LITMIR.BIZ

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stared at her helplessly, then handed her a pristine handkerchief.

      “It’s going to be a long haul, probably physical therapy. You’re going to have your work cut out for you.”

      “I don’t care! As long as I have George and Marian back safe and sound.”

      She raised her head as a knock sounded on the door, and Nancy Mayfield stuck her head in. “Mrs. Jepson? Didn’t know where you were. We’re taking the male dog to Recovery now. If you’d like to see them for just a moment—”

      “Oh, please!” Mrs. Jepson followed Nancy out, and Sarah sank into the chair that was still warm from her body.

      “Hell of an introduction,” Mark said. “You want a cup of coffee, too?”

      “In a minute. At the moment I simply want to sit.”

      “Are they really going to be all right?”

      “I have no idea. Looks good, but there’s always something that can go wrong.” She glared at Mark. “Now, about my equipment…”

      “Whoa! Can we put this off until later? I’m late for a meeting downtown at Buchanan.”

      “Are you avoiding me?”

      “No. I’ll be here this evening after work. I promise we’ll talk then.” He went out the door before she could call him back.

      “Fine,” Sarah said. “Tonight it is, Mr. Mark Scott. You can’t avoid me forever.”

      MARK SPENT THE AFTERNOON at Buchanan Enterprises, putting out more fires. When he walked into the clinic late that afternoon he found the waiting room filled with sick pets whose owners had obviously held off until after work to bring them in for treatment. Despite the heavy-duty sound-deadening tiles on the ceiling and the upper third of the walls, Mark felt an instant kinship with Noah, who must have wished constantly for earplugs during that forty days and forty nights in the ark.

      Alva Jean motioned to him while continuing to make ‘uh-huh’ noises to whoever was on the phone, which seemed to grow out of her ear. He pulled his electronic notebook from his breast pocket, keyed in “headset fr desk” and slid the device back into his pocket. That was the sort of simple change that wouldn’t cost more than a little petty cash and should make the receptionist’s job both easier and more efficient.

      Alva Jean covered the mouthpiece and hissed, “Dr. Marsdon is looking for you.” She rolled her eyes to leave Mark in no doubt that Dr. Marsdon was not a happy camper.

      He hadn’t expected her to be. Apparently, Mark was going to be dealing with Margot and Dr. Marsdon. He sighed. At least the good doctor was single, beautiful and sexy. He rather enjoyed the thought of mixing it up with her again.

      He looked into the room next to his and found that the walls had been finished and painted. The paint odor still lingered, but otherwise the place was ready for storage shelving and file cabinets. Tomorrow morning he’d call and have the stuff delivered. He sighed with satisfaction.

      Maybe things were coming together, after all. Lately he’d about given up hope.

      He ducked into his office and shut the door. Then he shucked his jacket and hung it on the nail somebody had driven into the woodwork. An accident waiting to happen. He made another note: “hammer nails into walls.” And prayed that when he got around to checking his notes at midnight he’d have some inkling of what he’d meant.

      He kneaded the muscles along the tops of his shoulders and slumped into the ratty desk chair. A normal day at Buchanan. Endless conference calls, endless meetings, a Chamber of Commerce luncheon with Coy, more meetings, work with engineers on HVAC bids for a bank headquarters in Charlotte that had come in high, a surprise visit from the INS about forged green cards on a job they were subcontracting in Little Rock. More telephone calls chasing down the general contractor in Little Rock. Protestations of innocence followed by arguments that the only decent drywall workers in the entire southeast were illegal Mexican laborers.

      Mark believed him—and so, for that matter, did the INS. But that didn’t matter. He pulled out his notebook. “Check grncds subcon vet.” What were the chances he could decipher that tomorrow?

      His left temple throbbed, and he longed to go home to his quiet house, put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, pop a cold beer, and watch mindless television until he fell asleep. What a life for a man who was supposed to be in his prime.

      Anyone meeting him would think he had the world by the tail—a great job with a boss he not only respected but liked, more money than he’d ever dreamed of and an excellent reputation among his colleagues and friends.

      Right. Friends. Acquaintances, more like. There simply hadn’t been time to develop a life away from work, much less create anything resembling a family. He was like the new Silicon Valley computer kids who ate, slept and lived their jobs.

      A far cry from the life he’d envisioned when he was eighteen, before his father’s death had brought the world crashing down around his head.

      At the knock on his door, he glanced up.

      It opened immediately. Dr. Sarah Marsdon came in— no, marched in—and shut it a little too forcefully behind her. Mark didn’t bother to stand up.

      She sat down. “I’d about decided you weren’t coming, Mr. Scott.”

      He sighed. “Mark—please. I thought we’d settled that.”

      “That’s the only thing we seem to have settled. Now, let’s talk about my equipment.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      MARK SIGHED. “Okay. Hit me.”

      “Believe me, I wish I could. But let’s get to my list. Bear in mind this is the basic equipment we need. We already have a portable ultrasound. It’s a thousand years old, but it will do for the moment.”

      “Oh, goodie.”

      “However, we are missing the mobile fluoroscopy machine and the portable X ray…”

      “To the tune of eighty thousand bucks or more.”

      “And the endoscope and laser. Shouldn’t run more than about twenty-five each for the bare bones. I can share the X-ray developer with the dogs and cats for the moment, but I’ll really need it to stay in my area. The small-animal technicians can come to me to develop their plates rather than the other way around. Of course, a second developer would solve that problem.”

      “Another twenty-five thou, if we’re lucky.”

      “Be lucky.” Sarah ticked off on her fingers. “I was promised an anesthesia machine. You may be able to find one of those from a ‘human’ medical supply house for about forty-five or fifty thousand.”

      “Oh, you’re too kind.”

      “That leaves a portable laser, which you can probably pick up for around ten thousand dollars used, and a blood chemistry analyzer. We have an autoclave. I won’t ask for a nuclear cytography machine yet, but I do need a laptop computer with Internet and fax capability that I can carry in my car so I can fax ultrasounds and fluoroscopes either back here to the office or to the vet school at Mississippi State. Oh, and the vet cabinet in my truck is too small. Jack said he’d stock the one I have, but I don’t have enough room for all the equipment and medication I’ll need to take with me on off-site calls. And I need keys to the Schedule 2 drug storage cabinet—both keys, please.”

      “Is that all?”

      “For the moment. Eventually, we really will need an MRI. And that will involve training at least one employee to use it. Oh, one more thing—a really good pair of surgical clippers for large animals. I can have one sent overnight for four or five hundred dollars. And I’ll have a list of additional medications and supplies I’ll need, as soon as I check what you already have.” Sarah started to get up. “That’s

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