“So what you’re saying here is that I distract you?”

He gave her an innocently sexy grin—one that would have melted her resolve if she’d let it. But she wouldn’t, and she averted her eyes to be safe from the kind of distraction that shocked her…the physical kind, the kind that looked at Sam in a way other than someone to lean on.

“You distract me in more ways than you know,” she whispered. “And I can’t allow that to happen, because I have another priority.”

“I suppose you’re not going to tell me what that is?”

Della shook her head. “No. This is my life and I’ve got to learn to get along in it. You’ll be gone in another couple of weeks anyway. I’m sorry, Sam.”

“So am I, Della. For more reasons than you know, so am I.”

Now that her children have left home, Dianne Drake is finally finding the time to do some of the things she adores—gardening, cooking, reading, shopping for antiques. Her absolute passion in life, however, is adopting abandoned and abused animals. Right now Dianne and her husband Joel have a little menagerie of three dogs and two cats, but that’s always subject to change. A former symphony orchestra member, Dianne now attends the symphony as a spectator several times a months and, when time permits, takes in an occasional football, basketball or hockey game. Dianne loves to hear from readers, so feel free to e-mail her at DianneDrake@earthlink.net

Recent titles by the same author:

EMERGENCY IN ALASKA

THE DOCTOR’S COURAGEOUS BRIDE 24:7 THE SURGEON’S RESCUE MISSION 24:7

Rescued by Marriage

Dianne Drake

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ONE

FOSTER ARMSTRONG slid the offer across the table to Della Riordan with an anxious smile. “It’s the best offer you’re going to get. In my opinion, for the money, it’s quite a bargain.”

He was correct, it probably was. One medical practice, one medical office and one house on rolling acreage. Actually, it was much more than she thought she’d be able to manage, which was why she was still a bit hesitant about this deal. It seemed too good to be true, and she simply didn’t have the money to gamble if that’s how it turned out. This was their future after all—hers and Meghan’s. There was no room in it to make a drastic mistake.

Except for her own little pittance of a nest egg she’d had tucked away when Anthony had died three months ago, Della had very little else to get herself going again. Anthony had seen to that quite handily, which had come as quite a shock. Barely one day after being widowed, Della had learned that her husband had left them virtually penniless with, quite literally, only the clothes on their backs and a handful of personal items. On top of that, he’d acquired more debt than Della had known about, debt she could still barely even comprehend, debt she was going to be forced to make good on. It wasn’t like she was dumb about these things—she’d always balanced the household books and even assisted with the clinic financial records. But Anthony had been deceitful about his spending. He’d been a successful surgeon and an amazing doctor overall. But he’d also been a liar and a cheat, and ev-everything he’d been to Della had merely been an illusion. Smoke and mirrors.

For all their eight years of marriage, Anthony Riordan had been living well beyond his means and hiding every speck of it from his wife. That, and a high-style mistress or two along the way.

“It’s a bargain,” she said tentatively. “And I’m definitely tempted by it.” And the good thing about Redcliffe Island was that it was a thousand miles away from Anthony’s family. But that was the bad thing, too, because they had Meghan in their custody now, and a thousand miles would be such a staggering distance from her daughter. Even thinking about it brought a sharp pang to Della’s heart. The loneliness seeped in so easily these days without Meghan, and she spent most of her time in the very depths of despair over what she’d lost because of Anthony—not the house, not the cars, not the furniture, not the boat. She’d lost Meghan, and for that she would never forgive him. “So let me get this straight. If I agree to the terms, the residents of the island will chip in and subsidize half of the cost? Just like that, they’re going to pay half the fee to buy the medical practice from their former doctor simply to get me there?”

The balding, middle-aged, serious-looking man opposite her smiled. “That’s the offer they’ve made. They haven’t had a resident doctor in years, and they want one, so it looks like they’ll do whatever’s necessary to get one there, including subsidizing half the cost of the medical practice, if that’s what it takes to make the offer look appealing. What else can I say? They have a need and so do you. Perfect match, the way I see it.”

“And it’s only two miles off the mainland? This Redcliffe Island is only two miles away?” The idea of a small island was a little claustrophobic, she thought, but if she could get away to the mainland every now and then, it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Two miles, and many of the people do commute back and forth every day. There’s a regular commuter ferry so it’s not like you’re going to be completely cut off from the world.” He chuckled. “Electricity, running water, indoor plumbing, all the comforts of civilization come included. There’s nothing at all backward about the place.”

At this point in her life, if it was a fresh start that would get Meghan back, backward wouldn’t matter. Della looked at the contract again. This could be the perfect solution. Set up a practice, prove she was a fit mother. “And they do realize I’m only a general practitioner?” She hadn’t gone far enough in her education to have a specialty. After graduating medical school, she’d gone straight to an internship and from there straight into labor and delivery…as the patient, not the doctor. Consequently, she’d had no specialty training, which meant the hospitals didn’t want her. Neither did any clinics because a general practitioner with only public health experience wasn’t exactly in high demand. “No specialty whatsoever.”

“They know your credentials, and you do come highly recommended by your clinic. If the islanders need a specialist, they’ll go to the mainland for one. They’re fine with that arrangement.”

Della sighed. She was very tempted…Still, when it sounded too good to be true, it usually was. Right now, this still sounded much too good to be true. She’d already learned the lesson—Anthony Riordan had been too good to be true the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Now look what she had to show for that! She was practically penniless, nearly homeless, jobless, and her daughter in the custody of Anthony’s parents until she straightened out her life. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

Foster Armstrong smiled patiently. “I’ve been authorized to leave this deal on the table for one day only. Twenty-four hours. After that you’re still welcome to buy the medical practice and all that goes with it, but the subsidies donated by the island will not be part of the deal, I’m sorry to say.”

Della blinked her surprise. “They’re putting me on a timeline?”

He shrugged. “I’m only the agent. That was part of their proposition and I’m not empowered to change the provisions. I expect it’s eagerness, most likely.”

She hoped so, because that rush was an added worry. Of course, affordability was an even bigger worry because without the subsidy she wouldn’t be able to afford the practice, which would put the total package out of her reach. Prior to this she’d looked at a couple other options—small town and rural practices—and couldn’t come close to touching those. The next option would have been to start her own practice from the ground up, but she simply didn’t have the money, not to mention the fact that if she did that there would be no guarantee of patients coming to her. It might take months or years to get a good start. So buying an established practice was the way to go, if she could find one she was able to afford. Which seemed to be the medical practice on Redcliffe Island.

“That’s not a lot of time, especially since if I accept this I’ll be changing my whole life.”

It wasn’t enough time to make arrangements to go take a look at what she might be buying, either. But she’d worked in a public health clinic in Miami, one with practically no facilities, no supplies, and many more patients than were manageable. So how horrible could something on rolling acreage, according to the papers, be compared to that?

“No, it’s not a lot of time, Doctor, but it is a lot of generosity. And there are no strings attached except that you stay for five years. That’s all they’re asking. Five years in exchange for full title of your practice and properties.”

“You don’t happen to have any pictures, do you? Of the house I’ll be getting? Or even the medical office?” The contract stipulated office and all equipment, but it didn’t state what that equipment would be.

He shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t. This listing has only just been handed over to me, and so far I’ve managed this only from my office and haven’t actually been to the property.”

She nodded. Pictures would have been nice, but the view from the kitchen window she was buying wasn’t the essential thing here. What was essential was the ability to walk in and assume the role of physician to an established patient base. Which was exactly what this offer was. Built-in patients, ready and eager for a doctor. “And this practice has been on the market for how long?”

