Читать книгу The Money Man - Carolyn McSparren - Страница 8

DR. SARAH MARSDON shoved open the double glass doors and walked into the reception room of Creature Comfort Veterinary Clinic.

She breathed in the faint odor of damp fur, disinfectant and enzyme cleaner used to remove doggie scents from floors.

From the area to her left came the occasional barking and yipping and the persistent baritone yowl of a Siamese cat. In the week since she’d left her job in St. Paul, she’d missed the sound of a waiting room filled with animals.

She’d paid a high personal and professional price to get here, but this job at Creature Comfort was a dream come true. At last she was going to be treating large animals—horses, cows, goats, sheep, even pigs.

“Why do you want to be a large-animal vet?” Steve, her previous boss, had asked. “Fancy pets—that’s where the money is. And you don’t get called out at two in the morning. Nobody wants to do large animals anymore.”

Well, this particular body loved working with large animals, even if that meant making less money and spending long nights treating colicky horses or orphaned calves.

She walked up to the reception desk, where a small man was speaking to the blond receptionist.

He could barely hold on to the leather leash of a young Great Dane who obviously wanted to be somewhere else. “Ernest T., down! Stay!” the man said.

The dog sighed and sank to the floor. He rolled his sad eyes up at Sarah.

“Okay, Mr. Bass, you and Ernest T. have a seat. It’ll be about ten minutes,” the receptionist said. She smiled and picked up the telephone beside her. “Creature Comfort Veterinary Clinic.”

“Come on, Ernest T.”

The dog sighed again and heaved himself to his feet. His uncropped ears flopped endearingly around his face.

Sarah walked up to the reception desk and said, “Hi, I’m Dr…”

“Watch out behind you!”

Sarah glanced over her shoulder and shrank back against the reception desk, but not fast enough to avoid a butt behind her knees from a stumpy black pig. She caught herself on the counter.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Egg Roll, stand still.”

The “miniature” Vietnamese pot-bellied pig stood nearly three feet tall at the shoulder and must have weighed about two-fifty. The woman he towed at the end of his leash weighed maybe one-ten. Anyone could tell who was in charge.

The receptionist punched her hold button and leaned over her desk. “Egg Roll, cut that out!” She tossed a piece of hard candy onto the floor.

The pig hesitated, snuffled, then scarfed up the treat. A moment later he collapsed into a big black blob of contentment. His owner wiped her forehead and gasped, “Thanks, Alva Jean. He hates having his hooves trimmed.”

“No problem, Judy. Candy gets him every time. You better wait in room three.” She picked up the phone once more. Judy nudged the pig with her toe. Still snuffling contentedly, he stood and lumbered through the door beside the counter.

A sigh of relief went up from the waiting dog and cat owners. Sarah sighed as well. The chaos felt just like home.

“NO.”

“But I promised when I hired her.”

“Un-promise.” Mark Scott leaned back in his rickety desk chair and propped one knee against the scarred edge of his elderly desk. Once the clinic was fully operational, this room would hold patients’ records, but at the moment it served as a general storeroom and Mark’s office.

From the far side of the wall came the pop of a nail gun. A small puff of plaster dust floated down from this side of the unprimed wallboard.

Rick Hazard sneezed, wiped his nose and eyes. “Mark, we need Sarah. She’s young, she’s top-notch, she’s hungry, and we’re getting her cheap because she wants to work large animals. She’ll build that side of the practice fast. Don’t act as if we’ve never talked about this. We’ve got to have another full-timer. She’ll start with evenings, some weekends—fill in whenever she’s needed, until the large-animal practice is big enough to occupy her full time.”

“Fine, you need her, but you don’t need a portable fluoroscope or a laser. And definitely not a large animal MRI.”

“We do.”

“We can’t afford to buy any more equipment at the moment, Rick. We can’t afford to lease, either. She’ll have to make do with what we have until the clinic generates some decent income.”

