an interesting slide show in a biology class. “You make decisions based on what’s best for ‘the family.’ Never any side trip into interesting…just a long, slow trip on the main highway. Go where you’re supposed to be and get there in the prescribed manner.”
He shifted position uncomfortably. She managed to make him sound like an automaton.
“And you prefer the side roads?”
“Of course.” She shrugged.
“Don’t you get lost?”
“See new territory, discover new things.”
“And you don’t believe in maps, then, either?”
“Maps.” She shook her head. “They’re for outlining the road, and what fun is that? You might as well stay at home and draw red lines on an atlas. If you’re not open to discovery, why go at all?”
“Are we still talking about stodgy, stalwart lives or have we moved on to summer road trips?”
“I said ‘stuffy’ not ‘stodgy’,” she corrected. “And isn’t life the same thing as a good road trip?”
“How do you figure?” Somehow he’d lost control of this conversation. That happened all too often around Lily Cunningham. She seemed to have her own sort of logic that defied description.
She stopped in front of him again and tipped her head back so that she was looking directly into his eyes. The soft scent of jasmine lifted from her hair, and before he could remind himself not to notice…he had.
“Everyone starts out on the same road. Some of us stay on the highway—some of us take the back roads.” She smiled again. “Just like life. Some of us never look away from the goal long enough to be sure there isn’t some other goal that would be just as good if not better. You miss a lot when you never get off the highway.”
“Maybe,” Ron said. “But you don’t run into many dead ends that way, either.”
Chapter Two
Ridiculous, but hours later Lily was still thinking about her conversation with Ron Bingham. There was simply something about the man. That could be good…or bad. But either way, he was spending far too much time in her thoughts.
Deliberately turning her mind away from him, Lily swung her leather bag over her shoulder and left her office for the day. Heading down the hall, she walked in step to the music drifting through the speakers. Passing through the waiting room, she smiled at a little boy holding up his scribbled drawing of what might have been a pony—if ponies were allowed six legs. Tired mothers and pregnant women still crowded the waiting room and Lily knew Mari wouldn’t leave the building until every last one of them had been seen and reassured. The woman really was a wonder, Lily thought, admiration flaring.
Dr. Mari Bingham was determined to make the clinic her grandmother had founded the best of its kind. Even that, though, wasn’t enough for Mari. The biomedical facility she wanted to build would not only bring needed jobs into Merlyn County, it would spearhead research into infertility and stem cells and other life-saving—though possibly controversial—areas.
Lily sighed as she stood in the center of the lobby and let her gaze drift from one woman to another as they read magazines or chatted. What were they thinking? Oh, she knew they’d come for prenatal care and that was all to the good. But Lily had also heard the talk flying around town. Gossip about Mari and her plans, and about the high-powered backers who’d pulled out their monetary support for the facility. There was just too much gossip, Lily thought. Of course, in a small town, you really couldn’t avoid it. Still, one would think that the very women Mari was working so hard to serve would be willing to defend her rather than talk about her behind her back.
Mari worked like a dog to make sure the women in this part of Kentucky could have good prenatal care—and a clean, welcoming place in which to give birth, whether the women wanted to use a midwife or a doctor. But sometimes, Lily told herself, it was the people who owed you the most who enjoyed talking you down. Maybe people just didn’t care to be beholden to anyone.
The chatter around her lifted and fell, then dropped away completely as she pushed through the glass door and stepped into the afternoon sunlight. The weather was close, as it had been all summer. Humidity made the air thick enough to chew. But beyond the misery of the heat, there was a clean freshness to the Kentucky mountain air that she’d never found anywhere else.
New York’s crowded streets with their racing pedestrians and noisy cabs seemed a world away, and Lily was glad for it. She’d needed this change. This chance to step off the treadmill and enjoy her life a little. The work at the clinic was challenging enough to keep her happy—while giving her time to explore the new world she found herself in.
She’d only been in rural Kentucky a few months, but already it felt like home. Here, no one cared if she wanted to walk barefoot down Main Street. There were no reporters ready to snap a picture of Lillith Cunningham being anything less than dignified. And, there was enough of a buffer zone between her and her family that Lily felt free, for the first time in her life.
Two or three pickup trucks dotted the parking lot, alongside a couple of minivans and a station wagon that looked to be on its last legs. Sunlight speared from the sky and glanced off the asphalt until heat waves shimmered in the air.
“Like walking with a wet electric blanket wrapped around you,” Lily muttered as she slipped out of her suit jacket and stepped out of her heels. The parking lot felt red hot against the soles of her feet and still it was more comfortable than walking another step on three-inch heels.
For all the problems crowding in on the clinic, Lily didn’t for a moment regret moving here. Binghamton, Kentucky, was as far removed from New York City as the moon was from the sun. Everything was different here. Even she was different.
All right, maybe not so different. But at least here, Lily thought, her differences fit right in. Growing up in an “old money” family, she’d been the black sheep almost from the moment of her birth. Born in the family limousine on the way to the hospital, Lily had never lived down her “undignified” entrance into the world. In fact, she’d pretty much done all she could to live up to it.
In high school she’d dyed her hair purple, worn her skirts too short and dated all the “wrong” boys. She drove too fast, listened to what her parents called “appalling” music and took part in protest marches. By the time she left home for college, Lily could have sworn she could actually hear the stately old Boston family home breathe a sigh of relief. Heaven knew, her parents had.
At college things were different. At UCLA she’d discovered a whole new world. In California life was more relaxed, less rigid. There were fewer rules, and no one thought of wearing anything more formal than a pair of clean jeans. Lily had found a place where she fit in. She’d thrived on the distance from her caring, but stiffly formal family. She’d even fallen in love.
“But then,” she muttered as she hit the button on her keychain that would unlock her car, “nothing’s perfect.”
Her marriage hadn’t started out badly. Everything had been fine. Until the day a doctor told Lily she couldn’t have children. And just like that, it was over. Jack was packed and gone within the week—the divorce was final six months later.
Lily opened her car door and tossed her purse across to the passenger seat. Tilting her face up, she
