Evan let out a frustrated sigh. He’d clearly reached an impasse and further arguing wouldn’t advance his cause.
“Thank you for your time,” he said politely before he walked from the room.
The look of stunned surprise on Rosalyn’s face as he headed for the exit was near comical, but he wasn’t in the mood to be entertained. He acknowledged the receptionist with a nod and strode into the sunshine, well aware that the explanations would fall to Marta.
His mind raced to consider his next move, but he was short on brilliant ideas. The situation was far more complex than he’d thought. This wasn’t a matter of reuniting two people who would then live happily ever after. Their past meeting, if one could truly call it such, had obviously been so upsetting that Marta had responded by rejecting anything to do with her grandfather.
Evan might have misjudged her motives, but after today’s conversation he knew the value she placed on her principles. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
On the other hand, he wondered if Marta had realized her verbal slip when she’d referred to Winston as her grandfather. Those two words weren’t much, but she had used them and so he chose to look on her recognition as a hopeful sign.
Marta might think the subject was closed, but it was far from over. As eager as he was for his month of solitude with only wildlife for company, he knew he wouldn’t find the peace he’d been searching for until he’d resolved this situation to his satisfaction. Winston was like his own grandfather, and he didn’t want to see him suffer any more than he already had.
Whatever Marta’s problem, she would simply have to face it…and get over it.
To reach that point, however, he had to implement a back-up plan, which he didn’t have at the moment. A familiar tug of weariness seemed to grow stronger—the beginnings of the bone-deep exhaustion that he hated and couldn’t seem to shake.
Sliding behind the wheel of his Lexus, he suddenly realized Marta’s true weakness and how he could use it to his advantage. All he needed was a phone number…
“Want to tell me what went on down the hall?” Rosalyn sat behind her desk, her arms folded across her chest as she stared up at Marta.
“He wasn’t Dr Evans,” Marta said shortly, watching Evan slide stiffly into his car—a shiny black Lexus that appeared out of place in the weed-infested, pothole-filled parking lot. “He’s Dr Gallagher.”
Rosalyn’s eyes seemed to double in diameter. “The guy who’s a friend of your grandfather?”
“Yes.”
She snatched the clipboard off the counter and examined the sign-in sheet. “I should have looked at the name before you sent him in.”
“I’ll say.”
“Still,” Rosalyn continued on a reverent sigh, “I wish my grandad had friends like that.”
“Hah! Just remember. Birds of a feather flock together.”
“And your point is?”
“Winston Clay is a business tycoon. He didn’t make it where he is today by being sweet, kind or generous. Underneath that polished veneer, he makes and breaks people with the stroke of his pen, without giving them a second thought.”
“And how do you know his character so well?” Rosalyn studied her carefully. “You’re not keeping tabs on him, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Marta snapped. “What Mr Clay does with his life doesn’t concern me.”
“Yeah, right.”
“For your information, he’s graced the cover of all the major magazines at one time or another, not to mention making the financial news headlines on a regular basis. A person would have to be living under a rock in the Pacific to not have heard about him.”
“Golly. Dr Gallagher is just as famous?”
Marta gritted her teeth. “Who knows? The truth is, if my grandfather considers Dr Gallagher his friend, and vice versa, then the two of them are alike. Two peas in the same pod, so to speak.”
Rosalyn shrugged. “You may be right, but Dr Gallagher is a twelve on a handsome scale of one to ten and you can’t deny it.”
Marta let out a sigh. Mother Nature had played a horrible and unfair trick by gifting her grandfather’s lackey with exceptional, heart-stopping good looks. Claiming otherwise, though, wouldn’t change reality.
“He may be nice-looking, but don’t let his pretty face fool you, Ros,” she warned. “He’s like the tin man from the Wizard of Oz.”
Rosalyn shook her head. “I disagree. He’s got a heart all right. It beats pure male.”
“Would you please take your mind off his body? I’m sure he’s already filled the pages in his second little black book.”
