Squeezing his fingers in hers, she released his hand and knelt to busy herself at the bedding area. “Yes. But it isn’t a big deal. Every cent has gone into keeping you guys comfortable and in that house. I couldn’t live in an expensive place, knowing my parents were destitute somewhere.” She bit her lip, the hardship she’d endured when she made more than enough for one person to live on, even in college and medical school, had sometimes been almost more than she could bear.
But she’d never tell her dad that. He didn’t need to know.
“No more. This is past unacceptable. I’m ashamed I couldn’t raise you well enough to realize that martyring yourself is not being happy – which is the only thing I ever wanted for you. Forget your mother. She’s dead.” He gave a curt nod at Becky’s gasp. He’d never been the bluntest person, always skirted the issues and gave diplomacy a new definition. But he thrust his hands on his waist. “That’s right. She’s dead. You and I are going to let her go.”
He reached for the closest pile he could get his hands on, which just happened to be the in-home medical supplies she kept on hand. “That’s it. I’m pushing her out. Letting her go isn’t enough. I’m throwing her out. I didn’t have the balls to do it when she lived with me, bossing me around, but now,” He hurled the packaged gauze and suturing materials onto the ground. “I’m kicking her out.”
Becky grimaced. “That’s awesome, Dad. I’m glad you can do that.” She cleared her throat, uncomfortable in the moment and unable to find humor while things she’d spend hard-saved money on lay carelessly strewn about the floor in the form of medical supplies. She knelt and picked them up, replacing them to the makeshift table. “Those are super expensive. Here, use my socks to toss Mom out.”
She handed two pairs of rolled up socks over and their gazes met. In the seriousness of the moment, neither of them could contain the laughter bubbling out and in seconds they broke into screeching and ill-contained wails of mirth.
Wiping his eyes, her dad sighed. “Okay. I know you well enough, it doesn’t matter what I say, you’re hell-bent on saving money. And that’s fine. But I don’t care who you are, you shouldn’t be allowing anyone to live in these kinds of conditions. Please tell me, you have some kind of heat up here.”
With a soft shrug, Becky murmured. “Well, not always. If I turn off the light, I can get the electricity to work on the heater or the TV, but never at the same time. I usually have sandwiches so I don’t need a fridge or anything. It’s fine, Dad. I make do.”
“No, it’s not fine. We’re going to go discuss this with the landowner, right now. Something needs to be done about these inhumane conditions.” He held up his hand. “And I’m not taking no for an answer. If you won’t demand life-saving amenities, I will.” Without waiting for Becky, he reclaimed the steps, taking them faster than she’d recommended. He strode from the barn, Becky as close to his heels as she dared.
Her dad-in-shining-armor stomped over the packing-well-and-piling-high snow to the porch of the house.
Bang-bang-bang. He didn’t waste time knocking or trying to peek inside the windows framing the door.
Becky stood to the side behind him, uncertain on her role in his actions and just how long it would take for Mrs. Roylance to kick her from the property. The old woman had never really liked Becky anyway, but she’d been polite and nice from the beginning, probably because of the mutual interest in the clinic and the fact that Becky could be the stepping stone to getting her husband into retirement.
Psyching herself out of standing there to talk about creature comforts with a woman who most likely didn’t care, Becky tugged on her dad’s sleeve. “Dad, I don’t —”
The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing Mrs. Roylance in a maroon and lace robe, puffy lower eyelids, matted hair wrapped in curlers and lumped to the side. Tears still poured down her softly wrinkled cheeks. Pulling the panels of her robe tighter around her, she hugged her waist and peered at Bill and then to Becky, choosing to focus on Becky. “Becky? I was about to come speak with you.” She glanced down at her attire and sniffed. “Well, in a little bit, anyway. But it appears you came to me first. News travels fast in this town.”
Bill stepped forward, gaining Mrs. Roylance’s attention for himself. “I think you know why we’re here. I can’t believe you would think she’d need to explain herself or go into detail on the matter.”
