Family Practice by Marisa Carroll

to my care. We have put it off long enough.”
    “Why can’t we do that after we’ve gone fishing?”
    A little curl of anger stirred inside her. He’d avoided discussing transitioning some of his patients to her, as if he didn’t want to give them up, as if he didn’t think she could hack it. This man was getting on her nerves.
    “Stop making light of the situation, Zach. We’d get more done here working in the dark than we would after we’ve been out on the lake in a boat.”
    The humor faded from his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dr. Layman. You’re right. It was a bad idea. If you want to talk about the patients, we can do that from home. We don’t need the internet or access to the hospital network. We’ll do it low-tech. I’ll give you thumbnail sketches of our patient roster and you can choose the ones you consider the best fit. Is that acceptable?”
    “Yes.” She was ashamed of losing her temper. It was unprofessional. She hated appearing unprofessional. “Yes, I agree that would be a better solution. We should have done it days ago.”
    “In a perfect world we would have. This is not a perfect world. I’ll be over at eight.”
    “Eight?” She’d hoped she might be able to sleep in for an hour or so in the morning.
    “Improvise, adapt, overcome, Dr. Layman. Remember? I still plan on going fishing. So the earlier we get started, the earlier we get done.” He gave her a two-fingered mock salute and strolled off toward his office, leaving Callie without a word to say.

CHAPTER FOUR
    C ALLIE SAT QUIETLY , moving the base of the old-fashioned garden swing with her feet, letting the sunlight shining through the leaves of the big maple in her mother’s yard dance against her closed eyelids.
    She had never imagined her mother would end up returning to White Pine Lake, and certainly not to the farm her bachelor-farmer great-uncle had left her. But as always, Karen Freebeing—the name she had chosen for herself when she joined a commune in Oregon—had defied expectations and done just that, raising Angora goats and free-range chickens, and making videos of her off-the-grid lifestyle that were surprisingly popular and even profitable.
    Today Callie was just very glad to have a place to get away from the clinic—and Zach Gibson.
    High summer was her favorite season on the farm. The warm breeze whispered overhead, in the distance a tractor started up in a neighboring field, but it was a long way off and didn’t interfere with her drowsy thoughts. In the paddock by the barn, her mother’s Angora goats grazed, the babies bleating in high-pitched alarm whenever their mothers drifted too far away. Closer by, bees buzzed among the flowers, and the long-handled well-pump creaked and groaned as it settled a little in its sleep.
    A nap would be nice, just a quick one. She hadn’t been sleeping all that well. The duplex seemed smaller than she remembered and the soundproofing not quite as good. On some level, she seemed to always be aware of the man on the other side of the dividing wall. So it was nice to have a couple of hours to unwind after the hectic morning of electrical malfunctions and yet more rearranging of schedules and appointments at the clinic. She had to admit she was looking forward to the day off tomorrow, at least the part that would come after her meeting with Zach Gibson.
    “Penny for your thoughts,” Karen said, setting a tray of lemonade and a crockery bowl of popcorn down on a rusty wrought-iron table beside the swing.
    “Oh, Mom, I didn’t hear you coming. I must have dozed off for a minute or two.”
    “You work too hard. You always have. You should slow down and smell the roses.”
    “I am taking your advice, although it’s mint I smell and not roses.”
    “The Girls have been looking for grubs in the mint patch, I suspect.”
    “Yes, they have. They’ve been giving me the evil eye ever since I sat down here.”
    “Must be Miss Fancy Pants and Evangeline, then. This swing is their