Rescued By Marriage

CHAPTER ONE

FOSTER ARMSTRONG slid the offer across the table to Della Riordan with an anxious smile. “It’s the best offer you’re going to get. In my opinion, for the money, it’s quite a bargain.”

He was correct, it probably was. One medical practice, one medical office and one house on rolling acreage. Actually, it was much more than she thought she’d be able to manage, which was why she was still a bit hesitant about this deal. It seemed too good to be true, and she simply didn’t have the money to gamble if that’s how it turned out. This was their future after all—hers and Meghan’s. There was no room in it to make a drastic mistake.

Except for her own little pittance of a nest egg she’d had tucked away when Anthony had died three months ago, Della had very little else to get herself going again. Anthony had seen to that quite handily, which had come as quite a shock. Barely one day after being widowed, Della had learned that her husband had left them virtually penniless with, quite literally, only the clothes on their backs and a handful of personal items. On top of that, he’d acquired more debt than Della had known about, debt she could still barely even comprehend, debt she was going to be forced to make good on. It wasn’t like she was dumb about these things—she’d always balanced the household books and even assisted with the clinic financial records. But Anthony had been deceitful about his spending. He’d been a successful surgeon and an amazing doctor overall. But he’d also been a liar and a cheat, and ev-everything he’d been to Della had merely been an illusion. Smoke and mirrors.

For all their eight years of marriage, Anthony Riordan had been living well beyond his means and hiding every speck of it from his wife. That, and a high-style mistress or two along the way.

“It’s a bargain,” she said tentatively. “And I’m definitely tempted by it.” And the good thing about Redcliffe Island was that it was a thousand miles away from Anthony’s family. But that was the bad thing, too, because they had Meghan in their custody now, and a thousand miles would be such a staggering distance from her daughter. Even thinking about it brought a sharp pang to Della’s heart. The loneliness seeped in so easily these days without Meghan, and she spent most of her time in the very depths of despair over what she’d lost because of Anthony—not the house, not the cars, not the furniture, not the boat. She’d lost Meghan, and for that she would never forgive him. “So let me get this straight. If I agree to the terms, the residents of the island will chip in and subsidize half of the cost? Just like that, they’re going to pay half the fee to buy the medical practice from their former doctor simply to get me there?”

The balding, middle-aged, serious-looking man opposite her smiled. “That’s the offer they’ve made. They haven’t had a resident doctor in years, and they want one, so it looks like they’ll do whatever’s necessary to get one there, including subsidizing half the cost of the medical practice, if that’s what it takes to make the offer look appealing. What else can I say? They have a need and so do you. Perfect match, the way I see it.”

“And it’s only two miles off the mainland? This Redcliffe Island is only two miles away?” The idea of a small island was a little claustrophobic, she thought, but if she could get away to the mainland every now and then, it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Two miles, and many of the people do commute back and forth every day. There’s a regular commuter ferry so it’s not like you’re going to be completely cut off from the world.” He chuckled. “Electricity, running water, indoor plumbing, all the comforts of civilization come included. There’s nothing at all backward about the place.”

At this point in her life, if it was a fresh start that would get Meghan back, backward wouldn’t matter. Della looked at the contract again. This could be the perfect solution. Set up a practice, prove she was a fit mother. “And they do realize I’m only a general practitioner?” She hadn’t gone far enough in her education to have a specialty. After graduating medical school, she’d gone straight to an internship and from there straight into labor and delivery…as the patient, not the doctor. Consequently, she’d had no specialty training, which meant the hospitals didn’t want her. Neither did any clinics because a general practitioner with only public health experience wasn’t exactly in high demand. “No specialty whatsoever.”

“They know your credentials, and you do come highly recommended by your clinic. If the islanders need a specialist, they’ll go to the mainland for one. They’re fine with that arrangement.”

Della sighed. She was very tempted…Still, when it sounded too good to be true, it usually was. Right now, this still sounded much too good to be true. She’d already learned the lesson—Anthony Riordan had been too good to be true the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Now look what she had to show for that! She was practically penniless, nearly homeless, jobless, and her daughter in the custody of Anthony’s parents until she straightened out her life. “Can I have some time to think about it?”

Foster Armstrong smiled patiently. “I’ve been authorized to leave this deal on the table for one day only. Twenty-four hours. After that you’re still welcome to buy the medical practice and all that goes with it, but the subsidies donated by the island will not be part of the deal, I’m sorry to say.”