“A rather long time. Two years, I believe.” To make sure, Foster Armstrong put on his half-glasses and searched through the packet of papers he had with him. “Actually, it’s closer to three years,” he said, then cleared his throat. “It’s been listed that long but, according to what I see here, there haven’t been any serious offers. A few looks, a couple of weak considerations, a reneged offer, but nothing gainful. Fred Barnes, the man who handled this matter before I took it over, left a note to the effect that because the practice is relatively small, which will limit the income potential, he believed that was the predominant factor in the lack of interest.” He looked up from the document, staring intently at Della over the tops of his glasses. “But you told me that you don’t require a tremendous financial gain from this venture, only enough to support you and your daughter, and this practice will most certainly do that. Then when you consider that it comes with the house for the two of you, I think it’s a good match for your needs. Especially since you don’t have the means to afford much else.”

Her needs. She had only one. Get Meghan back. The judge had said she had to prove stability in her life if she wanted custody again. Three months ago, she’d had all the stability in the world—a husband, a mansion in Miami, a wonderful job in a public health clinic and Meghan. How much more stable could anyone be? “You said I’m obligated to five years. What happens if I don’t stick it out?”

“You pay the islanders back their share of the investment at the time you sell the practice. No penalties involved.”

“But what happens if they don’t like me and won’t come to me for their medical services?”

“They pay you back for your expenditure, which is an extraordinary clause, and they’ll sell the practice themselves. In all the years I’ve been brokering these deals, I’ve never had one like it. But the island advisory board likes your résumé and I seriously doubt you’re going to have a problem with them not wanting to use your services. In fact, they’re willing to fly you to Massachusetts and take you over to the island as soon as you can get there. Tomorrow, even.”

She wasn’t prepared for that. Wasn’t prepared to say goodbye to Meghan yet. But the sooner she got started, the sooner she would have her daughter back. She hoped. The judge had set six months for a review of Meghan’s custody, and three weeks of that had already ticked off the clock as she explored her options. “I’ll need my car.”

“They’ll provide one until yours can be sent over.”

“And my furniture.” What there was of it. She’d bought a few pieces for that one-room apartment she and Meghan had been living in since Anthony’s death. A bed, a couch, a table.

“They’ll have it shipped.”

“I won’t have a lot of money for start-up expenses in the office.”

“They’ll make you a generous loan, or take care of other arrangements as needed to get you started. And much of the equipment you’ll need is in storage, according to the papers.”

“Other arrangements?”

He nodded. “They’re committed to doing whatever it takes to give you your start. I’m under the impression that their needs are basic and they don’t care about extravagance and image, so as long as you’re a good doctor for them you’re not going to have to worry about a fancy, up-to-date office and the newest medical gadgets on the market. In other words, they’ll help you get the basics you’ll need.”

“That’s good, because I’ll be lucky to manage the basics.” This was getting more and more tempting, and maybe the only reason she was hesitating was that she simply didn’t trust anyone any more. She’d trusted her husband once and he’d betrayed her in more ways than she would have ever guessed he could. Then his parents had betrayed her on top of that. They’d always been gracious and supportive, especially after the funeral, when she’d found out Anthony had left her practically destitute. Of course, while they had been supportive they had also been filing for Meghan’s custody behind her back, using the small amount of money she’d accepted from them to help herself get going again as the proof that she was unable to take proper care of her daughter. Begging for handouts was what the Riordans had officially called it in the court papers. Begging…She hadn’t even wanted the money but she’d accepted it to spare Meghan the rift. Accepted, not asked or begged for!

Her mind wandered to that awful day in court, as it had so many times since then. “She works in a free clinic and doesn’t receive a regular salary,” Vivian Riordan had told the judge. Which was true. She did. But when Anthony had been alive, finances hadn’t been an issue and it hadn’t mattered. At least, she hadn’t thought it did at the time. “And she’s gotten rid of her babysitter so now she takes my granddaughter to work with her in that clinic. It’s no fit place for a child to spend her day, playing among all those sick people.” True in part. She couldn’t afford the babysitter now. She could barely afford their one-room apartment. And, yes, Meghan had gone to work with her, but Della always kept her separated from the patients. It had been the best she could manage under the circumstances and, selfishly, she had enjoyed having more time with her daughter.

Not only had Anthony, and Anthony’s parents, betrayed her, the judge had, too, when he’d taken away her little girl. Somehow she’d never equated her meager lifestyle to being a bad parent, but he had. He’d looked at what had been taken away from Meghan and not what Meghan still had—a mother who cherished her and would do whatever it took to provide for her. Then he’d pronounced Della an unworthy parent and had given her six months in which to make herself worthy again.

So now, after all those betrayals, Della simply didn’t trust. She couldn’t. Which was holding her back from accepting this offer. She’d accepted the Riordans’ generosity and it had cost her Meghan. With this offer now, all she could wonder about was the real cost.

“Twenty-four hours, Dr Riordan. Then the offer is off the table.”

“I understand.” So many things could happen in twenty-four hours. A husband could die. His adulterous affairs could be exposed. The solicitors could give you seventy-two hours in which to vacate your home because it, and everything in it, were going into foreclosure to pay for your husband’s extravagant habits.

Or, in twenty-four hours, the road to a new life could unfold. “I’ll let you know first thing tomorrow morning,” she said.

“I’ll be anxious to hear your decision, Dr Riordan.”

“So will I, Mr Armstrong. So will I.”

Twenty-four hours later

* * *

She’d cried all the way from Miami to Boston. Sniffled off and on, and a couple times broken into out and out sobs. It had got so bad the man sitting in the seat next to her on the airplane had asked the flight attendant for another seat. Then she’d cried at the baggage claim, at the taxi stand and all the way up the coast to Connaught, the tiny little harbor town where she’d caught the boat over to Redcliffe.

Naturally, she’d cried all the way over to Redcliffe, too, and now, as they approached the island, and her face was bloated and red, she was afraid the people there would take one look at her and send her back. But, damn it, she already missed Meghan. She’d missed her even before her last goodbye kiss. And it wasn’t like the Riordans wouldn’t take good care of her. They adored her and they would take very good care. But Meghan wasn’t theirs to care for, and leaving her behind with them was the hardest thing Della had ever done in her life. It hurt far worse than losing her husband had, but by that point in the marital relationship she had been practically void of feelings for him anyway. She would have been totally void of feelings had she known then about all his proclivities and what they would cost her.

She looked out to the dock. About a dozen people were mingling there. “They wouldn’t happen to be waiting there for someone else to arrive, would they?” she asked Cecil, the captain of this boat. He was an older gent, weather-beaten face, bushy beard, genuine smile.

“They’ve been anxious ever since they heard you’d agreed to the offer. It’s not always convenient to go across the water to the doctor, especially when the weather turns bad. Makes a body sicker than it was just to get there and back. So they were mighty glad when you accepted.”

Twenty-two hours ago had been when she’d accepted. She hadn’t taken much time to think it over because it was this or, well, she didn’t know what. Something else would have turned up eventually, but there was no predicting how long eventually would have taken. And six months minus three weeks wasn’t an awfully long time in which to start over and make a go of it. So she’d accepted, spent the evening at Meghan’s kindergarten play then packed up and stepped onto the airplane. “What happened to the last doctor?”

“Went to the big city. New York, I think. I didn’t talk to him myself, but I heard he didn’t like being isolated all the way out there by himself. Not married, no one around…”

“He didn’t live in the village?”

“No, ma’am.”

He said that like she should have already known it, and suddenly she wondered what else Foster Armstrong had failed to mention. Or perhaps hadn’t known to mention.

“Is it awfully far from the village?” Suddenly, she was seeing the village at one end of the island and her house all the way at the other, with nothing but wilderness in between. That was a very sobering thought for a city girl. Sobering and daunting.

