Private Practice (3 page)

…

Ellie rattled off her request for a skinny mocha to the fuchsia-haired cashier at Jiffy Java. Normally, the word “decaf” would have preceded her order, but after her early-morning caller, she needed a jolt of caffeine. Her patient schedule was mercifully blank because her official opening wasn’t until Monday, but she planned to spend her entire Saturday setting up three exam rooms’ worth of supplies and organizing her office. These activities required some uninterrupted time…and energy.

She tried and failed to stifle a huge yawn as she moved to the pickup counter to wait for her order.

“Sparky, you haven’t been back long enough to be bored to death already,” a teasing voice intoned.

Turning, she came face to face with… “Roger! Oh my God, it’s so nice to see you.”
Nice
to see him? Could she be any lamer? She smoothed the hem of her slim black T-shirt and wished she’d paired it with something more eye-catching than cropped khaki cargos and black canvas ballet flats, because he looked wonderful. A pristine white polo shirt and tennis shorts set off his sun-streaked hair and tanned skin. Could any man be more perfect? And yet, even as she formed the thought, a picture of Tyler sprang into her mind—tall, dark, and distractingly handsome. She shoved his uninvited image out of her head.

“Good to see you too, Ellie.” Roger’s warm greeting and the quick brush of his lips against her cheek sent her heart fluttering. “Or should I say, Dr. Swann? I heard you were back.”

Dazzled by his smile and the mesmerizing sparkle in his heavenly blue eyes, she managed a breathless, “News travels fast.”

“’Round these parts, it doesn’t have far to travel.” With a shake of his head, he added, “I can’t believe it’s really you.” He stepped back and took stock. “Sometime during the last ten years you got all grown up. You look good, Ellie. Really good. How are you?”

A blush heated her face, all the way to the roots of her hair. Thankfully, the barista placed her mocha on the counter just then, giving her an excuse to turn away for a moment. “I’m great.”
Giddy, nervous, nearly incoherent with excitement
. “And you?”

“I’m doing well”—his smile faltered—“or, maybe I should say working my way in that direction. I don’t know if you heard about Melody and me?”

“I heard you called off your engagement,” she said, giving his forearm a comforting pat. No way would she admit to overhearing
why
. “I’m very sorry.”

He offered her a pained look. “News travels fast, huh?”

She inclined her head and gave his earlier response back to him. “’Round these parts, it doesn’t have far to go. But I have to admit the news came as a shock. I always assumed you two would go the distance.”

He sighed. “She’s a great girl, and she’ll always be my best friend, but our relationship just didn’t work out. I— It’s completely my fault.”

Sympathy swelled her heart. Melody might have been putting on a brave face for Ginny, but she hadn’t sounded nearly this broken up about the end of the engagement yesterday afternoon in DeShay’s. Frankly, she’d come across as completely at peace with the decision, whereas he seemed racked with guilt.

“If you need a good listener or a shoulder to cry on, I’m available.”
I’m available?
Shoot, did she sound too forward? All she’d meant was—

“Thanks, Sparky. That’s really sweet.” His eyes shifted to someone behind her. He straightened and smiled. “Hey. How’s it going?”

This time when she turned, she came face-to-face with her 2:00 a.m. caller.

His mouth tipped up at one corner in a slow, ridiculously sexy grin. “She doesn’t like to be called Sparky anymore—prefers Ellie or Dr. Swann.”

“Whoops. Sorry, Ellie. I hope I didn’t offend you. It’s just”—he shrugged—“you’ve been Sparky for as long as I can remember. Since the Knights of Columbus Annual Fourth of July Festival back in…gosh, how long ago was it?”

She prepared to brush the question away, but Tyler spoke up. “Twenty-two years. You were six, right Doc?”

Shock that he remembered the details of the incident nearly overshadowed her annoyance. Why in God’s name did he have to have such perfect recollection of something she’d prefer to leave long forgotten? “Right. Six. Hardly a fair age to be saddled with a lifelong nickname.”

“Well, you did burn down the bandstand,” Roger pointed out with an apologetic smile.

“Blame Budweiser and Earl Rawley, who should have used better judgment, considering the man owns a pub. What kind of maniac hands a six-year-old a sparkler and then lights it? Small wonder I freaked out. Thank God nobody was hurt.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘nobody,’” Roger objected. “I think your dad blew a vessel. I’d never seen anyone so mad before.”

Yeah, he’d been angry. What Roger probably didn’t appreciate, being only six at the time and from a family where no one ever raised their voice in anger, was that
she’d
been as much the target of her father’s temper as Earl. Her little accident had forced him to actually deal with his daughter instead of pretending she didn’t exist. A quick glance assured her Tyler knew. Sympathy—or worse, pity—clouded his eyes.

