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So much for intuition.
She wouldn’t have thought it to look at him, but Wilder was positively archaic. The man was standing in the way of progress, pure and simple. He was obviously so stuck in the past, he refused to open his eyes and see the future, or even acknowledge, much less read the handwriting on the wall.
Bethany’s mouth curved as she walked down the fourth-floor corridor. It looked like it was up to her to make the temporary chief of staff see the error of his ways. She’d made up her mind about that the moment the meeting broke up. All the other board members already had some sort of relationship with Peter and seemed obviously wary of upsetting him, whether because they liked him, or were still treading on eggshells because of his father’s recent death. Just as possibly, their hesitation arose out of respect for the late James Wilder.
Whatever the reason, she didn’t know and she didn’t care. No single person should be allowed to stand in the way of bettering a situation that ultimately affected so many just because clearly he viewed all change as bad and something to be avoided.
She knew people like Peter, had dealt with them before. People so set in their ways they felt there was no true path except the one they were standing on. They were stuck there, like the prehistoric creatures had been in the La Brea tar pits. The only difference was, the animals hadn’t wanted to be stuck—they’d wandered in and had no choice. Wilder had a choice and he’d focused on the wrong one.
Knowing she couldn’t confront the man while he was seeing patients, Bethany positioned herself outside his office a few minutes before noon. She assumed that, like every other physician she had ever known, he would break for lunch around that time. So she waited.
At one o’clock, she was still waiting.
Mystified, Bethany moved to the door and tried the knob, intending to check whether Wilder was still actually in his office or had somehow managed to leave by a back door without her knowing it. Her hand was on the knob when the door suddenly opened. Jerked forward, she stumbled and found herself bumping up against the doctor full force.
He was quick to grab her by the shoulders so the collision wouldn’t send her falling backward. Caught off guard, she sucked in her breath, stifling a noise that sounded very much like a gasp.
She wasn’t accustomed to being at an awkward, physical disadvantage. She liked being in control. Complete poise had been her credo since college. To her credit, she managed to collect herself almost immediately.
“Oh, Dr. Wilder—”
“That’s what it says on the door,” he acknowledged, unable to see why she should sound so surprised at seeing him walk out of his own office. Ever the doctor, his dark eyes swept over her, checking for any minor signs of damage or bruising. There were none visible. Still, he asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Bethany brushed absently at her dress, smoothing it out. “I’m a lot more resilient than I look.”
“Good.” With a satisfied nod of his head, Peter began to walk toward the elevator.
Bethany had expected him to stand still so she could talk to him. Instead, she had to fall into step to gain his ear. Moreover, she found she had to fairly trot in order to keep up with the man. If she didn’t know better, she’d speculate that he was trying to avoid her.
“I was hoping to run into you—”
He glanced at her with mild, amused interest. “And you decided to do that literally?”
She frowned. Was he teasing her, or did it go deeper than that? Her childhood was steeped in ridicule and the wounds from that had never quite healed. “That wasn’t the plan.”
Stopping by the elevator, Peter pressed the down button on the wall. A faint glimmer of a light went on, circling the button.
“What was the plan?” he asked, feeling that he was probably setting himself up. Braced, he sank his hands into the deep pockets of his lab coat and waited for her to answer.
Bethany psyched herself up for exactly half a second before saying, “I wanted to talk to you about NHC’s offer.”
He looked at her for a long moment. The woman didn’t appear to be someone who had adult attention deficit disorder. But then, you just never knew, did you? From what he’d gathered, she was an over-achiever. That could be a sign.
“I believe you already did,” he reminded her.
“But you walked out,” she countered. Walked out before she could even get warmed up, she added silently.
“Not very polite,” Peter granted amicably. “But in all honesty, there was no point in wasting your time or mine. I’d heard enough.”
“You hardly heard anything at all.”
There they had a difference of opinion. “I heard the words ‘Northeastern Healthcare’ and ‘takeover.’ In my book, that’s really enough.”
The man really was closed-minded, Bethany thought, annoyed. Which meant that she had her job cut out for her. But she was up to it. She liked Walnut River, liked working at the hospital. And she wasn’t going to allow this man to stand in the way of the takeover.
Bethany did her best not to let her emotions surface as she argued. “You could at least listen to what they have to offer, Dr. Wilder.”