Cecil chuckled, and his beard bobbed up and down. “No, ma’am. Nothing on the island is far from the village as long as there’s a good road to take you there.”

“Would there happen to be a good road to take me where I’m going?”

“Nice little road, actually. Used to be well traveled when Doc Bonn lived out there. Even when Docs Beaumont and Weatherby were there. I expect it grew up some over the years.”

“Three years since the last doctor,” she stated.

“More like three and a half, if I recall.”

Curiosity was getting the better of her now. “How long was he here before he left?”

“Don’t rightly remember for sure, but I think five, maybe six…”

“Years?”

He shook his head. “Weeks. Not quite as long as Doc Weatherby. He lasted three…”

“Years?”

“No, ma’am. Months. Three months, give or take a few days.”

“And it took Dr Beaumont all this time to sell his practice?”

“Funny how that turned out, because it took Doc Weatherby almost that long, too. Both times the island finally resorted to pitching in.”

Della looked down at the boat deck to see if her heart had just sunk through the boards, because it sure felt like it did. Then she started to cry again as they chugged slowly into the harbor.

* * *

She wasn’t what he’d expected. Not at all. Somehow, he’d pictured the next doctor on Redcliffe to be a large woman. Stout. Rough and tough. But she was tiny. Barely five feet, blond hair. Delicate. Sam Montgomery stepped back into the crowd awaiting her arrival and watched Dr Della Riordan step off Captain Cecil’s boat and take a good, long look at her surroundings. She wasn’t at all sure of herself, either. And…was that a horrible allergy going on with her? Her face was red and puffy, her eyes swollen, and she was blotting her nose like she belonged in bed, under the covers, vaporizer going, sipping hot chicken and noodle soup. She had to be sick, and other than the fact that she looked like someone who needed an IV and oxygen, she was probably very pretty.

Poor thing. She was about to be mobbed and the doctor in him wanted to do something to help her out of that spot. But the doctor in him was also charged to stand back and simply observe. Then report. He wasn’t to be obtrusive, wasn’t to be particularly helpful. Some involvement was acceptable but not so much that he actually had a say, or a way in how the new doctor would set up her practice. All that because the previous medical practices here had such a spotty history, the medical board was keen to see this one done to proper standards. In other words, it was a test that came about because of prior bad experiences—a protection for the residents who could be too eager to accept a doctor who might not serve their best interests. They did have that history here, taking in a doctor who didn’t suit them.

So, according to the area health commissioner, the only thing Sam was supposed to do was make sure the new doctor set up her clinic to standard. Or provide enough evidence to shut her down if she didn’t. Simple task, and that’s what he did now. No more patient care. All observation and reports. Which made his life quite simple.

But, damn it, the islanders were hoisting this poor doctor up onto a platform and asking her to say a few words, when she looked like she wanted to do anything but that. It was amazing they hadn’t hauled out a brass band for the occasion. And she looked so…he wasn’t sure what. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t even fatigue. Sadness, maybe? “So I suppose I should rescue the doctor in distress,” he muttered, stepping through the nearly fifty people who had now gathered for the welcome.

“I’m glad to be here,” she said to the village mayor as he pumped her hand the way only a six-foot-seven mountain of a man could do.

“And we’re glad to have you here, Doc Riordan,” Mayor Bruce Vargas responded.

“Call me Della.”

“Doc Della,” he said. “The village of Redcliffe is anxious to have you set up and going, and we’re ready to do anything required to help you.”

“Dr Riordan and I have some medical matters to discuss,” Sam Montgomery said, stepping up to the platform. “I hate to break this up and I know everybody’s thrilled to have her here, but before she can start her practice we have some issues to go over about health-care requirements in Massachusetts.” Whatever that meant, since he really was quite far removed from the real medical world now. He looked directly at Della. “I’m Dr Sam Montgomery,” he said, extending his hand to her.

She nodded, and took his hand, but didn’t say a word.

“You look like you could use a cup of coffee.” Or a shot of penicillin and a week in bed.

She nodded. “That would be nice.” But she didn’t smile, and the only word he could think of to describe what he was seeing was heartbreak. Dr Della Riordan was suffering from a broken heart. No wonder she’d been so quick to accept this offer. Why else would anybody want to come to Redcliffe to practice medicine if they weren’t trying to get away from something?

* * *

The tiny bit of the village she saw looked nice enough. The main street was quaint, with its tidy Cape Cod style predominant in the architecture. The people here smiled at each other and exchanged pleasant greetings. The air was pure and crisp. And the ride over on Captain Cecil’s boat hadn’t been bad at all in the salty breeze—what she’d seen of it through the tears. All good signs, but none of them did anything to alleviate her pain. She already missed Meghan so badly she wasn’t sure she could survive the next five minutes away from her, let alone the next five months. But if she turned around now and went right back to Miami with even less than she’d had when she’d left there…No, that wasn’t an alternative. She had to make this situation work, no matter what it was she’d gotten herself into.

“I appreciate the coffee,” she said, sliding into the booth across from Sam as he waved for the waitress. “I’ve had a long twenty-four hours and I think it’s finally catching up with me. This time yesterday I’d barely even heard of Redcliffe Island except for what I’d read in the offer papers, and now I’m a resident here for the next five years. It’s a lot to deal with in the span of a day.”

“One of those strange twists of fate. This time yesterday I’d barely even heard of Redcliffe Island, either. And now everybody here knows my name.”

“They are friendly, aren’t they?” she said, her voice on the edge of a tremble. He seemed nice. Handsome, for sure. Wavy brown hair, dark brown eyes. Fetching build, too. Probably around six feet tall, he cut a handsome figure in his casual jeans and T-shirt, and she especially liked his relaxed smile. She thought about Anthony for a moment. Nothing about him had ever been casual or relaxed. He’d been the epitome of starched and polished perfection and he’d had quite the sharp edge to his beau ideal. She couldn’t recall ever having seen him in a T-shirt and jeans in all their years of marriage, let alone sitting in a cozy, comfortable diner, sipping coffee. No, he had been too upscale for such a thing.

“Would you like something to eat?” Sam offered. “A sandwich, maybe a cup of chowder?”

She shook her head. Truth was, it was easier not to eat. The way she’d felt so much of the time lately, there wasn’t much point since whatever she ate merely turned into a nauseated muddle in the pit her stomach. “So, what, exactly, do you do here? I was led to believe I was the only doctor on the island.”

“Technically, you are. But I’m here from the state health commission, basically to make sure your transition into your new practice is a smooth one. Redcliffe has a peculiar history with its doctors, so I’ll be around for a while to…to assist you where I can, I suppose you could say.”

“What, exactly, is this peculiar history, other than their doctors not staying?”

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head, although she wasn’t about to tell him she’d bought the practice on a whim. A very fast, possibly very foolish whim.

“Like you already know, nobody wants to stay. The people are nice, the island is a veritable Atlantic paradise, but I think the past few doctors have found the island to be a little more off the beaten path than they expected. Quite restrictive, I think. When you hear paradise you think of glamorous, and nothing here is about glamor. Also, the earning potential is not nearly as great as it might be on the mainland, just a few miles away. Personally, I think that’s a huge factor in the reason no one wants to stay. Then there’s the isolation…some people aren’t cut out for it. And it’s quite isolated, as you already know. Which is what surprises me about you coming here…alone. You are alone, aren’t you?”

“For now,” she said, sighing. “And I came here because I want to be off the beaten path.” That much was absolutely true. She wanted to set up her new life without the Riordans’ interference, and interference was a distinct likelihood if she did it under their scrutiny.

“Then you’ve come to the right place because I’m not even sure if there is a beaten path.”