A fistful of muscle relaxants couldn’t have stopped her spine from stiffening. Granted, Frank would never nominate her for daughter of the year, but now that she was back in Bluelick, she planned on forging some kind of adult relationship with him. In the meantime, she had a pretty good life, if she did say so herself. She set high goals for herself and worked hard to attain them. No pity necessary.

In her haste to close the topic, she replied more brusquely than she intended. “The whole incident serves as a perfect example of what happens when liquor, lame-ass judgment, and dangerous toys come together. Speaking of which”—she cocked an eyebrow at Tyler—“how’re you doing this morning?”

Roger cleared his throat and eyed them both speculatively. “I get the distinct impression I’m missing something interesting. Unfortunately, I’ve got a game with my dad at the club in ten minutes, so I’ve got to go. Tyler, always a pleasure. Ellie, let’s catch up real soon.”

See you? Call me?
Potential farewells flashed through her mind as he ambled out of the coffee shop, but before she could settle on one, Tyler draped an arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear.

“I’m doing fine, and so is my lame ass. Thanks for asking.”

She shivered and told herself his breath tickling her ear caused the reaction, rather than the unbidden memory of his lips plastered to hers last night during his little “aptitude test.” She couldn’t deny that the image of his sculpted backside elicited tingles in some highly personal places. Goodness, she felt wilder already. Then again, she’d always been a quick study, particularly when the instructor inspired her interest in the subject. Apparently, Tyler inspired.

Unsure of her next move, she fell back on manners. “I noticed the garbage fairy cleaned up my porch. You didn’t have to do that. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

He shrugged. “I made the mess. Least I could do was clean up after myself.” His low voice tickled her ear.

“Well…thanks,” she managed, around her suddenly dry throat. Her discomfort only intensified when a familiar voice called, “Ellie! I’ve been hoping to run into you ever since I heard you were back.”

Chapter Three

Ellie spun and came face-to-face with Roger’s ex-fiancée.

“Oh my gosh, Melody, hi!” Inwardly, she grimaced at the brittle enthusiasm of her reply. “You look beautiful, as always.” That much, at least, was true. Her sea-blue sundress matched her eyes and displayed her enviable figure to perfection.

The blonde smiled. “Thanks. So do you. Love your outfit. I wish I could wear cargos, but they make my hips look huge. Hey, Tyler.”

“Hey.” He flashed a smile and glanced at his watch. “Much as I hate to greet and run, I’ve got a meeting. Catch you later, Mel. Doc.” He leaned in, tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear, and brushed his lips over her cheek. To anyone in the coffee shop, the gesture probably looked exactly the same as Roger’s—friendly and innocent. In truth, the kisses were worlds apart. Tyler’s kiss stirred up all kinds of reactions, none of which she’d call “friendly” or “innocent.” She backed up, still reeling a bit, and he snagged a finger into the vee of her T-shirt to halt her retreat. “See you Thursday,” he whispered.

Before she could so much as nod in reply, he shot her a cocky grin and headed out into the sun-soaked morning. She found herself staring after him, admiring how he filled out his Levi’s.

“Ellie, I’ve been wanting to ask you something. Do you have a minute to talk?”

Melody’s hesitant tone pulled Ellie’s head out of Tyler’s pants. During school, gorgeous, popular Melody had rarely sounded unsure. But she did now, and looked it, too, with her questioning eyes and the serious set to her mouth. Whatever she wanted to discuss, the topic clearly made her nervous, and this triggered a domino effect in Ellie.

“Um, sure. Want to walk over to my office with me? It’s just on the other side of the square.”

Melody nodded. “Perfect.”

Yeah, perfect
, she thought as they started across Main. The perfect opportunity for Melody to say, “I saw you eavesdropping at DeShay’s yesterday and you should mind your own damn business.” Braced for anything, she nearly tripped over her feet when Melody said, “I heard you were opening your practice and I wondered if you needed an office manager.”

She blinked and tried to get her brain to switch gears. “I called an agency in Lexington and asked them to send a temp on Monday, but I’d love to hire locally, if possible. Why? Do you know someone who might be interested?”

The blonde’s tinkling laughter followed them along the pretty row of nineteenth-century brick storefronts. “You could say that.”

Ellie stopped in front of the carved limestone steps leading to her office and glanced up at Melody.

“It’s me, Ellie. I’m interested.”

“But…I thought you worked at Reynolds & Reynolds?”

“Yes, but I’m overdue for a change. I can’t work for Roger Sr. the rest of my life. The grand plan, of course, was for Roger to take over his dad’s practice. I’d run the office until we started having kids.” She sighed and shrugged. “You’ve probably heard by now Roger and I broke up, so that’s not going to happen. It’s time for a new plan. I want…no, I
need
a change.”

