by Leigh Duncan
And yet, could he really be a part of the destruction of Phelps Cove?
A sudden bend in Regina’s rod tip saved him from answering. The girl yelped and Dan smiled broadly, glad she’d gotten the first strike. She handled the fish on the line precisely as she’d been told and, without a single reminder, quickly landed a small trout.
“Oh, man! Fish for dinner,” Chris called. He reeled in quickly and threw another cast. “I’m next.”
Dan let his voice carry along the shore to Jose who stood the farthest away. “Jess—” At Regina’s smug glance, he stopped and started over.
“Smart fly fishermen practice catch-and-release, so we won’t be taking any fish home with us.” Certain his next idea would override the moans and groans that rose from the group, he added, “But I’ll spring for supper at Long John Silver’s, and I brought a camera.”
The pictures kept everyone honest as the boys and Regina traded fish stories over dinner.
By six, when he’d dropped everyone off, Dan was headed for home with plans for a shower, a beer and an early night. Plans that faded as he absently pushed the Replay button on his answering machine. Jess’s cryptic message about a meeting Wednesday night deserved a follow-up phone call, but the next two messages were more recent and more pressing. He checked the cell phone, which hadn’t buzzed once while he was at Phelps Cove. His voicemail box was full and he cursed the vagaries of intermittent coverage while he bolted for the door, all thoughts of an early evening giving way to the needs of his patients.
Chapter Eleven
Dan punched his speed dial and, on each step that led to his parking space, fired off questions at the attending.
“How many are hurt? What’s the extent of the injuries? Do we have X-rays? MRIs?”
“It’s a madhouse,” answered the emergency room physician. “One DOA and four in serious condition. Two, critical. The first is on his way to the OR now. Test results will be waiting for you when you get here. The trauma team is working to stabilize the other one.”
He slipped behind the wheel of his car and sped out of the parking lot. Living so close to the hospital meant that in ten life-saving minutes, he was pelting down the hallway toward a bank of elevators. Two minutes after that, he stepped into the scrub area adjacent to the operating room. Lab work and scans hung over the sink. He studied while he washed and, when he had absorbed the facts and figures, he backed into a green-tiled room where the surgical staff stood like actors on a set. Frozen, they waited for a director to yell, “Action.”
And here he came.
Beneath his ribs, moths beat their wings. The breeze of self-doubt that rose before every surgery whispered through him. Statistics said someone from his background should be slinging burgers in a fast-food joint. Not the top guy in a demanding field where lives were at stake. Yet, with luck and hard work, he’d altered his fate. He drew himself marginally straighter, his doubts settling before the door whispered shut.
“Let’s begin, shall we?” He took the scalpel proffered by a surgical nurse and lowered his hands to the patient’s chest.
Three hours later, Dan stepped back to let another nurse wipe his brow. Now that the dicey surgery was nearly over, he eyed the face of the patient on his operating table. Acne marred the boy’s teenage cheeks, and wisps of sandy-blond hair had escaped his scrub cap. The fine features and coloring reminded him of Adam, and a fierce protectiveness tightened his gut.
As he worked, he asked, “What do we hear from the ER?”
“The other chest injury, a sixteen-year-old male, is in OR Two. It’s been touch and go—he coded twice—and Dr. Chase asked how soon you can step in. Says to make it sooner rather than later.”
“Chase, huh?” He gave a quick nod of assent. “Let him know we’re wrapping up. I’ll be there shortly.”
While he closed the incision, he wondered if anyone else realized the significance of having the other thoracic surgeon ask for him by name. The request definitely elevated his status. Until now, he’d been thinking that the recognition and success he craved would only come through acceptance in the right social circles, at the right events. But here, where it counted, his skill and dedication were doing the job by themselves.
“Who was driving?” he asked as the surgical assistant covered the wound. From the kid’s injuries, he knew his patient hadn’t been behind the wheel.
A nurse answered. “DOA, Doctor.”
Such a waste.
His jaw clenched as he considered that vehicle accidents took the lives of more young adults than any other cause of death. Not so terribly far in the future, Adam would slip behind the wheel of a car. Though Jess did a superb job of mothering the boy, Dan wanted to be there to help warn him about dangerous distractions, driving too fast, drinking. To remind the little guy to keep his grades up, be kind to his mother and cover all the other bases a dad usually handled.
His breath stilled. He’d had a few “uncles” in his life, men who hung around long enough to earn a seat at the Sunday-morning breakfast table. Once or twice he’d dreamed of a stepdad who would take him to baseball games or on camping trips, but his mom’s boyfriends had never lasted. Before he’d learned to keep his guard up, he’d felt the sting of abandonment when they stopped coming around. He wouldn’t do that to Adam. The boy deserved better. But was he really thinking of commitment here?
Suddenly, having a permanent place in the child’s life was something he knew he wanted.
The same way he knew he wanted Jess.
He’d fallen in love with her. She could take him down a peg or two with that cheeky attitude of hers, but her strong sense of independence kept his need for control in check. And while it was true she didn’t move in the same social circles as his doctor friends, that wasn’t nearly as important as the forever kind of love he thought they could have together.
