Rescued By Marriage. Dianne DrakeЧитать онлайн книгу.
far enough in her education to have a specialty. After graduating medical school, she’d gone straight to an internship and from there straight into labor and delivery…as the patient, not the doctor. Consequently, she’d had no specialty training, which meant the hospitals didn’t want her. Neither did any clinics because a general practitioner with only public health experience wasn’t exactly in high demand. “No specialty whatsoever.”
“They know your credentials, and you do come highly recommended by your clinic. If the islanders need a specialist, they’ll go to the mainland for one. They’re fine with that arrangement.”
Della sighed. She was very tempted…Still, when it sounded too good to be true, it usually was. Right now, this still sounded much too good to be true. She’d already learned the lesson—Anthony Riordan had been too good to be true the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Now look what she had to show for that! She was practically penniless, nearly homeless, jobless, and her daughter in the custody of Anthony’s parents until she straightened out her life. “Can I have some time to think about it?”
Foster Armstrong smiled patiently. “I’ve been authorized to leave this deal on the table for one day only. Twenty-four hours. After that you’re still welcome to buy the medical practice and all that goes with it, but the subsidies donated by the island will not be part of the deal, I’m sorry to say.”
Della blinked her surprise. “They’re putting me on a timeline?”
He shrugged. “I’m only the agent. That was part of their proposition and I’m not empowered to change the provisions. I expect it’s eagerness, most likely.”
She hoped so, because that rush was an added worry. Of course, affordability was an even bigger worry because without the subsidy she wouldn’t be able to afford the practice, which would put the total package out of her reach. Prior to this she’d looked at a couple other options—small town and rural practices—and couldn’t come close to touching those. The next option would have been to start her own practice from the ground up, but she simply didn’t have the money, not to mention the fact that if she did that there would be no guarantee of patients coming to her. It might take months or years to get a good start. So buying an established practice was the way to go, if she could find one she was able to afford. Which seemed to be the medical practice on Redcliffe Island.
“That’s not a lot of time, especially since if I accept this I’ll be changing my whole life.”
It wasn’t enough time to make arrangements to go take a look at what she might be buying, either. But she’d worked in a public health clinic in Miami, one with practically no facilities, no supplies, and many more patients than were manageable. So how horrible could something on rolling acreage, according to the papers, be compared to that?
“No, it’s not a lot of time, Doctor, but it is a lot of generosity. And there are no strings attached except that you stay for five years. That’s all they’re asking. Five years in exchange for full title of your practice and properties.”
“You don’t happen to have any pictures, do you? Of the house I’ll be getting? Or even the medical office?” The contract stipulated office and all equipment, but it didn’t state what that equipment would be.
He shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t. This listing has only just been handed over to me, and so far I’ve managed this only from my office and haven’t actually been to the property.”
She nodded. Pictures would have been nice, but the view from the kitchen window she was buying wasn’t the essential thing here. What was essential was the ability to walk in and assume the role of physician to an established patient base. Which was exactly what this offer was. Built-in patients, ready and eager for a doctor. “And this practice has been on the market for how long?”
“A rather long time. Two years, I believe.” To make sure, Foster Armstrong put on his half-glasses and searched through the packet of papers he had with him. “Actually, it’s closer to three years,” he said, then cleared his throat. “It’s been listed that long but, according to what I see here, there haven’t been any serious offers. A few looks, a couple of weak considerations, a reneged offer, but nothing gainful. Fred Barnes, the man who handled this matter before I took it over, left a note to the effect that because the practice is relatively small, which will limit the income potential, he believed that was the predominant factor in the lack of interest.” He looked up from the document, staring intently at Della over the tops of his glasses. “But you told me that you don’t require a tremendous financial gain from this venture, only enough to support you and your daughter, and this practice will most certainly do that. Then when you consider that it comes with the house for the two of you, I think it’s a good match for your needs. Especially since you don’t have the means to afford much else.”
Her needs. She had only one. Get Meghan back. The judge had said she had to prove stability in her life if she wanted custody again. Three months ago, she’d had all the stability in the world—a husband, a mansion in Miami, a wonderful job in a public health clinic and Meghan. How much more stable could anyone be? “You said I’m obligated to five years. What happens if I don’t stick it out?”
“You pay the islanders back their share of the investment at the time you sell the practice. No penalties involved.”
“But what happens if they don’t like me and won’t come to me for their medical services?”
“They pay you back for your expenditure, which is an extraordinary clause, and they’ll sell the practice themselves. In all the years I’ve been brokering these deals, I’ve never had one like it. But the island advisory board likes your résumé and I seriously doubt you’re going to have a problem with them not wanting to use your services. In fact, they’re willing to fly you to Massachusetts and take you over to the island as soon as you can get there. Tomorrow, even.”
She wasn’t prepared for that. Wasn’t prepared to say goodbye to Meghan yet. But the sooner she got started, the sooner she would have her daughter back. She hoped. The judge had set six months for a review of Meghan’s custody, and three weeks of that had already ticked off the clock as she explored her options. “I’ll need my car.”
“They’ll provide one until yours can be sent over.”
“And my furniture.” What there was of it. She’d bought a few pieces for that one-room apartment she and Meghan had been living in since Anthony’s death. A bed, a couch, a table.
“They’ll have it shipped.”
“I won’t have a lot of money for start-up expenses in the office.”
“They’ll make you a generous loan, or take care of other arrangements as needed to get you started. And much of the equipment you’ll need is in storage, according to the papers.”
“Other arrangements?”
He nodded. “They’re committed to doing whatever it takes to give you your start. I’m under the impression that their needs are basic and they don’t care about extravagance and image, so as long as you’re a good doctor for them you’re not going to have to worry about a fancy, up-to-date office and the newest medical gadgets on the market. In other words, they’ll help you get the basics you’ll need.”
“That’s good, because I’ll be lucky to manage the basics.” This was getting more and more tempting, and maybe the only reason she was hesitating was that she simply didn’t trust anyone any more. She’d trusted her husband once and he’d betrayed her in more ways than she would have ever guessed he could. Then his parents had betrayed her on top of that. They’d always been gracious and supportive, especially after the funeral, when she’d found out Anthony had left her practically destitute. Of course, while they had been supportive they had also been filing for Meghan’s custody behind her back, using the small amount of money she’d accepted from them to help herself get going again as the proof that she was unable to take proper care of her daughter. Begging for handouts was what the Riordans had officially called