Читать книгу The Money Man - Carolyn McSparren - Страница 9

SARAH CALLED HER FATHER in St. Paul before she went to bed, only to get his answering machine. She gave it her telephone number and hung up. She supposed he’d gone over to one of his sons’ houses for a family conference on the best way to get Sarah to come back home.

It was nearly midnight when the phone rang. Sarah picked it up.

“At home at least you had an apartment. Now you live in a motel,” Lars Marsdon said in his clipped voice.

“Actually, this is nicer than my apartment, and the clinic is paying for it.”

“You quit your job and ran off to Tennessee because you had a fight with your fiancé. You’ve made your point, so come back home.”

“Dad, I just got here this afternoon.”

“So, you won’t have had time to settle. They will not miss you. Your old job is still available. Steve told me he would hold it for a couple of days, although he is annoyed because you walked out on him.”

“Dad—” She tried to sound patient, but could feel her heart rate increasing with every sentence. “Steve was never going to allow me to be a partner. Then, when I gave him notice, he got so mad he told me to get out right that minute. I would have stayed two weeks. The choice was his, not mine.”

“This is your home. This is where your family, your fiancé, your job are. Come home where you belong.”

“Sorry, but no.”

“Call back when you’re ready to speak sensibly.” He hung up.

Sarah lay back and tried to slow down her breathing.

How soon would Lars Marsdon mobilize the troops? Would he ask all three of her brothers and their wives to call and put additional pressure on her? That’s what he generally did when he didn’t agree with her choices. Occasionally Peter would refuse, but the other two always went along with their father. They were all so content with their lives that they couldn’t understand why she wanted more.

Sarah always wondered whether they made up their own scripts or said what Lars told them to say. Didn’t matter. This time she was free, and intended to remain free.

Now, all she had to do was make Mark see things her way.

“HEY, DR. SARAH,” Alva Jean Huxtable chirped, when Sarah walked in the front door of the clinic the next morning. “Mr. Scott said to tell you he’s bringing you a cell phone, and there’s a parking place for you around back. The staff park there.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay. It’s not like we’re running out of parking space in front.” Alva Jean looked at the nearly empty waiting room.

“Dr. Rick said he was going to try to get everybody together at eleven so you could meet them.”

“Where?”

“He calls it his conference room, but it’s really our break room. He’s got a drink machine and a snack machine in there and a little refrigerator. If you bring your lunch, you better mark the sack with your name—otherwise somebody’s bound to steal it.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Thanks, I’ll remember that. Do I have a desk?”

Alva Jean shook her head. “Not yet, but there are some extra file cabinets in the storeroom. You can have one of those, if Rick says it’s okay.”

Sarah smiled. “Thanks. I’ll ask him when I see him.”

She pushed through the door to the central hall and glanced in at Mark’s partially open door, but he wasn’t in. For some reason, she felt a stab of disappointment. Was she so anxious to go into battle with him again? Or was there another more personal reason? Nonsense. The fact that he was tall with brown eyes that crinkled at the corners had nothing to do with anything. She simply relished a good fight with a worthy adversary. Period.

At this point she didn’t even know the full extent of the battle she needed to wage.

At the far end of the hall there was a door with a smoked-glass panel in the upper half. Beside it someone had taped a small handwritten sign that read, Large Animals. No fancy brass plaques back here.

To the right, a solid door had a green lighted exit sign over it. That must lead to the employees’ parking area. She’d move her truck there as soon as she’d done a bit of exploring. She needed to restock the vet cabinet in the back of her truck, anyway. One of the vet techs here ought to be able to restock for her. While she’d half watched television in her motel room last night, she’d put together a basic list of the drugs and paraphernalia she’d need.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. Then stood for a moment and stared. The room was cavernous, the central hall more than wide enough to admit an eighteen-wheeler. On the right, doors could be rolled up into the ceiling so that a big rig of cows could be backed into the slot that opened into a large fenced pen.

She opened the first door on her left. It was empty except for packing boxes and paint cans. She assumed it would eventually be her office. She’d probably have to leave room for storage shelves that would hold everything except the drugs that had to be kept double-locked and accounted for to the government.

