Private Practice

chapter Three


Ellie spun and came face-to-face with Roger’s ex-fiancée.

“Oh my gosh, Melody, hi!” Inwardly, she grimaced at the brittle enthusiasm of her reply. “You look beautiful, as always.” That much, at least, was true. Her sea-blue sundress matched her eyes and displayed her enviable figure to perfection.

The blonde smiled. “Thanks. So do you. Love your outfit. I wish I could wear cargos, but they make my hips look huge. Hey, Tyler.”

“Hey.” He flashed a smile and glanced at his watch. “Much as I hate to greet and run, I’ve got a meeting. Catch you later, Mel. Doc.” He leaned in, tucked a flyaway hair behind her ear, and brushed his lips over her cheek. To anyone in the coffee shop, the gesture probably looked exactly the same as Roger’s—friendly and innocent. In truth, the kisses were worlds apart. Tyler’s kiss stirred up all kinds of reactions, none of which she’d call “friendly” or “innocent.” She backed up, still reeling a bit, and he snagged a finger into the vee of her T-shirt to halt her retreat. “See you Thursday,” he whispered.

Before she could so much as nod in reply, he shot her a cocky grin and headed out into the sun-soaked morning. She found herself staring after him, admiring how he filled out his Levi’s.

“Ellie, I’ve been wanting to ask you something. Do you have a minute to talk?”

Melody’s hesitant tone pulled Ellie’s head out of Tyler’s pants. During school, gorgeous, popular Melody had rarely sounded unsure. But she did now, and looked it, too, with her questioning eyes and the serious set to her mouth. Whatever she wanted to discuss, the topic clearly made her nervous, and this triggered a domino effect in Ellie.

“Um, sure. Want to walk over to my office with me? It’s just on the other side of the square.”

Melody nodded. “Perfect.”

Yeah, perfect, she thought as they started across Main. The perfect opportunity for Melody to say, “I saw you eavesdropping at DeShay’s yesterday and you should mind your own damn business.” Braced for anything, she nearly tripped over her feet when Melody said, “I heard you were opening your practice and I wondered if you needed an office manager.”

She blinked and tried to get her brain to switch gears. “I called an agency in Lexington and asked them to send a temp on Monday, but I’d love to hire locally, if possible. Why? Do you know someone who might be interested?”

The blonde’s tinkling laughter followed them along the pretty row of nineteenth-century brick storefronts. “You could say that.”

Ellie stopped in front of the carved limestone steps leading to her office and glanced up at Melody.

“It’s me, Ellie. I’m interested.”

“But…I thought you worked at Reynolds & Reynolds?”

“Yes, but I’m overdue for a change. I can’t work for Roger Sr. the rest of my life. The grand plan, of course, was for Roger to take over his dad’s practice. I’d run the office until we started having kids.” She sighed and shrugged. “You’ve probably heard by now Roger and I broke up, so that’s not going to happen. It’s time for a new plan. I want…no, I need a change.”

Melody’s words resonated with Ellie. Fate sometimes dealt out disappointments. A healthy person took time to grieve, and then did her best to adapt and overcome. She couldn’t blame Melody for not wanting to continue at Reynolds & Reynolds, surrounded by constant reminders that her grand plan hadn’t quite panned out.

Some people never moved on. When a three-car pileup on the Double A had robbed Ellie’s father of his beloved wife, he’d clung to his pain like a keepsake. She’d watched him grow bitter and resentful, incapable of appreciating his blessings, including her, to the extent that he’d ever been inclined to count her among them.

All the more reason to admire Melody for choosing to move forward, but hiring Roger’s ex probably wasn’t a good idea.

“I understand, Melody, better than you know. The thing is, I…ah…I like Roger.”

“Of course you do. Everyone likes Roger. I like Roger. Heck, I love Roger, just not the way you need to love someone you’re going to marry. And he feels the same way. Our breakup truly was mutual. We parted friends, so don’t worry. You won’t get pressed into taking sides.”

Ellie stared at the cheerful red geraniums overflowing the window boxes and debated her conscience. What could she say? “I don’t just like Roger, I like like him.” God, no. Too adolescent.

