The Money Man

“I’d better go with what the natives drink.”

“That would be Jack Black and branch.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Jack Daniels bourbon and branch water. Or in this case, good bottled water.”

“Oh. Make it very light, otherwise you’ll have to pour me into bed when I pass out.”

He raised an eyebrow. She felt her face go red, as he turned away and went back into the suite. One lousy eyebrow, and she reacted like a schoolgirl.

He handed her the drink in a heavy crystal glass that clearly had not come with the motel’s stock of bar glasses, and took the chair beside her. He stretched his long legs in front of him. “To crime.”

“How about to secrets?”

He glanced over at her. “Huh?”

“Come on, Mr. Scott…”

“Mark.”

“I doubt you generally baby-sit newcomers in your busy executive life, yet here you are playing bartender, while Rick ran from me to trim a pig’s toenails. What gives?”

He took a deep breath. “You’re too observant for your own good, Dr. Marsdon.”

“Oh Lord, don’t tell me there’s no job!”

He raised a hand quickly. “No, no, there’s a job. There’s very much a job. You are our only full time large-animal specialist at this point. We’ve got a couple of part-timers, and everybody has had some experience with large animals—but we definitely need you.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is the same as it usually is with any start-up organization. Money is tight.”

“Is that all?”

“Oh, that is very much all. Or is likely to be if we’re not careful.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that everyone connected with the clinic is going to have to start generating income big-time or make do with a great deal less in the way of resources for the foreseeable future.”

“No problem.” She hesitated. “How much income? And how much less are we talking about?”

He sighed. “That’s the thing. We’re only now going fully operational 24–7, and you are the low man on the totem pole, since you are the newest vet.”

“And?”

“That means we need you not only to cover the large animals, but to work small animals most evenings and some weekends.”

She sat up. “And I sleep and eat when?”

“You’ll have time off during the day and at least two—possibly three—weekends a month, but most of that time you’ll still be on-call for large-animal emergencies.”

“For how long?”

He opened his hands. “A few weeks, maybe a few months.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned back and peered at him. He avoided her eyes. “I don’t mind the hours, since I obviously don’t have any other life yet. What else?”

“There have been a few construction problems, delays, cost overruns. Nothing unusual in the start-up phase of an operation this size.”

“Rick said that.”

“The thing is, Rick tends to make promises—all in good faith—that he may not be able to deliver on.”

“What precisely can he not deliver on?” Her drink splashed onto her jeans.

“Calm down. We’re talking a little glitch here.”

“How little?”

“At the moment, there aren’t sufficient funds to equip more than one operating theater for large animals, and even that is not quite finished. We need additional lights, for one thing.”

“Is that all? I can’t operate on more than one animal at a time, anyway, and we can always bring in portable lights for a few days. You had me worried. As long as I’ve got the diagnostic equipment and the other stuff…”

“Yes, well. Unfortunately, that is the other problem. We don’t quite have all the equipment yet.”

She set her drink down on the plastic table beside her. “The equipment is nonnegotiable, Mr. Scott. Why do you think I uprooted my life and dragged myself down here to work with Rick? He promised me lasers, ultrasound, magnetic imagery, fluoroscopes, an anesthesia machine—a state-of-the-art operating theater.”

“And you’ll get all of it, Dr. Marsdon. Just not in the next few months.”

“But it’s ordered, right? You’re simply having a problem with delivery dates?”

“Unfortunately, no. The orders have been held up.”

“By whom? You? Scrooge Scott?”

“That’s my job.”

“Who says?”

“The bank says, the stockholders say, the mortgage company says, and most of all, the medical equipment supply houses that require payment before they ship so much as a scalpel say.”

“Then, send them the money.”

“At the moment that is not possible. I’m just the messenger, doctor.”

“At the moment, if I had a gun, I’d shoot the messenger, just like in the old days, Mr. Scott. I can guess what a building like that clinic costs, and the equipment I want is small potatoes next to that. Don’t tell me you can’t find that money, because I do not believe you.”

“That’s your choice. The point is, I can’t until I’m certain that this place is going to fly and not turn into another dog and cat hospital where pampered pigs get their damn nails clipped!”

