Winners

by Danielle Steel

  “I think he can afford it. What about you?” she asked her partner. “It might be fun to help start something like that.” He was quick to shake his head.

  “I’m happy here. I don’t have big ambitions to reinvent the wheel. I put people back together when they get hurt. I’m not star material like you are, Jessie. I never wanted to be. I’m a good doctor and a good surgeon, and I like my small-town life. That would be a big job, if he pulls off an SCI center for young kids. And a lot of headaches.” She thought it sounded extraordinary. “You should think about it,” he told her with a serious look.

  “I can’t, Ben. I couldn’t do that to my kids. I can’t move them to Denver after what happened to Tim. That’s traumatic enough without a new city, new schools, leaving their friends and the house they grew up in. Besides, they wouldn’t let me.”

  “He’d probably pay you a fortune to do it,” Ben said practically.

  “That wouldn’t make a difference to the kids.”

  “No, but it would to you.” They both knew that she had lost half their income when Tim died and he had left no insurance. He had meant to, but just hadn’t gotten around to it. They were both so busy, and young enough not to worry about dying yet. So now all she had to support them was her work, with four kids to feed and educate. But she shook her head with determination. “I’ve been thinking,” Ben said quietly. “At some point, you should go back to Stanford.” She looked startled when he said it, and a little hurt.

  “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “No. I meant what I said. You’re a star, Jess. You don’t belong here. You never did. I know you moved here for Tim, and you get some good cases occasionally, like the Thomas kid, but you should be in a big teaching hospital, where you can shine and get the challenges you deserve. I love working with you, but sometimes I don’t think it’s fair to you. I always thought that, when Tim was alive, and you wanted to be here to make him happy. Now you have to think of yourself. And your kids will be gone in a few years, sooner than you know. You deserve a bigger life than this, and a bigger forum to work from medically. You ought to think about going back to Stanford.”

  She smiled at her partner. “Jimmy won’t be going to college for another twelve years. I’ve got a lot of years left here, and then I’ll be too old to make a move. I’ll be fifty-five years old, and they don’t want old docs at Stanford—they want bright, fresh new ones, with innovative ideas. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Dr. Steinberg,” she announced, and he looked at her regretfully.

  “I’m not stuck, Jessie, you are. You should think about this guy’s offer, if you won’t go back to Stanford.”

  “Who knows if he’ll ever do it?” she said sensibly. “He’s on some kind of euphoric high after his kid’s accident. It’s all part of the grief process for him, probably more fantasy than reality. I can’t get caught up in other people’s dreams, Ben. I’ve got my own reality. And mine is four kids to support, who want to live here, where they grew up.”

  “Don’t let them run your life, Jess. You have to think of yourself too.”

  She laughed at what he said. “Spoken like a man with no children. Believe me, I wouldn’t want to be the one to tell Heather Matthews she’s moving to Denver. She’d put a contract out on me. She nearly did yesterday because I ironed her blouse wrong and shrank her jeans. Tim always did the laundry better than I do. God save me from fifteen-year-old girls. I’d rather face a firing squad than tell her she’s moving to Denver.” She laughed again, thinking about it, just as her BlackBerry rang. It was the hospital telling her that her post-op patient from the day before had spiked a fever. She said she’d be there in five minutes. “Anyway, I think it would be fun for you.” But it was more work and commitment than Ben wanted. He liked to work hard and play hard, and he had never been as driven about his career as Jessie, but she couldn’t do it either, for four very good reasons, her children. All she could do to help Bill was suggest other neurosurgeons to him, who might be interested in the job. If he ever did it. She hurried out of the office then, with a wave at Ben.

  And after that she had to get home to her kids, help with homework, do laundry, pay bills, and cook dinner. And maybe come back to the hospital again, since she was on call. The days were long for her now, and the nights were longer, with no help from anyone except Chris, her oldest son. And when he left for college in the fall, it would be a nightmare. All she could see ahead of her now was a long, long road, of hard work, and sadness without Tim. And all of it showed in her eyes and her worn expression of grief.