Della blinked her surprise. “They’re putting me on a timeline?”

He shrugged. “I’m only the agent. That was part of their proposition and I’m not empowered to change the provisions. I expect it’s eagerness, most likely.”

She hoped so, because that rush was an added worry. Of course, affordability was an even bigger worry because without the subsidy she wouldn’t be able to afford the practice, which would put the total package out of her reach. Prior to this she’d looked at a couple other options—small town and rural practices—and couldn’t come close to touching those. The next option would have been to start her own practice from the ground up, but she simply didn’t have the money, not to mention the fact that if she did that there would be no guarantee of patients coming to her. It might take months or years to get a good start. So buying an established practice was the way to go, if she could find one she was able to afford. Which seemed to be the medical practice on Redcliffe Island.

“That’s not a lot of time, especially since if I accept this I’ll be changing my whole life.”

It wasn’t enough time to make arrangements to go take a look at what she might be buying, either. But she’d worked in a public health clinic in Miami, one with practically no facilities, no supplies, and many more patients than were manageable. So how horrible could something on rolling acreage, according to the papers, be compared to that?

“No, it’s not a lot of time, Doctor, but it is a lot of generosity. And there are no strings attached except that you stay for five years. That’s all they’re asking. Five years in exchange for full title of your practice and properties.”

“You don’t happen to have any pictures, do you? Of the house I’ll be getting? Or even the medical office?” The contract stipulated office and all equipment, but it didn’t state what that equipment would be.

He shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t. This listing has only just been handed over to me, and so far I’ve managed this only from my office and haven’t actually been to the property.”

She nodded. Pictures would have been nice, but the view from the kitchen window she was buying wasn’t the essential thing here. What was essential was the ability to walk in and assume the role of physician to an established patient base. Which was exactly what this offer was. Built-in patients, ready and eager for a doctor. “And this practice has been on the market for how long?”

“A rather long time. Two years, I believe.” To make sure, Foster Armstrong put on his half-glasses and searched through the packet of papers he had with him. “Actually, it’s closer to three years,” he said, then cleared his throat. “It’s been listed that long but, according to what I see here, there haven’t been any serious offers. A few looks, a couple of weak considerations, a reneged offer, but nothing gainful. Fred Barnes, the man who handled this matter before I took it over, left a note to the effect that because the practice is relatively small, which will limit the income potential, he believed that was the predominant factor in the lack of interest.” He looked up from the document, staring intently at Della over the tops of his glasses. “But you told me that you don’t require a tremendous financial gain from this venture, only enough to support you and your daughter, and this practice will most certainly do that. Then when you consider that it comes with the house for the two of you, I think it’s a good match for your needs. Especially since you don’t have the means to afford much else.”

Her needs. She had only one. Get Meghan back. The judge had said she had to prove stability in her life if she wanted custody again. Three months ago, she’d had all the stability in the world—a husband, a mansion in Miami, a wonderful job in a public health clinic and Meghan. How much more stable could anyone be? “You said I’m obligated to five years. What happens if I don’t stick it out?”

“You pay the islanders back their share of the investment at the time you sell the practice. No penalties involved.”

“But what happens if they don’t like me and won’t come to me for their medical services?”

“They pay you back for your expenditure, which is an extraordinary clause, and they’ll sell the practice themselves. In all the years I’ve been brokering these deals, I’ve never had one like it. But the island advisory board likes your résumé and I seriously doubt you’re going to have a problem with them not wanting to use your services. In fact, they’re willing to fly you to Massachusetts and take you over to the island as soon as you can get there. Tomorrow, even.”

She wasn’t prepared for that. Wasn’t prepared to say goodbye to Meghan yet. But the sooner she got started, the sooner she would have her daughter back. She hoped. The judge had set six months for a review of Meghan’s custody, and three weeks of that had already ticked off the clock as she explored her options. “I’ll need my car.”

“They’ll provide one until yours can be sent over.”

“And my furniture.” What there was of it. She’d bought a few pieces for that one-room apartment she and Meghan had been living in since Anthony’s death. A bed, a couch, a table.

“They’ll have it shipped.”

“I won’t have a lot of money for start-up expenses in the office.”

