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“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.