“I’m surprised you’re paying for this place. Can you afford it?” She heard the contempt in her voice and wished she’d suppressed it, but the sort of obstruction she was running into from a man who didn’t understand the problem pushed all her buttons at once.

“We’re getting the corporate rate, and Rick promised you moving expenses.”

“And this place is a sop to keep me pacified so that I don’t pitch a fit about the equipment he promised me? A couple of thousand bucks to stave off paying a couple of hundred thousand?”

“There’s no point in continuing this discussion at the moment, Doctor. We can go into the circumstances tomorrow when you’re more…rested.” He put his glass down and walked back into the bedroom.

“You think you’ll be able to handle me tomorrow? Forget it. Rested, I just get tougher.”

“Good night, Doctor. You’ll find some food in the refrigerator, in case you don’t want to go out.”

She heard the door open and close a little harder than necessary. She picked up the crystal glass, ready to hurl it after him, then stopped. She’d only have to clean up the mess afterward.

She sat and took a swig of her drink, then coughed as it hit the bottom of her throat. She could feel the bourbon all the way down to her toes. She set the glass down, suddenly feeling guilty about yelling at Mark. She was tired, more tired than she’d realized. But she had counted on that equipment. She’d been promised that equipment, and Mr. Mark Scott was going to have to come up with a stronger argument than lack of funds if he expected her to accept the delay.

If only she had enough money to buy the things herself. But she didn’t, even though she’d finally almost paid off her student loans. Truth was, even if Steve Stapleton in St. Paul had broken down and allowed her to buy a partnership in his clinic, she’d have had to hock her eyeballs to get the money together.

No, the thing to do was to persuade Mark that the equipment was crucial to the success of the clinic.

She took her drink into the kitchen and poured the rest down the sink. Pity to waste good bourbon, but she didn’t want to pass out in the Jacuzzi. She opened the small refrigerator and found eggs, bacon, bread, butter, sweet rolls, and an assortment of sandwich makings with condiments. Good. She could take her sandwich and a soda, and dine while the water washed away all her aches and pains.

Tomorrow was soon enough to tackle Mark. Tomorrow she’d meet the staff, assess the facilities, and do some real work. Tomorrow she’d start lining up allies in her battle against the bureaucracy. This was one battle she expected to win, and win quickly. Mark Scott didn’t have a clue how hard—and how dirty—she could fight. When it came to her patients, she was like a mamma grizzly defending her cubs.

CHAPTER TWO

SARAH CALLED HER FATHER in St. Paul before she went to bed, only to get his answering machine. She gave it her telephone number and hung up. She supposed he’d gone over to one of his sons’ houses for a family conference on the best way to get Sarah to come back home.

It was nearly midnight when the phone rang. Sarah picked it up.

“At home at least you had an apartment. Now you live in a motel,” Lars Marsdon said in his clipped voice.

“Actually, this is nicer than my apartment, and the clinic is paying for it.”

“You quit your job and ran off to Tennessee because you had a fight with your fiancé. You’ve made your point, so come back home.”

“Dad, I just got here this afternoon.”

“So, you won’t have had time to settle. They will not miss you. Your old job is still available. Steve told me he would hold it for a couple of days, although he is annoyed because you walked out on him.”

“Dad—” She tried to sound patient, but could feel her heart rate increasing with every sentence. “Steve was never going to allow me to be a partner. Then, when I gave him notice, he got so mad he told me to get out right that minute. I would have stayed two weeks. The choice was his, not mine.”

“This is your home. This is where your family, your fiancé, your job are. Come home where you belong.”

“Sorry, but no.”

“Call back when you’re ready to speak sensibly.” He hung up.

Sarah lay back and tried to slow down her breathing.

How soon would Lars Marsdon mobilize the troops? Would he ask all three of her brothers and their wives to call and put additional pressure on her? That’s what he generally did when he didn’t agree with her choices. Occasionally Peter would refuse, but the other two always went along with their father. They were all so content with their lives that they couldn’t understand why she wanted more.

Sarah always wondered whether they made up their own scripts or said what Lars told them to say. Didn’t matter. This time she was free, and intended to remain free.

Now, all she had to do was make Mark see things her way.

