Rivals Of The Heart

A new job in Paradise, Colorado, seems like the perfect fresh start for Dr. Ben Rogers. Only problem is, Dr. Sara Elliot has been counting on getting the same job. Once they negotiate a shared trial run, Ben expects working with Sara to be less than pleasant. Instead, he finds himself drawn to her. She’s dedicated and compassionate, exactly the type of woman he used to want—when family was an option. Yet Ben is surprised to learn that Sara’s life is just as emotionally complicated as his own. And if there isn’t room for both of them at work, how can they make room for each other in their hearts?

How many medical positions could there be in a community this size?

Though Ben didn’t want to ask, he had to. “What position, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Clinical Director of the Community Outreach Clinic. It’s a new program,” Sara explained. “They’re trying to reach the outlying, underserved rural population and seasonal workers and their families.” Excitement lit her eyes as she spoke.

Ben nodded. Oh, he was well versed in the vision for the new clinic, all right. Sara’s enthusiasm was well-placed. The entire project stirred a professional anticipation and energy he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“I’ve been waiting years for this clinic to become a reality,” she said.

The earnestness in her voice brought his own doubts tumbling out. Hadn’t the Lord led him to Paradise and this job?

Ben met her gaze head-on. “Um, Sara. There’s something you ought to know.”

She cocked her head in question. “What’s that?”

“I’m in Paradise interviewing for the same position.”

TINA RADCLIFFE

has been dreaming and scribbling for years. Originally from Western New York, she left home for a tour of duty with the Army Security Agency stationed in Augsburg, Germany, and ended up in Tulsa, Oklahoma. While living in Tulsa she spent ten years as a certified oncology R.N. A former library cataloger, she now works for a large mail-order pharmacy. Tina currently resides in the foothills of Colorado, where she writes heartwarming romance. You can reach her at www.tinaradcliffe.com.

Mending the

Doctor’s Heart

Tina Radcliffe

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

—Proverbs 3:5,6

Once upon a time I was blessed to work as an Oncology Certified R.N. in Tulsa, Oklahoma, at Camelot, also known as the City of Faith Hospital. This book is dedicated to all the wonderful, Christian nurses, doctors, aides, techs

and support staff who saved lives and shared

the Gospel during their shifts.

To Sharon Medley, thank you for reading

my first chapters and giving me your honest feedback. As always, thank you to my husband, Tom, who never tires of the signs on my office door telling him ‘Do Not Disturb, Writing In Progress.’ Of course it takes a village; in my case that village is called Seekerville: Mary, Ruthy, Debby, Julie, Sandra, Missy, Audra, Janet, Cara, Myra,

Pam and Glynna. Thank you, sisters in the Lord,

for your support.

Many thanks to my editor, Rachel Burkot,

who blesses me with her discerning editorial eye and her cheerful heart, and who makes me

a better writer. A final thank-you to my

supportive agent Meredith Bernstein,

who always makes me feel like a champion.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

W elcome to Paradise.

Ben Rogers stared at the glossy white sign posted in front of a row of tall Colorado conifers.

Paradise? Doubtful.

Salvation? Possibly.

He shook his head and chuckled.

At least he still had a sense of humor. That was pretty much all he’d taken with him from Denver, besides his leather medical bag and whatever fit in his Land Rover. His future lay beyond the welcome sign that boasted a population of seventeen hundred.

Ben guided his vehicle around an enormous pothole and straight into the heart of the small mountain town. Paradise, Colorado, was nestled in the San Luis Valley, with the Sangre De Cristo Mountains to the north and the San Juan Mountains to the west. At eight thousand feet, the elevation of Paradise was even higher than Denver’s fifty-two eighty.

The mountains provided a picturesque backdrop for the shops that lined the main thoroughfare and the sidewalks dotted with wrought-iron benches and masses of bright summer flowers that overflowed sidewalk pots.

Carolyn would have loved Paradise.

Ben winced, then rubbed a hand across his face. Six months had passed since he’d lost her, but he continued to see the world through his little sister’s eyes.

His stomach growled, offering a distraction. After a four-hour drive he was starving. A glance at the clock on the dash confirmed there was just enough time to grab something to eat before he retrieved the key to his rental cabin and headed to an appointment with his new boss, the medical director of the Paradise Community Hospital. He pulled into an open parking spot along the curb and glanced around.

Would it be The Prospector restaurant, or Patti Jo’s Café and Bakery? Ben stepped out of the Land Rover and inhaled.

Cinnamon rolls?

The tantalizing aromas of butter, cinnamon and vanilla lured him to a quaint shop with etched-glass windows.

Oh, yeah. Patti Jo’s won, hands down.

Tinkling bells sounded as he opened the bright crimson door. Before him, customers patiently stood in line at the single cash register, most perusing the glass cases filled with pastries as they waited. Ben scanned the small room, noting that every single bistro table and red leather booth was occupied.

Waiting wasn’t his strong suit. Maybe he’d try the restaurant instead.

He turned to leave just as an elderly man seated at a table to his far left began to cough. Mere moments later, the man stood and clutched his throat before he stumbled back from the table. The coughing stopped, and his face took on a blue tinge.

Without thinking, adrenaline surging, Ben pushed forward through the customers.

But not soon enough.

The man crumpled, striking his head on the table edge as he spiraled down to the floor. Ben reached him and automatically slid his fingers along the victim’s neck.

Pulse still strong. Thank You, God.

He placed his ear to the man’s chest.

Air movement negligent.

Tilting the man’s head, Ben searched his mouth for an obstruction. None evident. Yet something had occluded his airway.

“Everyone step back.” Ben turned to a waitress and nodded toward the silver-haired woman who hovered close. “Can you help her to a chair?”

He made purposeful eye contact with the cashier, a young girl whose face was pale, her eyes rounded.

“What’s your name?” Ben asked, while quickly positioning himself behind the barely conscious man.

“Susan.”

The girl’s frantic glances darted back and forth from the man on the floor and then to him again.

“Susan, look at me,” he commanded. “I need you to call 9-1-1. Right now. Okay?”

She nodded and pulled a cell phone from her smock pocket.

Arms around the fallen man’s waist, Ben gave a practiced abdominal thrust. Once. Twice. Three times. The air pressure action caused something to dislodge and shoot from the man’s mouth into the air. A sharp sucking inhalation filled the now-silent room before the man coughed, and then began normal respirations.

“That’s it,” he encouraged. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

A collective sound of relief fluttered through the small crowd.

Ben’s own breathing slowed now that the crisis was over. For a moment he simply rested on his haunches, stunned with the realization that he’d just responded to an emergency like his old self. There’d been zero time for second thoughts, self-doubting or the crippling panic attacks.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

Thank You, Lord. Thank You.

Easing the elderly man away from him, Ben began a quick inspection of his head, parting the gray hairs where blood oozed from a scalp wound.

“I’ve got gauze for that laceration.”