She walked past the cow pen, and past the small stalls where cows or bulls could be kept individually so that they could be examined safely in a relatively confined space. Looked strong. Good. An angry bull or cow could do extensive damage.

Past that area on her right were three doors. She peeked through the window of the first and saw a completely padded stall—floor, walls and ceiling. The recovery area—where a large animal could come out of anesthesia without hurting itself. The next two doors opened into similar stalls, but without the padded walls. These, then, were the ones that Mark had told her weren’t quite finished. Three recovery stalls—impressive for a private clinic. Many of the teaching veterinary hospitals didn’t have as many.

On her right across the broad hall, she discovered the prep room where the animals could be anesthetized and readied for surgery. Through the double doors at the end of the prep room, she could see the surgery. She opened the door, but when she flipped the light switch, nothing happened. Great. She hoped no horses or cows would have to be operated on by candlelight.

The surgery seemed to contain only basic equipment. The lights, when they were hooked up, would no doubt be more than adequate, but at the moment it was difficult to tell much in the gloom.

As to the diagnostic equipment she’d been promised—one portable ultrasound was all she could see. Well, that would change.

She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. First priority—get the blasted lights hooked up. That was something Mark could darn well put at the top of his To Do list.

“Help ya?” A raspy voice spoke from behind her.

She jumped and turned.

“New doc, are ya?”

The man who leaned against the far wall grinned at her. He stood no more than five-two or -three and probably weighed a hundred ten pounds. His face was covered with sun-ruined skin, wrinkled like badly tanned leather, and the teeth revealed in that grin were crooked. His blue eyes were bright as a bird’s.

“I’m Sarah Marsdon.”

“The new vet?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Told me you were a lady, but didn’t say that you were a pretty one. I’m Jack. Jack Renfro. I’m your vet tech, your surgery assistant, and your jack-of-all-trades, no pun intended.”

The slight southern accent was overlaid with a thick cockney twang.

“Jockey?” Sarah grinned back at him.

“And exercise boy and groom before I got too old and too stove up to ride. What I don’t know about horses ain’t been writ down as yet.”

“How about cows?”

“Hate the stupid buggers, but I can handle ’em. And anything else with four feet comes into this place.”

“Good.” Sarah extended her hand. “What’s with the lights?”

Jack blew out his breath. “Bloody contractor’s supposed to have everything done here today. But then, he was supposed to finish last month, wasn’t he?”

“Was he?”

“You weren’t to know, of course, but we’ve had one muck-up after another. That woman kept trying to turn the place into a bloody palace, then the almighty rain and the mud, and delivery problems, and if that weren’t enough, we have the neighborhood rowdies at night.”

“Rowdies?”

“Kids. Too much time and no sense, is what I says. Don’t know much about tractors and such myself, but I do know you can’t run one without a carburetor. Took a week for the contractor to get a new one in and installed. Meantime we had to rent another tractor. Cost a bloody fortune.”

“They stole a carburetor?”

Jack humphed. “As good as. Turned out the little devils hid it behind a stack of plywood, but the contractor wasn’t to know, was he? Only found it a month later when he’d already bought the new one. Then there was the great plumbing caper.” He sounded disgusted.

“Plumbing?”

“Contractor came in one Monday and found every bit of PVC pipe spread out over the two back paddocks. Spelled out words not fit for your tender ears.”

Sarah laughed. “You’d be surprised how un-tender my ears are. Besides, I know that’s annoying, but it doesn’t sound as though they’re really destructive.”

“That bit of mischief took four men and a truck most of the day to pick up and get the mud out. Costs money, things like that. And time we didn’t have.”

“If we had an emergency, could we handle it?”

Renfro cocked an eye at her. “That’s up to you, ain’t it?”

“You mean I’m it?”

“You got Dr. Eleanor Grayson comes in, but she’s part-time, mostly night or when we’re pushed. We’re supposed to be open twenty-four hours a day, but right now, we only got a couple of part-timers on call after midnight. And Dr. Mac can muck in if you need him. Staff’s good, but they’re mostly used to handling puppies and kittens.”