Melody’s words resonated with Ellie. Fate sometimes dealt out disappointments. A healthy person took time to grieve, and then did her best to adapt and overcome. She couldn’t blame Melody for not wanting to continue at Reynolds & Reynolds, surrounded by constant reminders that her grand plan hadn’t quite panned out.

Some people never moved on. When a three-car pileup on the Double A had robbed Ellie’s father of his beloved wife, he’d clung to his pain like a keepsake. She’d watched him grow bitter and resentful, incapable of appreciating his blessings, including her, to the extent that he’d ever been inclined to count her among them.

All the more reason to admire Melody for choosing to move forward, but hiring Roger’s ex probably wasn’t a good idea.

“I understand, Melody, better than you know. The thing is, I…ah…I like Roger.”

“Of course you do. Everyone likes Roger.
I
like Roger. Heck, I love Roger, just not the way you need to love someone you’re going to marry. And he feels the same way. Our breakup truly was mutual. We parted friends, so don’t worry. You won’t get pressed into taking sides.”

Ellie stared at the cheerful red geraniums overflowing the window boxes and debated her conscience. What could she say? “I don’t just like Roger, I
like
like him.” God, no. Too adolescent.

Instead, for some inconceivable reason, she blurted, “Roger told me the breakup was his fault,” and immediately wished she could kick herself for bringing up personal details she wasn’t entitled to and really didn’t want.

“Well, he’d put it that way. Fault’s a strong word. We just weren’t meant to be. It’s fine, Ellie. Really. If you hire me, I don’t expect Roger to be dead to you.”

“Are you sure you want to work for a start-up doctor still trying to build her practice? The pay probably sucks compared to what you’re used to, or could earn in a bigger market like Lexington.”

“I like the idea of working in town. There’s no quality of life in a long commute. As for the money, tell me, are you a good doctor?”

She thought about her years in medical school, her internship, her residency. She also thought about the neat, precise line of stitches in Tyler’s butt. “Yes, I think so.”

“Great. I’m a good office manager. So if you do your job, and I do mine, your practice will succeed, and I’m sure the money thing will work out. Right now my goal is to land the job and be useful. Come on. What do you say?”

What could she say? “I’ll see you Monday morning, 9:00 a.m.?”

Melody’s squeal and fast, firm hug turned heads of passersby along the sidewalk. “Yay! You won’t be sorry,” she promised as she practically skipped down Main.

“Yeah,” Ellie said under her breath. “Hopefully you won’t be either.”

…

Tyler sat in an uninspired gray cubicle at Bluelick Savings and Loan and tried to keep his temper on a leash. “What do you mean you’re declining my loan? Did something about my proposal throw you?”

The mountain of flesh known as Grady Landry puffed out a breath and ran a pudgy hand through his thinning red hair. “Your proposal was clear, and the lending committee acknowledged that a construction loan on a spec property falls within our charter. But part of this institution’s mandate is a little something called ‘Know your customer,’ and you, my friend, are a known risk.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes and stared across the desk. Grady wasn’t a bad guy, he reminded himself. The man had gone to bat for him five years ago when he’d sought a loan to get his fledgling construction company off the ground. But that made it all the harder to understand why one paid-in-full loan later, they turned him down for another.

“My track record with this institution says different,” he said. “The Browning property has been rotting on its foundation for the last twenty years. My team and I can turn that dilapidated old horse farm into a showplace. I’m not talking about razing the buildings, subdividing the acreage, and putting up a bunch of cookie-cutter McMansions for refugees from New York and Philly looking to indulge their horsey fantasies. I’d restore the main house and the barns, and sell the property as the equestrian estate it was meant to be, for three times the loan amount—and you damn well know it. So, sorry, I don’t see the risk you’re all hung up on.”

Grady drummed his fingers on his desk. “I’ll sketch it out for you. Let’s say we lend you the money you’re asking for—a significantly larger amount than your original loan, I should point out—and then something happens to you. How do we make good on our loan? A mortgage on the unimproved property won’t do the trick. As far as we can see, nobody on your crew can step in and take your place, so your big plans for the Browning farm go bye-bye. Without you, your company isn’t worth close to the loan amount, so liquidating your business assets wouldn’t make us whole.” He shrugged and held his hands up. “Everybody here likes you and believes in your skills, but I can’t sell this to our lending committee because you’re the single point of success—or failure.”

“I’m thirty-two years old, for God’s sake. Neither foot is anywhere near the grave. Do I have to pass a physical or—”

“You ride around on a Harley.”

Hell, he knew where this was headed. Still, he’d go down swinging. “I’ve never had an accident.”

“You practically own a barstool at Rawley’s.”

“C’mon Grady, I see you there often enough.”

“I’m not looking for a loan. And I’ve never found myself on the wrong end of Junior Tillman’s small-game rifle at last call. The way my lending committee sees it, you’re an accident waiting to happen.”