Ben turned, his gaze slamming into the clear green eyes of a petite dark-haired woman, about his age. She reached a latex-gloved hand forward and applied pressure to the victim’s head.

“Thanks,” Ben murmured, grateful for the assist.

After a minute, the woman lifted the corner of the now blood-saturated gauze.

He peered at the site. “Not too bad.”

“Nothing a couple sutures won’t fix,” she said.

Surprised, Ben glanced over his shoulder and gave a nod of agreement at her words. Her confident demeanor said she obviously had a medical background.

Before he could consider that further, the siren of an emergency vehicle echoed. The sound became louder and louder until two paramedics burst through the door of the shop.

As they strode toward him, Ben carefully rose to transfer the care of the victim for a complete evaluation.

“Choking incident. Resolved with Heimlich.” Ben addressed the uniformed medics. “Minor scalp laceration, approximately one-eighth centimeter, secondary to head trauma.”

He turned away, relieved that everyone’s attention was on the victim, which allowed him to slip to the front door.

As he turned away, the elderly woman who’d been with the fallen man grabbed Ben’s arm.

“Thank you, son,” she said. “You saved my husband’s life.” Her soft eyes overflowed with emotion as they met his.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.”

Head bowed, Ben collected himself. He’d doubted himself for so long; the simple thank you touched a place inside that desperately needed affirmation. Maybe God could still use him.

When he looked up, his eyes met the familiar gaze of the woman who’d assisted him. She pulled hand sanitizer from a first-aid kit that now sat on the café table and squeezed some liquid into her palm before handing the bottle to him.

“Here you go, Doc.”

“Thanks. How’d you know I’m a doctor?”

“Would you believe it takes one to know one?” Amusement skittered across her face.

“Really?” Ben smiled. As he cleaned his hands, he noted with interest her red-plaid Western shirt, well-worn and snug jeans and scuffed cowboy boots. A doctor, huh?

“I’m Sara Elliott. Dr. Sara Elliott.”

“Ben Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

He couldn’t resist a further assessment, from the sprinkling of light freckles that dusted her small nose to the teasing smile that touched her lips and reached her eyes. There was something about the pint-sized beauty that sharpened his senses.

“Nice job with Orvis.”

“Orvis?”

“Orvis Carter. His daughter-in-law owns this café.”

Ben nodded as he digested the information. When his gaze met Sara’s and held for a long moment, he was surprised at the connection between them. Or had he imagined it?

Flustered, Sara Elliott pushed a thick, dark braid over her shoulder and shoved a few loose tendrils of hair back from her face. No, she seemed as taken off guard as he was.

The slight tilting of her head revealed a long, thin scar running from her temple to her ear, parallel with her hairline. It was obvious from the silvery shade and flattened texture that it was years old.

Curious.

Ben looked away, then slid his phone from his pocket, grimacing when he saw the time. “I hate to Heimlich and run, but I’ve got to be somewhere.”

He pushed open the door of the shop and moved the conversation past the still-lingering crowd and the paramedics who were finishing up, out to the sidewalk.

“No problem.” She followed him outside. “I’m sure we’ll meet again. Paradise is a small town.”

“Do you live here?”

“I grew up in Paradise.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned closer, her voice conspiratorial. “But the truth is, I’m here about a job.”

“Oh?” Ben froze, his mind calculating. How many medical positions could there be in a community this size? He’d done his homework. Paradise Hospital itself only had four physicians on staff, and there were a handful of family-practice physicians scattered throughout the valley.

Though he didn’t want to ask, he had to. “What position, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Clinical Director of the Community Outreach Clinic.”

This time his brows shot up. If Sara took the response as confusion, she was right.

Almost.

“It’s a new program,” she explained. “They’re trying to reach the outlying, underserved rural population and seasonal workers and their families.” Excitement lit her eyes as she spoke. “There’s also a plan for a clinic team to assist during severe weather emergencies that can hit the valley and the foothills.”

Ben nodded. Oh, he was well versed in the goals, the budget and the vision for the new clinic, all right. Yeah, Sara’s enthusiasm was well placed. The entire project stirred a professional anticipation and energy he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“I’ve been waiting years for this clinic to become a reality,” she said.

The earnestness in her voice brought his own doubts tumbling out. Hadn’t the Lord led him to Paradise and this job?

Ben met her gaze head-on. “Um, Sara. There’s something you ought to know.”

She cocked her head in question. “What’s that?”

“I’m in Paradise interviewing for the same position.”

* * *

Sara opened her mouth then closed it. Not really?

She looked at Ben. His chocolate-brown eyes were unwavering, and the expression on his face said he was very serious.

That didn’t make sense. The director position had been all but given to her.

She glanced at the tall, lean man in front of her again, scrutinizing his reserved expression, doing her best to ignore his appeal in the expensive black polo shirt and crisp tan chinos.

“Awkward,” Ben murmured. He ran a hand through his well-kept dark hair and shook his head.

“I’ll say.” His discomfort only matched her own. “So, you’re meeting with the medical director today?” she asked.

“A Dr. Rhoades? Yeah.” Once again he glanced at his phone. “I’ve really got to get going. Been on the road for hours. I need a quick shower and change of clothes.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I’ve rented a place.”

Sara blinked. “Already?”

He shrugged. “Obviously there was some miscommunication.”

“You’ve quit your job, as well?”

“No, I’ve been on a...sabbatical.”

Was that a flash of pain she saw in his eyes before he looked away? There was obviously a story to be told. One he wasn’t going to share with a stranger.

“And you?” he asked. “You said you grew up here.”

“I did, but I live in Boulder. I’ve been back for several weeks now. My father had a cardiac incident.”

Ben furrowed his brows. “I’m sorry to hear that. He’s okay?”

“What he is is stubborn.” Sara shook her head. “My reason for moving back to Paradise.”

He took a step toward the curb. “That’s admirable.”

“Hardly, but let’s not even go there.” Sara waved a hand in the air. “Besides, you have to get going.”

His eyes widened a fraction, but she ignored the question on his face.

“What time is your appointment?” she asked.

“Two.” He pulled car keys from his pocket.

“I’m meeting with him at three.”

“I see. Well, ah, good luck, then.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

Ben seemed to hesitate, glancing down at the sidewalk, then up before he spoke again. “Sara.”

The pleasant sound of her name on his lips surprised her. “Yes?” she asked as their gazes connected.

“No matter how it turns out, it was nice to have met you.”

She paused at the words, her response a breathless, “Thank you.”

With a crooked smile, he turned away.

Sara followed his easy gait as he walked down the street.

Oh, no, no. This was not good.

She shook her head. They’d just met, and not only had Ben Rogers disturbed her plans for the future, but he was disturbing her peace of mind, as well.

She pulled her cell from her back pocket and punched speed dial. “Is Dr. Rhoades available? This is Sara Elliott calling.”

A long minute later she heard a familiar voice.

“Sara, what can I do for you?”

“Uncle Henry, what’s going on?” She tucked the phone beneath her ear and shoulder while she unlocked her ancient Jeep and yanked open the recalcitrant door on the driver’s side.