“Speaking of the right place, I’d like to go find it and get myself settled in. Do you know where it is?”

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. “You don’t?”

“I’m not very good at directions.” That was a bit of a hedge, but there was no reason to include him in every little detail of her business transaction. Truth was, buying what she had, sight unseen, might seem a little strange to most people, and what she didn’t want was for word to get around that the new doctor was wonky in such affairs, because that could get back to the judge. So instead of admitting that quite possibly she was wonky, or worse, she merely smiled. “I get myself lost at the end of my driveway and right now I’m not even sure if I go left or right to get there.”

“Then we’ll go pick up your loaner car from the mayor, and you can follow me on out there.”

She wanted to ask how far on out was, but instead she took another sip of coffee. It didn’t matter anyway. However far it was, she owned it, and for the next five years it was going to be her home sweet home. In a little over five months, home sweet home for Meghan, too. That, and nothing else, was what mattered.

CHAPTER TWO

THE loaner car was nice—a compact little SUV. Purple. The mayor explained that it belonged to his daughter who was off to college right now, and Della’s first thought was why would a college girl need a car on Redcliffe Island? Was there anyplace to go here? Of course, she didn’t ask. That would have been impolite. Instead, she accepted the keys graciously and promised to be careful.

“I might stop in to see you later,” Mayor Vargas said, as he rubbed his shoulder. “Got a little touch of arthritis setting in, I’m afraid. Maybe you could take a look.”

Her first patient. This was promising. Here less than an hour and she was about to get busy. “Stop by any time.” She assumed he knew where to stop by, and she would have told him to call for an appointment, but she didn’t know if her phone service was in operation yet. Land-line phone. She’d given up her cellphone right after she’d given up just about everything else that had added an extra bill to her burden. In her old life the cost of it hadn’t mattered; in her new life it did tremendously. “I’ll be glad to have a look at you.” She was tempted to tell him to bring all his friends along for an exam, too, but that would have seemed rather bold of her.

“So, is there anything else we can do to help you get settled in, Doc?” he asked. “I know some of the ladies are going to bring meals to you for a while, until you’re set up on your own.”

“I hadn’t even thought about that,” she admitted. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, that’s the way we operate here. What’s mine is yours…you know how that is.”

She smiled like she did know. But the truth was, all those years she’d been married to Anthony she’d thought what had been his had been hers, too, and that everything in their marriage had been shared. Which hadn’t turned out to be the case. It had all been his, except the debt, and that had become all hers.

“So are we good to go?” Sam asked.

“Do I need a key or something to get into the house or the clinic?” Della asked, suddenly realizing that she had nothing that marked ownership or entitlement to the house or property other than the word of Foster Armstrong, who’d said he would send the papers along once they were registered.

“It’s open,” the mayor said, then bade them goodbye and scurried off to his office.

Della stood on the sidewalk for a moment, simply looking around. She liked it, she thought. It was easy. People were friendly. Strangers waved and smiled, and old men tipped their hats in polite greeting. Maybe being cut off from the mainstream wasn’t such a bad thing. “So you’ve never been here before?” she asked Sam.

Sam shook his head. “I’m new in the job. Got lots of territory to cover, and I haven’t had time before now. Without a doctor on the island, I didn’t have a reason, either.”

“You don’t practice medicine at all?”

“Not for an awfully long time. It ties you to one place, and I don’t like to be tied any more.” He flashed an extraordinarily sexy grin at her. “Been there, done that, moved on to something else. Life’s too short to be stuck with something you don’t want.”

“I like having roots. It’s nice to have the same place to come home to. There’s something comforting in stability.” She realized that more now than she ever had before.

“We all think that at some time, I suppose. I did once, but I was wrong about it…For me it was wrong, anyway. So, why don’t you and that purple car follow me out to your house and we’ll see if we can get you set up to stay before it gets too late.” He glanced around. “Where are your things?”

She pointed to her duffle bag, a suitcase and the hand grip next to it. “That’s it. Pretty much everything I own. I’m having a few things sent up from Miami shortly, but I traveled light.”

He gave her an odd look, one somewhere between concern and shock. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into? Because right now I think maybe we should find you a place at one of the local bed and breakfasts until the rest of your things arrive.”

A bed and breakfast for the night sounded wonderful—a nice cozy room with a comfy mattress, fresh muffins and juice in the morning. The whole esthetic New England appeal suddenly embraced her, but, as much as she would have loved to be pampered in it, she couldn’t afford it. Which was none of Sam’s business. Besides, the sooner she got to her new home, the sooner she would start work on her new life. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “I don’t require much to get by.”

“Apparently you don’t.” He gave her an indifferent shrug, then headed across the street to his SUV—a black one that was about three times the size of hers. “Suit yourself,” he called back, as he hopped inside.

Suit herself…If that had been an option, suiting herself would have included being with Meghan. Being anywhere with Meghan. Thinking about her brought the tears up again and before they started to roll, Della climbed into her purple runabout and fell in behind Sam Montgomery. Why would a man like him avoid the roots when all she wanted in this life was to have them back?

He was trying to get away from something, she decided. Bad experience in the past had him on the run. “Aren’t we all?” she said aloud as the tiny village of Redcliffe, which was the hub of life on Redcliffe Island, turned into a speck in her rear-view mirror.

About a mile down the road, Della followed Sam onto another road, then another and another until she started to wonder if they were caught up in some sort of a maze. They had to be going in circles, and what was more astonishing was that there was simply no sign of life out here. Once Redcliffe was behind her, except for the occasional dot of a cottage along the roadway, civilization seemed to stop. If not for the actual roads, this could have been considered uncharted territory. “So, it seems I’m going to be a country girl.” That was a bit of a concern, since she’d hardly ever been into the rural reaches—not even for a Sunday drive.

But this could be a good thing, couldn’t it? An isolated little place without distractions might be perfect, exactly what the doctor ordered. Besides, the scenery along the way was beautiful. Stunning. On the left a lush, green pasture cascaded over a craggy area and Della saw cows grazing peacefully. Then up ahead there was an orchard of some kind. Apples, perhaps? If they were, maybe she and Meghan could spend a day picking apples and baking pies and tarts, and making apple sauce from them. She was the right age to start helping in the kitchen, Della thought. In Miami they’d either eaten out or brought cooked meals in. No one had used the kitchen except to make coffee or tea or fix an occasional bowl of cereal. Suddenly, Della was excited about what she and Meghan might do together in a nice little kitchen.

No, this wasn’t the city, which was all she knew, but it was nice. Beautiful. Peaceful. In a way, it seemed almost untouched. She and Meghan could be happy here…at least for five years. That thought put a smile on her face as she followed Sam into yet another turn. After a short distance they passed through something that looked like junk or maybe metal statuary lining the road. She twisted to look, and almost collided with Sam’s SUV, which came to a stop on a knoll just past all the litter. Or was it art?

Turning her attention back to what was beyond her windshield, Della saw a house, but it wasn’t hers. It couldn’t be. This one was a dilapidated old Victorian one-story, with peeling white paint and gingerbread decoration dangling off the eaves in some places and completely missing in others. It was weathered and old. A lovely lady in her day, but her day was long gone. The beach beyond her was stunning, though, with its white sand and billowing grasses.

“Why are we stopping?” she called to Sam, who was already out of his car, leaning causally against it. Something in the pit of her stomach already told her she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it said. It’s another of your mistakes, Della. The biggest one of all.

“We’re stopping because this is the end of the road,” he called back.

Another bitter reality hit home. Sticking her head out the window, Della inhaled, filling her lungs with the fresh salt air. It was different from the salt air in Miami—cleaner, maybe. No smell of civilization mixed in with it, and it was a pleasant surprise because it reminded her of trips to the beach with Meghan.