“Too bad my name isn’t in it,” the receptionist said, dreamy-eyed. “Seriously, though, he must want to get you and your grandfather together. Otherwise why would he have come to New Hope?”
Through the window in Ros’s office, Marta had a perfect view of Dr Gallagher’s car in the parking lot. To her surprise, the Lexus hadn’t moved an inch. Even from this distance, she could see him holding a cellphone to his ear.
Checking in with Winston, she supposed wryly.
“He said he’d been ill,” Ros supplied helpfully.
Which explained why he was on his way to Colorado for a vacation, but didn’t say much for why he’d stopped in New Hope to plead Winston’s case for the second time in four weeks.
No, Evan Gallagher had an ulterior motive and somehow Winston was involved. Marta would bet her new stethoscope on it. “You may choose to give him altruistic motives, but I’m not that gullible,” she said. “In any case, it doesn’t matter because he’s leaving.”
She watched the Lexus reverse before it slowly crawled forward to the intersecting street. Even at the slow pace, the tires kicked up a haze of dust thick enough to obscure his Texas license plates. She should have been thrilled over her victory in this particular battle of wills, because this time she’d locked the door to a painful part of her past.
If not thrilled, she should at least feel some satisfaction. After all, she’d made her wishes clear. Dr Gallagher, or anyone else for that matter, now knew not to waste his time trying to reopen the subject.
This was for the best, she reassured herself. Her stepsisters and her patients filled her life to the brim.
More specifically, she didn’t have the time or the desire to play Winston Clay’s games.
And Winston Clay was a master at playing games. On the few occasions when her mother had spoken of her forceful parent, Marta had heard of how easily her grandfather manipulated people to do his bidding.
Marta didn’t intend to be another chess piece on his playing board.
“He’ll be back,” Ros predicted as she tapped the clipboard with her pen.
Marta tore her gaze away from the disappearing Lexus and glanced at her friend. “And what makes you say that?”
Ros shrugged. “The doctor doesn’t seem the type to give up so easily.”
“What else can he do? He stated his case and I gave him my final answer. Dr Gallagher is on his way to Colorado even as we speak.”
Rosalyn slowly shook her head. “I wouldn’t bet money on it.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Dr Gallagher knows how I feel about Winston Clay. I doubt if he’s willing to hang around New Hope on the off chance I might—notice, I said might—change my mind.”
“I tell you, Marta, he’ll be back,” Ros insisted. “Look at the way he signed his name.”
Marta glanced at the line the receptionist had indicated. “Yeah. So?”
“Someone who takes pride in his success often writes his name in large letters, just like he did. He’s a man who doesn’t like to fail. I’d bet my next paycheck on it.”
“He may not like to fail, but he did,” she said firmly. “I’m sure I convinced him to leave me alone.”
Ros frowned as she cocked her head to study the page. “I’m not so sure.”
“Analyzing handwriting may be your hobby, but aren’t you reading more into this than you should?
” Marta asked.
“This isn’t a parlor game or hocus-pocus,” Ros insisted. “I’ve pegged a lot of people correctly and you know it. Remember the guy who refused to pay his bill? I warned you weeks ahead of time about him.”
“Lucky guess. Plus, you’d seen his name listed on the police record in the newspaper.”
“That was after I’d already told you my suspicions. He wasn’t the only one either. What about Maria McAlister? I could tell from the way she wrote her first name smaller than her surname that she wasn’t happy in her marriage. Six months later, she and Andy divorced.”
“They were both too young. The whole town knew it wouldn’t last before they walked down the aisle.”
Ros dismissed her with a wave of one hand. “Furthermore, I’m guessing Dr Gallagher has some personal problem on his mind.”
“Like which road to take to Colorado?”
Ros rolled her eyes at Marta’s caustic comment. “See how his Christian name is smaller and slants slightly more to the left than the rest of his signature? I’d say he has a conflict somewhere in his life.” She sighed. “I can’t imagine it being in his social life.”