“You’ll have to be more specific, my dear.”

She slid into the vehicle. “I just met Ben Rogers. Dr. Ben Rogers.”

Henry Rhoades’s voice perked up. “Ah, yes, and what did you think?”

“Think? We’ll he’s a little stuffy, but I’m willing to overlook that since he just saved Orvis Carter’s life at Patti Jo’s.”

“Orvis? At the café, you say? Most commendable.”

“Yes. It certainly is.” Sara put the key into the ignition and hit the window button, allowing the summer breeze to cool her skin. “The thing is, Uncle Henry, Ben Rogers says he’s here about the clinic director job.”

The line was quiet before her uncle cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I’ll sort it all out.”

“Sort it out? Uncle Henry, you never even told me there was another candidate.” She released a frustrated breath. “Be straight with me. Is my father involved in this?”

“Your father has made a substantial donation to the clinic building project, if that’s what you mean.”

“I mean, did my father make you offer me the position?” She paused, confused. “And how did my father get involved in funding the clinic?”

“You know, Sara, the entire situation is rather complicated.”

She groaned and leaned back against the headrest. “Oh, Uncle Henry.”

“Now, Sara, you’re getting all worked up for nothing. The fact is, the clinic was in dire need of funds for the final phase, and I went to your father for assistance.”

“And he said yes? But that doesn’t make sense. He’s always been adamantly against me becoming a physician, always blaming Mom’s medical career for the accident. Why would he agree to have anything to do with the clinic project?”

“He didn’t. At first.”

Sara released a soft gasp. “Until his heart attack.”

Again the silence stretched before her uncle finally spoke.

“Try to understand, Sara. The last two years since you’ve been gone have been very difficult for your father. He’s paid penance for his sins. I believe he’s willing to do anything to keep his daughter in Paradise.”

“What you mean is, he tried to buy me a husband and that didn’t work, so now he’s buying me a career.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. Things are not exactly what you think.”

She slapped the steering wheel with an open palm. The truth was, things were exactly as she thought. Sara bit her lip. There was no point taking out her frustration on her uncle. Hollis Elliott had struck again. No doubt her uncle was between a rock and a hard place.

“I should withdraw my application.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll be evaluated on your merit, you know that. If I had realized you were seriously contemplating a permanent move back to Paradise, I would have told you about the position straight away, instead of waiting for Hollis to make the suggestion. But considering your departure...”

“I know. I know.” Sara closed her eyes. “You don’t have to say it. I let you down last time, and I’m sorry.”

Henry Rhoades continued, “I have Dr. Rogers scheduled for 2 p.m. Why don’t you come by shortly after that?”

“What are you up to?”

“Why, nothing. No worries, dear.”

No worries? Well, she was worried. Very worried, because the last time her father had interfered in her life she’d lost everything, and she wasn’t ready for that to happen again.

The Lord had led her back to Paradise; she could only pray He would give her the courage to stay this time.

Chapter Two

Ben cranked up the air-conditioning in the Land Rover to subzero and leaned back against the leather seat as he stared at the cluster of buildings that made up the medical quadrant. He wiped his palms on his dark slacks and took a deep breath. Dr. Rhoades’s office was in the administrative building adjacent to the hospital. Not actually in the hospital at all.

I can do this.

Sure he could. Because otherwise, how was he going to explain that he was a highly credentialed internist with hospital phobia?

Ben adjusted his tie and slid out of the vehicle. He was a professional, and this wasn’t rational. Yeah, he knew that in his heart as well as his head, but the anxiety attacks didn’t pay much attention to rationale.

Focused, he walked up the covered walkway, into the lobby and the elevator and pushed the button.

Elevators. Why couldn’t he get sweaty palms and heart palpitations when he entered closed spaces? Claustrophobia was acceptable. Nosocomephobia, the fear of hospitals? Not so much.

A blonde receptionist in a floating ivory dress smiled and took his name.

“Dr. Rhoades will see you shortly. Make yourself at home. Oh, and Dr. Rogers, welcome to Paradise.”

“Ah, thank you.” So why did he suddenly feel like he was waiting for admission to the Pearly Gates?

The urge to bolt welled up inside of him. Tamping down anxiety, Ben rubbed the back of his neck as he paced back and forth, inspecting the framed photos of the hospital staff on the white walls.

He knew when he applied for the position that this day would come. But was he ready? Actually getting the job seemed as terrifying as the possibility of being turned down.

“Dr. Rogers, you may go in now.”

Ben swallowed hard and adjusted his tie one last time before crossing the threshold to Medical Director Dr. Henry Rhoades’s sanctum. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched along the far side of the room, ushering in streams of sunlight and offering an unobstructed view of the mountain peaks in the distance. Distracted by the scenery, Ben was taken by surprise when a robust silver-haired gentleman in a wheelchair stopped in front of him.

Dr. Rhoades?

The man in the chair wore a crisp blue shirt with the sleeves haphazardly shoved up to reveal muscular forearms. His striped navy tie was slightly askew.

“Dr. Rogers.” He struck out a hand. “Delighted to finally meet you.”

Henry Rhoades’s grin lit up his round face. The man’s smile and the bright green eyes behind his wire-rimmed spectacles seemed somewhat familiar, but Ben couldn’t quite place why.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“I heard about your heroics at the café. Well done.”

“Hardly heroics, sir. Dislodged a chocolate-chunk cookie. The Friday special, I understand.”

Dr. Rhoades chuckled. “None the less, it only reaffirms your curriculum vitae. Exemplary.”

“Thank you.”

“You met Dr. Elliott, as well.”

Ben frowned, confused. How could the man possibly know he’d met Sara Elliott less than two hours ago?

Henry Rhoades wheeled himself behind the large oak desk with practiced ease and picked up a file. “Please have a seat. Relax.”

Following instructions, Ben did his best imitation of relaxing. “Yes, we did meet, and I have to admit that after talking to her, I’m a little confused. My last conversation with you indicated the final interview was, well...”

“A formality.”

“Yes, sir.”

“At the time I spoke to you, that’s exactly what it was, and as I said, your credentials are excellent. You were my first choice.”

Were?

“But I’ll get to that in a moment.” Dr. Rhoades glanced down at the now open folder on his desk. “Tell me about this sabbatical you’ve been on.”

Ben took a calming breath. “My sister died six months ago. I needed a break.”

“Your sister.” Henry Rhoades paused, taken aback for a moment. “My condolences.”

When the older man narrowed his eyes and stared at him, Ben realized he was seeing far too much. He glanced away from the perceptive gaze and instead watched the play of dappled light that streamed in through the window, its prism bending as it reached out and landed on a silver picture frame on the desk. The picture was of a young child and a woman laughing.

Dr. Rhoades cleared his throat and continued. “Loss is never easy. Are you sure you’re ready to get back to work?”

“Sir, I’m committed to giving you one hundred percent.”

