Читать книгу Hearts Afire - Marta Perry - Страница 10

“It’s not the best thing that ever happened to me, that’s for sure.” Terry slumped into the chair across from Harriet in the E.R. lounge a few days later, responding to her friend’s question about working with Jake Landsdowne. “It looks as if he’s not any more eager to supervise the clinic than I am to have him. He hasn’t been in touch with me at all.”

Actually, she was relieved at that, although she could hardly say so. She’d tensed every time the phone had rung, sure it would be him.

“That’s too bad. How are you going to make any progress if Dr. Landsdowne won’t cooperate?”

Terry shrugged. “I’ve gone ahead without him.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Harriet frowned down at her coffee mug. “He’s very much a hands-on chief. He’s been shaking up the E.R., let me tell you.”

“I’m sorry.” But not surprised. Jake Landsdowne had always been supremely confident that his way was the best way. The only way, in fact.

Harriet shrugged. “I expected it. Just be careful with him. I know how much this clinic means to you. You don’t want to put the project in jeopardy by antagonizing the man.”

Terry thought of Juan’s frightened face, of the suppressed anger she’d sensed in Manuela. Of the other children she’d glimpsed on her trip to the migrant camp.

“I’ll be careful.” She had more reason than most to know she had to tread carefully. For a moment the need to confide in Harriet about her past experience with Jake almost overwhelmed her caution.

Almost, but not quite. She had to watch her step.

Please, Father, help me to guard my tongue. Telling Harriet would put her in an impossible position, and it wouldn’t be fair to Jake, either. I just wish You’d show me a clear path through this situation.

“Did you know Dr. Landsdowne when you worked in Philadelphia? You must have been there at about the same time.”

Harriet’s question shook her. She hadn’t realized that anyone would put the two things together, but naturally Harriet would be interested in her new boss’s record.

“I knew him slightly,” she said carefully. She wouldn’t lie, but she didn’t have to spell out all the details, either. “Mostly by reputation.”

Anybody’s life could be fodder for hospital gossip, and the handsome, talented neurosurgery resident had been a magnet for it. Still—

“Excuse me.”

Terry spun, nerves tensing. How long had Jake been standing in the doorway? How much had he heard?

“Dr. Landsdowne.” Harriet’s tone was cool. Clearly Jake hadn’t convinced her yet that he deserved to be her superior.

“I heard Ms. Flanagan was here.” The ice in his voice probably meant that he knew she’d been talking about him. “I’m surprised you haven’t been here before this. We need to talk about this clinic proposal.”

Not a proposal, she wanted to say. It’s been approved, remember?

Still, that hardly seemed the way to earn his cooperation. “Do you have time to discuss it now?”

He nodded. “Come back to my office.” He turned and walked away, clearly expecting her to follow.

She’d rather talk on neutral ground in the lounge, but she wasn’t given a choice. She shrugged in response to Harriet’s sympathetic smile and followed him down the corridor. All she wanted was to get this interview over as quickly as possible.

The office consisted of four hospital-green walls and a beige desk. Nothing had been done to make it Jake’s except for the nameplate on the desk. Maybe that was what he wanted.

He stalked to the desk, picked up a file folder, and thrust it at her. “Here are the regulations we’ve come up with for the clinic. You’ll want to familiarize yourself with them.”

She held the folder, not opening it. “We?”

His frown deepened. “Mr. Morley, the hospital administrator, wanted to have some input.”

She could imagine the sort of input Morley would provide, with his fear of doing anything that might result in a lawsuit. Well, that was his job, she supposed. She flipped open the folder, wondering just how bad it was going to be.

In a moment she knew. She snapped the folder shut. “This makes it practically impossible for my volunteers to do anything without an explicit order from a doctor.”

“Both Mr. Morley and I feel that we can’t risk letting volunteers, trained or not, treat patients without the approval of the physician in charge.”

“You, in other words.”

“That’s correct.” His eyebrows lifted. “You agreed to the terms, as I recall.”

“I didn’t expect them to be so stringent. My people are all medical professionals—I don’t have anyone with less than an EMT-3 certification. You’re saying you don’t trust them to do anything without your express direction.”

Were they talking about her volunteers? Or her?

“You can give all the sanitation and nutrition advice you want. I’m sure that will be appreciated. Anything else, and—”

His condescending tone finally broke through her determination to play it safe with him. “Are you taking it out on the program because you blame me for Meredith Stanley’s death?”

She’d thought the name often enough since Jake’s arrival. She just hadn’t expected to say it aloud. Or to feel the icy silence that greeted it.