“You’ve changed your mind and decided to stay in a bed and breakfast?” he asked, when she didn’t get out of the SUV immediately.

“No. I’m staying in my house.” Such as it was. Now she understood why Drs Beaumont and Weatherby had pulled out of here so quickly. And the house had had so many more years since then to become even more rundown. If she hadn’t already cried all her tears over missing Meghan, she would have cried a few right here over this mess.

“You’ve never been here, have you?” Sam asked stepping up to her car and leaning through the window.

What was she supposed to tell him? That she was the biggest idiot in the world, the one who would spend the next five years in this hovel? And how was she supposed to practice medicine here? “I’m not put off by hard work,” she said, hoping that sounded sufficiently in control.

“I thought it was a little odd that someone had actually bought this place with the intent of setting up practice here again. But, then, some people are handy. They like to take on projects. Although, since I didn’t see a carpenter’s belt among your possessions, I’m guessing you don’t.”

“Maybe I simply like my solitude.”

“Then it’s a good thing, because you’re going to get plenty of it out here. So, which do you want to see first? Your house or your clinic?”

“You don’t have to show me anything,” she said, trying to sound confident, even though she knew she sounded more defeated than anything. This was all she had now and there was no way she could turn it into something that would win her custody of her daughter. From the plain pumpkin into the beautiful Cinderella coach…she didn’t have the magical wand she needed for the transformation. Sighing, Della shut her eyes to hold in the tears. “I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you for leading me out here. You don’t have to stay.”

“The bed and breakfast where I’ve booked a room has one empty down the hall from me. I’m sure Mrs Hawkins would be glad to have you move in there until…until you can spruce this place up, if that’s what you decide to do with it.”

“Spruce it up?” Della laughed bitterly. Now she had to spruce up her house like she was trying to spruce up her life. Damn Anthony Riordan for getting her into this.

* * *

Sam couldn’t believe it! She hadn’t known. She truly hadn’t known the condition of this place. So what would possess someone to buy this medical practice and everything that went with it sight unseen? Frankly, she didn’t seem like the type. In fact, she seemed quite the opposite—down to earth, steady, sensible. Of course, looks were deceiving, weren’t they? He glanced down at his empty ring finger, empty a year now. There wasn’t even the faint trace of a wedding ring left any more. “Look, Della, we’ve got to do something here. Without prying into why you did it, I do know you bought this practice without ever having been here, and I’m guessing that it was never your intention to take this on as a fixer-upper. Is that much true?”

She nodded, but didn’t speak.

“Maybe whoever you bought it from will refund your money?” Which would have been a pity because he was already looking forward to spending a little time with her.

She shook her head, but still didn’t speak.

“Or perhaps you could take the financial loss and walk away before you invest any more.”

Again she shook her head, and again she didn’t speak.

“You put in everything you had into this venture, didn’t you?”

This time she nodded.

“Maybe it’s a case of fraud. It was misrepresented by the agent who sold it to you and that’s legal ground to get your money back.”

“No,” she whispered. “Not misrepresented.”

Sam sighed. He knew desperation when he saw it, and he was seeing it. More than that, he knew what it would drive a person to do. It hadn’t been so long ago he’d been desperate, too. Which was why he felt so compelled to help her through this, even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to get that involved. In a couple weeks’ time he’d have to deliver yet another blow—he’d have to write the report that would state something to the effect that this place was not suitable for a medical practice. As it existed at this very moment, it was not, and he doubted that Della had the means, let alone the wherewithal, to accomplish the resurrection it would need. Which meant Della would be issued a cease and desist order from the state health commission.

Thinking about doing such a thing to her, even though he didn’t know her, was already giving him a dull headache. Whatever that first blow was—the one that had brought her here looking so sad—it was devastating her, and taking a second blow on top of whatever the first had been seemed inevitable. Regrettable, but inevitable. He didn’t even want to think about the expression on her face if that became the case.

“Why all the junk along the road?” she asked.

“Not junk. Sculpture. I understand it was an artists’ colony years ago. Actually, Dr Bonn, who built this place, was an artist and he opened it up for people to come stay and create. That’s why the medical facility is this far away from the village. It’s an idyllic situation for an artist, not the town doctor.”

“And I’m not an artist.” She sighed wistfully. “So do you think the sheer isolation of it drove the subsequent doctors away?”

“I’m sure that had something to do with it. I think it has a certain appeal for someone who’s newly graduated from medical school and looking for a start. But if you haven’t lived an isolated kind of life before, it’s probably pretty tough.”

“So Dr Bonn, the artist…what happened to him?”

Sam looked up at a seagull flying overhead. It was heading to the water to find its next meal. Such a tough existence, always on the hunt to survive. That, he feared, was about to become Della’s lot. “Someone in the village said he went to Paris to study art. The place ran down after that and nobody stayed long enough to fix it up.” There had probably not been enough time under the health laws, and not enough interest considering the rough condition. Most of all, there was probably not enough potential for wealth. After all, weren’t doctors supposed to be wealthy? According to his ex-wife, they were.

“And all that’s left of the original art colony are those sculptures left behind? The ones on the road?”

“I don’t know. I was out here earlier this morning to have a look, and this is all I’ve seen. The mayor told me there are some other buildings along the shore, old cabins where the artists stayed, but I didn’t go out to have a look.”

“It is amazing how a life can change. He came here to be a doctor and left here an artist. It’s good he found what he really wanted.” She looked over the knoll at the house. “Of course, what we want in life can change as much as life itself does.”

“We all make mistakes, Della, but they don’t have to ruin us.” Empty words, he knew, but he felt like he should say something uplifting even though he wasn’t the one who had got her into this mess. “If you do leave, I can’t imagine that starting over should too difficult.”

“This is my starting over. And you’re wrong. It’s very difficult. I’ve done it a lot lately and I don’t want to do it again. This was supposed to be my last time.”

Was she a lady with a past? If so, it couldn’t have been much of a past since she was still allowed to practice medicine. He’d checked those credentials before she’d arrived and she was good in her licensing. “You know, I’m not sure what’s going on here, and you don’t have to tell me. I’m not the nosey sort who pries, but you’re in a spot I don’t think you can fix and I don’t feel good about leaving you out here alone. So how about we go back to Mrs Hawkins’s bed and breakfast? I’ll pay for a couple of nights until you figure out what you’re going to do next, and that way we can both get a good night’s sleep. If you stay out here, you won’t be getting one, and neither will I for leaving you alone without so much as a pillow.”

“But you were prepared to leave me here when you thought I knew how this place was, weren’t you?”

“That was different. If it was your choice to move in when it’s in this condition, that’s your business. Some people like it rugged. But you didn’t know, and somehow I’m guessing it wouldn’t have been your choice if you had known.”

Instead of answering, Della opened the car door and climbed out. “It is what it is, and it was my choice,” she said, quite dispiritedly. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s no need for it. I’ll just…fix it up. Since I’ll be here all alone, I should have plenty of time for that. You wouldn’t happen to know if I have electricity, or running water or indoor plumbing, would you?”

He doubted it, and he was also beginning to doubt she had common sense since she was refusing to budge from here. “Don’t know. But I suppose that now you’ve convinced yourself to stay, we should have a good look around to make sure it’s fit for living.” Although judging from the condition of the exterior, he doubted that having a look would matter too much. This place was not suitable for patient care and unless Della was some kind of a miracle worker with a hammer and nails, he didn’t see how it ever would be in the short amount of time before his report was due.

Unfortunately, in his mind, the report to shut her down here was already half written. He could do it tonight, then move on to another assignment if that’s what he wanted to do.