“Fair enough.”

For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of a large antique clock on a bookshelf.

“Well now, let’s get to the point. Dr. Elliott’s father has become the benefactor for the new clinic. The project seemed stalled in perpetuity—until he stepped in.”

Sara Elliott’s father? Ben tried to wrap his mind around that bomb of information.

“I see.” What did he see? That his chance at redemption was being cancelled out by a bankroll? The gates to Paradise were closing fast, and he’d barely gotten his foot inside. He had to do something.

“The timing of this has me puzzled,” Ben admitted.

“Understandable. I apologize for that.” Dr. Rhoades removed his glasses, wiped a spot from the lens with his tie, and then slid them back on the bridge of his nose. “Hollis Elliott suffered a cardiac arrest less than a month ago. When Sara returned home, naturally her father saw a window of opportunity for his only child to remain in Paradise. Unfortunately it was only a few days ago that he notified me of his wishes, and by then the candidates for the position had already been narrowed down to you.”

Ben took a deep breath. So where did that leave him in the equation? One plus one was still two as far as he could tell, and there was only a single open position.

Henry Rhoades frowned for moment. “I trust you will keep what I’m about to say confidential.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ve been the medical director here in Paradise for over twenty-five years. One thing I have learned is that sometimes it’s better to proceed and apologize later than ask permission.” He winked, and once again Ben couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen that mischievous glimmer before.

“Sir?”

“Stay with me for a moment. I do eventually arrive at my destination.”

Ben nodded, amused and concerned at the same time. This was like no other job interview he could remember. Physician interviews were generally so starched, he could barely breathe. Yet Dr. Henry Rhoades was about as laid-back as they come, leaving Ben struggling to figure the man out, much less where the convoluted conversation would lead.

“Bequeaths and donations go directly to the hospital foundation, which is overseen by the Board of Trustees. The clinic is under that same board, so I have gone to them for assistance in resolving this situation. While Hollis Elliott’s generous funding has made the last phase of the clinic project possible, I am not without options.”

The phone on his desk buzzed.

“Excuse me.” He picked up the receiver. “Yes. Thank you. Send her in.”

The door opened, and Sara Elliott walked into the room.

Sara had changed clothes and now wore a simple yet elegant navy dress, her long hair free and flowing. This was quite a transformation from the cowgirl he’d met earlier.

Surprised, Ben caught his breath before he immediately stood. And stumbled.

Way to go, Rogers. Grace under pressure.

“Are you all right?” she murmured.

“Yeah. The carpet tripped me.” He adjusted his suit coat and cleared his throat.

A soft laugh tumbled from her lips. “Happens to me all the time.”

“Sara, my dear.” Henry Rhoades smiled. “You’ve met Dr. Rogers.”

“I have.”

Ben paused and cocked his head at the warm tone in Dr. Rhoades’s conversation with Sara. A warning bell sounded somewhere, but he dismissed it. After all, Paradise was a small town, and her father was, after all, the financier behind the clinic.

“I had the opportunity to see Dr. Rogers in action today,” she continued.

“Yes, and no doubt he will be on the front page of the Paradise Observer,” Dr. Rhoades said with a nod toward him.

Sara smiled as her gaze met Ben’s. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Ben blinked. Surely they weren’t serious.

Once Sara had settled in the leather Windsor wing chair next to his, Ben sat down again.

Henry Rhoades steepled his fingers and assessed them both over the rim of his glasses. “Now then, the matter at hand is the clinic position. What I’m proposing is that you work together this summer.”

Sara’s eyes widened as she looked from Dr. Rhoades to him. “Together?” She slowly repeated the word that had lodged in Ben’s own throat.

From directing a clinic to job sharing in less than thirty minutes.

“Yes,” Dr. Rhoades answered. “I’ve spoken to the board, and they are willing to subsidize two doctors through the first of September. At that time we’ll assess our options.”

“That’s a little over eight weeks from now. Are you saying we’re going to share the position for the entire eight weeks?” Sara asked, her tone incredulous.

“Since the clinic officially opens late September, there’s more than enough work to keep you both busy. Interviewing medical staff. Ordering supplies. Then there’s accreditation. I can assure you the time will pass very quickly.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “A lot can happen in eight weeks.”

“Precisely,” Dr. Rhoades responded with an enthusiastic wag of his index finger. “Think of this as a personal and professional due diligence. Paradise needs someone who’s ready to commit to a future here.”

Pink now tinged Sara’s high cheekbones. She grimaced and clasped her hands tightly in her lap.

“Eight weeks is plenty of opportunity to discover whether Paradise is a good fit for you and if you’re a good fit for Paradise, wouldn’t you say, Dr. Rogers?”

Confused at the subtle undercurrent, Ben slowly looked from Sara to Henry Rhoades before clearing his throat and agreeing. “Yes, sir.”

What else could he say? Paradise was slipping through his fingers, and he couldn’t...no, he flat-out refused to allow that to happen.

“Excellent.” Dr. Rhoades closed the folder on his desk. “You’re scheduled for Human Resources processing Monday, and then I’ll see you at the clinic on Tuesday. Dress casually. While the construction is basically complete, there is still quite a bit of dust and dirt.”

Ben nodded, but his head continued to spin as he stood. What had just happened? This wasn’t the outcome he’d hoped for, packed up his belongings and driven hours for.

“Have you eaten?” the older man asked.

“Sir?”

“Have you eaten?”

“Almost,” Ben responded.

“Almost?” Dr. Rhoades raised a bushy brow.

“I was headed to Patti Jo’s and never quite made it to a table.”

“Sara, take Dr. Rogers to The Prospector.”

Sara nodded, but didn’t appear any more enthused than he felt at the moment.

“I don’t want to impose,” Ben interjected.

“Nonsense. I’d take you myself, but I’ve got a previous commitment. Besides, you two should get to know each other since you’ll be working very closely together for eight weeks.”

Eight weeks.

Was that enough time to convince Henry Rhoades that he was the right person for the job?

Ben wanted the position more than ever. His troubled spirit had been soothed the moment he drove into the small town. Now he just had to make sure he got what he wanted.

* * *

Sara bit her lip and glanced quickly at Ben once they were seated. “I’m really sorry about this. I never expected that we’d be...” She paused, at a loss for words.

Ben shrugged. “Not exactly what I expected either, but hardly your fault.”

She fiddled with her napkin, grateful when their waitress approached them and slid a stoneware bowl of homemade pickles on the polished pine table.

“What do you recommend?” Ben asked, turning over the menu.

“The valley is known for their beef and bison.” Sara placed an order for a bison burger and handed her menu to the server.

“I’ll have the same thing,” he said.

She looked around at the rustic décor as if seeing it for the first time before meeting Ben’s eyes.

He gave a tight-lipped smile but said nothing.

“So you went to school in Colorado?” Sara asked, eager to ease the palpable tension between them.

“University of Colorado,” Ben said. “You?”

“Baylor.”