“But I promised her if she’d move here—”

“Answer me this—would you rather participate in the grand opening of this clinic or appear in bankruptcy court?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s close. The cost overruns on Margot’s design changes and the construction delays have killed you.”

“I’m not responsible for the wettest winter and spring since the 1880s,” Rick protested.

Mark longed to say that Rick was certainly responsible for his wife’s continuing upgrades and changes, but he kept his mouth shut. No sense in antagonizing Margot any more than he had to, and even less in forcing Rick to defend her. “Blame the gods, blame the weather, blame the contractors. None of that changes the fact that you’re skating very close to the edge of your available capital—what the hell, your capital, your wife’s capital, your partners’ capital, your investors’ capital, your credit and every other type of financing you can lay your hands on. How can I explain this to you in terms you understand, my friend? I can’t— won’t—approve a purchase order for any more equipment until you at least come close to meeting the objectives in your business plan.”

Rick sucked in his breath. “The small-animal area is more than meeting objectives.”

“That’s true, thank God. But Bill Chumney hasn’t finalized the contract with the zoo or the wildlife conservation people to treat their exotic animals—”

“He will. We already have a verbal agreement. They’re just waiting for us to finish building the flight cage to handle their raptors. That won’t take more than a week. Bill already has one of their eagles in recovery. He’s done a great job reconstructing that wing. The wildlife people will have to be impressed.”

“Wonderful. However, a verbal contract is not worth the paper it’s written on. The fluorescent lights aren’t connected in the large-animal surgical suite, there’s no hardware on the intensive care stalls for the cows and horses, the observation cameras aren’t calibrated yet.…”

“Punch list problems. We’ll have them done by tomorrow, close of business.”

“That’s what you said last week. Give it at least a month before you bring in Dr. Marsdon, Rick.”

Rick hunkered down in his chair like a sulky child. “The only person with no vested interest in this clinic is you.”

Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We’ve been over that before. I want this clinic to succeed because that’s what Coy Buchanan wants, and I work for him. Like I’ve said from the beginning, I never invest my own money in a project I’m overseeing. Don’t want my own financial concerns to cloud my judgment.”

The door behind Rick opened, and Alva Jean stuck her head in. “Dr. Hazard, there’s a Dr. Sarah Marsdon waiting to see you.”

“Oh, God, not now,” Rick moaned. “She wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Why didn’t you tell me she was already scheduled?”

“What am I going to say to her?”

“Start with your punch list,” Mark said.

The door opened again.

Sarah Marsdon was silhouetted in the light from the hallway behind her. Mark had assumed a woman who dealt with horses and cows would look like Hulk Hogan.

Sarah’s silhouette looked more like Julia Roberts.

“Hi, Rick.” The silhouette spoke. “The drive from St. Paul took less time than I thought.”

She came forward into the light.

More Melanie Griffith than Julia Roberts. Hair the color of well-aged honey and eyes the color of a cloudless sky.

Rick hugged her, then turned to introduce Mark. “Dr. Sarah Marsdon, may I present Markham Scott?”

She shook his hand with a firm grip. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

“My pleasure,” Mark responded. “Although I—”

Rick stepped in with a nervous laugh. “Mark’s vice president of operations for Buchanan Enterprises. He’s the money man of Coy Buchanan’s company. Coy is Margot’s father—my father-in-law. He gave us the land for the clinic and lent us Mark to handle the finances.”

Waiting for Rick to wind down, Mark caught Dr. Marsdon’s curious glance. She’d obviously picked up on Rick’s nervousness. Time to step in. “He’s telling you I’m the resident bad guy, Dr. Marsdon. Rick says my middle name is Scrooge.”

“I’ll try to stay on your good side, Mr. Scott.”

“Mark—please. As a matter of fact…”

Rick jumped in. “Come on, Sarah, let me show you around.” He put a hand to the middle of her back and practically pushed her into the hall. Then he turned to Mark. “Would you mind organizing some temporary accommodation for Sarah?”