But in his heart he couldn’t do it. Not until he absolutely had to.

* * *

Taking a long, discouraging look at the bare bones of her new life, Della shuddered as she walked toward her house. It would have been pretty once. She could almost picture it a hundred years ago, all bright and new, with white wicker furniture on the porch, and ferns and begonias hanging from the ceiling. She could see herself sleeping there with Meghan on hot summer nights, or sitting on a porch swing, sipping lemonade with her in the late afternoon. So many wonderful things that could be if only the porch floor hadn’t rotted a decade ago. But now the ravages of time and salty sea air had taken their toll. The house leaned a little, and the rusty tin roof that sloped down to cover the front porch sagged. All in all, it looked worn out, which was the way she’d felt so often lately.

Suddenly she felt sad for her little cottage on the beach. It had so much more potential than meeting this fate.

Della walked around the structure, spotting the chimney on the side of the house. Running her fingers over the brown stones it was made of, she noticed many of them were chopped away now. Even so, the prospect of a warm, toasty fireplace inside where she and Meghan could spend a long, chilly fall evening together, reading stories and toasting marshmallows, was so appealing that the thought of it nearly melted away all her anxieties. Nearly…because she’d have to have the windows put back in first. They were there, and the tiny, colonial panes made her think they were originals. But they had been removed from the house and were stacked in a pile near the chimney. The openings where they should have been were covered with dirty cracked plastic, as if someone had started a restoration, then stopped all too quickly. The last doctor? she wondered. Had he come here with optimism and ambition only to realize there was so much more to overcome than poor-fitting windows?

The yard was amazing, though. Della turned from the house to have a good look, and even with all the odd, deteriorating art on the way in, it was perfect. A place of hopes and dreams once. There were wispy trees along one stretch of her drive, a grassy knoll extending beyond her house and down the side opposite the tree lines, and out front a beautiful, unspoiled beach. Della sighed wistfully. She’d always wanted to live on a beach in Miami. Begged Anthony for it. Just a little cottage for the three of them where she could look out at the water. Instead, Anthony had bought a large, rambling deco home on a canal that was lined with other large deco homes, and docks jammed in together, board to board, for all the recreational boats that accompanied the houses. Then he’d bought the boat—one practically as large as this cottage—and lined up in that ostentatious weekend queue to take it out and show it off. The whole lifestyle there was so close and stifling, with all that togetherness, she would have happily traded it for breathing room with a view.

This was her breathing room with the view. Only problem was, it wasn’t in the condition she needed. “Since you know my secret, that I bought it sight unseen, would you happen to know where the clinic is?” She was hoping it wasn’t the barn she saw sitting back near the trees.

“It might be the barn. Or one of the guest cottages out there somewhere. But I haven’t seen it.”

“Well, wherever it’s hiding, I hope it’s in better shape than the house.” If it wasn’t it would have to be her first priority. Getting her patients into a fit establishment was more important than her own comfort. At least, until the time came when the judge would have a look at what she’d set up for her life with Meghan.

He smiled. “If it’s got the same view as all this, I can understand why the artists came here. It’s a perfect place to do a painting, or even write a novel, if you’re a writer.”

The last he said with a slight sigh, and she wondered if his heart might be in an art—painting or writing. Maybe even having a go at one of those junkyard sculptures. “With a view like this, I’m afraid the best I can ever do is enjoy a painting of it, or sit and read a book where I can take an occasional glance at it.” Turning her attention to a wild guinea hen strutting off the front porch, Della watched it wander around to the back, stopping occasionally to peck at something in the dirt. Then she shut her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again the house would be something with green shrubs, red and yellow tulips in beds along the walkway, and a picket fence. When she opened them, though, everything was the same. Since, apparently, there wasn’t a miracle to be performed, she wondered what came next.

As it turned out, Della didn’t even have time to ponder that question before a pickup truck honked a greeting and came to a stop next to Sam’s SUV. Immediately, half the town of Redcliffe hopped out. At least, to Della, it looked like half the town. It was actually the Brodsky family bringing all their kiddies for a check-up. Four of them plus Mom and Dad— Nola and Matt—both of whom also expressed the desire for a check-up. “Nothing’s really wrong with any of us, except that Bianca has a little bit of a sore throat,” Nola explained. “But since you’re here, we thought we might as well be the first. And it will be so nice not to have to go to the mainland for this.”

Bianca was two, and besides a sore throat she also had a slight fever, Della discovered when she saw the child’s flushed cheeks.

“Is she cranky?” she asked, reaching over to take the toddler from her mother’s arms.

“Quite. And nothing’s calming her down.”

“Is she eating?”

“Not much. She gets fussy when we try to feed her. Refuses to take it or spits it out when she does.”

“I’m not really set up here to practice yet,” she said, looking at Sam to see if he had a suggestion. He didn’t, and he indicated as much with a vague shrug of his shoulders.

“I haven’t even had time to go inside my…” She hesitated to call it her house, even though it was. Somehow, the image of a competent doctor didn’t fit here, not on this property, not in this house, and as bad as things were, she really did want to get off to a good start. “My, um, building, here. I haven’t unpacked yet.”

“We’ll be glad to wait,” Nola offered. “And I’m sure Matt could take the other three and go play on your beach for a while, if you don’t mind.” The other three were Ryan, aged four, Keith, aged five, and Shawn, aged six. Brave woman!

For a moment, Della wondered how Nola could divide herself in so many ways, having that many young children to tend. At one time she’d thought about a brother or sister for Meghan, but Anthony had said no more children, then to emphasize his objection, had gone off and had a vasectomy. Another one or two besides Meghan would have been nice, though.

“I’ll tell you what. Let me put Bianca down in the back of my car and have a look at her, then I’ll set up appointments for the rest of you when I have things more settled here.” When, or if.

Nola gave her a pleasant smile. “We didn’t mean to impose, but when we heard you were here, we got so excited…It’s hard raising children when there’s not a doctor handy.”

“What about emergency services?” Della asked, as she cradled the toddler in her arms and walked over to her borrowed SUV.

“Helicopter if it’s urgent. Boat if it’s not.” She laughed. “Pray that the weather is good when you have to go.”

What a tough way to live a life, Della thought. Then she remembered this was the way she was going to live her life for the next five years. Apparently, you could either abide it or you couldn’t. The last two doctors couldn’t, and she was sure hoping she’d be the one who could. “Look, while I examine Bianca, why don’t you go wait…” in the waiting room, except she didn’t have one “…on the beach with your husband and sons? I’ll call you over when I’m finished.” She looked out to the beach as Matt and his boys waded out into the surf, hand in hand. It wasn’t the most orthodox of waiting rooms but, on the bright side, it didn’t require hundreds of dollars’ worth of magazine subscriptions for the adults and toys for the children.

“You’re going to treat that baby in the back of your car?” Sam asked, stepping over to observe once Nola had joined her family.

Sighing, Della said, “I have to treat her someplace, don’t I?”

“You should have told them to take her to a hospital on the mainland until you’re set up to practice here. That’s what they’ve always done before.”

Della kicked a piece of driftwood aside and laid Bianca down in the back of the SUV as Mayor Bruce Vargas pulled up in his truck and got out. “Except now that they have a doctor, they don’t have to.” She understood his concern, but he didn’t understand her urgency. This was the first step. It wasn’t a very big one, but it was a very necessary one. One patient at a time and she’d figure it out as she went. “These people know the condition of this place better than I do, and they’re willing to come here to be treated regardless of it, so I’ll find a way to treat them. It wouldn’t be nice of me to turn them away.” Especially since they had a heavy financial investment in her. “So I’ll do the best I can for now.”

