“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