“Baylor?” He gave a thoughtful, self-satisfied nod, the implication clear.

Money. That was laughable.

Did he think she was a trust-fund baby? If only. No, she’d financed her education all by herself. At this point, the huge debt from medical school and residency was a tidy sum, the balance of which could probably cover the purchase of a small island in the Caribbean.

“Baylor is sort of a family tradition,” she murmured.

When Ben gave her yet another stiff nod, she put a smile on her face, determined to be polite, at least until the meal was over. She bit into a crisp, sweet pickle and concentrated on the burst of flavor instead of the man in front of her.

“Your father is a physician?” he asked.

“My father is a rancher,” Sara said.

“Ah, local beef.” He pinned her with his gaze. “How’d you end up in medicine?”

She slowly wiped her lips with her napkin. “My mother was a pediatrician.”

“Was?”

“I lost her when I was very young.”

Ben’s eyes clouded with concern, and he glanced away. “I’m...I’m very sorry.” The subtle antagonism in his voice vanished.

“Thank you.” Sara paused. “What about your parents?”

“My father is a general practitioner, and my mother is a nurse. They’ve been big on rural medicine all my life. Every vacation from school was a mini-mission trip.”

“You were fortunate.”

“Probably, but I didn’t think so at the time,” Ben said.

“I’ve spent most of my life in Paradise and the rest wishing I was back here.” She gave a small laugh. “I guess you just don’t appreciate some things until they’re gone.”

Her words hung between them for a moment before Ben answered.

“I guess you’re right.”

She took a long sip of her water and set her glass down. Ben’s direct gaze met hers.

“May I ask about Dr. Rhoades’s medical condition?”

“Incomplete paraplegia.” Her finger traced the moisture on the glass over and over as she spoke. “It was a car accident, many years ago. Emergency medical response couldn’t get to the vehicle due to a snowstorm.”

Ben inhaled sharply.

“Another reason why the outreach clinic is so important to him.”

Ben nodded slowly.

Her cell rang, and she dug in her purse. “It’s my father. Do you mind if I take it?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Dad, everything okay?” Sara looked toward Ben and then away. “Yes, I’ve met with Uncle Henry. I’ll be home soon. We can talk then. I have to go now.”

Shaking her head, she put the phone away.

“Dr. Rhoades is your uncle.” Ben’s voice was flat and tight, the words punctuated with a nameless accusation.

Their meals were set in front of them, and Sara waited until the waitress left before responding.

“He is my uncle. But it’s not what you think—”

“It’s not?” His brows shot up. “How do you figure?”

“Ben, Dr. Rhoades is going to hire the right person for the job.”

He stared through her, his jaw rigid. “You mean Uncle Henry?”

“There’s no need to be condescending, Dr. Rogers.”

Ben released a frustrated breath. “Look, maybe you think I’m being harsh, but consider the situation from where I’m sitting. Your father subsidized the project, and your uncle manages the program. Those are the facts, correct?”

She nodded.

“What I don’t understand is why your uncle doesn’t just hire you. Why not let me down now instead of eight weeks from now?”

The thick burger and hot fries in front of her suddenly lost their appeal. Sara sighed and pushed aside the large white platter. “Because last time he hired me, I left him high and dry.”

The long silence between them stretched, until Ben finally spoke.

“You quit?”

“It’s not something I’m proud of, but yes. I was on staff at the hospital, and I broke my contract and resigned.”

“When was this?”

“Two years ago.”

“I guess I don’t understand.”

“All you need to know is that I’m not the front-runner for this position. You may think I have the home-team advantage, but clearly you are my uncle’s first choice.”

He raised his palms. “So what’s changed in twenty-four months?”

Sara swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat. “My father’s heart attack made me realize that as much as he exasperates me, I’m still his daughter. His only child. And I love him. So I’ve got to try to put the past—my mistakes and his—behind me and move on.” She folded her hands tightly in her lap. “That also means I need to find a way to make peace with him.”

Ben stared at her for moments, his lips a grim line. “Sometimes the answer is to simply give the situation to God. Turn it over to Him and trust that He can find a way.”

Sara was silent, surprised by his faithful words and by the way his gaze searched hers. She glanced away.

“That’s a huge step of faith,” she murmured before looking up again. “Do you really think that the Lord can find a way when things are such a mess?”

“I’m banking on it,” Ben said. He inhaled and then slowly exhaled. “So I guess we’ve both got a lot invested in the next eight weeks.”

An awkward tension once again settled between them.

Ben looked from her untouched dinner to his own. “Maybe we could call a time-out,” he finally said. “Because I’m really starving.”

She shook her head at the plea in his voice, then inched her plate close again, picking up her napkin and silverware. “This doesn’t have to be adversarial, you know.”

“Perhaps not, but make no mistake. I want that position, Sara.”

She peeked at him from beneath her lashes.

Yes, he wanted the position, but there was more going on here. Why was the position so important to him? And what exactly was Ben Rogers running from?

He had more than his own share of secrets. She recognized a wounded soul in the tall, lean physician. Whether he knew it or not, she suspected he was on his own mission trip right now.

Eight weeks. Was it enough time to find out what was going on behind those sad eyes? She sure could use an ally if she was going to find the courage to stay. Ben might just be that ally.

Could it be they needed each other as much as they needed Paradise? That possibility worried her more than anything, especially since every time her gaze met his, she glimpsed something she wasn’t prepared for. A spark of something that terrified her—because there was absolutely no way she was prepared to risk her heart again.

Chapter Three

Sara drove her Jeep past the iron gates of the Elliott Ranch. She hit the horn in a double beat and waved at the new supervising foreman, Mitch Logan, who had taken over all the duties of the ranch and then some since her father’s heart attack. Mitch turned from his position on the split-rail corral fence he straddled to raise a gloved hand in greeting.

Ahead at the sprawling two-story house, her father sat on a green Adirondack chair beneath the sloping eaves of the front porch. So much had changed. Last month the patriarch of Elliott Ranch could only be found on that porch when rain forced him to slow down. Now he perched on the edge of the chair, refusing to lean back and relax. A black Stetson rested on his head and hid his face as he watched the world go by, hating every minute of his forced convalescence.

Sara tried not to think about the phone call from Uncle Henry that night. Her father’s heart attack was as unexpected as the Colorado storms that whipped through the valley. Before that, Hollis had convinced his daughter as well as the rest of the world that he would live forever.

Oh, yes, she should have known the hardworking, and equally hardheaded, rancher would eventually wear out the heart the good Lord had given him, but she hadn’t expected it would be this soon.

Hollis Elliott was stubborn and unyielding, but he was still her father. She loved him, but could she forgive him? Could she maintain the necessary boundaries needed in order to live the life she wanted instead of the life he continued to try to orchestrate for her?

Sara pulled her Jeep into the gravel circular drive in front of the house and parked next to her father’s Land Rover and their housekeeper’s ancient wagon. She was anxious to get out of a dress and into boots and jeans. There was plenty of time for a long ride, and she intended to take full advantage. She missed the time away from the ranch and her horse, and wasn’t ashamed to admit where her roots were. Elliott Ranch was home, and definitely her favorite place on the planet.