Drawing herself up to her full height of maybe five-foot-four, Mrs. Roylance peered down her nose at Becky and her father. “It would seem to me, sir, that stomping to an old woman’s house in the middle of a snow blizzard in the evening to demand what was promised her so soon after the death is a little tacky, wouldn’t you say?” She breathed in deep, as if preparing for a diatribe to erase any argument from anyone’s mind.
“How did you know about the passing so soon?” Becky interrupted the delivery she was sure the older woman had boiling in her spout.
Spluttering, Mrs. Roylance shook with outrage. “He was my husband. I certainly hope I would be the first to know. Why did they call you? He had a physician sign off on his death.” She fluttered her fingers at her chest, twisting the lacy hem of her robe and looking down at their feet.
“What? Dr. Roylance is dead? I don’t believe it.” Becky sagged against the post holding up the overhang protecting her and her dad from the heavy snow. First Mom, then Dr. Roylance… She shot a worried glance toward her father. What if something happened to Dad? He couldn’t go, not yet. Just when they’d finally get the chance to spend quality time together without her mom around. So many mortalities raised her concern.
“Believe it. You’ll get the clinic, but not until I get the paperwork from the bank that you’ve secured a loan and I’m paid. You can have the house thirty days after that. Just like my husband agreed with you. Now, good night.” And the newly-made widow slammed the door in their face, the puff of air swirling the coin-sized flakes in small tempestuous dances around Becky and her dad.
Turning away from the doorway, Becky accepted the arm her dad offered. She couldn’t find her words as shock circled tighter and tighter around her throat.
He patted her hand, the fingers curled over his forearm. “It’s okay, Bec. I can get a job. I’m still marketable, you know. I’ll help out with the bills. I refuse to let you continue living like this.” At the door he pulled back. “Hmmm. No. I can’t. I’m sorry. You’re not going to sleep in that… that… squalor one more night. Does this town have a hotel or motel or anything?”
Dr. Roylance’s death caused more disbelief than her mother’s had. Her dad’s tone broke through her stupor. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dad. What?”
“A hotel. We need a place to stay.” He bent his head to make eye contact. “Are you okay? I know this is a lot to take in, but you can do this. We’ll get through this somehow.”
But the realization of what Mrs. Roylance had said soaked in. “Dad.”
“I know. I know. I’m sorry. We really don’t have the money. I just —”
“No, Dad. Listen.” Becky focused on him, speaking slowly, letting it sink in for both of them. “We don’t need to worry about the money as much. The clinic is mine. Roylance and I had an agreement that if he was ready to retire while I was here, I’d get his clinic. All I have to do is cover the loan plus fifteen percent for a down payment and I get the clinic, the house, and the property.”
Bill stared, speechless.
“The deal had covered everything because his wife wanted to move south. I remember he’d laughed when he mentioned it including his death.” Becky bit her lip. The clinic and everything attached to it. All the possibilities.
All the complications.
“I don’t know.” She continued, thinking out loud. “Where will we come up with fifteen percent? I’ve put every cent into the debt. This might not work. Plus, you have the house in Spokane. Friends. More job opportunities.” Becky sighed.
“No. Don’t. Is this what you want to do? Do you want to st
ay here?” He led the way to her loft, but didn’t stoop down to settle on the air mattress. Instead he rolled up the blankets and threw whatever he could grab into the empty luggage set up on the sawhorses by the stairs.
Did she? So many pros to staying – she’d still earn her student loans down by working in a rural environment, the money she’d make from the clinic would surmount the debt from her mother’s medical bills in only a couple years versus the original thirty Becky had planned for, she’d be seven years ahead of her life’s plan with regards to her career by owning her own practice.
Cons? At the head of the list sat Slate with his scathing voicemail, slicing her in two with his biting rejection about never taking her up on her offer. Becky wasn’t loose, hadn’t experienced much in the way of love or even a lot of positive attention with the opposite sex, but the little she did have told her any time she could have spent with Slate in the hay could’ve – most likely would’ve – been the best of her life… hell, three lives!
