head on a platter.
Taking a deep breath, Sierra battled her temper. “Patients become infatuated with medical professionals all the time. It’s a form of misplaced gratitude and—”
“Yes, but in the year you’ve been with us, we’ve had multiple complaints about you. Granted, not of this nature, but your track record is flawed. Perhaps if you’d listened on previous occasions when I tried to impress upon you the importance of professional decorum...” Eileen paused with an expression of mock sympathy.
Comprehension dawned. This wasn’t about Lloyd Carson and his romantic delusions. The board of directors had been looking for an excuse to get rid of Sierra. She felt foolish, not having seen the dismissal coming, but she truly believed she was good at her job.
Was she mouthy and abrasive? Occasionally.
All right, regularly. One might even argue, frequently. But sometimes PT patients needed a well-intentioned kick to the rear more than they needed to be coddled. Lord knows I did.
At twelve years old, Sierra had been a pampered rich girl whose parents treated her with a much different standard than her three rough-and-tumble brothers, as if she were fragile. Dr. Frederick Bailey and his wife, Muriel, had raised their sons with aspirations of global domination; they’d raised their daughter with the promise that she’d be a beautiful Houston debutante someday. No one had challenged her until the gruff physiotherapist who’d helped her after she’d been thrown from a horse.
He’d taught her to challenge herself, a lesson she still appreciated fifteen years later. The side effect was that she also tended to challenge authority, a habit the hospital’s board of directors resented.
Given the barely concealed hostility in Eileen’s icy blue gaze, it was a miracle Sierra had lasted this long. You’re partially to blame here, Bailey. While she’d deny with every breath in her body that her conduct with Lloyd Carson had ever been flirtatious or unprofessional, Sierra could have been more of a team player. She could have made an effort to care about occupational politics.
As Eileen went over the legal details of the termination, Sierra’s mind wandered to the future. Her savings account was skimpier than she’d like, but she was a trained specialist. She’d land on her feet. It was a point of pride that she’d been making her way for years, without asking her parents for money.
You’ll find a new position. And when you do? Stay under the radar instead of racking up a file of grievances. In the interests of her career, Sierra could be detached and diplomatic.
Probably.
“Darling, you’re being needlessly stubborn,” Muriel Bailey chastised through the phone. “Coming home for an extended visit would be a win for everyone. Since you aren’t busy with work—”
“I’m busy looking for a job.” Word had spread through the medical grapevine from Dallas to Houston that Sierra had been fired. Ever since Muriel had learned about it last week, she’d been relentlessly campaigning for Sierra to move back to Houston. There’s a better chance of my being elected president and moving to the White House.
Her mother sighed. “But it’s always difficult to get vacation time approved after starting a new position. What if they won’t give you the days off for your brother’s wedding?” According to Muriel, Kyle’s December nuptials would be The Social Event of the Decade. “I need you here so you can help me with the millions of details! Then you’ll start job-hunting again after the holidays. New year, new career.”
Trapped under her parents’ roof from September until January? Little spots appeared in front of Sierra’s eyes, and she gripped the edge of the granite-topped kitchen island for support. “I’ll be sure to mention that my brother is getting married during interviews and give prospective employers a heads-up.” Assuming she got any more interviews.
By affronting the hospital’s board of directors, she seemed to have damaged her options here in Dallas. Only two people had been willing to meet with her so far—a sleaze who’d ogled her breasts throughout the entire conversation and a sycophant who’d gushed about what an honor it was to meet the daughter of esteemed Chief of Neurosurgery Frederick Bailey. She didn’t want to take a job that was offered because of who her father was, but if nothing better materialized...
“Sierra, are you even listening to me?”
“Um.” Not for the past five minutes or so. “I may have missed that last part.”
“Douglas Royce has been asking about you. He can’t wait to see you at the wedding.”
Oh, for pity’s sake. Her mother couldn’t possibly think there was still a chance Sierra might one day become Mrs. Douglas Royce? Opening the fridge, she searched for a bottle of wine. Damn. The downside of no paycheck was a serious lack of groceries. “We broke up years ago.”
“Yet you haven’t had a serious relationship since! Perhaps because, deep down, you—”
“Paul and I were plenty serious.” Just not transcontinental serious. When Dr. Paul Meadows had left a couple of months ago to do medical work in Africa, they’d shared an affectionate goodbye. It was true she hadn’t dated much between Douglas and Paul, but three years of grad school and twelve months of residency hadn’t left much free time. “You’re conveniently forgetting, I never loved Douglas half as much as you and Dad did. So you’re not going to use him to lure me home.”
“Parents shouldn’t have to ‘lure’ their own flesh and blood. Where’s your sense of familial duty?” Muriel huffed. “Who’s going to help me with this mountain of wedding tasks?”
Sierra supposed it would be sheer lunacy to suggest the bride. Was poor Annabel getting any say in her big day? I warned Kyle they should elope. “Don’t be afraid to delegate to the zillion-dollar-an-hour wedding coordinator, Mom. That’s what Annabel’s family is paying her for. I hate to cut this short, but I have a phone interview this evening.” Could her lie have sounded less convincing?
“Really? With whom?”
“Um...” Sierra rubbed her temple. “Oh, I think that’s my other line. Gotta go, love to Dad, ’bye!” She disconnected before her mother could respond, poured a glass of water and went to the living room, where her laptop sat on the couch. For a moment, she considered checking flights to Africa. Maybe she should follow Paul’s example—go help people in another part of the world and put an ocean between her and her parents.
Instead, she checked email to see if her job search had netted any new responses, then fired off a quick note to Kyle.
Subject: Our Mother Is Off The Rails
Annabel must REALLY love you to put up with Mom. Hope you know what a lucky guy you are. See you in December—and not a single day sooner! S.
Her brother never replied to any of her messages. No doubt he was too busy plotting corporate takeovers.
She started to close her email, but her gaze lingered on a name in her inbox. Daniel Baron. He’d written to her two days ago, but she still hadn’t decided whether to act on the information he’d passed along.
Daniel was a former bull rider and past patient. She’d reached out to him last week when it became clear she needed