“I suppose you can tell that from his signature, too.”
Ros grinned. “I figured it out from his fantastic body and his gorgeous face. His handwriting just confirms my opinion.”
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t be so skeptical.”
“Sorry, but I can’t help it.”
“See the pressure of his writing?” Ros pointed to her example. “Compare his to the others. Strong, heavy strokes indicate sensuality. It was the first thing I noticed.”
“Too bad you didn’t recognize his name first. Our entire conversation could have been avoided.”
Ros shrugged. “Sorry. I can’t be Miss Perfect all the time. Mark my words, we haven’t seen the last of the delectable Dr Gallagher.”
“I hate to put a damper on your analysis of his character or his personal conflict, but we’ll never know if you’re right or not. The only issue I’m concerned with at the moment involves the real Dr Evans. Where do you suppose he is?”
“Maybe he’s been in a car accident.”
Marta shook her head. “Considering his track record for the past few weeks, a wreck doesn’t rank high on my list of possibilities.”
Ros reached for the phone. “I’ll call and see what I can find out.”
“On second thoughts,” Marta mused as she perched on the edge of her receptionist’s desk, “I’ll call. This time, I’m not listening to any of Dr Evans’s excuses.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“I’m going over his head to his boss, Dr Campbell. Maybe if I threaten to bring a busload of my patients to their clinic en masse, he’ll make a few changes.”
“I’ll keep my fingers and toes crossed.” Ros peered past her to glance at the main entrance. “In fact, I think you could use some of that luck right now.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t look now, but Monica Taylor just drove by.”
Marta turned to glance out the window and saw the battered four-door sedan pull into a parking stall. She sighed as she rose.
Not only was Monica difficult to get along with at times, but she always seemed to present with the same complaints. Chest pain, aches and pains, or severe gastrointestinal upset.
More often than not, Marta couldn’t find a cause for her problems. She’d instruct her patient to purchase appropriate over-the-counter medications which seemed to take care of the problem because Monica never returned with the same symptoms two weeks in a row. Each time the woman walked into the clinic Marta was reminded of how much she didn’t know about the human body. Although Marta wanted a physician’s opinion in case there was an underlying disease she had missed, Monica refused to make the thirty-mile trip.
Which was why Marta desperately wanted a physician in New Hope’s clinic to evaluate her.
“I told Monica to come back today because the doctor would be here,” Marta said. “Now we’ll have to send her home.”
“Didn’t we make an appointment for her to see Dr Campbell?” Ros asked.
“We’ve made several. She won’t go.”
“Why not?”
Marta shrugged. “She always has an excuse. It’s either too far to drive or it will cost too much. I’ve tried to tell her that her health is worth more than anything, but she won’t listen.”
“She’s an eccentric bird,” Ros mentioned. “Rumor says she has more money stashed away than you or I will ever see in our lifetimes. Between her inheritances, good investments and her husband’s life insurance settlement, her pockets are supposedly well lined.”
“She certainly doesn’t live like she’s financially set for life.” In her early sixties, Monica Taylor was a tall woman who suffered from a combination of poor fashion sense and apparent color-blindness. Shopping at garage sales and thrift stores was her favorite hobby and she wore her bargains without considering how well they complemented each other. Today, she modeled a pair of purple capri pants and a red-and-orange Hawaiian-print shirt.
“Yeah, well, what can I say? Believe me, she could easily afford to pay for a private staff of physicians.” Ros refrained from further comment as the glass door swung open.
“Good afternoon, Mrs Taylor,” she told her cheerfully.
“Hello, Rosalyn. Marta.” Monica’s mouth turned into a tired but genuine smile. “I came to see the doctor, just like you told me.”
“I’m sorry, but he hasn’t arrived,” Marta explained.
“Then I’ll wait.”