Sarah laughed at the obvious sneer in his voice. He grinned back at her through his terrible teeth.

“Well, I says, don’t ya know, if it ain’t good for racing or eating, then what’s the sense of it, I says.”

“Don’t let the clients hear you say that.” Sarah laughed.

“Keeps me thoughts to me’self. You worry about the cutting, Doc, I’ll handle the rest of it.”

“Deal. Nice to work with you, Jack. By the way, they say I’m going to be working a good many nights and weekends, as well, until we’re fully staffed. What are your hours?”

“My good lady says they run from ‘kin to cain’t,’ but she’s from Arkansas and talks funny. Don’t you worry. You need me at four in the morning, I’ll be here.”

Suddenly Sarah didn’t feel quite as overwhelmed as she had, with the problems she faced. With an old pro like Jack Renfro to back her up, how could she fail? She glanced at her watch. “Oh, hell, I’m late for Rick’s meeting.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Get more done without these infernal meetings of his. You run along. I’ll hunt up that contractor and put a flea up his nose. You’ll have your lights and that office cleaned up today.” He trotted off with the rolling, bowlegged gait of a man used to having horse flesh between his knees.

“Jack?” Sarah called after him.

He turned.

“I’ve got a list of medications and stuff I need in my truck cabinet. It’s lying on the front seat of my truck, which is, I’m sorry to say, in front of the clinic instead of where it belongs.”

“Toss me your keys. I’ll move it and stock it for you.”

“You’re a wonder. Thanks.”

“MARK, MY CHILD is driving me nuts.” Coy Buchanan slumped into his maroon leather desk chair in the corner office of Buchanan Enterprises. It had been specially constructed to accommodate both his height and his bulk, but it still groaned under his weight. He reached for his oversize mug of New Orleans coffee.

“Margot Hazard may be your child, Coy,” Mark said from the chair across the acre or so of inlaid leather on top of Coy’s desk. “To the rest of the world, she’s a grown woman.” And an annoying one. Mark didn’t voice that thought.

“I’m getting to the point where I don’t want to take her calls. Terrible thing to start screening out your only daughter’s telephone calls.”

“Switch her over to me.”

“Oh, I’ve tried, son, believe me. She says you aren’t responsive, whatever the hell that means.”

“It means I don’t sit up and jump through hoops for her. You pay me for not jumping through hoops.”

“I know, I know. But couldn’t you at least act like maybe you’re planning to leave the ground occasionally?” Coy grinned. “Make my life one hell of a lot easier.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to sign blank checks.”

“It’s that damn animal clinic,” Coy said, and gulped half the mug of coffee. He wiped his mouth. “Why couldn’t Margot have married somebody like Ted Turner or Donald Trump? Even a king might have been able to afford her. But no, she’s got to go and marry a veterinarian. And then try to turn him into a millionaire. Last I heard, wasn’t nobody trading veterinary stock on Wall Street.”

“True, but we’ve got investors, Coy. You are not the only one. And some of them can’t afford to lose what money they’ve put into the clinic.”

“Hell, you think I can?” Coy came close to roaring. “First rule of business my daddy taught me is ‘Don’t lose money.”’

This time Mark grinned. “You lost two fortunes before you were forty.”

“Yeah, but I made ’em back, and then some. I’m getting too old for this game. I hired you to see I don’t lose any more. I just want to build nice office buildings and fancy subdivisions, pay the IRS entirely too much of what I earn, and still have time to go fishing occasionally. I’ve got a good mind to go do that right this minute and leave you to deal with Margot all by yourself.”

“You do, and I quit.”

“You won’t quit. You got too much junkyard dog in you. How many times I fired you?”

“I lost count after fifteen.”

“And have you once ever started cleaning out your desk? No, you have not. You know I don’t mean it, and you’re just too damn mean to leave.”

“If I ever do start cleaning out my desk, Coy, you’ll know I really have quit. In the meantime, I will be pleasant but noncommittal. I will not give her or Rick carte blanche to spend whatever they like on fancy furniture, equipment or additional personnel until they’re fully operational and at least breaking even. Do I have your agreement on that?”