  Bill and Joe met Hank Peterson at the property that they had discussed, ten miles out of town. It was exactly thirty-four acres, and the structures on it were as beautiful as Steve had said. There was a very large main building that was impeccably finished and looked like a large French country manor. All the details were exquisite. It had lovely French windows and a mansard roof, and a wide porch around it. There were orchards that had gone unattended and were rotting, and what had been extensive gardens were overgrown. The house was only a few years old and in perfect condition inside. The roof was sound, with no sign of leaks.

  Bill counted twenty bedrooms in the main house, all of them lovely, with their own bathrooms. The owner had spared no expense on the construction. There were a few pieces of furniture here and there, but essentially it was unfurnished. The broker said the contents had been sold off in an auction in order to raise money for the mortgage. There were large common rooms, four of them, and a state-of-the-art kitchen and, on a lower level, a maze of offices.

  There was a second building with twelve bedrooms, and a similar setup. And a third one that looked as though it might have been the spa, with rooms for massages, steam rooms, a sauna, a hot tub, and a small lap pool. And three more buildings farther out that could have been dormitories for the staff, or offices. There was a large gym, in a building of its own, an enormous garage, and several smaller outbuildings that looked like they were for equipment. And at the back of the property was a greenhouse that was very pretty and was a jungle of overgrown plants. There was an outdoor cooking area, a little stream that ran through the property, and a small stable with a corral. It had everything Bill could have wanted, and it was easy to see the love and care and money that had been poured into it. He could sense easily how disappointed, and even heartbroken, the owner must have been when it failed. Bill made no comment as he walked through it. He didn’t want the broker to see how excited he was.

  “Do you know yet who owns it? The bank or the original owner?”

  “Apparently the owner. I checked. The bank is close to foreclosing on it, and they figure they’ll have to any day. But he’s still making payments, barely. He doesn’t want to sell it. Yet. But the bank says he’ll have to sooner or later.” Like vultures, they were waiting to grab it. And it made Bill sad for the owner when he saw how beautiful the place was and all that had gone into it for naught. And it was wasted now, standing empty and unused.

  “Do you know how much he’s got in it?” Bill asked with the appearance of casual disinterest.

  “He paid five million for the land, and whatever it cost him to build it. I don’t know how much, but it looks like he spent a bundle. Good way to lose your shirt. I think you’d probably get it if you make an offer. Officially it’s not on the market, but the bank thinks he’d take a decent offer.” Bill was quietly trying to calculate how much the owner must have spent on the two main houses, the four smaller buildings, and all the sheds and outbuildings, the gym, and the garage. It had been a very expensive project, and bad luck for him that the economy had folded almost at the same time. He figured that in another city he could easily have spent ten or even twenty million dollars on the structures, in California or New York. In Denver maybe five to seven, along with the cost of the land.

  Bill walked the entire property with Joe, and made very little comment. This was one of those things that was happening by instinct for him, straight from the gut. He still wasn’
t certain he could put a rehab center together, but once he had the place, that much would be sure, and he could always sell it later. And all the structures were in excellent shape because they were new. They had thirty-two bedrooms for patients, he had counted, twice that if they put patients two to a room, and the bedrooms were a good size. Each had its own bathroom that would have to be refitted for handicap needs. And there were buildings for staff dormitories, and for offices, a garage, a gym, and a spa. They had everything they needed to get started, in fact more than enough. And it was a beautiful place. The owner had had the ground leveled before he built, and there were smooth broad paths that would work for wheelchairs. Bill knew, as he glanced around, it was the place. He hadn’t even looked for it. It had found him.

  He walked back to the car without saying anything to the broker, and then turned with a cool expression.

  “I’ll make an offer,” he said simply, as though he didn’t really care one way or the other. The broker nodded.

