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Just a month ago, after her sister Thea’s Valentine’s Day wedding reception, Dad had been distracted, agitated when she’d tried to discuss her plans to move back to Garrett Bluff.
When she and Thea had tried to approach him, concerned about whether he felt okay, he’d muttered something under his breath and stomped out of the room. Bobby had seemed equally tense and had peeled away in his pickup moments later.
Another day, another argument between their father and brother, Thea had guessed.
Bobby’s willingness to stay on the straight and narrow never lasted long, and Dad’s heart failure made him tired, less capable of dealing with his wayward son. But they were still two of a kind.
Robert fought acceptance of his failing health as hard as Bobby fought the idea of facing his responsibilities. Stubborn, independent Maxwells, both of them—qualities that could spell success or lead to disaster.
Jolie was looking forward to starting her new medical practice in a small-town atmosphere where everyone knew each other and friendships ran deep. But more than that, this past winter she’d realized that her family needed her.
Whether they’d ever admit it or not.
ON MONDAY MORNING,Jolie brushed the hair out of her eyes and leaned on her broom, studying the pile of dirt and debris at her feet.
Shortly after Christmas, the Garrett Bluff Town Council had advertised for a doctor in a number of newspapers across the country. With her long work hours, she’d missed seeing the advertisements. Her sister Thea hadn’t.
A copy of the ad came from the family’s Walking Stones Ranch the next day via e-mail, accompanied by Thea’s brief note urging Jolie to come out for an interview.
The advertisement had promised“A clean, modern clinic. The only medical practice within sixty-five miles. Friendly people and the most beautiful country on earth.”
Jolie had seen the facility during a brief visit the weekend of Thea’s wedding.
Modern clinicwas stretching the truth.Cleanwas a complete fabrication. The heat hadn’t been turned on, the lights were dim, and the entire space smelled musty.
After a long discussion with the town council, there hadn’t been much time to explore the place further before rushing back to the ranch for the wedding.
There hadn’t been time for a more thorough look after the ceremony either, because she’d had to leave for the Bozeman airport at dawn the next morning.
Now she suspected that had been the city council’s plan. The less she saw, the better.
Still, the place wasn’t bad.
The waiting room was large enough, with a receptionist’s window opening into an office area. Down a short hall were two exam rooms, a small lab, a storeroom, and an office.
At the back was a small, spartan bedroom, apparently for a doctor working late hours, though in the days before strict hospital coding, it might have been used for an occasional overnight patient.
But now, even after two days of hard work, there was still an awful lot to do.
She took a deep breath. Today, the last of the dirt. Tomorrow, she could start painting.
Through the open windows and door facing Main Street came the chatter of schoolkids walking home. Pickups and stock trailers rattling by. The bawl of cattle being hauled through town in semis.
Now and then passersby stopped and peered in the windows of the clinic.
She felt a prickle of awareness at the back of her neck. Looking over her shoulder, she discovered a middle-aged couple standing just inside the front door. Neither one looked friendly.
“Hi there,” she said easily. “Beautiful day to be outside, isn’t it?”
The man scowled. “Council shoulda looked a mite longer before bringing a Maxwell in here.”
Jolie stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“No matter what you think, not everyone thinks the Maxwells walk on water. And now we’ve got you instead of some doc who might have actuallycaredabout people here. It’s a real shame.”
With a sound of disgust, he turned and walked away.
Her earlier optimism dimmed as she watched the couple reach the sidewalk and continue toward the center of town. The man’s vigorous gestures and the vehement shaking of the woman’s head telegraphed more than mild dislike.
