Dr. Dad To The Rescue. Jodi O'Donnell

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СКАЧАТЬ Holden was not convinced.

      Too bad the cast had had to come off this morning, just when Sam seemed to be getting used to it But there was still a lot of healing on his broken arm that needed to be done outside of such a protective shell.

      “Are you having any pain?” he asked the boy.

      Lips thinning, Sam shook his head.

      Holden shifted in his seat, stretching an arm along the back of the empty chair on the other side of him. “That’s good. You should have little discomfort, actually. You heard the orthopedist say the X ray showed the bones had realigned perfectly, didn’t you?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      He reached into his suit coat pocket. “You could put on some more of this lotion if your skin itches.”

      “I’m okay.”

      Holden felt his own mouth crease. He would have asked Sam what was the matter, what he could do for the boy, but he didn’t think Sam would tell him. Ever since Sam’s accident, the gap between father and son had grown, especially after Holden had tried to impress upon him the folly of allowing make-believe to take precedence over common sense.

      He simply didn’t know what to do or say or ask next, and had told the grief counselor Sam had been seeing just that. The man had given him the rather simplistic advice that Holden should let Sam make the next move. So far, his son had done nothing.

      And so the gap widened, imperceptibly.

      Yet what if Sam came to him with a question Holden couldn’t answer, a problem he couldn’t fix?

      I’m scared.

      And I miss her so much.

      With a sigh, Holden dropped his chin and massaged a persistent and painful knot in his jaw muscle. He’d always had a tendency to clench his teeth when under stress, but if he didn’t ease up soon, he’d crack every molar in his mouth.

      “dead?”

      Holden lifted his head. “Yes?”

      “I just wondered if—” Sam was looking at him anxiously. Not often did the boy see him showing any sign of vulnerability. After all he’d been through, Holden made sure of that.

      He straightened his spine and asked again, “Yes?”

      Sam’s gaze slid away. “If I could, you know, hit the bathroom before the therapist comes in.”

      “Oh. Sure. I saw one when we came in. Down the hallway.”

      Resisting the urge to offer help, he watched the boy disappear, the door swishing shut behind him. Left alone, Holden let his head fall back against the wall behind him with an oath of self-censure. He really needed to pull himself together, once and for all, for Sam’s sake, if nothing else.

      But things had gotten so complicated, so close, lately.

      He stared at the recessed spotlights above him and wondered if their brutal illumination, so like the flash-bulb brilliant lighting in the ER, might help him find the distance he usually donned as easily as a stethoscope. At least pondering the subject gave him something to concentrate on, take his mind off of...things.

      Like how hard he’d been working. He’d thought leaving the job at County Hospital in Chicago and the daily dose of senseless death would help put his life on a more even footing. Yet even within the less-intensive atmosphere of a private suburban hospital, he continued to feel as if he slogged through a mire as thick as quicksand.

      Holden realized the lights had burned hot spots on his retina only after he heard someone say his name. All he could see was a reddened aura surrounding the figure before him.

      He closed his eyes, giving them a second to recover.

      “Holden McKee?” the still faceless woman repeated. There was something strangely soothing about her voice. Yet rather than calming him, Holden recognized trepidation mingling with the sense of powerlessness he’d been fighting.

      “Yes, I’m Holden McKee,” he said blindly, not liking the sensation. “Who are you?”

      “I’m here to help your son,” she answered. She had a faint drawl he found rather attractive. “You, too, it would seem. Are you all right?”

      “Yes, of course. It’s just temporary. Stupid of me, looking into the light like that—”

      A hand rested on his shoulder, delicate as an angel’s touch. The impression was reinforced by the caress on the back of his hand, which felt like nothing so much as a feather.

      With a certain urgency, Holden blinked. What finally came into focus was a young woman bending toward him, her face inches from his. He realized where he’d gotten the impression of auras and feather-light touches: she was surrounded by a glorious veil of red-gold hair, wavy and as fluid-looking as molten copper. The ends of its waist-length strands brushed his hand as it lay on his knee.

      He got the strongest urge to reach up and rub a lock of it between his fingers to see if it was real. Or to bury his face in that thick curtain of softness—to see if she was real.

      She smiled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

      “I don’t believe in—”

      The rest of his thought was lost as he was captured by a pair of fine brown eyes fringed with dark eyelashes so curly they curved right up over her brow bone. They were quite expressive—open and honest and caring. Quite...familiar.

      With that realization, the calm Holden sought settled over him, as if now that the moment of reckoning was near, he could face it—wanted to face it—and get it over with, once and for all.

      Her eyes darkened with bewilderment. He must be staring like a madman. His gaze faltered, bringing her mouth into his line of vision.

      He found himself riveted by those full lips, so close to his. A mere heartbeat away. All it would take was the slightest shift in his position to bridge the gap between them in a kiss. And with that connection, somehow he would know...what?

      The moment held, a wrinkle in time. He felt himself at a crossroads, as if he was being given a rare, brief glimpse of two possible paths to take.

      Neither way was quite clear. So close, though.

      “What did you say your name was?” Holden whispered, so elusive was the moment.

      “It’s Edie. Edie Turner.” Her voice held puzzlement. She didn’t know him, obviously. Disappointment mushroomed and spread in him.

      The moment began to slip away.

      Desperately, Holden riffled through a mental Rolodex for her name. Edie Turner. It struck no chords with him, but then he came into contact with so many people. Patients, colleagues, co-workers—all passed in and out of his life at such a rate they seemed one faceless blur. He had no time to stop and look closely at anyone, as he was doing now.

      Close. So close.

      Where on earth—and СКАЧАТЬ