For a long moment he stared at her—long enough for her to regret her hasty words, long enough to form a frantic prayer for wisdom. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No. You shouldn’t.” His face tightened with what might have been either grief or bitterness. He turned away, seeming to buy a moment’s respite by walking to the window that looked out over the hospital parking lot. Then he swung back to face her. “What happened two years ago has nothing to do with the clinic.” The words were clipped, cutting. “I think it best if we both try to forget the past.”

Could he really do that? Forget the suicide of a woman who’d said she loved him? Forget blaming the paramedics who’d tried to save her? Forget the gossip that said he was the one at fault?

Maybe he could. But she never would.

He seemed to take her assent for granted. He nodded toward the folder in her hands. “Read through that, discuss it with your volunteers. Possibly we can arrange for the clinic to be in phone or radio contact with the E.R. when it’s open. We’ll discuss that later.”

“Yes.” Her fingers clenched the manila folder so tightly someone would probably have to pry it loose. All she wanted now was to get away from him—as far away as possible.

He picked up a ring of keys from the desk. “Suppose we go out and look at this clinic of yours.”

“Not now.” The words came out instinctively. “I mean…we can schedule that at your convenience.”

His eyebrows lifted again. “Now is convenient. Would you like to ride with me?”

She didn’t even want to be in the same state with him. “No. Thank you, but I’ll need my car. Why don’t you follow me out? The camp is a little tricky to find.”

If she were fortunate, maybe he’d get lost on the maze of narrow country roads that led to the migrant compound. But somehow, she didn’t think that was likely to happen.

Jake kept Terry’s elderly sedan in sight as they left the outskirts of Suffolk and started down a winding country road. He hadn’t gotten used to the fact that the area went so quickly from suburbs to true country, with fields of corn and soybeans stretching along either side of the road.

He frowned at the back of her head, red curls visible as she leaned forward to adjust something—the radio, probably. He shouldn’t have been so harsh with her. It wasn’t Terry’s fault that he couldn’t see her now without picturing her racing the stretcher into the E.R., without seeing Meredith’s blank, lifeless face, without being overwhelmed with guilt.

Just let me be a doctor again. That’s all I ask. I’ll save other lives. Isn’t that worth something?

And did he really believe saving others would make up for failing Meredith? His jaw tightened. Nothing would make up for that. Maybe that was why God stayed so silent when he tried to pray.

Meredith’s death wasn’t Terry’s fault. But if someone more experienced had taken the call—if he had checked his messages earlier—if, if, if. No amount of what-ifs could change the past. Could change his culpability.

He pushed it from his mind. Concentrate on now. That means making sure Terry and her clinic don’t derail your future.

It was farther than he’d expected to the Dixon Farms. The route wound past rounded ridges dense with forest and lower hills crowned by orchards, their trees heavy with fruit. Finally Terry turned onto a gravel road. An abundant supply of No Trespassing signs informed him that they were on Dixon Farms property. Apparently, Matthew Dixon had strong feelings about outsiders.

He gritted his teeth as the car bottomed out in a rut. Surely there was a better way to provide health care for the migrant workers. Wouldn’t it make more sense to bring the workers to health care, instead of trying to bring health care to them? If Dr. Getz had given him any idea of what he’d been walking into that day at the board meeting, he’d have been prepared with alternatives.

Terry bounced to a stop next to several other vehicles in a rutted field. He drove up more slowly, trying to spare his car the worst of the ruts. Not waiting for him, she walked toward a cement block building that must be the site for the clinic. It was plopped down at the edge of a field. Beyond it, a strip of woods stretched up the shoulder of the ridge.

He parked and slid out. If he could find some good reason why this facility wasn’t suitable, maybe they could still go back and revisit the whole idea. Find a way of dealing with the problem that wouldn’t put the hospital at so much risk. To say nothing of the risk to what was left of his career.

Several people moved in and around the long, low, one-story building. Terry had obviously recruited volunteers already. The more people involved, the harder it would be to change.

Pastor Brendan Flanagan straightened at his approach, turning off the hose he was running. “Welcome. I’d offer to shake hands, but I’m way too dirty. I’m glad you’re here, Dr. Landsdowne.”

“Jake, please, Pastor.”

“And I’m Brendan to all but the most old-fashioned of my parishioners.” The minister, in cutoff jeans, sneakers and a Phillies T-shirt, didn’t look much like he had at the board meeting.

“Brendan.” Jake glanced around, spotting five or six people working. “What are you up to?”