“I’m not some hermit living in a cave, Ms. Holloway. I know exactly what NHC has to offer.” He enumerated. “A lot of gleaming, brandspanking new equipment they ultimately resist letting us use because of the prohibitive cost of operating the same gleaming, brandspanking new equipment.” The look he gave her felt as if it was going right through her, straight to the bone. “I’m not some child who can be bribed by the promise of an expensive toy.”
The elevator arrived, empty. Peter stepped in. Bethany was close behind him. As the steel doors closed, she suppressed a sigh. Losing her temper was not the way to go.
“I don’t think of you as a child, Dr. Wilder.”
His mouth curved and she felt something within her responding to the expression. The man did have charisma, she couldn’t help thinking. “I’m sure the medical board will be happy to hear that.”
This wasn’t funny and she didn’t like being the source of his amusement. “But I do think of you as a throwback.”
The smile remained as he arched an eyebrow. “Speaking your mind again?”
Bethany squared her shoulders. Her chin went up. “Yes.”
Peter faced forward and shook his head. “It’s not charming.”
“I’m not trying to be charming.”
“Good.” He continued looking at the steel door before him. “Because you’re not succeeding.”
Knowing the value of temporary retreat, Bethany backpedaled. A little. “Maybe throwback wasn’t the right word.”
He nodded, watching the floors go by. “Maybe.”
She stopped backpedaling. “But you have to admit, you’re stuck in the past.”
That got to him. He turned his head to look at her. “No, I am in the present.” He felt his temper flare, something that very rarely happened. What was it about this woman that got his jets flaming? “And I won’t give up this hospital without a fight.”
It was her turn to appear amused. “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”
“Whatever it takes, Ms. Holloway.” Peter faced forward again, mentally counting to ten. “Whatever it takes.”
The elevator arrived in the basement and he got off. All he wanted to do was to get a bite to eat before he went back to seeing his patients. Bethany was interfering with the smattering of peace and quiet he was hoping for. He knew he should have brought his lunch with him and remained in his office. But there hadn’t been anything in his refrigerator to bring. He needed to get around to shopping, and soon.
He spared her a glance as he walked into the cafeteria. “Are you planning to follow me around all afternoon, Ms. Holloway?”
Bethany responded with a wide smile, paraphrasing his earlier words, “Whatever it takes, Dr. Wilder. Whatever it takes.”
He inclined his head. “Touché.”
She grabbed at what she felt was a temporary truce. “Won’t you at least listen to me?” she pressed, following Peter into the main area where all the food was served. There were steam tables on two sides of the opposite wall and a bed of ice for cold beverages and desserts on the third. Just before the exit were the coffee dispensers.
Peter picked up a tray and handed it to her. She looked a little uncertain as she accepted it.
“I’m assuming you want to keep up the ruse that you actually want to be here,” Peter said, moving to the left wall. “That means buying some food.”
“Right,” she murmured. Bethany looked around the cafeteria. This was actually her first time down here. She usually left the grounds at lunchtime, preferring to get her meals at one of several nearby restaurants. “Then will you listen to me?”
“I’ve been listening to you since you pounced on me outside my office,” he told her innocently.
His comment earned him an interested look from the young nurse who walked by, her tray laden with what passed for a nutritious lunch. The woman’s hazel eyes went from him to Bethany and then back again before a very wide smile sprouted on her lips.
Terrific. “I think you and I just became the latest rumor that’s about to make the hospital’s rounds,” Bethany noted glibly.
He nodded his head, as if that was fine with him. “They have little else to talk about this week,” he said drily. Nodding at the small row of dispensers, he asked, “Coffee?”
Her attention was already drawn to another dispenser beyond the quaint coffeemaker that contained the simple fare. “I’ll take a latte.”
“Of course you will.” He supposed he would have been disappointed if she hadn’t. It would have meant that he was off target about her. And he knew in his gut that he wasn’t. “I should have known that.”
She proceeded to fill her cup. “Lattes are something else you don’t approve of?” she asked.
He heard the high-handed note in her voice but went on as if he was talking to a friend. “What I don’t approve of is pretentiousness, or change for the sake of change and not because it’s a good thing.”
Bethany grabbed her tray and quickly followed him. He stopped by a display of already wrapped sandwiches and grabbed one without even noting what it was.
“If you’re talking about the takeover, it would be a good thing,” she insisted emphatically.
Peter made a low, disparaging noise to show his contempt for the thought, not the woman.
“I’ve been to other HMOs, Ms. Holloway. I know the kind of medicine that’s practiced there. I categorically refuse to see that happen here. At Walnut River General, we treat the whole patient. Not his arm, not his leg, not his liver, but the entire patient, no matter what his or her complaint might be.”