If they could set aside their differences over Phelps Cove.
To make that happen, one of them had to give. And since the land couldn’t move, The Aegean group would have to. In the weeks he’d been fishing with Jess, he’d come to appreciate the stretch of pristine Florida wilderness she so jealously guarded. And, for the first time, he realized it was his job to compromise.
Jess pulled the last of the fly rods from the box that had arrived with the morning’s UPS shipment. She held the limber graphite out straight and gave it a twitch, smiling when the tip flexed smoothly. Her smile deepened when the phone rang and the display screen told her it was Bob Richards. The legislature was in full swing, and the funding bill for Phelps Cove had finally made the agenda. With all her work to preserve the land about to be rewarded, she lunged for the phone.
“Bob, give me the good word and I’ll break out the champagne.” There was a bottle chilling in the bottom drawer of her refrigerator, just waiting for the right occasion.
“I’m afraid I have bad news,” he said with the somber tone of a funeral director.
The rod she’d been so happy with clattered into the shipping crate as Jess sank onto her chair. She listened, her unease growing, as Bob explained that things in Tallahassee had taken an unexpected turn. The finance committee had demanded a balanced budget before the legislature considered any new business. With only a few weeks remaining before the session ended, the purchase of Phelps Cove probably wouldn’t make it to the floor. That left only one option—go back to Henry’s niece and ask her to extend their contract.
“That’s our only choice?” The heiress had sworn to fight the state’s purchase of Phelps Cove. She was unlikely to grant Jess or POE any favors, especially this one.
“’Fraid so. How soon can you talk to her?”
“We’re having lunch after Henry’s memorial on Friday.” She’d made reservations at a four-star restaurant in Cocoa Village.
Over the next couple of days, Jess devoted all her free time to preparing for the talk with Estelle Phelps. But on Wednesday, she shoved aside her worries about the cove long enough to ready On The Fly for anoth
er important meeting, this one with George and his friends. Soon, upholstered chairs and ottomans circled the wooden table where customers often studied charts of local waters. As Jess swept reference guides out of sight, replacing them with platters of cheese puffs and cookies, worry slowed her steps. She and Dan had been playing phone tag for the past few days, something that hadn’t concerned her until he’d cancelled this morning’s fly fishing lesson. She looped her finger through a curl and tugged. Everything was moving so quickly, she hadn’t had a chance to go over her ideas for Connections House with him.
A short time later, when she still hadn’t been able to reach Dan and everyone else had arrived, Jess plastered an assured look over mounting apprehension and stole a peek into the shop’s cozy book nook. Her gaze closed in on Florida’s fifth-richest woman. Had she actually seen the woman squirrel away cookies in her purse? As hard as it was to believe, the telltale corner of a napkin protruded from her Gucci bag.
And napkins didn’t lie.
Jess turned away, warding off a nervous urge to laugh. Instead, she made a show of straightening her wristwatch to cover the fact that she was really checking the time.
Five past the hour.
Cold swirled into the room as the door of the shop opened to admit the man she’d been waiting for. When his eyes met hers, his lips curved into a distant relative of his usual smile. The creases around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes had deepened. Damp hair curled at his collar and day-old stubble shadowed his jaw. The instant he spotted the knot of people behind her, he hesitated.
“What’s going on?”
“In here.” She hustled them into an alcove where fishing vests hung from wooden rods. If she had timed it right, she’d have about thirty seconds before an eager guest or two descended. And if she was very lucky, Dan would forgive her for the spot she’d landed him in.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all week,” she said quickly. She stared into eyes that looked impossibly older than their thirty-five years. Fatigue had etched lines into his forehead. She fought the urge to rub his temples, keeping her fingers in check by smoothing them over her own hair. A bobby pin had worked loose and she pushed it back into place.
Dan shook his head. “Sorry. There was a bad accident Sunday afternoon. I’ve been wrestling a couple of young patients back from death’s door ever since, and I’ve barely left the hospital.”
“They’ll be okay?” she asked.
“Looks like they’ll pull through.” He ran his long, slender fingers over his face and stretched, rolling his broad shoulders.
Another time, another place and Jess might have offered him a back rub. As it was, the close quarters made it hard enough to resist kissing him.
“I’m sorry to spring this on you. If I’d known, I would have rescheduled.” She stopped, unable to fault him for not dropping everything to call her when lives depended on his skill and dedication. “If you’re not up for this, I suppose we could put it off.” She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth. “Only we might not get another chance.”
“Maybe you should tell me what this is first.” Dan studied her, perplexed.
“I invited some of my customers and their friends to hear you talk about Connections House.”
“What?” He stepped back. “Why?”
The question deserved an honest answer. What had started off as a way to eliminate his challenge for Phelps Cove had turned into so much more.
“I wanted to give us a chance,” she said, clasping her hands to still her trembling fingers. “It seemed like the only way to make it happen.”
There was more, but an impatient George had found them so the rest would have to wait until later, when she and Dan were alone. Assuming he was still speaking to her by then.