Mark nodded. Sooner or later Rick would have to tell her she wouldn’t be getting her equipment for a while. He wondered how she’d react. She seemed like a nice enough lady, but he’d learned to be wary of vets. Even the nice ones exploded when they thought something stood between them and the welfare of their animal patients.

At least this one was easy on the eyes. Very easy. The sort of woman who went around stirring up male hormones without even realizing she was doing it. Not that her looks would get her one step closer to that portable fluoroscope. Mark considered himself immune to feminine wiles. And plenty had been used against him. So far none had succeeded.

He clicked on his cell phone and speed-dialed his office. “Beth? Mark. Rick’s just dumped a new lady vet in our laps. Get her a suite at the motel, could you? And stock it? Ground floor, I think. Thanks.”

He hung up, shut his briefcase and headed for the door. He’d be willing to bet that the job of letting Dr. Marsdon down gently was one Rick would leave to him.

“SO, HOW WAS THE WEATHER in St. Paul?” Rick said as he propelled Sarah down the hall.

“I left in a snowstorm.”

“You have snow in April?”

“Won’t last long, but it was a mess to drive in until I got south of Eau Claire. After that, I made great time. Drove half the night. I can’t believe it’s almost summer in Tennessee.”

“Just wait until August.”

“It gets hot in St. Paul, too.”

“Not a soggy heat like Memphis, I’ll bet.” He opened a door onto a small operating room. “Mac, when you’re finished spaying that Dachshund, stick your head in my office and meet Sarah Marsdon, our newest staff member.”

The large man in scrubs and mask who stood at the operating table grunted but didn’t lift his head from the small brown dog that lay on her back.

Rick closed the door quietly. “John McIntyre Thorn, our resident ogre. The best surgeon I have ever met, but he has the personality of a Tasmanian devil.”

“That makes two people whose bad sides I don’t want to get on. You got any nice guys around here?”

“Everybody else is pretty nice. But overworked.”

“What else is new? This place is enormous, Rick, and downright palatial. You’re very lucky to have this much suburban land to build a clinic on.”

Rick opened another door on a small utilitarian office. “Margot’s dad is the biggest real estate developer in these parts. He gave us the ten acres. Sit. You must be tired after your drive. Want a soft drink? Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Sarah sat down. “What about zoning variances? You’re surrounded by expensive mansions with acres of manicured lawns. Didn’t the neighbors object?”

“That’s where Mark Scott comes in. He was dead set against this project, but once Coy told him we were committed, he did the research. The land was zoned agricultural and light industrial and hadn’t ever been changed to residential.”

“Like I said, lucky you.”

Rick rubbed his fingers under his eyes. “A few of the neighbors don’t approve. Most of the area residents were glad to see us—better than a fast-food joint or a chicken ranch—but a couple of people whose kids prefer motorcycles and fast cars to horses are still fighting us tooth and nail.”

“I see.”

“Hey, it’s just another of those handy-dandy little problems that come with the territory, right?”

Sarah wondered at the weary exasperation in his tone. His eyes were red-rimmed. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in weeks. He was a far cry from the bouncy guy she’d met two years ago at the Kansas City conference, when he’d approached her about taking a job in the new clinic he was planning to build.

She shoved down her misgivings. “I’m dying to see the large-animal facilities,” she said, and noted the change in Rick’s color to pale gray.

“Um, yes. We’re a little behind on getting everything finished.” He hurried on. “Punch list things. Minor, mostly. Look, I know you must be exhausted. Go get some rest. I’ve got you scheduled for two to ten p.m. for the first few days, so you overlap all but the midnight-to-eight shift. But if you could come in about eleven tomorrow you could meet the day staff first. Then we can go over the whole place and go through the large-animal area. Okay by you?”

She didn’t want to wait until morning. She’d never been able to hold on to her lollipop until she got out of the candy store. But something told her Rick was uncomfortable, and it was never a good idea to start a new job by making your boss uncomfortable. She tamped down her anxiety and said, “Sure. I’ll need a hotel room for a week or so while I look for someplace more permanent. Any suggestions?”