That sounded good in theory, but it was a completely other thing in practice. “Don’t you think that’s rather time-consuming?” Not to mention costly, she added silently.
He knew she’d see it that way. This would be exactly the same argument he would be having over and over again with the administrators if they joined NHC. “Perhaps, but if you don’t treat the entire patient, you might miss something very relevant and specific to his or her case.”
“And how many times does that actually happen? Finding something that doesn’t apply to anyone else with the patient’s condition?” she challenged.
That would be the efficiency expert in her coming out, Peter thought. “More times than you would think.” He paused to look directly at her. “Once is enough if it’s you,” he told her, his voice low as he placed a very personal point on the matter.
Okay, he was right, Bethany allowed as she followed him to the checkout area, but she was still willing to bet those kind of patients only surfaced once in a blue moon. The rest of the time it was business as usual.
“But in the long run—” she persisted.
Nodding a silent greeting at the cashier, Peter took out his wallet and indicated to the man that he was paying for both his and her selections. He handed the man a twenty.
“In the long run, we will keep on doing as much good as we have been,” Peter told her firmly.
She saw the exchange of nods and money. Bethany was quick to take out her wallet from her purse. “I can pay for my own food.”
Peter picked up his tray and walked away. “Never doubted it for a moment, Ms. Holloway.”
“Thank you,” she replied primly, grabbing her own tray and quickly following him into the dining hall. “Do you realize that you just said my name as if it was some sort of evil incantation.”
He didn’t bother turning around to look at her. “Maybe that’s your guilty conscience making you think that.”
“I don’t have a guilty conscience,” she said with more than a note of indignation managing to break through.
“I would. If I voted for the takeover.” Finding a small table in the back, he made his way toward it and then placed the tray in front of him on the table before sitting down. “Fortunately, that isn’t going to happen.”
She stood at his elbow for a moment, frustrated. “And your mind is made up?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head, her voice fraught with disappointment. “You know, I never thought you would be the closed-minded type.”
“Life is full of surprises.” He watched her place her tray opposite his on the table and then slide in.
“Why have you singled me out?” he wanted to know. “I’m just the newest member of the board.” And as such, he thought of himself as having the least amount of influence.
But that wasn’t the way she saw it. “Because you do hold a lot of sway. You’re Peter Wilder, resident saint. Moreover, you’re James Wilder’s son, an even bigger saint in his day. People look up to you, and they respect you. If you feel strongly about something, people think there has to be a reason.” She tried not to notice that his smile made her stomach tighten again.
“There is.”
“And,” she continued, valiantly pretending that he hadn’t spoken, “they’ll vote the way you vote.”
His smile was a thoughtful one. “But not you.”
She slowly moved her head from side to side, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t vote with my heart, I vote with my head.”
“Pity.” He could see that she was about to take exception to his response so he elaborated. “You know, most of the time the heart is a far better judge than the head.” He took a sip of his coffee, then set down the container and leaned forward. “I’m curious. Why are you so set on this takeover happening, Ms. Holloway? What do you get out of all this?”
She didn’t even have to think, didn’t hesitate with her answer. “Progress.”
Peter shook his head. “I don’t see it that way.” He glanced at his watch. He could better spend what little time he had left before he opened his office again. Placing his sandwich in a napkin, he wrapped it up. He rose to his feet, sandwich in one hand, the remainder of his coffee in the other. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else to be.”
Her eyes narrowed. He was lying, she was sure of it. Why come all the way here, then sit down just to leave? “Where?” she challenged.
“Appointments,” he told her with a smile. And then, turning on his heel, he walked away.
Stunned, Bethany glanced around to see if anyone near her had overheard the exchange between them and, if they had, were they now looking at her with a measure of pity?
Even though she didn’t see anyone looking in her direction, Bethany squared her shoulders and raised her chin defiantly.
She’d spent most of her life, both as an adult and as an adolescent, striving to be the highest achiever, the one who consistently was successful in grabbing the brass ring. Once acquired, she always went on to the next prize because, she had discovered, the getting was far more exhilarating than the having. Victory was exciting for only a few minutes—after that, it was hollow.
She felt that way about everything. It didn’t stop her from hoping to someday be proved wrong.
But it hadn’t happened yet.
Lifting the latte to her lips, she took a small sip, still watching Peter’s broad shoulders as he made his way toward the exit, and ignoring the odd little flutter in the pit of her stomach as she did so.