“Sure you do.”

“You’ll back me up, no matter how hard Margot pleads?”

“Yeah, yeah, if I have to. But—” Coy looked sheepish “—I have to ask you for something.”

“Oh, damn,” Mark muttered. “Here it comes.”

“I know you’re supposed to be going to Houston tomorrow to meet with the Center City Commission…”

“Right.”

“I’ll take the meeting. For at least the next month I want you to stick close to town and spend most of your time out at that clinic.”

“Coy…”

“I know it’s been years since you supervised a construction project personally—at least a penny-ante one like the clinic.” Coy sounded plaintive. “I need you to do this for me, son.”

“Construction’s almost finished. You don’t want a construction supervisor. You want an on-site CFO to deal with the problems while you wine and dine and avoid Margot’s telephone calls.” Mark sighed. “Last time I checked, I still work for you.” Mark stood. “Okay, I’ll keep up with things here and check on the clinic at night.”

“I wouldn’t ask…”

“Sure you would.” Mark walked to the door and stood with his hand on the knob. “But too much Margot, and the next time you fire me I may just go.”

“I’LL HAVE TO MAKE THIS FAST,” Rick said to Sarah in front of the assembled people in the break room. “This is everybody I could track down at the moment. You’ll have to introduce yourself to the others when you run into them. People, this is Dr. Sarah Marsdon who is going to put our large-animal clinic on the map.”

“I’ll certainly try.” Sarah smiled at the group. “But I’ll need some help and I’ll need a surgery with lights.” She gave Rick a hard look.

Rick looked uncomfortable. “The lights were supposed to be hooked up yesterday. I’ll check.”

“Thanks.” She smiled again and tried to keep her tone light and even. This was no time to air her dirty laundry. “Jack Renfro’s going to harry the contractor.”

“Good. I’ll back him up.” Rick pointed to a tall man with a gray buzz cut who stood over a coffee urn at the back of the room. “That’s Dr. Mac Thorn, the other senior partner. Mac, I introduced you yesterday, remember?”

“I don’t remember anything while I’m operating,” he said grumpily.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. So Dr. Thorn had an attitude.

“Jack Renfro says you’ll assist me if I need help in surgery,” she said.

He nodded and took a sip of coffee.

“This is Bill Chumney, our exotics man. He’s about to get us a very lucrative contract with the local animal refuge, to do all their vet work.”

“Actually,” Chumney said, “I’m a raptor man by preference, but I can handle everything from armadillos to iguanas if I have to.”

“What are the laws about exotics in Tennessee? Can people keep them as pets?”

“The state is extremely strict about issuing permits to people who want to keep local fauna, or zoo animals—big cats, elephants, that sort of thing. Iguanas, reptiles, ferrets, hedgehogs, even sugar gliders—small creatures bred and sold to be pets—are okay. Sometimes Rick and Mac handle them in the small animal section, sometimes I do. And then somebody has to look after the raccoon whose mother got hit by a truck, or a possum with his tail bitten off. That’s why we’re anxious to get the contract with the animal refuge people signed. We’ll handle all the hurt animals the public brings in. And the zoo, too, of course. They have their own staff, but it’s pretty limited.”

“Are you busy?”

“Not yet, but we will be when that contract goes through. That’s my flight cage they’re building outside by Dr. Sol’s research lab.” He glowered at Rick. “It was supposed to be finished, and a damn sight larger, as well. I’ve got an eagle about ready to try his wings. Eagles need space to get lift.”

“Okay, okay. After the lights are up. I promise I’ll check it out.”

Rick turned back to Sarah. “Dr. Sol Weincroft isn’t in today. He’s actually more of a silent partner for the next few months. We’re building him a wing out back for his research in return for financial support from him and the pharmaceutical companies funding his research. He’ll be available in emergencies, but he’s concentrating on research as much as he can. I think you may have met him in Kansas City, Sarah?”

Sarah nodded. “Heard him give a paper on his research on an equine infectious anemia vaccine.”