“I asked Mark to book you into a good motel. Check with him.”

The blond girl named Alva Jean stuck her head in the door. “Hey, Dr. Hazard, could you give us a hand with Egg Roll? He’s got Dr. Bill backed into a corner.” She snickered. “He’s looking at Dr. Bill like he’s another piece of candy.”

“Of course,” Rick said, with what Sarah thought was relief. He raised his hands apologetically. “Sorry, Sarah, duty calls.”

“Can I help?” Sarah asked. “I like pigs, and I’m generally pretty good with them.”

“No, no, wouldn’t think of it! Alva, please ask Mark to take care of Dr. Marsdon.” And with that, Rick was gone. When he opened the door to the examining room, Sarah heard a cacophony of grunts, a female voice shouting, “Egg Roll, stop that!” and a male tenor shouting, “Get off my foot, dammit!”

Sarah desperately wanted to help, but Rick had told her she wasn’t needed. She sat on the hard chair and crossed her arms. Great. Just great. What was that old saying? When something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. Rick’s job offer had sounded like paradise and had come at absolutely the best possible moment. Things at home were a mess. No matter how often she tried to tell him, Gerald never understood why she was so upset with him. Neither did her family. They always took Gerald’s side. In addition to her personal problem was her unhappiness in her job. No wonder Rick’s offer had seemed like the perfect opportunity to start afresh.

The door opened and Mark Scott leaned in. “Hi. How about we get out of here and go see your motel? We’ll have to take both cars, so I’ll lead, you follow.” He handed her a card. “This is my cell phone number. If you get lost, call me.”

“On what? A can and a string?”

His eyebrows went up. “No cell phone?”

“It belonged to the practice in St. Paul. I’ve never had one of my own.”

“Okay. I’ll put that on my list. We’ll get you one tomorrow morning. Until then, just stick close to my tail.”

He turned around and left with the blithe assumption that she’d trot after him. Watching that particular tail in its well-tailored slacks, she suspected that most women did trot after him.

She intended to keep her vow. No more good-looking men. No more entrepreneurs and titans of industry. No more hard-driving A-type personalities. She’d sworn off them forever. One Gerald in a lifetime was one too many.

The next time she fell for a man, if she ever did, she’d find a nice, gentle nest-builder with a sensitive heart, who actually listened to the things she had to say. A nurturer. Someone with glasses.

Her ruminations took her to the parking lot, where she watched Mark climb into a British racing-green Jaguar sedan. He would drive a Jag. He’d never be able to fit his long legs under the dashboard of a Porsche.

She climbed into her black Dodge Ram truck and pulled in behind him. He drove well and made following him easy, though she’d never be able to find the clinic again on her own with all the twists and turns they took down country roads, past vines heavy with wisteria and riots of azaleas in bloom.

After a twenty-minute drive, the Jag pulled up to a shiny new motel advertising executive suites. He climbed out, waited for her to pull up beside him, and lo and behold, opened her door for her and offered her a hand. It felt cool, smooth. She was certain that if she glanced down she’d find his fingernails better cared for than hers.

“Come on. My assistant said the keys would be over the door. Bags?”

She opened the back door of her truck and pointed to a pair of bulging duffel bags. She was suddenly aware of how ratty they looked. He probably carried matching monogrammed pigskin cases—but he reached for her duffels without batting an eye.

She tried to take at least one, but he walked off before she could snag it. The man had shoulders on him. Probably one of those guys who worked out at the gym five days a week and did iron-man competitions on the weekend. No wedding ring.

She followed him down the hall, waited while he carefully lowered the bags (which she would have simply dropped), unlocked the door and stood aside. She entered, to find a tiny hall, a small living area with a couch, a couple of chairs at a round table and chairs for dining, a credenza, a small kitchen that could be closed off with louvered doors, and at the back a bedroom with a king-size bed and a bath with a whirlpool.

The thought of the whirlpool was seductive. Her arms and shoulders ached not only from the drive, but from the tension of the past few days.