“HEY, DR. SARAH,” Alva Jean Huxtable chirped, when Sarah walked in the front door of the clinic the next morning. “Mr. Scott said to tell you he’s bringing you a cell phone, and there’s a parking place for you around back. The staff park there.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay. It’s not like we’re running out of parking space in front.” Alva Jean looked at the nearly empty waiting room.

“Dr. Rick said he was going to try to get everybody together at eleven so you could meet them.”

“Where?”

“He calls it his conference room, but it’s really our break room. He’s got a drink machine and a snack machine in there and a little refrigerator. If you bring your lunch, you better mark the sack with your name—otherwise somebody’s bound to steal it.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Thanks, I’ll remember that. Do I have a desk?”

Alva Jean shook her head. “Not yet, but there are some extra file cabinets in the storeroom. You can have one of those, if Rick says it’s okay.”

Sarah smiled. “Thanks. I’ll ask him when I see him.”

She pushed through the door to the central hall and glanced in at Mark’s partially open door, but he wasn’t in. For some reason, she felt a stab of disappointment. Was she so anxious to go into battle with him again? Or was there another more personal reason? Nonsense. The fact that he was tall with brown eyes that crinkled at the corners had nothing to do with anything. She simply relished a good fight with a worthy adversary. Period.

At this point she didn’t even know the full extent of the battle she needed to wage.

At the far end of the hall there was a door with a smoked-glass panel in the upper half. Beside it someone had taped a small handwritten sign that read, Large Animals. No fancy brass plaques back here.

To the right, a solid door had a green lighted exit sign over it. That must lead to the employees’ parking area. She’d move her truck there as soon as she’d done a bit of exploring. She needed to restock the vet cabinet in the back of her truck, anyway. One of the vet techs here ought to be able to restock for her. While she’d half watched television in her motel room last night, she’d put together a basic list of the drugs and paraphernalia she’d need.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. Then stood for a moment and stared. The room was cavernous, the central hall more than wide enough to admit an eighteen-wheeler. On the right, doors could be rolled up into the ceiling so that a big rig of cows could be backed into the slot that opened into a large fenced pen.

She opened the first door on her left. It was empty except for packing boxes and paint cans. She assumed it would eventually be her office. She’d probably have to leave room for storage shelves that would hold everything except the drugs that had to be kept double-locked and accounted for to the government.

She walked past the cow pen, and past the small stalls where cows or bulls could be kept individually so that they could be examined safely in a relatively confined space. Looked strong. Good. An angry bull or cow could do extensive damage.

Past that area on her right were three doors. She peeked through the window of the first and saw a completely padded stall—floor, walls and ceiling. The recovery area—where a large animal could come out of anesthesia without hurting itself. The next two doors opened into similar stalls, but without the padded walls. These, then, were the ones that Mark had told her weren’t quite finished. Three recovery stalls—impressive for a private clinic. Many of the teaching veterinary hospitals didn’t have as many.

On her right across the broad hall, she discovered the prep room where the animals could be anesthetized and readied for surgery. Through the double doors at the end of the prep room, she could see the surgery. She opened the door, but when she flipped the light switch, nothing happened. Great. She hoped no horses or cows would have to be operated on by candlelight.

The surgery seemed to contain only basic equipment. The lights, when they were hooked up, would no doubt be more than adequate, but at the moment it was difficult to tell much in the gloom.

As to the diagnostic equipment she’d been promised—one portable ultrasound was all she could see. Well, that would change.

She stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. First priority—get the blasted lights hooked up. That was something Mark could darn well put at the top of his To Do list.

“Help ya?” A raspy voice spoke from behind her.

She jumped and turned.

“New doc, are ya?”

The man who leaned against the far wall grinned at her. He stood no more than five-two or -three and probably weighed a hundred ten pounds. His face was covered with sun-ruined skin, wrinkled like badly tanned leather, and the teeth revealed in that grin were crooked. His blue eyes were bright as a bird’s.

“I’m Sarah Marsdon.”

“The new vet?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Told me you were a lady, but didn’t say that you were a pretty one. I’m Jack. Jack Renfro. I’m your vet tech, your surgery assistant, and your jack-of-all-trades, no pun intended.”