“They’ll make you a generous loan, or take care of other arrangements as needed to get you started. And much of the equipment you’ll need is in storage, according to the papers.”

“Other arrangements?”

He nodded. “They’re committed to doing whatever it takes to give you your start. I’m under the impression that their needs are basic and they don’t care about extravagance and image, so as long as you’re a good doctor for them you’re not going to have to worry about a fancy, up-to-date office and the newest medical gadgets on the market. In other words, they’ll help you get the basics you’ll need.”

“That’s good, because I’ll be lucky to manage the basics.” This was getting more and more tempting, and maybe the only reason she was hesitating was that she simply didn’t trust anyone any more. She’d trusted her husband once and he’d betrayed her in more ways than she would have ever guessed he could. Then his parents had betrayed her on top of that. They’d always been gracious and supportive, especially after the funeral, when she’d found out Anthony had left her practically destitute. Of course, while they had been supportive they had also been filing for Meghan’s custody behind her back, using the small amount of money she’d accepted from them to help herself get going again as the proof that she was unable to take proper care of her daughter. Begging for handouts was what the Riordans had officially called it in the court papers. Begging…She hadn’t even wanted the money but she’d accepted it to spare Meghan the rift. Accepted, not asked or begged for!

Her mind wandered to that awful day in court, as it had so many times since then. “She works in a free clinic and doesn’t receive a regular salary,” Vivian Riordan had told the judge. Which was true. She did. But when Anthony had been alive, finances hadn’t been an issue and it hadn’t mattered. At least, she hadn’t thought it did at the time. “And she’s gotten rid of her babysitter so now she takes my granddaughter to work with her in that clinic. It’s no fit place for a child to spend her day, playing among all those sick people.” True in part. She couldn’t afford the babysitter now. She could barely afford their one-room apartment. And, yes, Meghan had gone to work with her, but Della always kept her separated from the patients. It had been the best she could manage under the circumstances and, selfishly, she had enjoyed having more time with her daughter.

Not only had Anthony, and Anthony’s parents, betrayed her, the judge had, too, when he’d taken away her little girl. Somehow she’d never equated her meager lifestyle to being a bad parent, but he had. He’d looked at what had been taken away from Meghan and not what Meghan still had—a mother who cherished her and would do whatever it took to provide for her. Then he’d pronounced Della an unworthy parent and had given her six months in which to make herself worthy again.

So now, after all those betrayals, Della simply didn’t trust. She couldn’t. Which was holding her back from accepting this offer. She’d accepted the Riordans’ generosity and it had cost her Meghan. With this offer now, all she could wonder about was the real cost.

“Twenty-four hours, Dr Riordan. Then the offer is off the table.”

“I understand.” So many things could happen in twenty-four hours. A husband could die. His adulterous affairs could be exposed. The solicitors could give you seventy-two hours in which to vacate your home because it, and everything in it, were going into foreclosure to pay for your husband’s extravagant habits.

Or, in twenty-four hours, the road to a new life could unfold. “I’ll let you know first thing tomorrow morning,” she said.

“I’ll be anxious to hear your decision, Dr Riordan.”

“So will I, Mr Armstrong. So will I.”

Twenty-four hours later

* * *

She’d cried all the way from Miami to Boston. Sniffled off and on, and a couple times broken into out and out sobs. It had got so bad the man sitting in the seat next to her on the airplane had asked the flight attendant for another seat. Then she’d cried at the baggage claim, at the taxi stand and all the way up the coast to Connaught, the tiny little harbor town where she’d caught the boat over to Redcliffe.

Naturally, she’d cried all the way over to Redcliffe, too, and now, as they approached the island, and her face was bloated and red, she was afraid the people there would take one look at her and send her back. But, damn it, she already missed Meghan. She’d missed her even before her last goodbye kiss. And it wasn’t like the Riordans wouldn’t take good care of her. They adored her and they would take very good care. But Meghan wasn’t theirs to care for, and leaving her behind with them was the hardest thing Della had ever done in her life. It hurt far worse than losing her husband had, but by that point in the marital relationship she had been practically void of feelings for him anyway. She would have been totally void of feelings had she known then about all his proclivities and what they would cost her.

She looked out to the dock. About a dozen people were mingling there. “They wouldn’t happen to be waiting there for someone else to arrive, would they?” she asked Cecil, the captain of this boat. He was an older gent, weather-beaten face, bushy beard, genuine smile.

