely her favorite place on the planet.

She approached the front porch and had barely settled her foot on the bottom step before Hollis Elliott’s first directive flew.

“Stop by the dealership in Buena Vista. There’s a new Land Rover with your name on it.”

Taking a deep breath, she continued up the stairs. Do not react. Nearly twenty-four months had passed, and she liked to believe she’d learned something.

“I can’t afford a new car. Besides, I love my old Jeep. It gets great gas mileage.”

“That piece of tin is falling apart.”

“No, it isn’t. But that’s beside the point. I’ll decide when I need a new car.”

When her father opened his mouth again, Sara reached over and kissed his leathery cheek, halting further discussion.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Malla is starving me.”

From the screen door, Malla Esperanza cocked her dark head to one side and clucked her tongue. “You know what they say about liars.”

“Well? You call that food? A sliver of turkey and a few vegetables?”

“Your dietician calls it heart-healthy,” Malla returned.

“I call it—”

“Excuse me.” Sara interrupted her father’s tirade.

“Can I fix you something to eat, Sara?” Malla asked, rolling her r’s like a melody as she spoke.

Sara had nothing but affection for the woman who had been the sole female role model in her life since her mother died. If only she had Malla’s patience and even temperament.

“No, but thank you, Malla,” she said with a smile. “I ate in town. I haven’t had dinner at The Prospector in years. It was delicious.”

“Enough food talk,” her father interrupted. “Cut to the chase. How did the meeting go?”

“It went well, Dad.”

“Clinic Director. If you have to be a doctor, then director is the way to go.” His lips moved into a wistful smile. “Your mother would be proud.”

“I’m auditioning for the position,” Sara said. “I’ll be working with another physician for eight weeks.”

“What? That’s a load of cow paddies.” He began to stand. “Where’s my phone?”

Sara touched his shoulder. “No, Dad. Stop.”

Hollis sat down, grumbling. “I didn’t pay for that clinic so someone else could run things.”

She cocked her head. “Why did you pay for the clinic?”

“Because Henry asked me to.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“What are you insinuating, young lady?” His eyes narrowed in challenge.

“Nothing, but remember, your money doesn’t buy you the right to manipulate other people.”

Hollis released a loud snort. “We’ll see about that.”

Looking past her father, Sara’s glance met Malla’s. The older woman’s eyes were wide with concern. She placed a hand on her heart in gesture and shook her head in warning, before turning away from the screen door.

Taking a deep breath, Sara relaxed and lowered her voice. “I won’t stay if you interfere.”

His steely black eyes met hers, but she refused to allow her gaze to waiver.

“And this time, if I leave I won’t come back.”

It was Hollis who finally looked away and shook his head.

Sara dug in her purse and tossed a white package with her father’s blood thinner and diuretic on the small table next to him. “I picked up your scripts.”

“Save your money,” he grunted. I’m not taking all those pills.”

“At least take the anti-cranky capsules.”

He paused and blinked, then released a gruff laugh. “Very funny.”

Sara placed a gentle hand upon his. “I love you, Dad, but sometimes you have to let things happen in God’s timing instead of yours.”

“The Lord and I have an arrangement. He runs His business and I run mine.”

She couldn’t contain a burst of laughter. “Not quite how it works, but nice try.”

“So who is this other doctor you’re up against?”

“What does it matter?” she asked.

“Invite him to the house.”

Oh, that wasn’t going to happen. Sara cleared her throat but was silent.

“Is that a no?” Hollis asked.

“Malla said you hired some new men to help around the ranch while you’re recuperating.”

“Short term. I’ll be back on my feet real quick.” He shook his head. “That reminds me, you have time to attend the cattlemen’s meeting next week?”

“Dad, I work at the clinic. I can’t help you with the ranch, too.”

“Just thought I’d ask. It is your heritage.”

She was silent. There was no point upsetting him. Medicine was her heritage, only he refused to acknowledge that.

“How’s Mitch working out?” she countered, looking toward the corral.

“Mitch is doing just fine. No plans to court my daughter, like the last ranch manager, if that’s what you mean.”

She tensed and gripped her briefcase handle tightly. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Sara, you’re going to have to talk about it eventually.”

It? It would be the debacle that was her engagement, and he was right. She wasn’t going there any time soon.

“You still blame me for that idiot fiancé of yours, don’t you?” As usual, the manipulative rancher continued to prod the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go.

She sucked in a breath, determined to keep her emotions reined in. “Dad, you promised him a partnership in the ranch if we married.”

“I was just encouraging things along. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Except that my fiancé was in love with your offer, and not with me.”

“You don’t know that,” her father spouted.

“But I do,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the memory and the humiliation.

Hollis opened his mouth to speak and then stopped. For once he was without a sharp retort.

Sara turned and shot a forced glance toward the sky. “I’m going to change my clothes. I want to get a ride in with Rocky before the sun begins to set.”

She strode into the house, stopping in the cool foyer to take several deep breaths. The tall mirror on the wall caught her reflection and Sara paused, assessing herself. Yes, she had inherited her mother’s features, but was she really her mother’s daughter? Her fingers moved to gently touch the trailing scar that ran along her hairline.