Miracle For The Neurosurgeon. Lynne Marshall

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СКАЧАТЬ out to prove it. And prove it she had. She held a doctorate degree. Could work anywhere she wanted. And at this point in time she’d chosen to work here. Lucky him.

      When Alexandra had first brought her home, Mary had been scrawny and had worn clothes from thrift shops. They’d been assigned to work on a science project together, and instead of judging Mary on her appearance Alex had been raised to be open-minded. She’d treated Mary like all of her other friends, though those friends had all been rich. Without passing judgment, Alexandra had quickly zeroed in on how bright Mary was—beyond how nice and sweet she was—and their team project had taken first place. She’d also realized that Mary couldn’t always depend on meals at home so she’d quickly become a regular guest for meals at the Van Allen house. Soon Mary had become best friends with his big-hearted sister.

      Back then, he’d also been taken in by Mary’s upbeat spirit, and secretly by her waist-long strawberry blonde hair, which she wore only shoulder length these days. Her shining inquisitive green eyes had stood out like a newly discovered gem in a household of brown-eyed people, and he’d been drawn to her from their very first meeting. Plus, he’d seen something else in that wide and intelligent stare of hers—admiration. Admiration for him. He’d enjoyed knowing his sister’s new best friend had a huge crush on him, accepted it with pride, even fed that crush from time to time.

      But she’d been innocent and vulnerable and, with parents like hers, hungry for love and attention. With a father like his, who had unwavering expectations for him, well, Wes had been wise enough to play gently with Mary’s heart by keeping her at arm’s length, knowing his future would take a far different direction from hers. Still, selfish eighteen-year-old that he’d been, he’d strung her along, given her enough attention to keep her hopeful.

      Damn, he’d been mean even then. Or careless? Egotistical for sure. Hadn’t the Prince of Westwood been his family nickname? Especially the one time he’d slipped up and let his—what should he call it—curiosity or desire get the better of him.

      Long before everyone had had a cell phone—especially kids like Mary—and social media had taken hold of the entire world, she’d appeared on their doorstep, breathless and excited. Alexandra hadn’t been home—come to think of it, no one else had been either—but he’d invited her in anyway. When he’d seen her disappointment at not having Alex to share her great news with, he’d offered to listen and to deliver the information personally to his kid sister.

      Mary had made the principal’s list, which would ensure she’d be able to continue on at the Magnet school for the next year. She’d only been admitted the prior year on that contingency, and because, like most private schools, the school held a certain number of slots for marginal teens like her. Her joy had been contagious and swept up by her beaming smile—the same one she’d tried to flash at him just minutes earlier in his entryway—he’d let down his usual barriers where Mary had been concerned, crossed the line and kissed her.

      What had started out as a congratulatory kiss had soon changed into one packed with typical teenage male need and longing that he’d kept hidden since the first day he’d met her. And she’d been a very active participant in that kiss, a kiss so heady he remembered it clearly to this day. If his mother arriving home from her charity meeting hadn’t abruptly broken things up, being young and driven by hormones, not to mention dumb enough to let desire take over back then, who knew what might have happened?

      He traded in the first weights and lifted two heavier weights and began vigorously trading repetitions, like a locomotion locked in place.

      He’d always been lucky that way, saved from his wandering, kept on the straight and narrow if not by himself then by outside forces, especially by his father, because he was meant to be a doctor. And not just any doctor, a neurosurgeon. He’d planned his entire life around it, and a young, pretty and fresh face like Mary’s couldn’t get in the way. Yes, his parents were open-minded about many things, but getting mixed up with a girl literally from the wrong side of the tracks would never have been tolerated by dear old Dad. Alexandra having Mary as a friend had proved to be charitable enough for the Van Allen family.

      Until her prom two years later. When no one had invited Mary the first week after the school prom kick-off announcement, Alexandra had begged Wesley to invite her. He’d fought it at first, knowing there had to be several guys who’d love to take a girl like Mary, unless they were snooty and let her being poor get in the way of good taste. By the end of week two Alexandra had gotten her mother involved, and what had seemed beneath him as a twenty-year-old university student had been foisted on him. Two-three years older than all the others attending, he’d been volunteered to take Mary to the prom.

      If he’d let himself look deep down, he wouldn’t have been able to deny he still had vague feelings for her. He’d become a sophisticated pre-med student and a seventeen-year-old woman was not only jail bait but socially undesirable. The Prince of Westwood had taken her to the prom anyway, just so his family could wear the “aren’t we good people” badge.

      His worldly-wise self hadn’t expected to be knocked off his feet when he’d seen Mary that night in the dress his mother had bought. Not as pricey or special as Alexandra’s dress, of course, but perfectly suited to her. His conscience had been dealt its first blow when he’d picked her up at the ratty mobile home park she’d lived in, her parents not even bothering to make an appearance. Maybe they’d been embarrassed? Regardless, he’d taken Mary back to his house where Alexandra and her friends had waited to take before-prom pictures, wondering how such a lovely flower had grown in such bleak surroundings.

      Then he’d spent the entire evening keeping her at arm’s length, being a boorish cosmopolitan-minded university man, The Prince of Westwood lecturing her on making something of her life. Explaining to her how insignificant something like a high school prom registered in the course of a lifetime. So why was he still thinking about it now?

      While on his soapbox that night, he’d warned her about guys—like himself—who’d love to take advantage of her.

      So wise. So stupid. So moved by her poverty. So protective of her. Out of obligation, he’d asked her to dance and when holding her he’d made the mistake of looking into those eyes, a shade darker than her pastel green dress. Innocent and beautiful and calling out to his soul. To love her.

      He’d known he couldn’t. He hadn’t been nearly enough of a man to risk that. When he’d taken her home, out of gratitude she’d thrown her arms around his neck, and he’d nearly kissed her the way he’d wanted to all evening. But he’d known it would change everything if he did, and he couldn’t stray from his calling. Nothing could keep him from medical school, and surely getting involved with a girl like Mary would change his life. For the better? Who knew?

      How pompous he’d been, lecturing her on making something of her life. To do it for herself because no one else could.

      He stopped the repetitions and stared out the gym window down to where her crazy little house stood.

      Wes had seen the disappointment in Mary’s gaze after their chaste kiss the night of the prom, yet her sweetness had remained. She’d dutifully thanked him and promised not to let him down, playing her “kid sister” role perfectly. Before he’d left, he’d told her how beautiful she looked and even in the dark of night she’d beamed. So princely. Such power. All the more reason to save her from him. Yet he’d walked away wondering who between them had the most power over the other and sure he’d left a piece of his heart behind. Forever.

      The least he could do was let her share her expertise with him now. Who knew, he might learn something, and if that helped his recovery and goal to get back to work again, it would be worth all of these memories bombarding him about his unwanted guest.

      He’d СКАЧАТЬ