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even gone to the bank where she worked just to see her, only to find some scrawny guy at her desk. Had she been promoted? Transferred? Had she moved away?
    Would he ever see her again?
    Maybe. There was that need, buzzing down deep in his gut, whispering to him that life could get better. That he didn’t have to settle for barely surviving. That he could get to where he was supposed to be.
    If he was smart enough to recognize the chance, and willing enough to take it.
    *  *  *
    With three arthroscopies behind him, Ben left the hospital for the clinic across the street, jogging the four flights of stairs to his floor. He got a quick look at the patients in reception, a fair number of their faces familiar to him, then ducked through a door into the treatment area and into his office. He so rarely spent time there that it was the last place anyone trying to find him would look.
    He hadn’t slept well the night before. He’d ignored a number of calls from Lucy Hart, presumably another friend of Patricia’s, and he’d had to tell his sisters, Brianne and Sara, about George. Like him, they’d been bemused. I’m sorry Colonel Sanderson died, Brianne had said. I’m sorry when any of our troops die. But he wasn’t our father. He wasn’t even our stepfath er. We never knew him.
    Sara had been blunter. Like we’re supposed to care about her loss?
    Ben hadn’t been able to force himself to offer their dad’s usual advice: She’s your mother. Naturally you love her. She divorced me, not you kids.
    But Patricia had, in effect, divorced them. She hadn’t raised them, hadn’t been there for them, hadn’t even bothered to let them know she was back in Oklahoma. Their love for her had fled the state not long after she had.
    He opened an energy bar and ate a chunk of it before scanning his schedule for the day. It was busy, as always, and no matter how much time was allotted to each patient, he always found himself needing more. Sawing off femur heads, hammering in titanium appliances, and screwing pieces of a joint back together were the easy part of his practice. Remembering to take time to really listen was something he struggled with. The clinic was chaos from the moment the first patient walked in until the last one left, and it was seriously tempting to give in to the urge to go go go . Especially when something was on his mind that he didn’t want there.
    The ring of his cell brought that particular something right back to the forefront. Every time it had rung since Jessy Lawrence’s first call, he’d flinched. Considering he paid for the damn phone and the damn service, the flinching had gotten really annoying really fast.
    Lucy Hart. Again. Scowling, he answered curtly. “Hello.”
    â€œOh, hi. Hey. I wasn’t really expecting…” A deep exhalation. The accent wasn’t Southern, like Jessy’s, or the voice husky. This could be any woman from anywhere. “I’m Lucy Hart in Tallgrass. I’m a friend of your mom’s. Is this—this is Ben, right?”
    He could lie, but that would only get him off the hook for the moment. Apparently, Patricia’s friends were persistent, so he’d still have to deal with the matter. Though he’d thought he’d done that yesterday. “Yes.”
    â€œLook, Ben, I know you’re busy, and your relationship with your mom hasn’t been good for a while, and you’re thinking you hardly knew her husband and certainly aren’t mourning him.” Another long breath. “But we all make mistakes. I’m guessing your mom’s were pretty significant. But she’s in a really bad place right now, and it would mean the world to her to see you and your sisters. You know, when you lose someone you love, it makes you think a whole lot about the other people you love, especially the ones you’re disconnected from. Please, Ben, she really needs