Shit
. “Does everybody and their dog know about the thing with Junior?”

The big man nodded. “’Fraid so. The grapevine sprang a few new sprouts over that one. Look Tyler, I want to help, swear to God I do, but you’ve got to show my lending committee you’re stable and responsible.”

“Hell.” Tyler tossed his paperwork on the desk. “I run an honest business, keep it solidly in the black. I can restore an antebellum horse farm better than anybody south of the Mason-Dixon line. What else do they want?”

“Settle down with a nice girl. Trade the Harley for a minivan and the late nights at Rawley’s for parent-teacher conferences. Look like you’ve got a stake in this life beyond having a good time.”

The rough, unvarnished truth hurt. People considered him a hell-raiser who couldn’t handle real responsibility. Never mind that he’d founded a business and busted his ass to make it successful. Never mind that he and his team consistently turned out top-notch projects, on time and within budget. His “don’t give a damn” image—fairly earned, he hated to admit—stood firmly in the way of his goals.

Tyler stared at the bland tile ceiling and sighed. “A nice girl, a minivan, and parent-teacher conferences, huh? Sounds like a great ten-year plan. Too bad I wanted the loan sometime this decade.” He stood and gathered his papers. “Thanks for the honesty, if nothing else.”

“Wait,” Grady said when Tyler started to walk away. “Wait a week or so for the incident with Junior to blow over. In the meantime, keep the Harley on the back roads and the wild times to a minimum, and come up with a succession plan for Thoroughbred Construction. I don’t need an heir apparent, just some information about the management structure and who does what in your operation so my lending committee can understand they’re not investing in a one-man show, okay? Do those things and I’ll take your application to the committee again.”

Tyler swallowed and held out his hand. “Thanks, Grady.”

“Save your thanks ’til the loan’s approved.”

Forty minutes later, in the foreman’s trailer at the Lexington job site, Tyler watched Junior pace and sweat. “Jesus, Ty, I’m sorry about this whole mess. I know you weren’t hitting on Lou Ann. I mean, I didn’t know it at the time, ’cause I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, but once I sobered up, I knew you wouldn’t do something like that. Want me to go to Grady and explain?”

“Thanks, Junior, but no. Explanations won’t undo the lending committee’s impression of me as bad risk. I’ve got to show them that Thoroughbred Construction is a safe investment.”

His friend flopped down on the small sofa along one wall of the trailer, adjusted his ball cap out of habit, and looked up at Tyler with beagle eyes. “I don’t know how to repay you for not going to the cops, and convincing the pretty little doc not to call them either. If there’s anything I can do to— ”

“Get rid of the gun.”

“Done. I gave it to Grandpa.”

“Good choice.” Nobody ever accused the elder Tillman of being irresponsible. Junior’s grandparents had stepped in to raise their only grandchild while Junior’s parents had run around town like a couple of footloose twenty-somethings—exactly what they’d been in those days. Grandma and Grandpa Tillman never had a lot of money, but they’d always found a spot at the dinner table and a warm bed for Tyler whenever Junior had dragged him home, and had never made him feel like an unwanted stray.

“I know. I’ll have to pass a sobriety test and a gun safety quiz before Grandpa lets me so much as oil the damn thing. But what I really meant was what can I do to help you get the loan?”

“Funny you should ask. The bank wants an assurance that Thoroughbred Construction won’t go belly-up if I meet an untimely demise. You’re going to help me show them my business has a life of its own.”

Junior sat up a little straighter. “I am?”

“Yep. Effective immediately, you’re the assistant manager of Thoroughbred Construction. You’ll see a bump in your next paycheck to reflect the new title.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You know the ropes from initial bid through final punch list. You know the crew, the inspectors, who to call when a permit snags.”

“Well, sure, show me some plans, point me to the job site, say ‘build,’ and by God I’ll build it. But I’m no businessman. I don’t have a clue how to talk to clients, or, you know…lenders.”

“You’re going to learn, starting now.” Tyler pulled the loan application from his computer bag and tossed it to Junior. “We’re meeting with the Bluelick Savings and Loan lending committee in soon, to show them the depth of our management talent. Get familiar with the information in that application.”

Junior squinted at the stack of paper and then lifted the cover sheet as if he suspected a snake lurked beneath. For a moment he stared at the glossy cover sheet fronting the package, then scratched the back of his neck and looked up at Tyler. “Oh, buddy, you got the wrong guy. I’m no good with the dog-and-pony stuff. I can’t talk fast enough to convince anybody of anything.”

“Not true. You convinced me not to call the cops on you last Friday night.”

“Oh yeah. There was that.” Hunching his shoulders against the weight of the debt, Junior sighed and turned his attention back to the loan documents. “Speaking of fast talking, how’d you get Ellie to keep quiet?”

Tyler shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”