“Yeah, well . . .” She took a deep breath. “Nothing came together. He wasn’t able to get anything, and he was getting antsy, not working, so he thought he’d better take this position. It’s a really great chance,” she hastened to add. “Lots of potential for recognition and advancement, so I’m thrilled for him.”
“But hard on you.” I nodded. “I’m sorry about that. On a purely selfish note, I hope it doesn’t mean we’re going to lose you.”
“Definitely not.” She gave her head a tight little shake. “I don’t have plans to go anywhere.”
“Can you two make it work? Long-distance, I mean?” I had my own doubts. I’d never seen that kind of situation succeed. But then again, I hadn’t had the best of luck even with a girlfriend who’d lived with me, so what the hell did I know?
“I . . . don’t know.” She sounded dejected. “Probably not. But maybe it’s for the best, you know? Maybe we weren’t meant for each other, and this is just the universe’s way of letting us down easy. Right?”
“Maybe.” I was quiet for a moment. “But I don’t know, Jen. When I saw the two of you together, I would’ve bet on you for the long-term.”
“Yeah, well . . . sometimes things don’t work out the way we hope they will, do they?” She squared her shoulders. “And on that note, I need to get home. Once I get behind the wheel, suddenly all the sleepiness I don’t feel standing here hits at once.”
“Be careful getting home. See you tomorrow?”
“You know it. Don’t you stay too late, either.” She paused, tossing a quick smile and a wink over her shoulder as she left. “Deacon.”
I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. I’d felt a vague attraction to Jenny Ward soon after she’d begun working here, but knowing she had a serious boyfriend, I hadn’t given it more than a passing thought. And now that her guy was out of town, I needed to be even more circumspect. I didn’t want to jeopardize our work relationship. I liked Jenny. She was smart, efficient, hard-working and insightful. She was an asset to our team here.
And hopefully, I’d be able to say the same of our new naturopathic doctor. Sliding my laptop aside, I picked up the folder that Maybelle Crosgraves had put together for me about . . . I flipped open the cover . . . Dr. Emma Carson.
She was qualified, no doubt about that. She’d been at the top of her class in both her undergrad and post-graduate work. She had glowing recommendations from doctors whose names I recognized easily. But speaking of names, there was one slight irregularity that Maybelle had noted.
Emma Carson had been born and lived her life as Emma Baldwin, up until the time she’d started naturopathic medical school, at which point all of her records reflected the new last name. I’d assumed that she had gotten married between college and grad school, but her personnel file listed her as single, never married.
That had been odd enough for our top-notch—and notoriously nosy—human resources head to do a little snooping. The note explaining her findings was clipped to the first page in the file.
What I discovered was interesting, but not alarming. Dr. Carson’s parents are both quite well-known in their respective fields: her father is Frazier Baldwin, whose name, of course, you would recognize as he pioneered the use of targeted genetic therapy in cancer treatment. Her mother is Candace Carson, a New York Times best-selling author. Several of her books have been made into movies. I doubt you’d know her, as she writes romantic comedy. I did some poking into Dr. Carson’s relationship with her parents, and from everything I can find, I don’t see an estrangement there. Using my powers of discernment, I’m going to guess that as she moved into the medical field in her own right, Dr. Carson preferred not to capitalize on her father’s name and reputation. That is only to her credit, in my opinion, but if you want me to do some deeper digging to find out for sure, let me know.
--MC
Tapping the paper with one finger, I shook my head, even though no one was there to see me. There wasn’t any need to snoop into the details of Dr. Carson’s personal life. She checked out in every other way, and that was all I needed to know. She was willing to come down here and gamble a stellar career on a job at a start-up oncology wing in the middle of almost nowhere, Florida . . . and her arrival would give me a few more options when it came to my own life.
And freedom, maybe? I picked up my phone, grappling with the decision once more before I hit the call button. It was late, but I had a feeling Erin would still be awake. When she answered, sounding crisp and chipper, I knew I’d been right on target.
“Okay, Deacon, don’t mess around with niceties. I don’t have time for that shit. Is it yes or no?”
I grinned. “Aww, don’t try to woo me with your sweet-talking ways, Erin.” When she groaned, I only laughed. “Okay, okay. Fine. It’s yes. Against my better judgement—and I don’t know how I’m going to convince my board of directors that this is a good idea—I’m going with you to Venezuela.”
1
Emma
“Just who in the blazes do you think you are?”
The voice that rang out behind me shook with fury. Anxiety threatened to close my throat, but I kept walking anyway.
“Stop!” She was much closer behind me than I’d thought, but still, my step stuttered only slightly.
“I said, stop walking.” She grasped my upper arm, not so much to hurt me as to get my attention. A large part of me wanted to shake her off and keep running away, but the wiser portion of my mind—and years of training—prevailed. I drew myself up and turned to face her.
“I’m sorry—Mrs. Hoskins, was it? Did you need something?” I pasted on what I thought might have passed for a pleasant smile. “I didn’t hear you.”
We both knew I was lying, but she was too fired up to call me on that.
“Yes, I do need something. I need you to not go into our patients’ room and change their care plan—to tinker with what Dr. Girard has carefully and thoughtfully put in place for their treatment. You have no right.”
I sucked in a long breath. “On the contrary. I have every right. I was hired to do exactly what I’ve been doing all morning—meeting patients and talking about ways we can make their path toward healing better and more comfortable.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “If you’d like to discuss the role of the naturopathic doctor in oncology, I’d be happy to sit down with you—but not right now. I still have to see several other patients on the floor before lunch, and then I’m going down to meet with the dietician and nutritionist, so we can discuss how we can supplement the current meals to meet the unique needs in this wing.”