“And he’s very, very close to success. That’ll be one hell of a feather in our caps.” Rick sighed. “Eleanor Grayson isn’t in, either. She’s part-time and your backup after hours. She was here pretty late last night with a flipped gut.”

Sarah knew Rick meant that one of Dr. Grayson’s charges had a flipped gut—not an unusual occurrence in large breeds of dog. It was a deadly emergency requiring instant surgery—and there was only a fair chance of saving the animal’s life.

“Yeah, and I’ve got a hip dysplasia in twenty minutes,” Mac said. He put down his coffee cup and left.

“Now that the Grinch has departed,” a small blond woman said, “I’m Liz Carlyle. I just graduated from Mississippi State last year. I’m on small animals, but I kind of swing where I’m needed. I really want to go into ophthalmology eventually, but I can’t go back to school until I make some serious money, or until and unless my husband gets one heck of a promotion.” She shrugged and turned pink with embarrassment.

Sarah thought she was very young indeed.

“That’s the current veterinary staff,” Rick said. “We’re piecing out for the first few months with a roster of part-timers from midnight to eight. So far, there hasn’t been much call that late. You’ve met Alva Jean, who handles the desk during the day, does the billing and such. Mabel Halliburton comes in at four, so you’ll mostly be working with her. She kind of mothers us all, and she’s a wonder with the paperwork. Does our ordering, backs up Alva Jean. We’re still hiring kennel and cleanup staff. People keep quitting on us after a week or so. Nobody seems to want to work so hard for minimum wage.”

“Go figure,” Liz whispered.

Rick glared at her. “We’re going to need at least three more vet techs once we’re fully up and running, but at the moment we’re making do with Jack for large and Nancy here for small, and part-timers from other clinics hired on an hourly basis.”

Sarah took the sure, brown hand of the woman who offered it. “Nancy Mayfield. I do anything and everything. At the moment I’ve got to go get Dr. Mac ready for his hip dysplasia.”

“You’re assisting?”

“Yep. I’m better at surgery than Jack. He’s better at post-op. We complement each other.”

The telephone on the wall beside the door rang. Liz jumped. Rick answered it and listened for a moment. “Yeah, yeah, Mac. She’s on her way.”

Nancy Mayfield grinned at Sarah and stood up slowly. Sarah saw her catch her breath. The woman stood for a moment with her eyes closed.

She’s in pain, Sarah thought.

Nancy caught her eye. “Jack and I are a lot alike. He raced, I rode hunters and jumpers in the show ring. We’re both too stiff to do it any longer.” She glanced at her own strong hands. “Nothing wrong with these. It’s my neck that gives me fits. Ah, well, I’d better head on out before Dr. Mac explodes.”

“We’d better all head on out,” Rick said. “Sorry you couldn’t meet everybody at one time, Sarah.”

“That’s okay. If I see anybody in greens with an animal under his arm, I’ll assume he’s a staff member.”

“Nice to have met you,” Bill Chumney said. “Now I’m off to exercise Marvin’s wings for him. This time I think he’s really going to fly.”

The telephone rang again, and Nancy answered it. “I’m coming!” She listened a moment, then turned to the room. “Scratch the dysplasia. We’ve got a couple of bull terriers who’ve just been hit by a car.”

“Damn!” Rick said.

Chairs scraped. Bill Chumney reached the door first. The moment it opened, Sarah heard the howls from the waiting room.

“Oh, God,” Liz whispered. And ran to help.

Sarah ran, as well. She noticed on her way by that Mark Scott stood in the door of his office. “Come on,” she said. “We may need another pair of hands.”

A broad, gray-haired woman, in a pair of disreputable shorts and a shirt that said Kiss the Gardener, sat on her knees on the floor just inside the door cradling the body of a dog wrapped in a blanket. She sobbed, the dog whined pitiably. The blanket in which it was wrapped was bloodstained.

“George is still in the car, I couldn’t carry him. Please, please, they’re badly hurt.” She grabbed Sarah’s hand. “Don’t let them die!”