“We’re not exactly sure when he’s coming.” Marta hated to say the words and vowed to give Dr Evans a good tongue-lashing at the next opportunity.
“How irresponsible of him,” she declared. “I was hoping to finally see someone who could give me some answers.”
Although Marta wanted that as well, hearing Monica emphasize “finally” cut her to the quick. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done everything possible to help the woman. She bent over backwards fitting the woman into her schedule, regardless of how busy it was.
“I haven’t been feeling too well these past few days,” Monica continued. “My chest hurts.”
“Why don’t I listen and see what I can find?” Marta managed to swallow her aggravation enough to sound polite.
A few minutes later, in the nearest exam room, Marta took Monica’s vitals before listening to her heart and lungs.
“Your lungs are clear,” she said as she slung the stethoscope around her neck. “Your heart sounds as normal as it can be, but I’ll run an ECG just to be on the safe side.”
Monica acquiesced without a murmur. In no time at all Marta had affixed the leads and the heart tracing was traveling over the phone lines to Dr Campbell’s clinic.
As soon as it was over, she helped the woman rearrange her clothing and sit up. “We’ll have the report back from the doctor before long, if you’d like to wait.”
“All right. It’s cooler here than in my apartment. A fan just doesn’t do much in this heat.”
“The power company has a special program for low-income people. I’m sure if you talked to them, you could afford to cool your home.”
“Really? I’ll have to check into that.”
Her lack of interest suggested just the opposite, but Marta couldn’t make those arrangements for her. “I’ll be back as soon as I have the doctor’s diagnosis.”
She used the phone in her office and dialed a number from memory. “This is Marta,” she told Connie, Dr Campbell’s receptionist. “Dr Evans hasn’t arrived at our clinic yet, and I wanted to find out how soon we could expect him.”
Connie’s voice sounded tentative to the point of nervousness. “I’ll connect you with Dr Campbell. He can answer your questions.”
I certainly hope so. “Thanks,” Marta replied.
In what seemed like an instant, Joe Campbell’s baritone carried over the phone line. “Marta,
we have a problem.”
“No joke. What I want to know is, is Dr Evans going to show up? Or, better yet, does he even exist?”
“He exists, but he hasn’t worked out. His wife hated this part of the country and flew back to Kansas City within days of moving here. He tendered his two-week notice last week and I haven’t seen him since.”
“You could have called me. I’ve had patients scheduled for days.”
“I know. I fully intended to come myself, but I simply haven’t been able to get away.”
“So what am I supposed to do? We established this satellite clinic as a service to the people of New Hope. If we’re expecting them to drive all the way to Liberal for every sniffle—”
“I’m working on a solution,” he interrupted. “In fact, I’m in the process of hiring a locum tenens for the next few weeks. I may even have one who can start tomorrow, but I don’t have the details completely worked out.”
“Good,” she said. “Have you looked at the ECG I just sent you?”
“As we speak. I don’t see any abnormalities. Any history of heart disease?”
“None. Just chest pain right now.”
“It’s a normal tracing. Have you drawn blood for labs?”
“Not yet.”
“Go ahead. Might as well be thorough.”
“OK. And you’ll phone about the locum later today?”
“Before five,” he promised.
Marta replaced the receiver and returned her attention to Monica. “Your ECG is fine,” she said, “but I’m going to draw a blood sample to check your heart enzymes.”
“And then can I go?”
“Yes.” Marta quickly drew two vials of blood and taped a cotton ball over the site. “I’ll have the results tomorrow, so I’ll call you.”
“I don’t have a telephone.”
In this day and age of Internet access, fax machines and cellphones, it seemed inconceivable not to have a basic telephone line. “All right. Check with us right before lunch. I should have your report by then.”
“I will.”
The rest of the afternoon sped by. At four-thirty, Ros stopped her in the hallway. “Connie called. The new doctor will be here bright and early tomorrow morning.”
A Nurse's Forgiveness Page 3