The suite was institutional and bland, but still more than she had expected. “I can’t possibly afford this,” she said.

“The clinic is paying for the first two weeks,” he said over his shoulder as he carried her bags to the bedroom. “By then, you should have your own place and can send for your things.”

“What things? With the exception of books, stereo equipment, my computer and a few old pictures that mean something to me, I’m starting from scratch. New furniture, new town, new job, new apartment.”

“Excellent idea. I didn’t know whether you’d prefer to be on an upper floor, but this level has a small terrace—and the security is good.”

“A terrace?” She hadn’t noticed. She walked past him, unlocked a sliding glass door, and opened it. The motel had been built on the edge of a golf course, and acres of landscaped grass stretched down from the tiny terrace. She turned. “This is heaven.”

For the first time Mark smiled. “Glad you like it.”

He had a genuinely sweet smile. “You ought to do that more often.”

“What?”

“Smile. Makes you look human.”

“Coy says it makes me look like a gator who’s just spotted an absent-minded duck.”

She laughed. “He has a point.”

“I had the refrigerator and the bar stocked. Could you use a drink?”

“Yeah, I guess I could. Could we sit out here?” She pointed at the two molded plastic chairs.

“If you like. I didn’t know what you like, so my assistant brought over a bit of everything. Frankly, I’m amazed she got here and left again before we arrived— but then, Beth’s amazing.”

“I’d better go with what the natives drink.”

“That would be Jack Black and branch.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jack Daniels bourbon and branch water. Or in this case, good bottled water.”

“Oh. Make it very light, otherwise you’ll have to pour me into bed when I pass out.”

He raised an eyebrow. She felt her face go red, as he turned away and went back into the suite. One lousy eyebrow, and she reacted like a schoolgirl.

He handed her the drink in a heavy crystal glass that clearly had not come with the motel’s stock of bar glasses, and took the chair beside her. He stretched his long legs in front of him. “To crime.”

“How about to secrets?”

He glanced over at her. “Huh?”

“Come on, Mr. Scott…”

“Mark.”

“I doubt you generally baby-sit newcomers in your busy executive life, yet here you are playing bartender, while Rick ran from me to trim a pig’s toenails. What gives?”

He took a deep breath. “You’re too observant for your own good, Dr. Marsdon.”

“Oh Lord, don’t tell me there’s no job!”

He raised a hand quickly. “No, no, there’s a job. There’s very much a job. You are our only full time large-animal specialist at this point. We’ve got a couple of part-timers, and everybody has had some experience with large animals—but we definitely need you.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is the same as it usually is with any start-up organization. Money is tight.”

“Is that all?”

“Oh, that is very much all. Or is likely to be if we’re not careful.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that everyone connected with the clinic is going to have to start generating income big-time or make do with a great deal less in the way of resources for the foreseeable future.”

“No problem.” She hesitated. “How much income? And how much less are we talking about?”

He sighed. “That’s the thing. We’re only now going fully operational 24–7, and you are the low man on the totem pole, since you are the newest vet.”

“And?”

“That means we need you not only to cover the large animals, but to work small animals most evenings and some weekends.”

She sat up. “And I sleep and eat when?”

“You’ll have time off during the day and at least two—possibly three—weekends a month, but most of that time you’ll still be on-call for large-animal emergencies.”

“For how long?”

He opened his hands. “A few weeks, maybe a few months.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned back and peered at him. He avoided her eyes. “I don’t mind the hours, since I obviously don’t have any other life yet. What else?”

“There have been a few construction problems, delays, cost overruns. Nothing unusual in the start-up phase of an operation this size.”

“Rick said that.”

“The thing is, Rick tends to make promises—all in good faith—that he may not be able to deliver on.”

“What precisely can he not deliver on?” Her drink splashed onto her jeans.

“Calm down. We’re talking a little glitch here.”

“How little?”

“At the moment, there aren’t sufficient funds to equip more than one operating theater for large animals, and even that is not quite finished. We need additional lights, for one thing.”