Sarah dropped to her knees and pulled the dog’s lips back. The dog made no attempt to bite at her, which in itself showed how close to shock she was. The gums were too pale. “Nancy! Ringer’s stat—push. And get out a couple of surgery packs and some Ketamine, in case we have to immobilize fast. Call Jack. Tell him to bring a couple of gurneys.”

The dog whined again. Mark said over her shoulder, “I can carry him to OR.”

Sarah shook her head. “Could do more harm than good. Go help get the other one in.” She began to touch the dog gently, expecting the terrier to turn on her. “What happened?”

“They’re never out of the yard! Never!” the woman sobbed. “This morning we had a new meter reader. He must have left the gate ajar.” She caressed the white fur beneath her hand. “I was planting azaleas, and then I heard these brakes screech and…” She broke down completely.

“Here you go, Doc,” Jack Renfro said.

Half an hour later, both dogs lay on surgical tables on either side of the small-animal operating theater. Mac Thorn worked on the large male dog, while Sarah worked on the female.

“She got a crack on the head,” Sarah said to Jack. “But the X rays say she doesn’t have any broken bones or skull fracture. Both her eyes look normal—pupils are the same size and responding. Not sure about internal bleeding, but if there was any, it seems to have stopped. We need to clean her up, stitch her up and watch her.” She worked steadily, confidently, and in silence except for an occasional instruction to Jack.

Mac Thorn, on the other hand, kept up a running stream of curses, demands and snarls, which didn’t seem to bother Nancy Mayfield a bit, but which occasionally made Sarah lift her head in astonishment. Sarah finished with her dog, left it to Jack to bed down in the ICU, and moved over to Mac while she pulled off her gloves. “Need a hand?”

“No, dammit! Blasted idiots! Let dogs run loose! Broken pelvis—have to pin it, blast it. People!”

Sarah was certain Nancy was grinning, but that was impossible to tell with her mask on. Sarah grinned back and got out of the way. She went to find the dogs’ owner.

Not in the waiting room. Odd. She walked back down the hall, and heard voices from Mark’s office. She pushed open the door. The owner of the dogs pushed herself out of the chair across from Mark’s desk.

“Are they going to be all right?” She clutched a cup of what appeared to be coffee.

“Mrs. Jepson needed someplace quiet to sit,” Mark said. “And something hot to drink.”

Sarah looked at him with new eyes. So he wasn’t a total dolt.

“Mrs. Jepson,” she said, “I’m Sarah Marsdon. What are the dogs’ names?”

“George and Marian.” Mrs. Jepson began to cry again.

“They’re beautiful bull terriers. And they’re tough little critters, you know.”

“Otherwise, General George Patton would never have kept one with him,” Mark said.

“Oh, you know that? That’s why my husband insisted we get one. George and Marian are our fourth and fifth.” She sniffed. “They’re the last pups my husband and I bought before he died.”

“Marian may have some internal trauma that hasn’t shown up yet, Mrs. Jepson, so we’ll be watching her very carefully. But I cleaned her cuts and stitched her up. I doubt she’ll even have scars, once the hair grows back.”

“And George? She’s never been without him. They were litter mates.”

“Dr. Thorn is the best surgeon there is,” Sarah said, although she had no way of knowing whether that was true. “He’ll talk to you himself…”

She stopped. That would not be a good idea. Dr. Mac Thorn’s bedside manner would probably involve blasting Mrs. Jepson for something that was only marginally her fault. “Tell you what, Mrs. Jepson. When I left, Dr. Thorn was saying that he could pin George’s hip and that there was every reason to believe he’d be all right.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Jepson began to cry again.

Mark stared at her helplessly, then handed her a pristine handkerchief.

“It’s going to be a long haul, probably physical therapy. You’re going to have your work cut out for you.”

“I don’t care! As long as I have George and Marian back safe and sound.”

She raised her head as a knock sounded on the door, and Nancy Mayfield stuck her head in. “Mrs. Jepson? Didn’t know where you were. We’re taking the male dog to Recovery now. If you’d like to see them for just a moment—”

“Oh, please!” Mrs. Jepson followed Nancy out, and Sarah sank into the chair that was still warm from her body.

