Carolyn McSparren - The Money Man

“Fine, you need her, but you don’t need a portable fluoroscope or a laser. And definitely not a large animal MRI.”

“We do.”

“We can’t afford to buy any more equipment at the moment, Rick. We can’t afford to lease, either. She’ll have to make do with what we have until the clinic generates some decent income.”

“But I promised her if she’d move here—”

“Answer me this—would you rather participate in the grand opening of this clinic or appear in bankruptcy court?”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s close. The cost overruns on Margot’s design changes and the construction delays have killed you.”

“I’m not responsible for the wettest winter and spring since the 1880s,” Rick protested.

Mark longed to say that Rick was certainly responsible for his wife’s continuing upgrades and changes, but he kept his mouth shut. No sense in antagonizing Margot any more than he had to, and even less in forcing Rick to defend her. “Blame the gods, blame the weather, blame the contractors. None of that changes the fact that you’re skating very close to the edge of your available capital—what the hell, your capital, your wife’s capital, your partners’ capital, your investors’ capital, your credit and every other type of financing you can lay your hands on. How can I explain this to you in terms you understand, my friend? I can’t— won’t—approve a purchase order for any more equipment until you at least come close to meeting the objectives in your business plan.”

Rick sucked in his breath. “The small-animal area is more than meeting objectives.”

“That’s true, thank God. But Bill Chumney hasn’t finalized the contract with the zoo or the wildlife conservation people to treat their exotic animals—”

“He will. We already have a verbal agreement. They’re just waiting for us to finish building the flight cage to handle their raptors. That won’t take more than a week. Bill already has one of their eagles in recovery. He’s done a great job reconstructing that wing. The wildlife people will have to be impressed.”

“Wonderful. However, a verbal contract is not worth the paper it’s written on. The fluorescent lights aren’t connected in the large-animal surgical suite, there’s no hardware on the intensive care stalls for the cows and horses, the observation cameras aren’t calibrated yet.…”

“Punch list problems. We’ll have them done by tomorrow, close of business.”

“That’s what you said last week. Give it at least a month before you bring in Dr. Marsdon, Rick.”

Rick hunkered down in his chair like a sulky child. “The only person with no vested interest in this clinic is you.”

Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “We’ve been over that before. I want this clinic to succeed because that’s what Coy Buchanan wants, and I work for him. Like I’ve said from the beginning, I never invest my own money in a project I’m overseeing. Don’t want my own financial concerns to cloud my judgment.”

The door behind Rick opened, and Alva Jean stuck her head in. “Dr. Hazard, there’s a Dr. Sarah Marsdon waiting to see you.”

“Oh, God, not now,” Rick moaned. “She wasn’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Why didn’t you tell me she was already scheduled?”

“What am I going to say to her?”

“Start with your punch list,” Mark said.

The door opened again.

Sarah Marsdon was silhouetted in the light from the hallway behind her. Mark had assumed a woman who dealt with horses and cows would look like Hulk Hogan.

Sarah’s silhouette looked more like Julia Roberts.

“Hi, Rick.” The silhouette spoke. “The drive from St. Paul took less time than I thought.”

She came forward into the light.

More Melanie Griffith than Julia Roberts. Hair the color of well-aged honey and eyes the color of a cloudless sky.

Rick hugged her, then turned to introduce Mark. “Dr. Sarah Marsdon, may I present Markham Scott?”

She shook his hand with a firm grip. “Nice to meet you,” she said.

“My pleasure,” Mark responded. “Although I—”

Rick stepped in with a nervous laugh. “Mark’s vice president of operations for Buchanan Enterprises. He’s the money man of Coy Buchanan’s company. Coy is Margot’s father—my father-in-law. He gave us the land for the clinic and lent us Mark to handle the finances.”

Waiting for Rick to wind down, Mark caught Dr. Marsdon’s curious glance. She’d obviously picked up on Rick’s nervousness. Time to step in. “He’s telling you I’m the resident bad guy, Dr. Marsdon. Rick says my middle name is Scrooge.”

“I’ll try to stay on your good side, Mr. Scott.”

“Mark—please. As a matter of fact…”

Rick jumped in. “Come on, Sarah, let me show you around.” He put a hand to the middle of her back and practically pushed her into the hall. Then he turned to Mark. “Would you mind organizing some temporary accommodation for Sarah?”

Mark nodded. Sooner or later Rick would have to tell her she wouldn’t be getting her equipment for a while. He wondered how she’d react. She seemed like a nice enough lady, but he’d learned to be wary of vets. Even the nice ones exploded when they thought something stood between them and the welfare of their animal patients.

At least this one was easy on the eyes. Very easy. The sort of woman who went around stirring up male hormones without even realizing she was doing it. Not that her looks would get her one step closer to that portable fluoroscope. Mark considered himself immune to feminine wiles. And plenty had been used against him. So far none had succeeded.

He clicked on his cell phone and speed-dialed his office. “Beth? Mark. Rick’s just dumped a new lady vet in our laps. Get her a suite at the motel, could you? And stock it? Ground floor, I think. Thanks.”

He hung up, shut his briefcase and headed for the door. He’d be willing to bet that the job of letting Dr. Marsdon down gently was one Rick would leave to him.

“SO, HOW WAS THE WEATHER in St. Paul?” Rick said as he propelled Sarah down the hall.

“I left in a snowstorm.”

“You have snow in April?”

“Won’t last long, but it was a mess to drive in until I got south of Eau Claire. After that, I made great time. Drove half the night. I can’t believe it’s almost summer in Tennessee.”

“Just wait until August.”

“It gets hot in St. Paul, too.”

“Not a soggy heat like Memphis, I’ll bet.” He opened a door onto a small operating room. “Mac, when you’re finished spaying that Dachshund, stick your head in my office and meet Sarah Marsdon, our newest staff member.”

The large man in scrubs and mask who stood at the operating table grunted but didn’t lift his head from the small brown dog that lay on her back.

Rick closed the door quietly. “John McIntyre Thorn, our resident ogre. The best surgeon I have ever met, but he has the personality of a Tasmanian devil.”

“That makes two people whose bad sides I don’t want to get on. You got any nice guys around here?”

“Everybody else is pretty nice. But overworked.”

“What else is new? This place is enormous, Rick, and downright palatial. You’re very lucky to have this much suburban land to build a clinic on.”

Rick opened another door on a small utilitarian office. “Margot’s dad is the biggest real estate developer in these parts. He gave us the ten acres. Sit. You must be tired after your drive. Want a soft drink? Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” Sarah sat down. “What about zoning variances? You’re surrounded by expensive mansions with acres of manicured lawns. Didn’t the neighbors object?”