Page 4 of Tumbleweed Temptation
He sat on the edge of the mattress, put his head in his hands and cried.
Chapter Two
Broken Wheel, Texas, was the last place Austin Driscoll wanted to be. He was pretty sure the isolated West Texas town was the ninth circle of hell, or something. He didn’t know how many circles of hell there were.
He was a doctor, man, not an English major.
But yeah, this was the last place he wanted to be, but here he had to be, because the town had paid for his med school, in exchange for him returning to serve them.
So he didn't have any school debt, but he was stuck in this town for the next seven years.
The next. Seven. Years.
After his mother’s death, after he had moved away, he’d renegotiated the terms of the contract, which had originally been ten years. He couldn’t stay here that long, even if he had to pay the town back part of the cost of his education. Ten years was an eternity.
He’d loved being in Waco, had loved his friends there, loved the hospital there. Honestly, if he hadn’t made this deal, he would have enjoyed going into a specialization like ortho or something.
But now he was here. He would have all kinds of patients, including people who probably hadn’t been to the doctor in years because they didn't want to make the drive to San Angelo or places farther afield.
God knew how many cases of diabetes were rampant in Broken Wheel.
He parked his car in front of the building on the square and double checked the address from the email on his phone. He sighed. Yeah, the building on the other side of the hardware store that used to be the bank was his new office, and his apartment was above it. He was told it was furnished, so he didn't have to bring anything, but he could only imagine what kind of hand-me-down furniture he’d been stuck with.
Geez.
He reached in the back for his duffel and pushed open his car door. Two thousand five hundred and fifty five days to go.
The building, when he finally got the door open with that stupid latch door handle, had the mixed aroma of mustiness and fresh lumber, but yeah, he could see they had made some improvements. The stairs to his apartment were in front of him, the door to the office—his name on it—was to his right. He fumbled with this latch, too, and stepped inside.
They’d created a waiting room and put a big particle board desk for the reception area. He wondered who his receptionist would be.
He would check out the exam rooms later, but for now, he wanted to see his apartment. He started up the steps, noting that some of the wood didn't match the others, where someone must have repaired them.
At least he wasn't falling through the floor.
He opened another lock with those stupid latch handles, and swung the door open. The musty smell was up here, too, but he supposed that was to be expected in a place this old. Because based on what he could see, the place was in pretty good repair. No leaks on the ceiling, the floors were smooth and shiny, the walls paneled in what looked like cedar.