“Hell of an introduction,” Mark said. “You want a cup of coffee, too?”

“In a minute. At the moment I simply want to sit.”

“Are they really going to be all right?”

“I have no idea. Looks good, but there’s always something that can go wrong.” She glared at Mark. “Now, about my equipment…”

“Whoa! Can we put this off until later? I’m late for a meeting downtown at Buchanan.”

“Are you avoiding me?”

“No. I’ll be here this evening after work. I promise we’ll talk then.” He went out the door before she could call him back.

“Fine,” Sarah said. “Tonight it is, Mr. Mark Scott. You can’t avoid me forever.”

MARK SPENT THE AFTERNOON at Buchanan Enterprises, putting out more fires. When he walked into the clinic late that afternoon he found the waiting room filled with sick pets whose owners had obviously held off until after work to bring them in for treatment. Despite the heavy-duty sound-deadening tiles on the ceiling and the upper third of the walls, Mark felt an instant kinship with Noah, who must have wished constantly for earplugs during that forty days and forty nights in the ark.

Alva Jean motioned to him while continuing to make ‘uh-huh’ noises to whoever was on the phone, which seemed to grow out of her ear. He pulled his electronic notebook from his breast pocket, keyed in “headset fr desk” and slid the device back into his pocket. That was the sort of simple change that wouldn’t cost more than a little petty cash and should make the receptionist’s job both easier and more efficient.

Alva Jean covered the mouthpiece and hissed, “Dr. Marsdon is looking for you.” She rolled her eyes to leave Mark in no doubt that Dr. Marsdon was not a happy camper.

He hadn’t expected her to be. Apparently, Mark was going to be dealing with Margot and Dr. Marsdon. He sighed. At least the good doctor was single, beautiful and sexy. He rather enjoyed the thought of mixing it up with her again.

He looked into the room next to his and found that the walls had been finished and painted. The paint odor still lingered, but otherwise the place was ready for storage shelving and file cabinets. Tomorrow morning he’d call and have the stuff delivered. He sighed with satisfaction.

Maybe things were coming together, after all. Lately he’d about given up hope.

He ducked into his office and shut the door. Then he shucked his jacket and hung it on the nail somebody had driven into the woodwork. An accident waiting to happen. He made another note: “hammer nails into walls.” And prayed that when he got around to checking his notes at midnight he’d have some inkling of what he’d meant.

He kneaded the muscles along the tops of his shoulders and slumped into the ratty desk chair. A normal day at Buchanan. Endless conference calls, endless meetings, a Chamber of Commerce luncheon with Coy, more meetings, work with engineers on HVAC bids for a bank headquarters in Charlotte that had come in high, a surprise visit from the INS about forged green cards on a job they were subcontracting in Little Rock. More telephone calls chasing down the general contractor in Little Rock. Protestations of innocence followed by arguments that the only decent drywall workers in the entire southeast were illegal Mexican laborers.

Mark believed him—and so, for that matter, did the INS. But that didn’t matter. He pulled out his notebook. “Check grncds subcon vet.” What were the chances he could decipher that tomorrow?

His left temple throbbed, and he longed to go home to his quiet house, put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, pop a cold beer, and watch mindless television until he fell asleep. What a life for a man who was supposed to be in his prime.

Anyone meeting him would think he had the world by the tail—a great job with a boss he not only respected but liked, more money than he’d ever dreamed of and an excellent reputation among his colleagues and friends.

Right. Friends. Acquaintances, more like. There simply hadn’t been time to develop a life away from work, much less create anything resembling a family. He was like the new Silicon Valley computer kids who ate, slept and lived their jobs.

A far cry from the life he’d envisioned when he was eighteen, before his father’s death had brought the world crashing down around his head.

At the knock on his door, he glanced up.

It opened immediately. Dr. Sarah Marsdon came in— no, marched in—and shut it a little too forcefully behind her. Mark didn’t bother to stand up.

She sat down. “I’d about decided you weren’t coming, Mr. Scott.”

He sighed. “Mark—please. I thought we’d settled that.”

“That’s the only thing we seem to have settled. Now, let’s talk about my equipment.”