The slight southern accent was overlaid with a thick cockney twang.

“Jockey?” Sarah grinned back at him.

“And exercise boy and groom before I got too old and too stove up to ride. What I don’t know about horses ain’t been writ down as yet.”

“How about cows?”

“Hate the stupid buggers, but I can handle ’em. And anything else with four feet comes into this place.”

“Good.” Sarah extended her hand. “What’s with the lights?”

Jack blew out his breath. “Bloody contractor’s supposed to have everything done here today. But then, he was supposed to finish last month, wasn’t he?”

“Was he?”

“You weren’t to know, of course, but we’ve had one muck-up after another. That woman kept trying to turn the place into a bloody palace, then the almighty rain and the mud, and delivery problems, and if that weren’t enough, we have the neighborhood rowdies at night.”

“Rowdies?”

“Kids. Too much time and no sense, is what I says. Don’t know much about tractors and such myself, but I do know you can’t run one without a carburetor. Took a week for the contractor to get a new one in and installed. Meantime we had to rent another tractor. Cost a bloody fortune.”

“They stole a carburetor?”

Jack humphed. “As good as. Turned out the little devils hid it behind a stack of plywood, but the contractor wasn’t to know, was he? Only found it a month later when he’d already bought the new one. Then there was the great plumbing caper.” He sounded disgusted.

“Plumbing?”

“Contractor came in one Monday and found every bit of PVC pipe spread out over the two back paddocks. Spelled out words not fit for your tender ears.”

Sarah laughed. “You’d be surprised how un-tender my ears are. Besides, I know that’s annoying, but it doesn’t sound as though they’re really destructive.”

“That bit of mischief took four men and a truck most of the day to pick up and get the mud out. Costs money, things like that. And time we didn’t have.”

“If we had an emergency, could we handle it?”

Renfro cocked an eye at her. “That’s up to you, ain’t it?”

“You mean I’m it?”

“You got Dr. Eleanor Grayson comes in, but she’s part-time, mostly night or when we’re pushed. We’re supposed to be open twenty-four hours a day, but right now, we only got a couple of part-timers on call after midnight. And Dr. Mac can muck in if you need him. Staff’s good, but they’re mostly used to handling puppies and kittens.”

Sarah laughed at the obvious sneer in his voice. He grinned back at her through his terrible teeth.

“Well, I says, don’t ya know, if it ain’t good for racing or eating, then what’s the sense of it, I says.”

“Don’t let the clients hear you say that.” Sarah laughed.

“Keeps me thoughts to me’self. You worry about the cutting, Doc, I’ll handle the rest of it.”

“Deal. Nice to work with you, Jack. By the way, they say I’m going to be working a good many nights and weekends, as well, until we’re fully staffed. What are your hours?”

“My good lady says they run from ‘kin to cain’t,’ but she’s from Arkansas and talks funny. Don’t you worry. You need me at four in the morning, I’ll be here.”

Suddenly Sarah didn’t feel quite as overwhelmed as she had, with the problems she faced. With an old pro like Jack Renfro to back her up, how could she fail? She glanced at her watch. “Oh, hell, I’m late for Rick’s meeting.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Get more done without these infernal meetings of his. You run along. I’ll hunt up that contractor and put a flea up his nose. You’ll have your lights and that office cleaned up today.” He trotted off with the rolling, bowlegged gait of a man used to having horse flesh between his knees.

“Jack?” Sarah called after him.

He turned.

“I’ve got a list of medications and stuff I need in my truck cabinet. It’s lying on the front seat of my truck, which is, I’m sorry to say, in front of the clinic instead of where it belongs.”

“Toss me your keys. I’ll move it and stock it for you.”

“You’re a wonder. Thanks.”

“MARK, MY CHILD is driving me nuts.” Coy Buchanan slumped into his maroon leather desk chair in the corner office of Buchanan Enterprises. It had been specially constructed to accommodate both his height and his bulk, but it still groaned under his weight. He reached for his oversize mug of New Orleans coffee.

“Margot Hazard may be your child, Coy,” Mark said from the chair across the acre or so of inlaid leather on top of Coy’s desk. “To the rest of the world, she’s a grown woman.” And an annoying one. Mark didn’t voice that thought.