She gritted her teeth. He’d said no. More times than she’d offered, and with acid lining every syllable. Her decisions had to be centered around what she wanted, not on whether or not Slate would be involved. The cons, without considering Slate, included rural work. How many surgeries on kitchen tables would there be? Probably not as many as she could hope. Her skills wouldn’t be tested, pushed, tried. She would most likely hit a plateau of learning and grow stale under the lack of tutelage or challenge.
“I don’t know, Dad. What do you think? I’m not sure I can run the clinic alone.” Becky distractedly bent to retrieve clothing her dad knocked from the top of the unopened suitcase. “There’s more to owning the company and house than it sounds. I really want to work on my medicine, not managing and accounting, and… oh, man, I can’t even list everything I’ll need to do.” Overwhelmed, Becky tucked a shirt and sweatpants into the almost-overflowing baggage. “No. I’m going to pass.”
Her words filled her with dread. Maybe because she lied to her dad. She didn’t want out of there because of the responsibility associated with owning the business – she could do responsible with a blindfold on while chopping into a pumping heart. No, she didn’t want to stay and deal with the humiliation of running repeatedly into the MacAllisters. Over and over. Having her nose rubbed into her undesirability and apparent untrustworthiness didn’t sound like fun.
She looked up from her task at her dad’s quiet. He stared at her from the center of the room, his expression unreadable. Becky tilted her head. “What? Are you okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. I’m upset. Don’t you remember what I did before early retirement?” He glowered at her negative head movement. “I managed three companies and covered as Chief Finance Officer for two others. I’ve consulted on more than enough sites and could run your clinic far into the black zone on your accounting statements.” He puffed air from his lips before pressing them together and crossing his arms. “Frankly, I can’t believe you don’t remember how successful I was.”
“You’d want to work for me?” The foreign idea didn’t sit well with Becky. Working toward the same goal was one thing – working for her was something entirely different. “I don’t know, Dad. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“No. Not for – with. We could work together. I could handle the business part of it and you could handle the medicine. We’ll draw up papers and divide the responsibilities so we don’t have any problems working together. What d’ya say?” Excitement took a good ten years off his face and the positive attitude he’d been known for shown through the years of drudgery and negativity of living with her mom.
Unable to squash his motivations, Becky gave into his energy and nodded, smiling. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Clap. Bill brought his hands together hard, the sound echoing down into the lower portion of the barn. Startled whinnies and snorts resounded up the stairs. “Let’s get into appropriate sleeping accommodations and we can talk details later. I’m so excited!” He rushed forward and wrapped Becky in a hug.
Things hadn’t seemed so good in a long time. Even with two deaths hanging over her head.
~~~
Lack of middle-of-the-week banking left little in the way of a line to get service at the bank. Becky moved right up to the only teller’s window and asked to see someone about a business loan.
The young man behind the glass smiled over a nametag reading “Chet”. “Yes, ma’am. All loans and investments go through the main loan officer and manager. He’ll be in around nine.” He pointed at the clock above the well-polished door. “Only a few minutes. Why don’t you wait in the lobby and help yourself to our gourmet coffee and pastries?”
Her only pair of dress shoes click-clacked as she crossed the marble-tiled floor, until sinking into the plush maroon rug designating the boundaries of the “lobby”. The entire bank couldn’t be more than five-hundred square feet, at least the part that she could see, and yet Chet had acted like he worked in the biggest bank in New York City.
Gourmet coffee and pastries. Psht. Becky poured a small cup of the black steaming liquid and raised it to her lips, expecting the bitter odor of weak, poorly roasted beans. But, oh heaven, the smooth perfume of a premium roast with a hint of hazelnut warmed her face. She didn’t stop to sweeten the beverage and sipped it cautiously. Oh, gourmet indeed.
