“Given your credentials, I can understand the appeal of a big-city practice. I imagine you’ve amassed more experience than most doctors acquire in a lifetime.”
“A degree from Johns Hopkins would also provide entrée to an established, big-city practice.” Ben indicated the diploma on the wall. After everything he’d read and observed about this man, Allen could have aimed higher than a small practice in a town the size of Coos Bay.
“True—and that’s where I thought I’d end up while I was in medical school and during my residency. As a matter of fact, I had my eye on a practice in Chicago.”
“What happened—if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Not at all. After I met my wife, who’s from Coos Bay and has strong family ties here, my priorities shifted.”
“Ah.” Ben smiled. “The power of love can be mighty.”
“Yes, it can. Besides, patients are patients wherever you treat them, and the needs here are as pressing as those in Chicago or Seattle or San Francisco. Plus, to quote that old movie, Field of Dreams, I’ve learned that if you build it, they will come—assuming you offer first-class care, which we do. The truth is, we can’t keep up with the demand.”
“So you never had any regrets about passing up the Chicago opportunity?”
“Not a one. I’m as busy as I want to be—too busy at the moment, as is my partner—a situation we need to address soon. I also live in one of the most beautiful spots on the planet surrounded by a wonderful family. What more could I ask?”
“That sounds like something my grandfather would have said.”
“Come to think of it, I may have stolen a few of those lines from him.” One side of Allen’s mouth hitched up. “He was a smart man—and quite the armchair philosopher.”
“Yes, he was.” Ben stood. He’d used up too much of this doctor’s busy day. “Thank you for all you did for him.”
Allen rose too and extended his hand. “It was a privilege to have him as a patient. Let me show you out the back way.”
As they walked down the hall toward a door that bypassed the waiting room, Ben asked a few polite questions about the other physician in the practice and the hospital facilities in the area.
Yet as he said goodbye and left the Coos Bay orthopedic surgeon’s office behind, one of Allen’s comments kept replaying in his mind.
“Patients are patients wherever you treat them, and the needs here are as pressing as those in Chicago or Seattle or San Francisco.”
That was true.
However . . . big-city practices had more resources available. More hospital options. Potentially a bigger variety of cases.
And that had been Allen’s first choice too—absent a strong personal incentive to make Coos Bay his base.
Ben stepped outside the medical building, into bright sunshine, and struck off for his truck.
But his mind remained on the conversation with Allen rather than the buzz of activity around him on the busy street.
If his circumstances were similar to the other man’s, he might choose a different route too. Other than his med school buddy in Columbus, he didn’t know a soul in the city. And while the professional challenges might keep him busy during the workday, his after-hours life was liable to be lonely for the foreseeable future.
And Columbus would be nothing like Hope Harbor, where everyone knew everybody else’s business—and almost the entire population showed up to bid farewell to a beloved, longtime resident. Where people cared about their neighbors, and the pace of life felt slower . . . and more reasonable.
Small towns had much to recommend them.
Maybe someday, once he was ready to think about romance again, he might relocate to a place like Hope Harbor. With his credentials, he should be able to find a slot in a practice like Allen’s without any difficulty—and a small town would be an ideal place to raise a family.
Truth be told . . . with the right incentive, he might consider staying now.
An image of Marci’s face flashed through his mind, and he scowled as he thumbed the automatic door opener and strode across the parking lot toward Skip’s truck.
She was not an incentive.
Just the opposite.
The Hope Harbor Herald’s editor was the last woman on earth who should be on his radar screen.
If or when he fell in love, he intended to pick someone with a placid, even-keeled temperament who thought before she spoke and who knew how to present a calm, reasoned argument instead of going ballistic and hurling insults and accusations.
In other words, the polar opposite of Marci Weber.
He slid behind the wheel, started the engine, and pointed the truck toward Hope Harbor.
Too bad about those flyaway emotions, though—because she did have some fine qualities. She cared deeply and wasn’t afraid to put herself on the line for people—and things—she loved. Her tears on the Suzy Q, her attempt to apologize the night she’d called the police on him, her efforts to save a town landmark were all admirable.
Not to mention that she was one gorgeous woman. Long after he left Hope Harbor, he had a feeling her sparkling green eyes, slender curves, and vibrant hair would continue to strobe through his mind.
But he’d had enough of volatile women to last a lifetime. Unruly emotions were a deal breaker, plain and simple.
He paused at a stoplight and leaned forward to switch stations on the radio. Halted mid-reach to squint across the street.
Was that Marci now? Coming out of what appeared to be a vintage clothing store?
She stopped and pivoted, as if someone had hailed her, and he followed her line of sight.
Charley was strolling toward her.
Suspicion confirmed.
It was Marci.
Odd that she’d show up while he was thinking about her.
He watched the two Hope Harbor residents chat until an impatient beep from behind forced him to accelerate through the now-green light.
With Marci’s hair glinting in the sun, it wasn’t difficult to keep tabs on the duo in his rearview mirror for a full block.
But at last they disappeared from view.
And that was just as well,