Turning, she introduced him to the man who wore a tattered fishing shirt and shorts. She tried not to think about first impressions as she stepped aside.
“So, Dan,” George began once hands had been shaken and names traded. “Jess has told us that you have a plan to help older teens. We’ve talked among ourselves.” He gestured to the others, who had settled into comfortable chairs. “We agree that you’ve identified a growing problem. We’d like to hear what you have to say and see if there’s some way for us to participate.”
“Now, wait a minute,” interrupted a woman whose two-inch gray roots belied the fact that she owned half of downtown Cocoa. “I’m all for giving folks a leg up. But I quit hiring these kids. They don’t stick around. They’re here one day.” Cheryl waved a hand. “The next, they’re a no-show.”
The woman couldn’t have provided a better opening if Jess had planned it herself. She watched Dan take a second to gather his thoughts before he launched into an effortless description of the problems faced by young adults who aged out of the foster care system. When he finished, the people around the table wore concerned frowns. A spate of intelligent questions erupted. Equally insightful answers followed. When the room fell silent, Jess held her breath until Marge pulled a steno pad and a stubby pencil from the depths of her purse.
“Well, let’s see what we can come up with,” she announced.
“I think that motel in Angel City might work,” suggested Charley Combs. Beneath a work-worn chambray shirt and farmer’s tan beat the heart of one of the county’s biggest property owners. “It’s been sitting vacant the last couple of years. Without too much effort, I think we could renovate it. What do you think, Dan? A motel, as a place to start?”
With a sharp inhale, Dan swung to face Jess. Amusement danced in the wide-eyed look he gave her before composure settled over his features and he faced Charley again. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “We could work with that.”
A local builder straightened his dapper bow tie and leaned away from the side conversation he’d been having with George. “I can lend a construction crew till fall when the housing market picks up. I’ll scrounge around for building materials and paint. Won’t cost us a cent.”
“If there’s rewiring to be done, call my office.” At the far end of the table, the speaker pulled the latest in cell phone gadgets from a hip pocket and tapped some keys. “I’ll send Gus a reminder.”
“That takes care of the building,” Marge announced.
“What else do we need? Furniture? Small appliances?”
“I have beds, tables and chairs in storage.” Charley crossed one booted foot over the other. “We’d need new mattresses. Microwaves might be nice.”
“I’ll donate those,” offered a man whose discount appliance stores advertised heavily on Sunday-morning television.
Marge ticked two more items off her list.
“And I can handle window coverings and linens,” said Cheryl. “How many units are we talking about?”
“Thirty,” someone said.
The look on his face said Dan wasn’t accustomed to the warp-speed at which plans were being made, but he still managed to interject, “I thought we’d start off with a smaller group. Say, half that many?”
“Well, sure,” George agreed. “That means one wing for classrooms, a main living area, maybe a gym. We’d turn the other wing into fifteen apartments. Small, but livable.”
“And a suite for the caretakers,” Dan added. “My foster parents, Glen and Maddy Hollis, said they’d get the house up and running. They’re doing the same thing now on a much smaller scale.”
“An excellent choice,” said George while Marge scribbled notes. More nods followed. The Hollises were well-known and highly regarded members of the community. “Now, you mentioned classes. GED? College prep? Tutors? That sort of thing?”
Dan leaned forward. “You’d be surprised how few basic life skills these kids pick up in school.”
The bank president nodded. “Show me a high school student who rectifies monthly statements, and I’ll throw in another thousand bucks.”
Marge peered over her wire-rimmed glasses. “One thousand for incidentals. Okay. So, how about food? If they’re anything like my t
eenagers, even boiling water is a challenge.”
Earning a chuckle or two, the owner of half of the county’s fast-food restaurants said he’d send his personal chef and a nutritionist to provide tips on preparing simple, inexpensive meals. The Chevy dealer offered a mechanic who could teach the importance of oil changes and tire rotation. That led to a conversation about driving lessons, since the schools no longer offered free driver education. Jobs were next on the agenda, and options were being considered when Dan’s pager went off.
Looking at the screen, he grimaced. “Sorry. I’m needed back at the hospital.”
“Well, I think we’ve made a good start.” George slapped an open palm against his thigh. He scooted his chair back and stood. “We’ll get moving on this and hammer out the rest of the details as we go along, but I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t be able to open the doors by the first of the year, do you?”
A chorus of “sounds good” and “okay by me” rose above the scrape of chair legs and the gathering of belongings.
“Eventually, we’ll need a lawyer to make sure we’re legal. And we probably ought to involve someone from Family Services. But, Dan, this is still your baby. We want you to run point on it.”
Dan’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I can’t tell you how much this means.” His voice thickened. “How much it will mean to kids growing up in foster care.”
Though he swept the room, meeting the eyes of every person there, Jess warmed when his gaze lingered on her. As she watched Dan head out the door minutes later, her heart beat with the realization that the handsome doctor’s whole life was aimed at saving others, and that somewhere between his arrival and departure she’d fallen hopelessly in love with the man.