“Is that all? I can’t operate on more than one animal at a time, anyway, and we can always bring in portable lights for a few days. You had me worried. As long as I’ve got the diagnostic equipment and the other stuff…”

“Yes, well. Unfortunately, that is the other problem. We don’t quite have all the equipment yet.”

She set her drink down on the plastic table beside her. “The equipment is nonnegotiable, Mr. Scott. Why do you think I uprooted my life and dragged myself down here to work with Rick? He promised me lasers, ultrasound, magnetic imagery, fluoroscopes, an anesthesia machine—a state-of-the-art operating theater.”

“And you’ll get all of it, Dr. Marsdon. Just not in the next few months.”

“But it’s ordered, right? You’re simply having a problem with delivery dates?”

“Unfortunately, no. The orders have been held up.”

“By whom? You? Scrooge Scott?”

“That’s my job.”

“Who says?”

“The bank says, the stockholders say, the mortgage company says, and most of all, the medical equipment supply houses that require payment before they ship so much as a scalpel say.”

“Then, send them the money.”

“At the moment that is not possible. I’m just the messenger, doctor.”

“At the moment, if I had a gun, I’d shoot the messenger, just like in the old days, Mr. Scott. I can guess what a building like that clinic costs, and the equipment I want is small potatoes next to that. Don’t tell me you can’t find that money, because I do not believe you.”

“That’s your choice. The point is, I can’t until I’m certain that this place is going to fly and not turn into another dog and cat hospital where pampered pigs get their damn nails clipped!”

“I’m surprised you’re paying for this place. Can you afford it?” She heard the contempt in her voice and wished she’d suppressed it, but the sort of obstruction she was running into from a man who didn’t understand the problem pushed all her buttons at once.

“We’re getting the corporate rate, and Rick promised you moving expenses.”

“And this place is a sop to keep me pacified so that I don’t pitch a fit about the equipment he promised me? A couple of thousand bucks to stave off paying a couple of hundred thousand?”

“There’s no point in continuing this discussion at the moment, Doctor. We can go into the circumstances tomorrow when you’re more…rested.” He put his glass down and walked back into the bedroom.

“You think you’ll be able to handle me tomorrow? Forget it. Rested, I just get tougher.”

“Good night, Doctor. You’ll find some food in the refrigerator, in case you don’t want to go out.”

She heard the door open and close a little harder than necessary. She picked up the crystal glass, ready to hurl it after him, then stopped. She’d only have to clean up the mess afterward.

She sat and took a swig of her drink, then coughed as it hit the bottom of her throat. She could feel the bourbon all the way down to her toes. She set the glass down, suddenly feeling guilty about yelling at Mark. She was tired, more tired than she’d realized. But she had counted on that equipment. She’d been promised that equipment, and Mr. Mark Scott was going to have to come up with a stronger argument than lack of funds if he expected her to accept the delay.

If only she had enough money to buy the things herself. But she didn’t, even though she’d finally almost paid off her student loans. Truth was, even if Steve Stapleton in St. Paul had broken down and allowed her to buy a partnership in his clinic, she’d have had to hock her eyeballs to get the money together.

No, the thing to do was to persuade Mark that the equipment was crucial to the success of the clinic.

She took her drink into the kitchen and poured the rest down the sink. Pity to waste good bourbon, but she didn’t want to pass out in the Jacuzzi. She opened the small refrigerator and found eggs, bacon, bread, butter, sweet rolls, and an assortment of sandwich makings with condiments. Good. She could take her sandwich and a soda, and dine while the water washed away all her aches and pains.

Tomorrow was soon enough to tackle Mark. Tomorrow she’d meet the staff, assess the facilities, and do some real work. Tomorrow she’d start lining up allies in her battle against the bureaucracy. This was one battle she expected to win, and win quickly. Mark Scott didn’t have a clue how hard—and how dirty—she could fight. When it came to her patients, she was like a mamma grizzly defending her cubs.