With new respect for the offerings, she studied the pastries with a little more care. Oh, scones, turnovers, and large muffins beat out the gas station donuts she’d been prepared to see. Don’t mind if she did try a scone… and a turnover. Breakfast had been, okay, no more than thirty minutes before, but don’t offer gourmet foods to a city girl in a podunk town where she had yet to experience class.
“Dr. O’Donald. Fancy seeing you here.” Ronan’s smile covered his words in warmth. More warmth than Becky had received from him to that point.
She wiped the crumbs from the corner of her mouth and hurriedly swallowed the unchewed bite. Crap, bad move. Coughing hacked her reply into gasping and she shoved her drink to her mouth, burning her tongue as she sipped.
Yep, her day was starting on an awesome track.
Ronan grabbed a handful of napkins and held them out to her, softly pounding her back with a cupped palm. She couldn’t even breathe enough to tell him he was doing it the wrong way. Dang gourmet pastries – plural!
After finally gaining back her composure, Becky thanked Ronan and looked around the small interior, embarrassment keeping her from settling on any one particular place. “I’m here to speak with your loan officer?”
“Perfect! Why don’t you come into my office?” He took her by the elbow and led her into an out-of-the-way door labeled with a brass nameplate highlighting none other than his name.
So if he was the loan officer, what would keep him from saying no?
Becky slid into the soft leather seat he offered her, tucking her skirt under her legs and perching on the edge of the chair. “I didn’t realize you were in charge of the loans.” Where did she begin? What did she say? How was she going convince him to give her money?
“Yep.” And he steepled his fingers, watching her across the expanse of his desk.
Discomfort filled the room as he forced her to sit under his scrutiny. He leaned back, tapping a pencil on the legal-sized pad of paper set just so in the center of his desk.
She didn’t squirm or move, just underwent his search with as much as dignity as she could muster. But if he didn’t change his tactics soon, she might slip unnecessary tests into his next exam – can anyone say barium enema?
Finally, he broke his silence. “I heard about Dr. Roylance. I’m sorry. On the few occasions I dealt with him, he struck me as a true gentleman.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
“Colby isn’t a large town, Mr. James. I’m surprised you didn’t run into him more.” Becky didn’t understand the underlying suggestions in his words, but sensed that he wanted desperately to add to the conversation.
�
�No, I have Tim. The physician’s assistant is on retainer at the ranch so I don’t have to go into town. Dr. Roylance contracted with me to part out Tim’s salary. Since he and Tim were the only two medical personnel in this area, it seemed to be a mutually beneficial arrangement. One I hope you and I can continue.” He nodded at her with a small smile.
Too much had happened in the last couple weeks. Thrust into a familial game of tug-of-war, Becky didn’t have the patience to sit through the menial task of conversing about everyday facts and platitudes. Yet she strove for civility because she needed the loan. “Well, that’s why I’m here. I would like to acquire the clinic, land, and house —”
“Yes, I know.” Ronan waved his hand, lowering his eyes to the paper where he doodled with his brass-plated pen. “Look, Dr. O’Donald, can I be frank with you?”
Suspicious, she offered a jerky movement that he took as a nod. The last time he’d wanted to speak with her, he’d requested an unethical favor. The thin line that she walked between screaming down Main Street in her underwear in below-freezing temperatures and complete sanity had dropped to near invisibility.
He might be the one to push her over the edge.
“I’m not interested in demanding fifteen percent for a down payment. If I give you the loan, I’ll let you borrow the full amount needed.” If, he’d said if. He put the pen down and carefully folded his hands together on the desk. “I’d like to ask you a couple questions and based on your answers, I’ll decide on the loan, deal?”
“Questions? Look, before this goes any further, I think it’s only fair to tell you, I’m not going to do anything unethical or immoral. Not. Going. To. Happen. Are you going to reject my loan request, now?” Becky crossed her arms, lifting her chin and throwing her shoulders back. If nothing else, she could at least say she tried. A small part of her sighed in relief that she couldn’t stay. Being around Slate and not being able to, well, further investigate their possibilities seemed more and more unbearable.
Spurs and Lace (Lonely Lace Series Book 1) Page 19