She glanced up at the house on the knoll. Somehow, she would have to figure it out. And soon. “So, I have a medical bag in the back seat. Would you mind handing it to me?”

“You’re really going to do this?”

“I’m really going to do this. Then afterwards I’m going to go have a look at the mayor’s shoulder, like he asked, and if I’m lucky, somebody else might come along later.”

“Oh, they’ll come along all right. A doctor is a precious commodity, and they won’t let her go to waste.”

* * *

“She’s teething,” Della explained as she handed Bianca over to her mother. “Her gums are a little swollen and red, and her fever is elevated, but only a little. Nothing to worry about. Does she have diarrhea?” she asked.

Nola nodded. “My other three never went through this when they teethed.”

Meghan had gone through it, too, frightfully so. She had been fussy off and on, and for weeks Anthony had slept in a hotel, claiming the crying kept him awake and he needed to be fresh for his surgeries. It had been a valid point, but in retrospect Della wondered if he’d been having an affair even back then, and using that as an excuse to sleep with someone else. “Some children do, some don’t. Bianca is going to have a bit of a problem with it, I’m afraid.”

“Does she need antibiotics?” Matt Brodsky asked.

“She doesn’t appear to have an infection so, no. Antibiotics can be rough on young children, and taking them can start an immunity, which isn’t good.” Bianca wasn’t congested in either lung, her eyes were bright and responsive, her respirations and pulse normal. Her tummy didn’t hurt, her legs and arms moved normally. And the only time she whimpered was when Della ran a finger over her gums. In her opinion, the course of fewer medications was always the best when it could be managed. “Make sure you keep her off of dairy products for a week. Also, try to keep her quiet as much as you can keep a two-year-old quiet, and think about freezing some fruit juice and letting her suck on it. She’ll love the taste and the cold will feel pleasant against her gums. The fluid will help keep her fever down, too. Just make sure the sharp edges of the frozen cube are rounded off.”

She was good. Sam had to admit she was very good at this, and she had quite a way with the child. A natural. More than that, she loved it. That was so plain on her face, the way her eyes lit up, the way she smiled. For those moments when she’d been examining the little girl, Della had had the look of a woman who wasn’t carrying the weight of so many troubles with her.

“How much do we owe you, Doc?” Matt asked, pulling his wallet from his pocket.

“One beach call?” She thought about it for a moment, then settled on an amount, quickly pocketing the bills when they were offered.

“That wasn’t bad,” she said to Sam as the Brodskys drove off. “And, believe it or not, that’s the first time I’ve ever been paid for my services. Back in Miami, in the clinic, I received a weekly stipend. It’s kind of fun, earning something for myself.”

Such a simple thing, Sam thought. A small amount of money and she was thrilled over it. What kind of life was she coming from? And what in the world was he going to do about helping her in this new life? Helping her without losing his job?

Somehow, he couldn’t fit the two together.

CHAPTER THREE

“WITHOUT tests I can’t tell for sure, but I don’t feel anything out of place—no tumors, no significant swelling,” Della said as Mayor Vargas sat shirtless in the opened back of her SUV while she prodded and twisted his arm. Besides being tall, he had an extraordinary muscle mass, the evidence of a rigid, disciplined workout routine. “You’ve got full range of motion, which is good, and I’m not even feeling any popping, which is good, too. If you had an injury like a torn rotator cuff, you’d be experiencing some limited range.”

“It comes and goes,” he conceded. “Has been for months now, and just when I think it’s bad enough to have it looked at, it gets better and it seems like a waste of time.”

“Both shoulders?” she asked, switching her exam to his left shoulder. Manipulating her fingers along the shoulder line from his neck out to the furthest part of his shoulder, Della kneaded hard enough to assess the muscle, then she worked his entire arm up and down, back and forth, and at last in a wide circle.

“Not usually, but sometimes I get a twinge.”

Next she went in for the final diagnosis and did a deep, pinpointed probe to the joint, one so hard that the mayor flinched. “Hurt a lot?” she asked.

“Like you knew exactly where the worst spot was and dug right in.”

“I did.” Della smiled. “Takes practice, and years of poking and prodding,” she said as she returned to his right shoulder for the same pinpointed probe, which elicited both a flinch and a gasp from him. The mayor actually pulled away from her. “But along with the pain comes a diagnosis and a treatment plan.”

“One that’s good, I hope,” he said, rubbing his sorest shoulder.

Della glanced over at Sam, who was sitting casually on a tree stump. This had been a simple exam, yet he was watching it very intently. Did he want to be back in practice again? On impulse, she asked, “Would you take a look, Sam?” She really didn’t need his opinion. With or without tests, the mayor had bursitis. The symptoms fit, the pain response fit, and to be sure she’d send the mayor over to Connaught for a blood test and X-rays. But something was compelling her to include Sam in this, and she wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe only a hunch that he wanted to be in practice, or a little wistfulness in his eyes.

“Um, sure,” Sam responded quickly, then hurried through the knee-deep grass to the car. “I used to be an internist, so I think I can handle a second opinion.”

He did much the same exam as she had, poking and prodding, and amazingly she caught herself almost transfixed, watching him work. Sam was so intense about it, so serious and methodical. And the wistfulness she’d seen in his eyes earlier turned to…was it passion? He might be a doctor she would trust Meghan’s care to, and that was the highest praise she could give.

“Well, the bad news is…” he started.

Both Mayor Vargas and Della blinked in surprise.

“The bad news is that I’ll never have your build, no matter how hard I work out. How many hours a day do you train?”

“Two, sometimes three. Weights, mostly. Some boxing, a little basketball, swimming.”

“Like I said, that’s the bad news…for me. The good news for you is that I’m going to concur with Dr Riordan’s diagnosis.”

“Which I haven’t made,” she reminded him.

“But you were going to say bursitis, weren’t you?”

“Bursitis?” the mayor asked.

“Bursitis,” she confirmed. “An inflammation of the bursa.” Which he didn’t know about, judging by the puzzled look on his face. “We all have hundreds of bursae throughout our bodies. They decrease the friction between two surfaces that move together, most commonly in areas such as where muscles and tendons glide over your bones. Think about a small plastic bag filled with a little oil. You can rub it between your hands and there’s a smooth glide to it, but if you remove the oil it’s a rather rough rub. Constricted. That’s basically the function of the bursa, to provide that smooth rub, and if it becomes inflamed, it loses its glide. Hence, bursitis.”

“And how did I cause that?”

“Repetitive motion over a long period of time is one way. Or an injury. I’m guessing it’s from your workouts, though.”

“Is it curable?”

“Not curable as much as it’s manageable, but it does have a tendency to flare up from time to time, which means you may have to, at some point, adjust your workout routines to favor your condition. But we’ll deal with that after I see the X-ray report. For now, I want you to massage your shoulder for about fifteen minutes with an ice pack, three or four times a day, and make sure you don’t leave the ice on any spot for more than a few seconds or you can actually get frostbite in your muscle.”

“Instead of an ice pack with regular ice cubes, freeze some water in a paper cup then roll that over your shoulder in a massage,” Sam added. “Feels a lot better than ice cubes.”

Della gave him an appreciative stare. “Voice of experience?”

“I fancied myself as a writer once. Sadly, I was one inflamed bursa away from writing a best-selling novel.” He rubbed his elbow, then grinned. “Struck down in the middle of my prologue.”

“You couldn’t be a writer so you became a doctor? Aren’t you quite the multi-faceted man?” Like the doctor who’d gone off to Paris to be an artist. So where was Sam’s real heart? she wondered briefly. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to the mayor, “take ibuprofen for a week. Go by the recommended dosage on the label, then come back and see me in a couple of days and we’ll take a look at how you’re getting along and figure out what to do from there. Also, by then I’ll have found my prescription pad, and I’ll write you a script for lab work and X-rays.”

