Hearts Afire. Marta Perry

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      Not a proposal, she wanted to say. It’s been approved, remember?

      Still, that hardly seemed the way to earn his cooperation. “Do you have time to discuss it now?”

      He nodded. “Come back to my office.” He turned and walked away, clearly expecting her to follow.

      She’d rather talk on neutral ground in the lounge, but she wasn’t given a choice. She shrugged in response to Harriet’s sympathetic smile and followed him down the corridor. All she wanted was to get this interview over as quickly as possible.

      The office consisted of four hospital-green walls and a beige desk. Nothing had been done to make it Jake’s except for the nameplate on the desk. Maybe that was what he wanted.

      He stalked to the desk, picked up a file folder, and thrust it at her. “Here are the regulations we’ve come up with for the clinic. You’ll want to familiarize yourself with them.”

      She held the folder, not opening it. “We?”

      His frown deepened. “Mr. Morley, the hospital administrator, wanted to have some input.”

      She could imagine the sort of input Morley would provide, with his fear of doing anything that might result in a lawsuit. Well, that was his job, she supposed. She flipped open the folder, wondering just how bad it was going to be.

      In a moment she knew. She snapped the folder shut. “This makes it practically impossible for my volunteers to do anything without an explicit order from a doctor.”

      “Both Mr. Morley and I feel that we can’t risk letting volunteers, trained or not, treat patients without the approval of the physician in charge.”

      “You, in other words.”

      “That’s correct.” His eyebrows lifted. “You agreed to the terms, as I recall.”

      “I didn’t expect them to be so stringent. My people are all medical professionals—I don’t have anyone with less than an EMT-3 certification. You’re saying you don’t trust them to do anything without your express direction.”

      Were they talking about her volunteers? Or her?

      “You can give all the sanitation and nutrition advice you want. I’m sure that will be appreciated. Anything else, and—”

      His condescending tone finally broke through her determination to play it safe with him. “Are you taking it out on the program because you blame me for Meredith Stanley’s death?”

      She’d thought the name often enough since Jake’s arrival. She just hadn’t expected to say it aloud. Or to feel the icy silence that greeted it.

      For a long moment he stared at her—long enough for her to regret her hasty words, long enough to form a frantic prayer for wisdom. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

      “No. You shouldn’t.” His face tightened with what might have been either grief or bitterness. He turned away, seeming to buy a moment’s respite by walking to the window that looked out over the hospital parking lot. Then he swung back to face her. “What happened two years ago has nothing to do with the clinic.” The words were clipped, cutting. “I think it best if we both try to forget the past.”

      Could he really do that? Forget the suicide of a woman who’d said she loved him? Forget blaming the paramedics who’d tried to save her? Forget the gossip that said he was the one at fault?

      Maybe he could. But she never would.

      He seemed to take her assent for granted. He nodded toward the folder in her hands. “Read through that, discuss it with your volunteers. Possibly we can arrange for the clinic to be in phone or radio contact with the E.R. when it’s open. We’ll discuss that later.”

      “Yes.” Her fingers clenched the manila folder so tightly someone would probably have to pry it loose. All she wanted now was to get away from him—as far away as possible.

      He picked up a ring of keys from the desk. “Suppose we go out and look at this clinic of yours.”

      “Not now.” The words came out instinctively. “I mean…we can schedule that at your convenience.”

      His eyebrows lifted again. “Now is convenient. Would you like to ride with me?”

      She didn’t even want to be in the same state with him. “No. Thank you, but I’ll need my car. Why don’t you follow me out? The camp is a little tricky to find.”

      If she were fortunate, maybe he’d get lost on the maze of narrow country roads that led to the migrant compound. But somehow, she didn’t think that was likely to happen.

      Jake kept Terry’s elderly sedan in sight as they left the outskirts of Suffolk and started down a winding country road. He hadn’t gotten used to the fact that the area went so quickly from suburbs to true country, with fields of corn and soybeans stretching along either side of the road.

      He frowned at the back of her head, red curls visible as she leaned forward to adjust something—the radio, probably. He shouldn’t have been so harsh with her. It wasn’t Terry’s fault that he couldn’t see her now without picturing her racing the stretcher into the E.R., without seeing Meredith’s blank, lifeless face, without being overwhelmed with guilt.

      Just let me be a doctor again. That’s all I ask. I’ll save other lives. Isn’t that worth something?

      And did he really believe saving others would make up for failing Meredith? His jaw tightened. Nothing would make up for that. Maybe that was why God stayed so silent when he tried to pray.

      Meredith’s death wasn’t Terry’s fault. But if someone more experienced had taken the call—if he had checked his messages earlier—if, if, if. No amount of what-ifs could change the past. Could change his culpability.

      He pushed it from his mind. Concentrate on now. That means making sure Terry and her clinic don’t derail your future.

      It was farther than he’d expected to the Dixon Farms. The route wound past rounded ridges dense with forest and lower hills crowned by orchards, their trees heavy with fruit. Finally Terry turned onto a gravel road. An abundant supply of No Trespassing signs informed him that they were on Dixon Farms property. Apparently, Matthew Dixon had strong feelings about outsiders.

      He gritted his teeth as the car bottomed out in a rut. Surely there was a better way to provide health care for the migrant workers. Wouldn’t it make more sense to bring the workers to health care, instead of trying to bring health care to them? If Dr. Getz had given him any idea of what he’d been walking into that day at the board meeting, he’d have been prepared with alternatives.

      Terry bounced to a stop next to several other vehicles in a rutted field. He drove up more slowly, trying to spare his car the worst of the ruts. Not waiting for him, she walked toward a cement block building that must be the site for the clinic. It was plopped down at the edge of a field. Beyond it, a strip of woods stretched up the shoulder of the ridge.

      He parked and slid out. If he could find some good reason why this facility wasn’t suitable, maybe they could still go back and revisit the whole idea. Find a way of dealing with the problem that СКАЧАТЬ