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