“I’m getting to the point where I don’t want to take her calls. Terrible thing to start screening out your only daughter’s telephone calls.”

“Switch her over to me.”

“Oh, I’ve tried, son, believe me. She says you aren’t responsive, whatever the hell that means.”

“It means I don’t sit up and jump through hoops for her. You pay me for not jumping through hoops.”

“I know, I know. But couldn’t you at least act like maybe you’re planning to leave the ground occasionally?” Coy grinned. “Make my life one hell of a lot easier.”

“As long as you don’t expect me to sign blank checks.”

“It’s that damn animal clinic,” Coy said, and gulped half the mug of coffee. He wiped his mouth. “Why couldn’t Margot have married somebody like Ted Turner or Donald Trump? Even a king might have been able to afford her. But no, she’s got to go and marry a veterinarian. And then try to turn him into a millionaire. Last I heard, wasn’t nobody trading veterinary stock on Wall Street.”

“True, but we’ve got investors, Coy. You are not the only one. And some of them can’t afford to lose what money they’ve put into the clinic.”

“Hell, you think I can?” Coy came close to roaring. “First rule of business my daddy taught me is ‘Don’t lose money.”’

This time Mark grinned. “You lost two fortunes before you were forty.”

“Yeah, but I made ’em back, and then some. I’m getting too old for this game. I hired you to see I don’t lose any more. I just want to build nice office buildings and fancy subdivisions, pay the IRS entirely too much of what I earn, and still have time to go fishing occasionally. I’ve got a good mind to go do that right this minute and leave you to deal with Margot all by yourself.”

“You do, and I quit.”

“You won’t quit. You got too much junkyard dog in you. How many times I fired you?”

“I lost count after fifteen.”

“And have you once ever started cleaning out your desk? No, you have not. You know I don’t mean it, and you’re just too damn mean to leave.”

“If I ever do start cleaning out my desk, Coy, you’ll know I really have quit. In the meantime, I will be pleasant but noncommittal. I will not give her or Rick carte blanche to spend whatever they like on fancy furniture, equipment or additional personnel until they’re fully operational and at least breaking even. Do I have your agreement on that?”

“Sure you do.”

“You’ll back me up, no matter how hard Margot pleads?”

“Yeah, yeah, if I have to. But—” Coy looked sheepish “—I have to ask you for something.”

“Oh, damn,” Mark muttered. “Here it comes.”

“I know you’re supposed to be going to Houston tomorrow to meet with the Center City Commission…”

“Right.”

“I’ll take the meeting. For at least the next month I want you to stick close to town and spend most of your time out at that clinic.”

“Coy…”

“I know it’s been years since you supervised a construction project personally—at least a penny-ante one like the clinic.” Coy sounded plaintive. “I need you to do this for me, son.”

“Construction’s almost finished. You don’t want a construction supervisor. You want an on-site CFO to deal with the problems while you wine and dine and avoid Margot’s telephone calls.” Mark sighed. “Last time I checked, I still work for you.” Mark stood. “Okay, I’ll keep up with things here and check on the clinic at night.”

“I wouldn’t ask…”

“Sure you would.” Mark walked to the door and stood with his hand on the knob. “But too much Margot, and the next time you fire me I may just go.”

“I’LL HAVE TO MAKE THIS FAST,” Rick said to Sarah in front of the assembled people in the break room. “This is everybody I could track down at the moment. You’ll have to introduce yourself to the others when you run into them. People, this is Dr. Sarah Marsdon who is going to put our large-animal clinic on the map.”

“I’ll certainly try.” Sarah smiled at the group. “But I’ll need some help and I’ll need a surgery with lights.” She gave Rick a hard look.

Rick looked uncomfortable. “The lights were supposed to be hooked up yesterday. I’ll check.”

“Thanks.” She smiled again and tried to keep her tone light and even. This was no time to air her dirty laundry. “Jack Renfro’s going to harry the contractor.”

“Good. I’ll back him up.” Rick pointed to a tall man with a gray buzz cut who stood over a coffee urn at the back of the room. “That’s Dr. Mac Thorn, the other senior partner. Mac, I introduced you yesterday, remember?”