The Money Man. Carolyn McSparren

of Coy’s desk. “To the rest of the world, she’s a grown woman.” And an annoying one. Mark didn’t voice that thought.

      “I’m getting to the point where I don’t want to take her calls. Terrible thing to start screening out your only daughter’s telephone calls.”

      “Switch her over to me.”

      “Oh, I’ve tried, son, believe me. She says you aren’t responsive, whatever the hell that means.”

      “It means I don’t sit up and jump through hoops for her. You pay me for not jumping through hoops.”

      “I know, I know. But couldn’t you at least act like maybe you’re planning to leave the ground occasionally?” Coy grinned. “Make my life one hell of a lot easier.”

      “As long as you don’t expect me to sign blank checks.”

      “It’s that damn animal clinic,” Coy said, and gulped half the mug of coffee. He wiped his mouth. “Why couldn’t Margot have married somebody like Ted Turner or Donald Trump? Even a king might have been able to afford her. But no, she’s got to go and marry a veterinarian. And then try to turn him into a millionaire. Last I heard, wasn’t nobody trading veterinary stock on Wall Street.”

      “True, but we’ve got investors, Coy. You are not the only one. And some of them can’t afford to lose what money they’ve put into the clinic.”

      “Hell, you think I can?” Coy came close to roaring. “First rule of business my daddy taught me is ‘Don’t lose money.”’

      This time Mark grinned. “You lost two fortunes before you were forty.”

      “Yeah, but I made ’em back, and then some. I’m getting too old for this game. I hired you to see I don’t lose any more. I just want to build nice office buildings and fancy subdivisions, pay the IRS entirely too much of what I earn, and still have time to go fishing occasionally. I’ve got a good mind to go do that right this minute and leave you to deal with Margot all by yourself.”

      “You do, and I quit.”

      “You won’t quit. You got too much junkyard dog in you. How many times I fired you?”

      “I lost count after fifteen.”

      “And have you once ever started cleaning out your desk? No, you have not. You know I don’t mean it, and you’re just too damn mean to leave.”

      “If I ever do start cleaning out my desk, Coy, you’ll know I really have quit. In the meantime, I will be pleasant but noncommittal. I will not give her or Rick carte blanche to spend whatever they like on fancy furniture, equipment or additional personnel until they’re fully operational and at least breaking even. Do I have your agreement on that?”

      “Sure you do.”

      “You’ll back me up, no matter how hard Margot pleads?”

      “Yeah, yeah, if I have to. But—” Coy looked sheepish “—I have to ask you for something.”

      “Oh, damn,” Mark muttered. “Here it comes.”

      “I know you’re supposed to be going to Houston tomorrow to meet with the Center City Commission…”

      “Right.”

      “I’ll take the meeting. For at least the next month I want you to stick close to town and spend most of your time out at that clinic.”

      “Coy…”

      “I know it’s been years since you supervised a construction project personally—at least a penny-ante one like the clinic.” Coy sounded plaintive. “I need you to do this for me, son.”

      “Construction’s almost finished. You don’t want a construction supervisor. You want an on-site CFO to deal with the problems while you wine and dine and avoid Margot’s telephone calls.” Mark sighed. “Last time I checked, I still work for you.” Mark stood. “Okay, I’ll keep up with things here and check on the clinic at night.”

      “I wouldn’t ask…”

      “Sure you would.” Mark walked to the door and stood with his hand on the knob. “But too much Margot, and the next time you fire me I may just go.”

      “I’LL HAVE TO MAKE THIS FAST,” Rick said to Sarah in front of the assembled people in the break room. “This is everybody I could track down at the moment. You’ll have to introduce yourself to the others when you run into them. People, this is Dr. Sarah Marsdon who is going to put our large-animal clinic on the map.”

      “I’ll certainly try.” Sarah smiled at the group. “But I’ll need some help and I’ll need a surgery with lights.” She gave Rick a hard look.

      Rick looked uncomfortable. “The lights were supposed to be hooked up yesterday. I’ll check.”

      “Thanks.” She smiled again and tried to keep her tone light and even. This was no time to air her dirty laundry. “Jack Renfro’s going to harry the contractor.”

      “Good. I’ll back him up.” Rick pointed to a tall man with a gray buzz cut who stood over a coffee urn at the back of the room. “That’s Dr. Mac Thorn, the other senior partner. Mac, I introduced you yesterday, remember?”

      “I don’t remember anything while I’m operating,” he said grumpily.

      Sarah raised her eyebrows. So Dr. Thorn had an attitude.

      “Jack Renfro says you’ll assist me if I need help in surgery,” she said.

      He nodded and took a sip of coffee.

      “This is Bill Chumney, our exotics man. He’s about to get us a very lucrative contract with the local animal refuge, to do all their vet work.”

      “Actually,” Chumney said, “I’m a raptor man by preference, but I can handle everything from armadillos to iguanas if I have to.”

      “What are the laws about exotics in Tennessee? Can people keep them as pets?”

      “The state is extremely strict about issuing permits to people who want to keep local fauna, or zoo animals—big cats, elephants, that sort of thing. Iguanas, reptiles, ferrets, hedgehogs, even sugar gliders—small creatures bred and sold to be pets—are okay. Sometimes Rick and Mac handle them in the small animal section, sometimes I do. And then somebody has to look after the raccoon whose mother got hit by a truck, or a possum with his tail bitten off. That’s why we’re anxious to get the contract with the animal refuge people signed. We’ll handle all the hurt animals the public brings in. And the zoo, too, of course. They have their own staff, but it’s pretty limited.”

      “Are you busy?”

      “Not yet, but we will be when that contract goes through. That’s my flight cage they’re building outside by Dr. Sol’s research lab.” He glowered at Rick. “It was supposed to be finished, and a damn sight larger, as well. I’ve got an eagle about ready to try his wings. Eagles need space to get lift.”

      “Okay, okay. After the lights are up. I promise I’ll check it out.”

      Rick turned back to Sarah. “Dr. Sol Weincroft isn’t in today. He’s actually more of a silent partner for the next few months. We’re building him a wing out back for his research in return for financial support from him and the pharmaceutical companies funding his research. He’ll be available in emergencies, but he’s concentrating on research as much as he can. I think you may have met him in Kansas City, Sarah?”

      Sarah nodded. “Heard him give a paper on his research on an equine infectious anemia vaccine.”

      “And he’s very, very close to success. That’ll be one hell of a feather in our caps.” Rick sighed. “Eleanor Grayson isn’t in, either. She’s part-time and your backup after hours. She was here pretty late last night with a flipped gut.”

      Sarah knew Rick meant that one of Dr.