worked for a cardiologist. I was there for three years. Very busy practice. I was hoping for something a little quieter for a while.”
Devon didn’t speak right away. Then she said, “So, you’re not just passing through.”
“Well, I could have been. I haven’t officially started looking for my next job yet. I haven’t sent out any résumés yet.”
“Why did you leave your former practice?”
“I was replaced, but I promise you my recommendation will be excellent,” she said. “Maybe you could give my résumé to Dr. Grant, and if he’s interested, my cell phone number and email address are right there,” she said, pointing.
“I’ll do just that,” Devon said. “Miss Sneaky Britches.”
Peyton laughed. “Please don’t be offended, Devon. I wasn’t going to leave a résumé if something about the town or the clinic or the doctor didn’t feel right.”
“You haven’t met the doctor.”
“But you love him,” Peyton said. “Even your fiancé loves him.”
“Who loves me?” a man asked.
Peyton looked up, and there, standing in the space that led into the back of the clinic, was a very attractive man in his late thirties. He was dressed in faded jeans and a yellow dress shirt, open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. Although he was clearly over thirty-five, he had a boyish quality to his good looks. But not to his physique—he was broad shouldered and had muscular arms and big hands. Even from where she stood, she could see a depth to his blue eyes.
Devon looked over her shoulder. “Meet Dr. Scott Grant, who obviously just snuck in the back door.”
He stepped forward. “Pleasure,” he said. “Miss Sneaky Britches, was it?”
“Peyton Lacoumette,” she said, taking his hand. “I saw your ad. After getting to know Devon a little bit, I decided to drop off a résumé. I’m a physician’s assistant.”
“Is that so?” he said, taking the page, glancing at it. “I’ve been interviewing.”
“Well, give me a call if you think I suit,” she said. “I’m staying in Coos Bay for a little while—just taking a breather before summer is over.”
Without looking up from her résumé, he asked, “Do you have time for a conversation now?”
“I—I guess so,” she said. Then she laughed a little uncomfortably. “I didn’t expect... I didn’t dress for... Sure, I have time.”
“Good,” he said. “Come on back.” And he turned that she might follow him.
* * *
Scott found himself staring down at the résumé for a long time, looking for flaws. He knew if he looked across the desk he’d see only perfection, and it unsettled him. She was only a job applicant, after all. She was very pretty, yes, but not the type he usually found himself giving a second look. His eyes were usually drawn to blondes, like his late wife. This woman had dark hair, dark eyes and a slightly olive complexion. Her hair was long and straight and looked like a sheet of silk. Italian? Mexican? Sicilian? Her eyes were large and her eyebrows curved in a perfect arch. She was trim—she obviously took care of herself. He noted her very nice collarbones. He almost laughed aloud. Collarbones, Scott? Really? He was afraid to look up. He might lean over the desk to look at her feet and ankles, not that he gave a shit about ankles. He hoped they were at least thick and weird-looking. But he knew they would not be.
“Lacoumette,” he said. “Interesting name....”
“It’s Basque. Originally from the south of France. Most of the Basque blood in my family is Spanish, but the name originated in the northern Basque country and has survived for generations. My parents are second-generation Americans. They have a farm near Portland.” She was quiet for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Do you have any questions about my résumé, Dr. Grant?” she asked.
“You seem to have a lot of experience,” he said. “This is one of the most impressive résumés I’ve seen.”
“Twelve years,” she said. “Two practices and two hospitals, plus a year at a small clinic in Bayonne, France.”
“France?”
“An old clinic right in the middle of Basque territory. I wanted to see where our people came from. I’m probably related to half of them.” And she smiled then, showing off a row of beautiful white teeth. She was stunning.
“What do you prefer? The private practice or the hospital?”
“For the hands-on work, the hospital wins. For compensation, I’ll take private practice every time.”
With her experience, Scott knew she could very likely make more money than he did, in the right place. “Did you look around? This isn’t a rich practice.”
“That isn’t why I dropped by,” she said. “Are you frowning?”
Was he glaring at her? He shook himself. “I didn’t mean to do that, to be defensive,” he said. “It’s just that....” He took a breath. “Let me be frank. I started this clinic on a shoestring. I run it on a tight budget. Where salary is concerned, I doubt I could meet your demands.”
She tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “I don’t recall making any. Yet.”
He realized he didn’t want her to walk out, yet he was sure he didn’t have what it would take to make her stay. He folded his hands on top of the résumé and smiled at her. “What brings you to Thunder Point?”
“Just your ad,” she said.
Glancing at the résumé again, he asked, “How did you see my ad in Portland? The search company?”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “When I left my last job I decided to take my time looking for employment because I wasn’t completely sure where I wanted to be. Plus, I didn’t take much time off in the past few years. So, I took a vacation. I spent a little time with my parents, then I drove down the coast, first to Canon Beach, then Coos Bay. I just happened to be looking through the employment section—I think it was the North Bend paper. I saw your ad and had never heard of Thunder Point. I was just curious. I thought in another couple of weeks I might contact an agency. I’m more comfortable in a big city. I didn’t expect this—a spontaneous interview in a little town. I was leaning toward San Francisco or Seattle....”
“Ah,” he said. “You like the Pacific Northwest.”
“I do, and I have family around. I was thinking it was time for a hospital,” she continued. “I was not interested in another practice right now—a little cozy, if you know what I mean. And I grew up in a tiny farming community and haven’t worked in a small town in years.”
“There are certain advantages to a small town, a small clinic,” he said. “I came from a large city to a small town as an experiment, hoping I’d take to it. It’s cozy, all right—your friends are your patients and vice versa, but in the city the general practitioner is a good referral agency. In a place like Thunder Point we