“We recruited a few people to get the place in shape. Dixon hasn’t used it for anything but storage in a couple of decades.” He nodded toward what appeared to be a pile of broken farm implements. “It’ll be ready soon. Don’t worry about that.”

That wasn’t what he was worried about, but he wasn’t going to confide in the minister. “I’ll have a look inside.”

He stooped a little, stepping through the door. The farmer certainly hadn’t parted with anything of value when he’d donated this space.

“You must be Dr. Landsdowne.” The woman who had been brushing the walls down with a broom stopped, extending her hand to him. “I’m Siobhan Flanagan.”

“Another Flanagan?” He couldn’t help but ask. The woman had dark hair, slightly touched with gray, and deep blue eyes that seemed to contain a smile.

“Another one, I’m afraid. I’m Terry’s mother. Brendan recruited me to lend a hand today.” She gestured around the large, rectangular room, its floors pockmarked and dirty, its few windows grimy. “I know it doesn’t look like much yet, but just wait until we’re done. You won’t know the place.”

He might be able to tell Terry the place was a hovel, but he could hardly say that to the woman who smiled with such enthusiasm. “You must look at the world through rose-colored glasses, Mrs. Flanagan.”

“Isn’t that better than seeing nothing but the thorns, Dr. Landsdowne?”

He held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll take your word for it.” She’d made him smile, and he realized how seldom that happened recently.

Somehow the place didn’t seem quite as dismal as it had a moment ago. It reminded him of the clinic in Somalia. For an instant he heard the wails of malnourished children, felt the oppressive heat smothering him, sensed the comradeship that blossomed among people fighting impossible odds.

He shook off the memories. That was yet another place he’d failed.

Through the open doorway, he spotted the red blaze of Terry’s hair. She was in the process of confronting an elderly man whose fierce glare should have wilted her. It didn’t seem to be having that effect.

He went toward them quickly, in time to catch a few words.

“…now, Mr. Dixon, you can see perfectly well that we’re not harming your shed in any way.”

“Is there a problem?” Jake stopped beside her.

The glare turned on him. “I suppose you’re that new doctor—the one that’s in charge around here. Taking a man’s property and making a mess of it.”

This was Matthew Dixon, obviously. “I’m Dr. Landsdowne, yes. I understood from Pastor Flanagan that you agreed to the use of your building as a clinic. Isn’t that right?” If the old man objected, that would be a perfect reason to close down the project.

“Oh, agree. Well, I suppose I did. When a man’s minister calls on him and starts talking about what the Lord expects of him, he doesn’t have much choice, does he?”

“If you’ve changed your mind—”

“Who says I’ve changed my mind? I just want to be sure things are done right and proper, that’s all. I want to hear that from the man in charge, not from this chit of a girl.”

He glimpsed the color come up in Terry’s cheeks at that, and he had an absurd desire to defend her.

“Ms. Flanagan is a fully certified paramedic, but if you want to hear it from me, you certainly will. I assure you there won’t be any problems here.”

A car pulled up in a swirl of dust. The man who slid out seemed to take the situation in at a glance, and he sent Jake a look of apology. He was lean and rangy like the elder Dixon, with the same craggy features, but a good forty years younger.

“Dad, you’re not supposed to be out here.” He took Dixon’s arm and tried to turn him toward the car. “Terry and the others have work to do.” He winked at Terry, apparently an old friend. “Let’s get you back to the house.”

Dixon shook off his hand. “I’ll get myself to the house when I’m good and ready. A man’s got a right to see what’s happening on his own property.”

“Yes, but I promised you I’d take care of it, remember? You should be resting.” The son eased the older man to the car and helped him get in, talking softly. Once Dixon was settled, he turned to them.

“Sorry about that. I’m afraid once Dad gets an idea in his head, it’s tough to get it out. I’m Andrew Dixon, by the way. You’d be Dr. Landsdowne. And I know Terry, of course.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “She used to be my best girl.”

Terry wiggled free, but the look she turned on the man was open and friendly—a far cry from the way she looked at him. “Back in kindergarten, I think that was. Good to see you, Andy.”

“Listen, if you have any problems, come to me, not the old man. No point in worrying him.”

“There won’t be any problems.” He hoped.

Andrew smiled and walked quickly toward the driver’s side of the car, as if afraid his father would hop back out if he didn’t hurry.

The elder Dixon rolled down his window. “You make sure everything’s done right,” he bellowed. “Anything else, and I’ll shut you down, that’s what I’ll do.”

Shaking his head, Andrew put the car in gear and pulled out, disappearing quickly down the lane, the dust settling behind the car.