“They’ve been anxious ever since they heard you’d agreed to the offer. It’s not always convenient to go across the water to the doctor, especially when the weather turns bad. Makes a body sicker than it was just to get there and back. So they were mighty glad when you accepted.”

Twenty-two hours ago had been when she’d accepted. She hadn’t taken much time to think it over because it was this or, well, she didn’t know what. Something else would have turned up eventually, but there was no predicting how long eventually would have taken. And six months minus three weeks wasn’t an awfully long time in which to start over and make a go of it. So she’d accepted, spent the evening at Meghan’s kindergarten play then packed up and stepped onto the airplane. “What happened to the last doctor?”

“Went to the big city. New York, I think. I didn’t talk to him myself, but I heard he didn’t like being isolated all the way out there by himself. Not married, no one around…”

“He didn’t live in the village?”

“No, ma’am.”

He said that like she should have already known it, and suddenly she wondered what else Foster Armstrong had failed to mention. Or perhaps hadn’t known to mention.

“Is it awfully far from the village?” Suddenly, she was seeing the village at one end of the island and her house all the way at the other, with nothing but wilderness in between. That was a very sobering thought for a city girl. Sobering and daunting.

Cecil chuckled, and his beard bobbed up and down. “No, ma’am. Nothing on the island is far from the village as long as there’s a good road to take you there.”

“Would there happen to be a good road to take me where I’m going?”

“Nice little road, actually. Used to be well traveled when Doc Bonn lived out there. Even when Docs Beaumont and Weatherby were there. I expect it grew up some over the years.”

“Three years since the last doctor,” she stated.

“More like three and a half, if I recall.”

Curiosity was getting the better of her now. “How long was he here before he left?”

“Don’t rightly remember for sure, but I think five, maybe six…”

“Years?”

He shook his head. “Weeks. Not quite as long as Doc Weatherby. He lasted three…”

“Years?”

“No, ma’am. Months. Three months, give or take a few days.”

“And it took Dr Beaumont all this time to sell his practice?”

“Funny how that turned out, because it took Doc Weatherby almost that long, too. Both times the island finally resorted to pitching in.”

Della looked down at the boat deck to see if her heart had just sunk through the boards, because it sure felt like it did. Then she started to cry again as they chugged slowly into the harbor.

* * *

She wasn’t what he’d expected. Not at all. Somehow, he’d pictured the next doctor on Redcliffe to be a large woman. Stout. Rough and tough. But she was tiny. Barely five feet, blond hair. Delicate. Sam Montgomery stepped back into the crowd awaiting her arrival and watched Dr Della Riordan step off Captain Cecil’s boat and take a good, long look at her surroundings. She wasn’t at all sure of herself, either. And…was that a horrible allergy going on with her? Her face was red and puffy, her eyes swollen, and she was blotting her nose like she belonged in bed, under the covers, vaporizer going, sipping hot chicken and noodle soup. She had to be sick, and other than the fact that she looked like someone who needed an IV and oxygen, she was probably very pretty.

Poor thing. She was about to be mobbed and the doctor in him wanted to do something to help her out of that spot. But the doctor in him was also charged to stand back and simply observe. Then report. He wasn’t to be obtrusive, wasn’t to be particularly helpful. Some involvement was acceptable but not so much that he actually had a say, or a way in how the new doctor would set up her practice. All that because the previous medical practices here had such a spotty history, the medical board was keen to see this one done to proper standards. In other words, it was a test that came about because of prior bad experiences—a protection for the residents who could be too eager to accept a doctor who might not serve their best interests. They did have that history here, taking in a doctor who didn’t suit them.

So, according to the area health commissioner, the only thing Sam was supposed to do was make sure the new doctor set up her clinic to standard. Or provide enough evidence to shut her down if she didn’t. Simple task, and that’s what he did now. No more patient care. All observation and reports. Which made his life quite simple.

But, damn it, the islanders were hoisting this poor doctor up onto a platform and asking her to say a few words, when she looked like she wanted to do anything but that. It was amazing they hadn’t hauled out a brass band for the occasion. And she looked so…he wasn’t sure what. It wasn’t fear, wasn’t even fatigue. Sadness, maybe? “So I suppose I should rescue the doctor in distress,” he muttered, stepping through the nearly fifty people who had now gathered for the welcome.