Angela’s a great dietician. She has a natural talent for seeing all the connections between health and nutrition. And she’s taking on the juvenile diabetes project here at the hospital. But we understand that she doesn’t have the kind of medical training you’re after. She’s eager to learn, but if she doesn’t qualify, she doesn’t qualify.”
“Well, I’m not feeling great about the decision, but I don’t want to be saddled with someone who’ll hold the program back, and that’s what she’ll do.”
“Saddled?” Neil questioned, arching his eyebrows in surprise. “I wouldn’t exactly call being involved with Angela in any way being saddled.”
Mark sighed. Angela was a looker, in a cute, pixie sort of way. He did have to admit that. Short, with cropped brown hair, amazing dark brown eyes. And so much sparkle to her. Cute, sexy. Girl-next-door in a most kissable fashion, if he had been inclined to kiss anymore. Which he wasn’t. “You know what I mean,” he grumbled, shaking her image out of his head.
“Don’t envy you the task of rejecting her,” Neil said, standing, followed by Eric.
Mark cringed at the thought. “I don’t envy myself the task either.” He hated rejection. Went out of his way not to be involved in it. But this was one he couldn’t help. He didn’t have a place for her in his program and he couldn’t make a place for her. He had eighteen months to accomplish what should, logically, take two years, and Angela would slow him down. His hands were tied, even though he was the one tying them. “And let me tell you now, this isn’t what I bargained for when I came here. I wanted to teach and train, not do the paperwork.”
Eric chuckled. “Trust me. Angela is more than paperwork.” On that note, the doctors left Mark’s office, left him wondering why he’d agreed to this, why he hadn’t followed his first impulse and simply walked away.
Truthfully, he didn’t know. Didn’t want to examine it either, for fear of what he’d find. He’d made his choices, made his decisions, and he wasn’t going to change. Sure, he had a detour for the next year and a half, but after that…
Sarah’s photo didn’t dominate her desk by any means, but Angela’s gaze was drawn to it a dozen times an hour. Maybe two dozen times. She’d never known anything or anyone that could fill her heart the way her daughter did. Coming up on Sarah’s first birthday, that was all Angela could think about—the last twenty or so tumultuous months, learning she was pregnant, discovering that her husband didn’t want a baby or a wife, seeing him flaunt his various affairs on international television. Still, it had been a good time in spite of all that, because of Sarah. “We’re doing quite well for ourselves,” she said to the photo, then refocused on the meal plan she was devising for Scotty Baxter.
He was seven, with uncontrolled diabetes, and she was worried because he didn’t have the home support he needed. His mother rewarded him with snacks, never refused his demands, and most of the time Scotty demanded sweets and foods that weren’t good for him. Helen Baxter loved her son the way Angela loved her daughter, but Helen’s definition of love was overindulgence, maybe because she was a single mother who was trying to compensate for the lack of a father in Scotty’s life. She totally sympathized with Helen, and in some ways she could see that in herself… overindulging Sarah because Sarah’s father had walked out. But not overindulgence to the point of harming her, and that’s where Scotty and his mother stood right now.
It wasn’t a good situation, and she was worried because, so far, she hadn’t gotten through. Not to Scotty, not to his mother. She was working on it, though, hoping the camp she was creating—a camp for kids like Scotty—would help. It was coming together, and she was excited by the prospect. One more hurdle, taking the finalized plans to the hospital board, and she’d be set.
Right now, though, she had to concentrate on Scotty’s meal plan. “First things first,” she said to Sarah’s photo, forcing her attention to the computer screen and the list of low glycemic index foods popping up there.
A knock on the door startled her.
“Can I come in?” Mark asked, as he pushed the door open a crack.
Suddenly, she was on tenterhooks. She’d applied to his program. Wanted desperately to be part of the White Elk Mountain Rescue Team, like her sister was. Like all her friends were. She wanted to prove… well, her worth, for one thing. “Sure,” she said, saving Scotty’s file.
Mark Anderson. Larger than life, filling every inch of her door frame and handsome in a way that defied description. Definitely a man who could make her heart go pitter-patter, if she had a mind to let it. Which she didn’t, even though her divorce wasn’t stinging so much these days. Truthfully, she didn’t have men on her mind, didn’t date, didn’t want to. Not now. This part of her life was about improvement, about doing the things she’d been deprived of all those years with Brad. About making sure she was in a place where she controlled her destiny. It was also about Sarah… Sarah, who always brought a smile to her face. Her life was a good place now, and although she wasn’t very far into it yet, she surely did like her direction.
So, no rocking it with someone like Dr. Mark Anderson, even though another time, another place… Fantasies like that allowed, realties forbidden. Besides, in her limited contact with him since he’d helped her and Sarah from the train that had been trapped in an avalanche he’d seemed so standoffish, maybe even grumpy. She wasn’t sure why, wasn’t inclined to find out. But he held her future in his hand, so to speak, and she did want this opportunity. It was one of so many things she wanted to do and as he strode toward her desk she couldn’t wait for him to start. “What did you decide?” she blurted out, too anxious to wait.
“No,” he said, quite bluntly.
“No?” Blinking, it took a moment to digest his words. “Did you say no?”
“That’s correct. No.”
“Meaning you didn’t accept me into your program?”
“Meaning I’m looking for people who have more medical training than you do. I’m sorry, but you don’t fit my criteria.”
He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he looked rather bland on the whole subject. “My being a clinical dietician doesn’t count for anything? Or the fact that I’m heading up the juvenile diabetes project at the hospital? Or that I’m probably better on skis than most of the instructors at the lodges here?”
“Those are important, even impressive in their own way, Mrs. Blanchard. I’m not diminishing what you’re doing here, not trying to belittle your abilities either, but your qualifications are lacking, and I’m not accepting anyone into my program who doesn’t meet a certain basic level of medical training. Which you don’t. For what it’s worth, I knew how much you wanted this, so I went over your application a couple of times, trying to figure out if there was a way I could deviate from the standards I’ve set for the other students I’ll take on. But I couldn’t, because if I made an exception for you, I might have to make it for someone else, and pretty soon the whole program would be… diluted.”
“Diluted?” She rose from her desk, leaned over it, palms flat on the surface. “You think I’d dilute your program?”
“OK, so maybe that’s not the best choice of words. But I think it conveys my intent. I know the kind of background I want in my students, and you don’t have it. I’m sorry, but that’s my decision. And, to be honest, with all the new programs you’re involved with already, I’m not even sure why you’d want to take on something else. Wouldn’t that be spreading yourself too thin?”
