Free Homecoming by Rochelle Alers Page B

surgeon general I would assume responsibility for the study, but only if the Department of Health and Human Services doubled their original appropriation to cover the cost of renovating the site and purchasing updated equipment. It took four months of haggling before they agreed.
    “I increased the staff to include a nutritionist, X-raytechnician, and a part-time social worker. Renovations were completed in January, bringing the site up to code, and the Hillsboro’s Women’s Health Clinic can boast that it has some of the most sophisticated, state-of-the art medical equipment in the state of Mississippi.”
    Dana was impressed with his obvious confidence. There was no doubt his experience in medical research had earned the attention of the U.S. surgeon general.
    “What’s the time frame for your study?”
    “Five years.”
    “What are you going to do once it ends?”
    Tyler paused, his eyes caressing the sensual beauty of the delicate woman sharing his space. “I plan to stay in Hillsboro.”
    “And do what?”
    Angling his head, he lowered his lashes, smiling. “I’ll become a small-town family doctor.”
    He had planned his future carefully. The detached guest house adjacent to the three-car garage would become his office. He wouldn’t have built a home in Hillsboro if he hadn’t planned on putting down roots in the Delta.
    It had taken more than twenty years, but he now had a place he called home.
    I’ll become a small-town doctor
. His statement set off an alarm in Dana’s head. She was sitting under the roof of a man, a doctor to whom she’d felt an intense attraction. Had it been the same with her mother? Had Alicia seen Harry and decided she wanted the small-town doctor?
    Stirring uneasily in the chair, she moved to stand, and Tyler came to his feet, rounding the table and pulling out her chair. “I think I’d better be getting home. Thank you for everything. I owe you,” she added softly.
    And you will pay, Dana Nichols
, Tyler mused. And hewould make certain she would enjoy what he had in store for her.
    Curving an arm around her waist, he pulled her close to his side. “I’ll come by tomorrow and look at your hand again.”
    She nodded, praying she would be able to wash and dress herself without too much difficulty. “I can’t wait to get this dressing off.”
    Tyler led Dana to his truck, and ten minutes later escorted her through her front door. They stood in the entryway staring at each other. A lamp on a drop-leaf provided enough light to see Tyler’s impassive expression. When he didn’t smile, he looked like an entirely different person. There was an air of seriousness about him that silently communicated that Dr. Tyler Cole was a very private person. She also felt he could be dangerous when crossed.
    “You should name your home,” she said in a quiet tone. “All grand houses in Mississippi have names like St. Charles, Black Acre, or The Oaks.”
    Tyler wanted to tell her that antebellum plantations were also identified by their names—magnificent mansions and thousands of acres of cotton, sugar cane, rice, or tobacco built, planted, and maintained by his enslaved ancestors. He was a Southerner living in the South, but what he did not want was to be reminded of the South’s infamous, sinful past wherein fortunes were made on the backs of those kidnapped, raped, and tortured because their captors deemed them chattel.
    He shook his head. “I’d rather not. To do so would remind me of a period in our history when we were in bondage.”
    She nodded slowly. “I understand.”
    And Dana did understand. Her home had been called Raven’s Crest because her father had inheritedthe house and its title from
his
father, who in turned had inherited it from
his
father. The original structure had belonged to a slaveholder. The former owner, one of the last surviving widows of a Confederate officer in the region, had sold Raven’s Crest to Dr. Silas Nichols to pay off back taxes and creditors.