Jake looked down at Terry. There were several things he’d like to say to her. He raised an eyebrow. “So, are you still his best girl?”

Her face crinkled with laughter. “Not since he took my yellow crayon.”

He found himself smiling back, just as involuntarily as he had smiled at her mother. Her green eyes softened, the pink in her cheeks seeming to deepen. She had a dimple at the corner of her mouth that only appeared when her face relaxed in a smile.

These Flanagan women had a way of getting under his guard. Without thinking, he took a step closer to her.

And stopped.

I always told you your emotions would get the best of you. His father’s voice seemed to echo in his ears. Now it’s cost you your career.

Not entirely. He still had a chance. But that chance didn’t include anything as foolish as feeling attraction for anyone, especially not Terry Flanagan.

Terry took an instinctive step back—away from Jake, away from that surge of attraction. Don’t be stupid. Jake doesn’t feel anything. It’s just you, and a remnants of what you once thought you saw in him.

She turned away to hide her confusion, her gaze falling on the trailer Brendan had managed to borrow from one of his parishioners. Bren never hesitated to approach anyone he thought had something to offer for good works.

“Would you like to see the equipment we have so far?” She was relieved to find her voice sounded normal. “It’s stored in the trailer until we can get the building ready.” She started toward the trailer, and he followed without comment.

She was fine. Just because she’d had a juvenile crush on him two years ago, didn’t mean they couldn’t relate as professionals now. After all, half the female staff at the hospital had had a crush on Jake. He’d never noticed any of them, as far as she could tell.

“It’s locked, I hope?”

The question brought her back to the present in a hurry. She pulled the key from her pocket, showing him, and then unlocked the door. “We’ll be very conscious of security, since the building is so isolated.”

He nodded, grasping the door and pulling it open. “About meds, especially. All medications are to be kept in a locked box and picked up at the E.R. when clinic hours start and then returned with a complete drug list at the end of the day.”

Naturally it was a sensible precaution, but didn’t he think she’d figure that out without his telling her? Apparently not.

“This is what I’ve been able to beg or borrow so far. There are a few larger pieces, like desks and a filing cabinet, that we’ll pick up when we’re ready for them.” She pulled the crumpled list from her jeans pocket and handed it to him.

He looked it over, frowning. What was he thinking? His silence made her nervous. Was he about to shut them down because they didn’t have a fully equipped E.R. out here?

“I’m sure it looks primitive in comparison to what you’re used to, but anything is better than what the workers have now.”

“It looks fine,” he said, handing the sheet back to her. “I’ve worked in worse.”

She blinked. “You have?”

He leaned against the back of the trailer, looking down at her with a faint smile. “You sound surprised.”

“Well, I thought—” She blundered to a stop. She could hardly ask him outright what had happened to his promising neurosurgery career.

“I didn’t stay on in Philadelphia.” Emotion clouded the deep blue of his eyes and then was gone. “I spent some time at a medical mission in Somalia.”

She could only gape at him. Jacob Landsdowne III, the golden boy who’d seemed to have the world of medicine at his feet, working at an African mission? None of that fit what she remembered.

“That sounds fascinating.” She managed to keep the surprise out of her voice, but he probably sensed it. “You must have seen a whole different world there—medically, I mean.”

“In every way.” The lines in his face deepened. “The challenges were incredible—heat, disease, sanitation, unstable political situation. And yet people did amazing work there.”

She understood. That was the challenge that made her a paramedic, the challenge of caring for the sick and injured at the moment of crisis.

The emergency is over when you walk on the scene. That was what one of her instructors had drummed into them. No matter how bad it is, you have to make them believe that.

“You did good work there,” she said softly, knowing it had to be true.

“A drop in the bucket, I’m afraid. There’s so much need.” He glanced at her, his eyebrows lifting. “Hardly the sort of job where you’d expect to find me, is it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Yes, well—” They were getting dangerously close to the subject he’d already said he wouldn’t talk about. “Everyone said you were headed straight toward a partnership with your father in neurosurgery.”

“Everyone was wrong.” Tense lines bracketed his mouth. “I found the challenges in Africa far more interesting.”

There was more to it than that. There had to be, but he wouldn’t tell her. How much of his change in direction had been caused by Meredith’s death?

It had changed Terry’s life. She’d given up her bid for independence and come running home to the safety of her family. Had he run, too?

Jake closed the doors and watched while she locked them, then reached out and double-checked.

She bit back a sigh. He couldn’t even trust her to do something as simple as locking a door. How on earth were they going to run this clinic together?