Her second appointment for the day now over with, Della received her pay with almost as much glee as she’d received her first. Glancing up at the gray clouds rolling in as she tucked it away in her pocket, she was hoping against hope her roof wasn’t going to leak, because a patch was not the place she wanted her first earnings to go. Most of it would go for the clinic, but a little would buy Meghan a gift.

“Are you sure you’re going to stay here with the storm coming in?” Sam asked. “I’m not sure about the condition of your house. It might leak.”

“It looks like I’ll be finding out in another few minutes,” she said, heading up to the porch.

“Like I said before, I think that agent who sold you this practice should have been more honest about it. There may still be room to get out of the contract.”

She stopped on the first step and looked at Sam. “He was honest. I simply didn’t ask enough questions. And I should have come here first to have a look. But I didn’t so it’s all water under the bridge now.” She glanced upward at the gray sky again, hoping there wasn’t soon to be water in her kitchen, living room and bedroom, too. “Besides, I have real patients now, and it appears my practice has officially opened.” All that was true, but it didn’t make the situation any easier. Still, something could be worked out. It had to. That’s the mindset she had to keep about her. For Meghan, she would make it work, or she’d be forced to return to Miami, contenting herself with a visit from her daughter on alternating weekends and holidays, while Anthony’s parents raised her. With that in mind, there simply wasn’t another choice here. “So, I’ll stay and see how it goes.”

Della reached into her pocket to feel the money folded in there. It was silly of her, but it felt good to be on her own. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, it might have been laughable—the wife of Dr Anthony Riordan going almost giddy over a few dollars. She hoped that wherever he was now, heaven—which she doubted—or hell—which was likely the case—he had a lot more to fret over than money. “Guess it’s time to take a look at the rest of my bad news.” As she said that, a jagged streak of lightning split the sky, followed by an earsplitting roll of thunder. “It just keeps getting better, doesn’t it?”

“We should make a run for it,” Sam urged, grabbing Della’s hand to pull her along with him toward the house, “before we get drenched. These storms pop up out of nowhere like that, and they can be pretty bad.”

Della couldn’t help herself. She yanked herself away from Sam and turned her face to the heavens. As the sky opened up and it began to pour, she stood in the middle of her falling-down-you’d-have-to-be-crazy-to-own-it calamity of a new life and laughed. It was either that or cry, and crying wasn’t going to help her accomplish what she needed to here, because she needed to do so much in so little time.

* * *

Inside, in the kitchen, Sam opened and slammed shut every door and drawer, looking for matches. “You don’t happen to smoke, do you?” he called to Della, who was huddled, soaking wet and shivering, on a stool in front of the unlit fireplace in the living room.

Too dumbfounded to comprehend everything around her, Della stared blankly at the room. It was empty and cold, and pelting raindrops on the roof sounded like gunshots exploding in rapid bursts, over and over. Outside, the dreary, late afternoon sky was turning darker by the minute, and since there was no electricity going, it was as dark inside as it was out.

Overall, it was dismal and Della simply sat in the middle of it, staring into the empty fireplace. “No matches,” she called back. He knew she was trying hard to mask the discouragement in her voice, but he could hear it almost as well as he could hear his supervisor telling him not to get himself involved. But the sadness and near-desperation that slipped into her voice when her guard was down involved him.

“I don’t smoke, but maybe we could use the lighter in the car,” she continued. Adjusting her position on the stool, the floorboards creaked and groaned under the shift. “Want me to go get it?”

“What I want is for you to come to your senses. Go back with me to Mrs Hawkins’s for the night and sort this thing out. You can take a shower, put on dry clothes, eat a fit meal, get a good night’s sleep and have a fresh look at your options in the morning.” She was so vulnerable, and yet so stubborn. He’d known her all of three hours and already he was feeling responsible and protective. Bad for his job, even worse for his personal life.

Once was enough. He’d learned that lesson well enough, and he sure wasn’t willing to put himself through anything like that again. If he were being smart about this, he’d be on his way back to Mrs Hawkins’s right now, to settle in for the evening. Alone! Without Della on his mind.

But it seemed he wasn’t as smart as he’d thought he was, inasmuch as he wasn’t heading out the door. More than that, he wasn’t even thinking about heading out the door. Instead, he was already regretting the cold, hard floor on which he was about to spend the night if he couldn’t convince her to return with him. Della wasn’t about to be convinced, though. Deep down he knew that.

“No need to,” she replied. “The roof doesn’t leak, so I’ll be fine.”

“On the floor, in the dark. That’s not fine, Della.” It was more like insane. “What were you planning, anyway? To come here and find a quaint little seaside cottage all neat and tidy with everything you needed?”

“There’s only one thing I need, and the rest of it doesn’t matter. I’ve got furniture coming in a few days, I think I can be handy with some of the repairs and I’ve got a medical practice to organize. Sleeping on the floor in the dark isn’t important.” She stood up and walked over to the wall, then ran her fingers lightly over its covering. Layer upon layer of peeling wallpaper, highlighted by splotches of yellowed newsprint and dabs of peeling paint here and there. Solid, but ugly. “And I’ll go have the electricity turned on tomorrow morning. So it’s only for one night.”

Sam stepped into the living room, holding up the matches he’d found in the back of one of the kitchen cabinets. “You’re a stubborn woman, aren’t you?”

She smiled. “I prefer to call it optimistic. Although my husband always accused me of being too stubborn for my own good. I think, though, I was too stubborn for his good. He wanted something I was too stubborn to be.”

“Which was?”

She smiled at him. “Anything I wasn’t.”

“Divorced?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Widowed. Going on to four months now.”

That took him off his guard. “I’m…um…I’m sorry, Della,” he murmured, even though he didn’t see much sadness on her face. He looked for it, too, but her expression seemed more relieved than sorry. The sadness he would have expected wasn’t in her voice, either. Her pronouncement that she was a widow had come out as a rather flat statement, much the way he might make the same pronouncement of his divorce— sorry for the circumstance, but not totally consumed by it. So, had Della’s marriage been as bad as his? “Is that why you’re here, to get away from the memories?” Which was why he was there. That, and the fact that Massachusetts was almost as far away from California as you could get—California, where his ex-wife still roosted. That expanse of geography between them didn’t hurt matters, either.

“Trust me, you can get away from a great many things, but the memories are something that will always stay with you. I’m here because I need a new life. It’s as simple as that. Sometimes you have to go back to the beginning and start over to find the place you’re meant to be. That’s what I’m looking for—the place I’m meant to be.”

“And you think you’re meant to be here on Redcliffe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. I’m here, I’ve bought this place and as of this afternoon my new life started. That’s where optimism will help me more than being stubborn. I have a lot to do, and I’m going to have to look on the bright side in order to do it.” She flicked off a piece of brittle wallpaper and watched it flutter to the bare wood floor. “Stubborn’s what’ll keep me going, though.”

Maybe befriending a new widow put a little more of a noble spin on his need to help her, but somehow Della didn’t seem like a typical widow in mourning. She was mourning something, though, and it should have been her husband, but to Sam it seemed like there was more to it. Was there something deeper than the loss of a husband? “I suppose there’s potential here,” he said as he crossed over to the fireplace to start a fire. “You’ve got a sound structure, and that’s always the best place to start. It’s worthy of some optimism, too, because without it you do start from the beginning. With it, the course of what’s to come is already outlined.” He was starting again without that structure. The course of what was to come with him wasn’t anywhere close to being plotted on an outline.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.