She approached the front porch and had barely settled her foot on the bottom step before Hollis Elliott’s first directive flew.

“Stop by the dealership in Buena Vista. There’s a new Land Rover with your name on it.”

Taking a deep breath, she continued up the stairs. Do not react. Nearly twenty-four months had passed, and she liked to believe she’d learned something.

“I can’t afford a new car. Besides, I love my old Jeep. It gets great gas mileage.”

“That piece of tin is falling apart.”

“No, it isn’t. But that’s beside the point. I’ll decide when I need a new car.”

When her father opened his mouth again, Sara reached over and kissed his leathery cheek, halting further discussion.

“Have you eaten?” she asked.

“Malla is starving me.”

From the screen door, Malla Esperanza cocked her dark head to one side and clucked her tongue. “You know what they say about liars.”

“Well? You call that food? A sliver of turkey and a few vegetables?”

“Your dietician calls it heart-healthy,” Malla returned.

“I call it—”

“Excuse me.” Sara interrupted her father’s tirade.

“Can I fix you something to eat, Sara?” Malla asked, rolling her r’s like a melody as she spoke.

Sara had nothing but affection for the woman who had been the sole female role model in her life since her mother died. If only she had Malla’s patience and even temperament.

“No, but thank you, Malla,” she said with a smile. “I ate in town. I haven’t had dinner at The Prospector in years. It was delicious.”

“Enough food talk,” her father interrupted. “Cut to the chase. How did the meeting go?”

“It went well, Dad.”

“Clinic Director. If you have to be a doctor, then director is the way to go.” His lips moved into a wistful smile. “Your mother would be proud.”

“I’m auditioning for the position,” Sara said. “I’ll be working with another physician for eight weeks.”

“What? That’s a load of cow paddies.” He began to stand. “Where’s my phone?”

Sara touched his shoulder. “No, Dad. Stop.”

Hollis sat down, grumbling. “I didn’t pay for that clinic so someone else could run things.”

She cocked her head. “Why did you pay for the clinic?”

“Because Henry asked me to.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“What are you insinuating, young lady?” His eyes narrowed in challenge.

“Nothing, but remember, your money doesn’t buy you the right to manipulate other people.”

Hollis released a loud snort. “We’ll see about that.”

Looking past her father, Sara’s glance met Malla’s. The older woman’s eyes were wide with concern. She placed a hand on her heart in gesture and shook her head in warning, before turning away from the screen door.

Taking a deep breath, Sara relaxed and lowered her voice. “I won’t stay if you interfere.”

His steely black eyes met hers, but she refused to allow her gaze to waiver.

“And this time, if I leave I won’t come back.”

It was Hollis who finally looked away and shook his head.

Sara dug in her purse and tossed a white package with her father’s blood thinner and diuretic on the small table next to him. “I picked up your scripts.”

“Save your money,” he grunted. I’m not taking all those pills.”

“At least take the anti-cranky capsules.”

He paused and blinked, then released a gruff laugh. “Very funny.”

Sara placed a gentle hand upon his. “I love you, Dad, but sometimes you have to let things happen in God’s timing instead of yours.”

“The Lord and I have an arrangement. He runs His business and I run mine.”

She couldn’t contain a burst of laughter. “Not quite how it works, but nice try.”

“So who is this other doctor you’re up against?”

“What does it matter?” she asked.

“Invite him to the house.”

Oh, that wasn’t going to happen. Sara cleared her throat but was silent.

“Is that a no?” Hollis asked.

“Malla said you hired some new men to help around the ranch while you’re recuperating.”

“Short term. I’ll be back on my feet real quick.” He shook his head. “That reminds me, you have time to attend the cattlemen’s meeting next week?”

“Dad, I work at the clinic. I can’t help you with the ranch, too.”

“Just thought I’d ask. It is your heritage.”

She was silent. There was no point upsetting him. Medicine was her heritage, only he refused to acknowledge that.

“How’s Mitch working out?” she countered, looking toward the corral.

“Mitch is doing just fine. No plans to court my daughter, like the last ranch manager, if that’s what you mean.”

She tensed and gripped her briefcase handle tightly. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Sara, you’re going to have to talk about it eventually.”

It? It would be the debacle that was her engagement, and he was right. She wasn’t going there any time soon.

“You still blame me for that idiot fiancé of yours, don’t you?” As usual, the manipulative rancher continued to prod the conversation exactly where he wanted it to go.

She sucked in a breath, determined to keep her emotions reined in. “Dad, you promised him a partnership in the ranch if we married.”

“I was just encouraging things along. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Except that my fiancé was in love with your offer, and not with me.”

“You don’t know that,” her father spouted.

“But I do,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the memory and the humiliation.

Hollis opened his mouth to speak and then stopped. For once he was without a sharp retort.

Sara turned and shot a forced glance toward the sky. “I’m going to change my clothes. I want to get a ride in with Rocky before the sun begins to set.”

She strode into the house, stopping in the cool foyer to take several deep breaths. The tall mirror on the wall caught her reflection and Sara paused, assessing herself. Yes, she had inherited her mother’s features, but was she really her mother’s daughter? Her fingers moved to gently touch the trailing scar that ran along her hairline.

Amanda Elliott was an amazing doctor, loved in the community, and she had been a wonderful wife and mother, as well. She could stand up to Hollis, so why couldn’t Sara?

Her mother wouldn’t have run from Paradise. No, her mother never gave up on her dreams. Sara swallowed, fighting back the unexpected and overwhelming emotion. She knew she was long overdue for finding the courage to fight for those same dreams.

Dropping her briefcase in a chair, she took a deep breath and turned just as Malla came from the kitchen with the portable landline in her hand.

“Sara, are you all right?” Malla asked.

“I will be.”

Malla nodded in sympathy. “The phone. It’s for you,” she said.

“Me? Who even knows I’m home?”

“Ben Rogers?” Malla arched a questioning brow.

“Who?”

“Dr. Ben Rogers. He is a friend of yours?”

“Ben?” Sara paused, surprised. “Yes. We work together. Thanks, Malla.” Sara took the phone and moved toward the living room. “Ben. What can I do for you?”

“Sorry to bother you at home. I didn’t have your cell so I thought I’d take a chance on the ranch number. I found it online.”

“Really, it’s all right. What’s wrong?”

He cleared his throat. “I hate to impose. I mean, it is Friday night and I’m sure you have plans...”

“Yes, but Rocky is used to waiting for me. So what’s up?”

“I need your skillful hands.”

“Pardon me?” She blinked at his words.

“I had a little accident. Left triceps. I can’t reach the area, but it looks like at least half a dozen quick sutures will close the site.”