  “How much do you have in mind, since it’s not on the market?” He expected Bill to make a lowball offer that wouldn’t impress the owner enough to sell it, that was just rolling the dice to see what would happen. People did that sometimes, trying to buy on spec and then make a profit on a fast sale. The property had potential for that, particularly with a foreign owner in distress.

  “Eight million,” Bill said in a noncommittal voice as the broker stared at him. Bill knew it would be a great deal if he could buy it for that, and that the owner would counter. He was willing to pay ten. And the existing structures would save him a lot of time instead of looking for property where he’d have to build from the ground up.

  “I’ll write it up,” Hank said, suddenly anxious. “Where will you be later today?”

  “At home,” Bill said calmly.

  “I’ll drop it by so you can sign it, and I’ll present the offer tomorrow.” It was one of those fluke deals that had fallen out of the sky and was what every realtor dreamed of. A solid buyer who had the money, a good offer, and a seller who needed the sale. Except neither of them was sure if the seller really wanted to get rid of the property, and looking at it, Bill realized there was a good chance he didn’t, which was why he was offering a very decent price. That kind of money would have to be tempting, even if the owner loved the place, and it was a business that had failed in a bad economy, and he lived five thousand miles away. Bill hoped reason would prevail, not sentiment. And so did Hank.

  Bill and Joe drove back to Bill’s house, and Bill turned to his friend with a long, slow grin. “So what do you think?”

  “That you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met. I thought you were a little crazy when I met you at Harvard. Now I know you are. Crazy as a fox. I hope you get it. It’s perfect for what you want to do.”

  “We’ll see what happens.” He was playing his cards close to his chest. He was desperate to buy it, but didn’t want to admit it, even to himself.

  Hank came by at four o’clock with an offer for Bill to sign, for eight million dollars for the La Vie property. He saw the owner’s name and didn’t recognize it. Hank said they were faxing the offer to France. And they had given him three business days to respond. It was an all-cash offer, as is, with inspections of course, to make sure there were no hidden problems. But Bill couldn’t foresee any. Hank had requested a bank reference on Bill, to include in the offer, and Bill’s banker had faxed it to him, in vague terms, that assured the seller that the prospective buyer was real, solvent, and not playing games.

  Bill said nothing to anyone about the property for the next three days. And he and Joe barely spoke of it. They were the only ones who knew. And on Thursday morning, he got a call from Hank. He spoke in a conspiratorial tone.

  “The seller countered at twelve.” Bill didn’t hesitate for a heartbeat. He had expected it, and he was pleased with the counter. His greatest fear had been that the owner of the property would say it wasn’t for sale. It had a price, and they were getting there.

  “Counter at ten,” Bill said in a businesslike voice. “Fifteen-day closing, after inspections. And it’s my final offer. It’s an all-cash offer, after the inspections clear and the title search.” It was a nice clean deal for the seller. He’d have to pay off the mortgage, and the rest was all his. In fifteen days he could have the money, and Bill would own thirty-four acres of what had once been La Vie, and would become The Lily Pad. But he didn’t have the property yet, and knew the deal could still fall through.

  Hank was at the door twenty minutes later with Bill’s counteroffer to sign. He looked more excited about it than Bill did, and Joe burst out laughing when Hank left the house and Bill closed the door behind him.

  “You’re going to give the guy a heart attack.” Joe couldn’t stop laughing. “He’s never dealt with anyone like you before. You can practically see him drooling over the commission he’s going to get out of this, if the seller takes your deal. For everyone’s sake, I hope he does.”

  “So do I.” Bill grinned at him. He was just as aware as Joe of how anxious the broker was. And Bill wanted the property.

  This time the response came back in twenty-four hours, and Hank sounded like he was going to faint when he called.

  “He accepted your offer.”

  “He’d have been a fool not to,” Bill said coolly. “Let’s get the inspections lined up right away.” He had his bank wire the money into an escrow account. And five days later, they had all the inspections completed. The structures were sound, the title was clear. The deal went through without a hitch, and fifteen days after his offer had been accepted, thirty-four acres north of Denver, on a beautiful little property, were his. The Lily Pad had been conceived.

