on his brain. Still, Harold hadn’t given up hope that he’d be back, so neither would she.
Summoning a smile for her coworker, Amber laid a hand on Wilma’s shoulder. “When I spoke to Harold last night, he assured me the clinic would stay open.”
“For now.” The deep male voice came from behind them.
Wilma squeaked as she spun around. Amber had a better grip on her emotions. Wilma hurried away to the safety of her oak desk in the corner, leaving Amber to face the newcomer alone. She surveyed Harold’s grandson with interest.
Dr. Phillip White was more imposing than she had expected. He stood six foot at least, if not a shade taller. His light brown hair, streaked with sun-bleached highlights, curled slightly where it touched the collar of his blue, button-down shirt. His bronze tan emphasized his bone structure and the startling blue of his eyes.
He was movie-star gorgeous. The thought popped into Amber’s brain and stuck. She licked her suddenly dry lips. When had she met a man who triggered such intense awareness at first glance? Okay, never.
Rejecting her left-field thoughts as totally irrelevant, Amber tried for a professional smile. Moving forward, she held out her hand. “Welcome to Hope Springs, Dr. White.”
His grip, firm and oddly stirring, made her pulse spike and her breathing quicken. He held her hand a fraction longer than necessary. When he let go, she shoved her hands in the front pockets of her white lab coat, curling her fingers into tight balls.
Striving to appear unruffled, she said, “Your grandfather speaks of you frequently. I never saw him so excited as the day he learned of your existence.”
His expression remained carefully blank. “I’m sure my happiness was equal to his.”
Little warning bells started going off in Amber’s brain. He wasn’t here to make friends. Her smile grew stiff. “Of course, it can’t be every day a grown man discovers he has a grandfather he never knew about.”
Up close, Phillip’s resemblance to Harold was undeniable. They shared the same intense blue eyes, strong chin and full lips. But not, it seemed, Harold’s friendly demeanor. Still, she cast aside any lingering doubts that the whole thing was a hoax. They were obviously related.
She said, “Isn’t it strange that both of you became family practice doctors. It must be in the genes. I’d love to hear the whole story. Harold was vague about the details.”
A cooler expression entered Phillip’s eyes. “It’s a personal matter that I’m not comfortable discussing.”
Oops! It seemed she’d stumbled on a touchy subject. “I’m sorry Harold’s holiday with you ended so badly.”
“As am I.” His lips pressed into a tighter line.
Amber indicated their receptionist. “I take it you’ve met Mrs. Nolan? Wilma has worked for your grandfather since he came to Hope Springs over thirty years ago.”
He nodded in Wilma’s direction. “Yes, we’ve met.”
“And I’m Amber Bradley.” She waited with bated breath for his reaction. She knew Harold had told his grandson about their collaborative practice.
Phillip’s expression didn’t change. “Ah, the midwife.”
There it was, that touch of disdain in his voice that belittled her profession, dismissed her education and years of training as if they were nothing. She’d heard it before from physicians and even nurses. It seemed young Dr. White didn’t value her occupation the way his grandfather did.
She stood as tall as her five-foot-three frame allowed. “Yes, I’m a certified nurse midwife. It’s my vocation as well as my job.”
“Vocation? That’s a strong word.”
“It is what it is.”
Was that a flicker of respect in his eyes? Maybe she had jumped the gun in thinking he disapproved.
Bracing herself, she asked the unspoken question that hovered in the air. “What brings you to Hope Springs, Dr. White?”
He glanced around the small office. “Harold is fretting himself sick over this place.”
Amber tried to see the clinic through Phillip’s eyes. The one-story brick building was devoid of frills. The walls were painted pale blue. The chairs grouped around the small waiting room had worn upholstery. Wilma’s desk, small and crowded by the ancient tan filing cabinets lined up behind it, didn’t make much of a statement.
Their clinic might not look like much, but it was essential to the well-being of their friends and neighbors. Amber wouldn’t let it close without a fight.
“Harold shouldn’t worry,” she said. “We’re managing.”
“Grandfather’s doctors can’t keep his blood pressure under control. He’s not eating. He’s not sleeping well. He needs to concentrate on his recovery and he’s not doing that.” Deep concern vibrated through Phillip’s voice.
A pang stabbed Amber’s heart. “I know Harold’s concerned about us, but I didn’t realize it was affecting his health.”
“Unfortunately, it is. The only way to relieve his anxiety was to find someone to cover his practice. In spite of my best efforts to hire temporary help, I’ve had no success. Clearly, working in a remote Amish community is not an assignment most physicians are eager to take on. In the end, I had to obtain a temporary license to practice in the state of Ohio. I’m here until the tenth of September or until a more permanent solution can be found.”
“You’re taking over the practice?” Amber blinked hard. While she was delighted they were going to have a physician again, for the life of her she couldn’t understand why Harold hadn’t mentioned this tidbit of information. It ranked above bad hospital food and clueless medical students, the subjects of their conversation last night.
Her shock must have shown on her face. Phillip’s eyes narrowed. “Harold did tell you I was coming, didn’t he?”
Amber glanced at Wilma, hoping she’d taken the message. Wilma shook her head. Amber looked back at Phillip. “Ah, no.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. His mind wanders at times. This is additional proof that he is incapable of returning to work.”
Amber wasn’t sure what to think. Harold sounded perfectly rational each time she’d spoken to him on the phone. Could he fool her that easily?
Compelled to defend the man who was her mentor and friend, she said, “Perhaps his pain medication muddled his thinking and he forgot to mention it. He will bounce back. He loves this place and the people here. He says working is what keeps him sane.”
Phillip didn’t look convinced. “We’ll see how it goes. For now, I’m in charge of this practice.”
He jerked his head toward the parking lot visible through the front plate-glass window. A gray horse hitched to a black buggy stood patiently waiting beside the split-rail fence that ringed the property. “Do we put out hay for the horses or do their owners bring their own?”
His