Instead, for some inconceivable reason, she blurted, “Roger told me the breakup was his fault,” and immediately wished she could kick herself for bringing up personal details she wasn’t entitled to and really didn’t want.

“Well, he’d put it that way. Fault’s a strong word. We just weren’t meant to be. It’s fine, Ellie. Really. If you hire me, I don’t expect Roger to be dead to you.”

“Are you sure you want to work for a start-up doctor still trying to build her practice? The pay probably sucks compared to what you’re used to, or could earn in a bigger market like Lexington.”

“I like the idea of working in town. There’s no quality of life in a long commute. As for the money, tell me, are you a good doctor?”

She thought about her years in medical school, her internship, her residency. She also thought about the neat, precise line of stitches in Tyler’s butt. “Yes, I think so.”

“Great. I’m a good office manager. So if you do your job, and I do mine, your practice will succeed, and I’m sure the money thing will work out. Right now my goal is to land the job and be useful. Come on. What do you say?”

What could she say? “I’ll see you Monday morning, 9:00 a.m.?”

Melody’s squeal and fast, firm hug turned heads of passersby along the sidewalk. “Yay! You won’t be sorry,” she promised as she practically skipped down Main.

“Yeah,” Ellie said under her breath. “Hopefully you won’t be either.”

…

Tyler sat in an uninspired gray cubicle at Bluelick Savings and Loan and tried to keep his temper on a leash. “What do you mean you’re declining my loan? Did something about my proposal throw you?”

The mountain of flesh known as Grady Landry puffed out a breath and ran a pudgy hand through his thinning red hair. “Your proposal was clear, and the lending committee acknowledged that a construction loan on a spec property falls within our charter. But part of this institution’s mandate is a little something called ‘Know your customer,’ and you, my friend, are a known risk.”

Tyler narrowed his eyes and stared across the desk. Grady wasn’t a bad guy, he reminded himself. The man had gone to bat for him five years ago when he’d sought a loan to get his fledgling construction company off the ground. But that made it all the harder to understand why one paid-in-full loan later, they turned him down for another.

“My track record with this institution says different,” he said. “The Browning property has been rotting on its foundation for the last twenty years. My team and I can turn that dilapidated old horse farm into a showplace. I’m not talking about razing the buildings, subdividing the acreage, and putting up a bunch of cookie-cutter McMansions for refugees from New York and Philly looking to indulge their horsey fantasies. I’d restore the main house and the barns, and sell the property as the equestrian estate it was meant to be, for three times the loan amount—and you damn well know it. So, sorry, I don’t see the risk you’re all hung up on.”

Grady drummed his fingers on his desk. “I’ll sketch it out for you. Let’s say we lend you the money you’re asking for—a significantly larger amount than your original loan, I should point out—and then something happens to you. How do we make good on our loan? A mortgage on the unimproved property won’t do the trick. As far as we can see, nobody on your crew can step in and take your place, so your big plans for the Browning farm go bye-bye. Without you, your company isn’t worth close to the loan amount, so liquidating your business assets wouldn’t make us whole.” He shrugged and held his hands up. “Everybody here likes you and believes in your skills, but I can’t sell this to our lending committee because you’re the single point of success—or failure.”

“I’m thirty-two years old, for God’s sake. Neither foot is anywhere near the grave. Do I have to pass a physical or—”

“You ride around on a Harley.”

Hell, he knew where this was headed. Still, he’d go down swinging. “I’ve never had an accident.”

“You practically own a barstool at Rawley’s.”

“C’mon Grady, I see you there often enough.”

“I’m not looking for a loan. And I’ve never found myself on the wrong end of Junior Tillman’s small-game rifle at last call. The way my lending committee sees it, you’re an accident waiting to happen.”

Shit. “Does everybody and their dog know about the thing with Junior?”

The big man nodded. “’Fraid so. The grapevine sprang a few new sprouts over that one. Look Tyler, I want to help, swear to God I do, but you’ve got to show my lending committee you’re stable and responsible.”

“Hell.” Tyler tossed his paperwork on the desk. “I run an honest business, keep it solidly in the black. I can restore an antebellum horse farm better than anybody south of the Mason-Dixon line. What else do they want?”

“Settle down with a nice girl. Trade the Harley for a minivan and the late nights at Rawley’s for parent-teacher conferences. Look like you’ve got a stake in this life beyond having a good time.”