“Ben, we’ve got a level-four trauma center at the Paradise E.R. Not exactly what you’re used to, but they can handle this. Are you bleeding a lot? Maybe I should call 9-1-1.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” His response was emphatic, cutting off further discussion. “Can you just bring your bag and a suture kit?” He took a deep breath. “Please.”

“I’ll be right over.”

“Thank you.” His sigh of relief was audible. “I’m at 1400 Grand Avenue. About five miles outside of town. Just stay south on Main and turn left at the dilapidated barn, then a right at the mailbox that says Miller. Oh, and don’t wear your heels.”

Taking the carpeted stairs two at a time, Sara grabbed her jeans from the chair she’d tossed them on this afternoon.

Despite the reason he’d called, Sara couldn’t help a small frisson of pleasure that she was the one he called.

Was that a good thing? After all, she did have to work with the man for two months, and noticing that his dark eyes changed from milk chocolate to dark chocolate according to his mood or that his lips twitched attractively when he tried not to laugh or that when he said her name a shiver slid over her skin probably wasn’t what Uncle Henry meant when he said they needed to get to know each other.

Besides, hadn’t she learned anything in two years? If someone seemed too good to be true, they probably were. Ben Rogers would certainly prove to be no exception.

* * *

“Ouch.” Ben grit his teeth as the sharp needle combined with the local anesthetic bit.

“Good grief, that was just the lidocaine,” Sara said as she placed the needle on the table.

“Yeah, well, I’m generally on the other side of the injection. Guess I’ll have to rethink the whole this-isn’t-going-to-hurt spiel.”

“If you’re working as the clinic director, odds are you aren’t going to have that much one-on-one patient contact.”

“Okay by me.”

“Is it?” Her questioning gaze met his. “I mean, are you really okay with that? I’m not so sure I am,” she said.

“Sounds to me like you really don’t want the director position. You’re not ready to be a paper pusher. Why don’t you just tell your father?”

Sara froze, her green eyes rounded. “What makes you think my father has anything to do with this?”

He narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

“Oh, I see—apparently you specialize in psychiatry in your spare time.” Her jaw tensed.

“Any first-year med student could figure this out, Sara,” Ben said.

She rolled back the torn edge of his starched, pinpoint-cotton dress shirt and glared at him. “Lift your arm higher.”

Whoa. He’d definitely pushed a button, and she was not happy. Probably not a good idea to tick her off before she picked up a suture needle.

Ben raised his arm.

“Higher.” She pulled out the suture kit, ripped open the cover and dumped the contents onto the sterile field. “Tell me again why you didn’t go to the E.R. with this laceration?” Sara asked as she reassessed his arm.

“I couldn’t see myself applying pressure to the site and driving at the same time.”

“Hmm,” was her only response.

Ben released his breath. He’d neatly side-tepped that one. No way would he step into the E.R. and then break out in a cold phobic sweat in public. His credibility would be shot to pieces, on top of the humiliation of falling and cutting his arm.

“I’m going to assume your tetanus is up-to-date.”

Ben nodded.

She glanced around. “Do you have bandage scissors? Mine seem to have disappeared.”

“In my bag on the couch.”

Tearing off her gloves, Sara opened his satchel, then re-gloved. “Can you feel that?” she asked as she prodded his upper arm.

“Not a thing.”

“Too bad,” she murmured.

He nearly laughed out loud. “Doctor Elliott. What happened to primum non nocere?”

“Do no harm.” Her lips curved into a begrudging smile, her humor apparently restored. “I’m sure Hippocrates would understand if he met you.”

Ben’s lips twitched. Sara Elliott was a worthy opponent. Smart, witty and beautiful. A dangerous combination under any circumstance.

Her dark lashes were lowered as she worked, and he found himself absently counting the light freckles scattered over her sun-kissed cheeks and trailing across her small upturned nose.

Minutes later she pulled off her latex gloves, and their gazes met. Sara paused, her bright eyes startled.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“Sixteen freckles.”

“Please. Don’t remind me.” Annoyance laced her voice. “Those have been generously passed down from my mother’s side of the family.”

Ben’s mind began to backtrack to Henry Rhoades’s office as the light bulb slowly illuminated his thoughts. “The picture on your uncle’s desk. It’s you.”

“Yes.” The word was a soft murmur before she averted her gaze to efficiently wrap sterile gauze around his arm, trim the excess and tape the edges.

“And the woman in the picture?”

“That would be my mother, the other Dr. Elliott.”

Ben swallowed, the epiphany becoming even clearer. “Your mother is Dr. Rhoades’s sister.”

“Correct.”

All the bits of information began to fit together. “Amanda Rhoades.”

“Yes. Amanda Rhoades-Elliott. You know who my mother is?”

“My parents spoke of her often. She was quite well known for her work in rural medicine.”

“My mother was an incredible woman. Period.”

“And the accident?”

“She died, and my uncle was paralyzed.”

Ben stood still.

Eyes hooded, Sara began to clean up the area, carefully folding the edges of the sterile field inward until she had a neat package.

Only then did she raise her head, allowing Ben a view of the faint silvery line running close to her hairline and nearly hidden by her long hair.

“How did you get that scar?” he asked.

When she sucked in a breath and turned away, Ben’s gut clenched. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner?

“You were in that accident.”

Sara nodded.

Suddenly things became all too clear. Her mother died, her uncle was paralyzed and she was left with a scar to remind her of the accident for the rest of her life. Air whooshed from his lungs.

“The clinic means more than just a lot to you, Sara.”

“Don’t go all sentimental on me, Doc. I like you better when you’re prickly.” She shoved the refuse into a biohazard bag as efficiently as she had changed the subject.

Ben straightened. “I’m not prickly.”

“Oh, please. I may have my issues, but so do you. You’re more defensive than a momma cow.” Clearing her throat, Sara glanced at his arm. “The laceration should heal nicely. Edges are well approximated. And you know the drill. Keep it clean and dry for the next forty-eight hours.”

Ben nodded.

“Do you have any antibiotic ointment on hand?”

“I do.”

“Great. Then you’re all set.” She looked around the dingy little kitchen. “Mind if I wash my hands?”

“Please.” He gestured toward the old-fashioned porcelain single-basin sink.

“Tell me you called your landlord about those broken porch planks.”

“Not yet. I figure we can do a little trade of services.”

Sara raised her brows, blatant skepticism on her face.

“Hey, I’m handy enough around power tools. Built plenty of churches and clinics in my time. I told you my parents were medical missionaries.”

Eyes narrowed, she gave him a slow assessment. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly look like a power tool kind of guy.”

Ben paused, more curious than insulted. “I don’t? What kind of guy do I look like?”

“Let’s just say a little more Brooks Brothers than Home Depot.”

He shook his head at her assumption. “You’re way off target.”

Turning on the faucet, Sara’s glance moved to inspect the rest of the small log cabin. “Am I? Well, by the looks of this place, that can only be a good thing.”

“The Realtor called it rustic.”

“Rustic?” Sara released a short laugh as she scrubbed her hands. “I’d say she saw you coming a mile away.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t mind. It just needs a little work.”