  He went out to see it again with Joe, once the deal was closed. They walked around the property as Bill silently imagined what it would become. He didn’t know how long it would take, and he had a lot to learn in the coming months, but he knew that one day it would be The Lily Pad and his dream would come true. Joe was still astounded, and Bill was too. It had happened so quickly and easily. It wasn’t just about the money, it had been the right time for everyone involved—that was key.

  With Bill’s exciting new acquisition, Joe was sorry he was going back to New York in a few days. It had been a very interesting visit and a healing one for him. He felt better, and he hated the thought of going back to his lonely life in New York. He wished he could stay longer and watch Bill develop his project, but he didn’t want to overstay and impose on his friend.

  “I still have to find a doctor to run the place,” Bill said as they walked through the main building, examining it again. “I need a medical director and an administrator.” Then he stopped walking and looked at Joe. “Do you have any interest in running the business end of a rehab center for kids?” he asked. He had faith in Joe’s business sense, his ability as an administrator, and his loyalty.

  Joe was beaming as he asked him. “I thought you’d never ask. I’d love it, Bill. I know even less than you do about rehab, but recent catastrophe notwithstanding, I think I can run the business end for you. And if I can’t, I’ll let you know.” Bill had every confidence he could, and doing so would give Joe back his confidence in himself.

  “You’ll have to move out here,” Bill warned him.

  “My apartment in New York is on the market anyway. I’m done in New York. It’s too depressing for me there now. I’m ready to move out. I’ll go back and wrap up. Or actually, I’ll look for an apartment here before I leave, and then I’ll know what to ship out. I can be back in a couple of weeks. And the kids can visit me here. They don’t have to come to New York, and I usually visit them anyway. It’s too complicated for them to travel with their kids.”

  As Bill and Joe drove back to the house, The Lily Pad had a home, and an administrator. Now all it needed was a medical director, a staff, a mission statement, a program, and patients. Bill and Joe had their work cut out for them. They were going to be busy with The Lily Pad for
a long time. Joe was thrilled. Bill had just given him a new lease on life. It was hard to believe that only weeks before he had been desperate, and now he had a new city, and a job. Bill’s call that night had been providential and had saved his life.

  Steve Jansen, the architect, called Bill that night. He had been meaning to call for several days, but was busy with plans for Bill’s remodel, and several other projects, and hadn’t had the chance.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you about that property I mentioned to you. I’ve been jammed. I’ve got bad news, though.” Bill couldn’t imagine what it was. “I checked on it a few days ago through a friend of mine who’s a realtor. The property is in escrow. Apparently someone made an offer on it. I don’t know if it will go through, but it looks like we missed it,” Steve said apologetically, and Bill laughed.

  “No, we didn’t. I bought it, thanks to you. It’s perfect for what I want to do, just as you thought it would be. So hurry up on the remodel, we have work to do!” There was a long silence on the other end.

  “Are you serious?” Steve was stunned.

  “I am. It officially became mine yesterday. The Lily Pad is going to happen,” he reassured him. “I want to go out and look at it with you next week, to get an idea of what we need to do.”

  “I’d be happy to do that,” Steve said in an awed voice. “You don’t kid around, do you?”

  “No,” Bill said, “I don’t.” And now all he had to do was tell Lily what he was going to do, and find a medical director to run the place. And work on it like a madman after that.

  Chapter 14

  LILY STARED AT her father in disbelief when he visited her at Craig after the sale went through and told her what he’d done.

  “You did what?” For a minute, she didn’t understand what he was saying. It was so far out.

  “I bought a thirty-four-acre piece of property ten miles out of town, with a bunch of beautiful houses on it, to build a rehab center for SCI kids from age ten or twelve to whatever age we decide. Like Craig, only even more focused on young people, and especially for younger kids. And I’m calling it The Lily Pad.” He was smiling from ear to ear. Lily still looked like she didn’t believe what he had said.