The rough, unvarnished truth hurt. People considered him a hell-raiser who couldn’t handle real responsibility. Never mind that he’d founded a business and busted his ass to make it successful. Never mind that he and his team consistently turned out top-notch projects, on time and within budget. His “don’t give a damn” image—fairly earned, he hated to admit—stood firmly in the way of his goals.

Tyler stared at the bland tile ceiling and sighed. “A nice girl, a minivan, and parent-teacher conferences, huh? Sounds like a great ten-year plan. Too bad I wanted the loan sometime this decade.” He stood and gathered his papers. “Thanks for the honesty, if nothing else.”

“Wait,” Grady said when Tyler started to walk away. “Wait a week or so for the incident with Junior to blow over. In the meantime, keep the Harley on the back roads and the wild times to a minimum, and come up with a succession plan for Thoroughbred Construction. I don’t need an heir apparent, just some information about the management structure and who does what in your operation so my lending committee can understand they’re not investing in a one-man show, okay? Do those things and I’ll take your application to the committee again.”

Tyler swallowed and held out his hand. “Thanks, Grady.”

“Save your thanks ’til the loan’s approved.”

Forty minutes later, in the foreman’s trailer at the Lexington job site, Tyler watched Junior pace and sweat. “Jesus, Ty, I’m sorry about this whole mess. I know you weren’t hitting on Lou Ann. I mean, I didn’t know it at the time, ’cause I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, but once I sobered up, I knew you wouldn’t do something like that. Want me to go to Grady and explain?”

“Thanks, Junior, but no. Explanations won’t undo the lending committee’s impression of me as bad risk. I’ve got to show them that Thoroughbred Construction is a safe investment.”

His friend flopped down on the small sofa along one wall of the trailer, adjusted his ball cap out of habit, and looked up at Tyler with beagle eyes. “I don’t know how to repay you for not going to the cops, and convincing the pretty little doc not to call them either. If there’s anything I can do to— ”

“Get rid of the gun.”

“Done. I gave it to Grandpa.”

“Good choice.” Nobody ever accused the elder Tillman of being irresponsible. Junior’s grandparents had stepped in to raise their only grandchild while Junior’s parents had run around town like a couple of footloose twenty-somethings—exactly what they’d been in those days. Grandma and Grandpa Tillman never had a lot of money, but they’d always found a spot at the dinner table and a warm bed for Tyler whenever Junior had dragged him home, and had never made him feel like an unwanted stray.

“I know. I’ll have to pass a sobriety test and a gun safety quiz before Grandpa lets me so much as oil the damn thing. But what I really meant was what can I do to help you get the loan?”

“Funny you should ask. The bank wants an assurance that Thoroughbred Construction won’t go belly-up if I meet an untimely demise. You’re going to help me show them my business has a life of its own.”

Junior sat up a little straighter. “I am?”

“Yep. Effective immediately, you’re the assistant manager of Thoroughbred Construction. You’ll see a bump in your next paycheck to reflect the new title.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You know the ropes from initial bid through final punch list. You know the crew, the inspectors, who to call when a permit snags.”

“Well, sure, show me some plans, point me to the job site, say ‘build,’ and by God I’ll build it. But I’m no businessman. I don’t have a clue how to talk to clients, or, you know…lenders.”

“You’re going to learn, starting now.” Tyler pulled the loan application from his computer bag and tossed it to Junior. “We’re meeting with the Bluelick Savings and Loan lending committee in soon, to show them the depth of our management talent. Get familiar with the information in that application.”

Junior squinted at the stack of paper and then lifted the cover sheet as if he suspected a snake lurked beneath. For a moment he stared at the glossy cover sheet fronting the package, then scratched the back of his neck and looked up at Tyler. “Oh, buddy, you got the wrong guy. I’m no good with the dog-and-pony stuff. I can’t talk fast enough to convince anybody of anything.”

“Not true. You convinced me not to call the cops on you last Friday night.”

“Oh yeah. There was that.” Hunching his shoulders against the weight of the debt, Junior sighed and turned his attention back to the loan documents. “Speaking of fast talking, how’d you get Ellie to keep quiet?”

Tyler shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”