“Good to be optimistic.” She dried her hands on a paper towel.

Ben worked hard to hold back a grin as Sara continued her feisty tirade.

“I have to tell you, your three-hundred-dollar coffee machine looks a little nervous on the counter next to that kerosene lamp.” She looked around again. “So what’s the real reason you’re out here in the middle of nowhere?”

When her probing gaze met his, he said nothing.

“Well, I suppose working with your hands is good therapy,” she mused.

“You’re implying I need therapy?”

“I was raised on a ranch.” She shrugged. “I’ve been around wounded animals enough to recognize one.”

“Now who’s doing analysis?” he muttered.

“As you said, any first-year med student could figure it out.”

“Good to know you can give as well as you get, since we’ll be working together.”

She snapped shut the brass latch on her leather medical bag and grabbed the handles. “And on that note, I’ll be going.”

“Sorry to take you away from your date.”

A bright grin lit up her face. “Rocky? He’s the faithful type. Always there waiting when I get home.”

Ben frowned, surprised that he found himself envious. “So this is a serious relationship.”

Sara laughed. “You could say that. Rocky is my horse.”

“Your horse.”

She only smiled.

His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. His parents. Clamping his jaw, he took a deep breath.

“Everything okay?” Sara asked.

“Yeah. Fine.”

The phone kept ringing, demanding his attention.

“Go ahead and take that,” she said. “I can see myself out.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “They’ll call back. Let me walk you to your car.”

“No need. I’ve got it.” She stepped back, distancing herself from him, moving toward the door.

“Sara.”

She turned.

“Thanks for coming all the way out here.”

“No problem. Professional courtesy.”

Professional courtesy? He supposed he deserved that, and yet he couldn’t resist another question. “Have you considered the possibility that we could be friends?”

“Friends?” Sara cocked her head. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty adamant about the job this afternoon.”

“Oh, I am adamant, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“Okay, friend. So do you want me to write a script for pain medication?”

“You were going to let me suffer?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it as her cheeks flushed with color.

“I’m just giving you a hard time,” he said. “I’ll be fine with a little acetaminophen.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you Monday.”

Ben nodded. Monday.

Right now Monday couldn’t come soon enough. He needed to stay busy.

His phone buzzed again, just as she pushed open the rickety screen door, and he froze.

“Ben, are you sure everything is okay?”

“Yeah. Sure. It’s all good.” He nodded toward the porch. “Careful where you step.”

Sara tiptoed around the broken planks and down the stairs.

When the door closed with a gentle bang, Ben slumped against the counter, unable to move as the cell phone’s persistent sounds beckoned him.

Not today, Lord.

Tomorrow he’d call them. Tomorrow.

The phone kept ringing, and he continued to ignore the plea, unable to answer and hear the pain in their voices, knowing he had put it there.

His sister had gone in for a simple tonsillectomy. They’d all laughed because she’d be the oldest kid on the unit.

He’d assured his parents they didn’t have to come home. Of course he’d take care of things. Except he was called away on an emergency, and when he arrived at the hospital and walked down the hall toward her room, something was very wrong.

The flurry of activity.

A code in process.

He began to run. Slamming through her doorway in time to hear the code called.

Time of death: 3:45 p.m.

Carolyn.

Ben closed his eyes tightly.

Oh, Carolyn. He’d let her down. Let them all down.

Sorry. So very sorry.

Not his fault. That’s what his parents had said over and over again. But how could anyone forgive him when he couldn’t forgive himself?

Chapter Four

Ben lifted his head. What was that noise? He rubbed his eyes against the morning sun that streamed into the room through the open blinds, taunting him for sleeping in. His watch showed 8:30 a.m. Something besides the twitter of birds outside his window had roused him from a deep sleep.

He’d slept solid and slept in, which hadn’t happened since before... It hadn’t happened in a long time.

Disoriented, he glanced around. His gaze took in the Spartan room, furnished with only a small bureau, a single chair and a small beat-up maple desk. No, this sure wasn’t his lux covenant-controlled condo in Denver with its “no noise before 9 a.m.” policy. Then he spotted his open suitcase in the corner. Paradise. He was in Paradise.

Perched on the edge of the mattress, he paused to listen. There it was again. Someone was at the door. How could that be? He’d rented a cabin located in a remote area five miles from town for a good reason.

Running a hand through his hair, he stepped into jeans and scooped a discarded shirt off a chair. As he shrugged into the cotton T-shirt, pain zinged through his arm. He’d forgotten about the stitches in his triceps.

Oh yeah, wide awake now.

He stumbled through the living room, nearly running into several half unpacked boxes. The place was a mess. Could he possibly get maid service in the middle of nowhere?

He opened the door and paused. The elderly man standing on the other side of the screen door grinning up at him looked familiar. A moment later, Ben made the connection. It was the gentleman who’d collapsed in the café, and he looked no worse for the trauma of yesterday’s incident.

“Dr. Rogers, did we wake you?”

We? Ben glanced past the nicely dressed gentleman to see his smiling silver-haired wife peeking around her husband’s shoulder.

“No. I mean, yes. I overslept.” He shook his head to clear the last cobwebs. “First night in a new place. I guess I’m not used to the altitude either.” Ben paused. “Can I help you, Mister, ah...”

“Carter. Orvis Carter. This is my wife, Anna.”

“Morning, Doctor. Did you know you have a hole in your porch?” Perplexed, Anna Carter glanced at the splintered wood surrounding the gaping hole in his porch.

“Yes, ma’am. Found out the hard way.” Ben raised his gauze-wrapped arm.

“Oh, my, my, my,” Anna crooned. “Well, no worries. Our son is a carpenter. We’ll have him stop by and fix that hole.”

Ben narrowed his eyes, focusing on the couple. Exactly why were the Carters at his door? How had they even found his door? And why did he smell warm cinnamon?

His stomach growled loudly in hungry response. As if reading his mind, Anna stepped around her husband and thrust a large white bakery box and a thermos into his hands.

“These are yours,” she said. “Our daughter-in-law Patti Jo owns the café, and she made them up special just for you. Oh, and she roasts her own coffee beans, as well. You won’t taste a better cuppa than her Mountain Blend.”

They’d driven all the way to the cabin on a Saturday morning just to bring him fresh pastries and hot coffee? Ben immediately regretted his cranky disposition. He paused, lacking words to respond to the unexpected kindness.

“You do like baked goods, don’t you, Doc?” Orvis said, looking concerned.

“Yes. I’m a huge fan of baked goods. I eat them all the time.” He shook his head. Apparently his social skills were as rusty as his bedside manner.

“I know it isn’t a proper thank-you for saving my life but, well, Patti Jo does make the best cinnamon rolls in the county, and up here we take our baking pretty seriously.”

“Please, tell her thank you.”

“Oh, and we put some plastic bags in there,” Anna said. “You just tuck the leftovers into the freezer. They keep for a long time.”

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