Dr. Dad To The Rescue. Jodi O'Donnell

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СКАЧАТЬ Much too late, he wanted to add.

      At his accusing tone, she straightened in surprise. Her hand dropped away. “Yes, I-I am, I guess. A little. But we still have plenty of time. There’ll be no one else after you.”

      Why did her assurance—and the hurt in her eyes—do nothing to soothe his sudden anger? In fact, that look nearly undid him again, especially coming on the heels of a moment when he’d almost felt he could have told this woman anything and she would have understood.

      Unsure why he was so irritated, Holden stood and indicated the time on his watch. “My son’s appointment was at four. It’s now twenty after. That’s more than a little late.”

      She took a step back. Whatever connection he’d felt between them snapped.

      “I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused,” she said, which only rankled him further.

      “I just need to know if this is what I should expect when I bring Sam to his appointments. Because I can certainly put that twenty minutes to good use.”

      Edie gave the clipboard in her hand a quick glance. “It’s Dr. McKee, isn’t it?” she asked.

      “Yes.”

      “Of course. Well—again—I apologize for the wait, Dr. McKee, but in the interest of providing the best treatment possible to our patients, appointments sometimes do run over.” Though her tone remained polite, she flicked a long lock of that hair behind her shoulder in a telling gesture. “As a health-care professional yourself, I’m sure you understand.”

      He raised an eyebrow at such insubordination. Not the wisest move on her part, but then—

      “I deserved that, didn’t I?” Holden said.

      “You’re the doctor.” She returned his scrutiny steadily. She had spirit, he’d give her that.

      Yet there was not a bit of recognition in her eyes for him. The caring warmth he’d spied there had definitely departed—if he’d actually seen it at all.

      He shook his head. He really had been working too hard.

      Holden massaged the back of his neck. “I’m the one who should apologize, Ms. Turner. I’ve been under a lot of strain, though that’s hardly an excuse. I guess I don’t blame you, getting back a bit of your own from a doctor. We’re the ones who make the world wait for and on us,” he quipped, trying for a lighter tone.

      She seemed slightly mollified, enough to return mildly, “I think they call it a God complex, Dr. McKee.”

      Again, the words spilled out of his mouth of their own accord. “Not this doctor, Ms. Turner,” he said with grim emphasis. “Because that would mean I believed there’s such a thing as an almighty and healing God. And the fact is, we’re on our own down here.”

      There was a muffled sound from behind him. Holden turned to find Sam had returned and stood in the doorway. He looked as if he’d learned there was no Santa Claus. Holden supposed, in a way, the boy had just endured a similar disillusionment.

      His heart sank like lead.

      “Sam, I—” Holden extended a hand toward the boy, then dropped it—and shut up. Just as before, he couldn’t think of a single thing he could say to make the situation better. He would have given anything to take back his words. That he couldn’t shake his bitterness about the turn their lives had taken was one thing, but his son ought to have some hope to sustain him.

      Yet the futility of trying to make sense of such a loss was a strong force in Holden. Not for the first time, he wondered how he was going to raise this child, given his cynical view of life. Maybe that’s what made him feel so world-weary. There were a thousand hurts he could heal, but what was that power if he couldn’t heal the human spirit? Because his was next to lost. The dearth of hope and trust in him seemed so deep a debt, it would take a miracle to replenish it.

      

      Edie had never seen a person look more forsaken, like he’d just lost his best friend.

      The little boy stood in the doorway cradling his injured forearm, the faded-to-gray color of his jeans shorts echoed in eyes so like his father’s. He held the support crossed on his chest, fist on his heart, as if he were set to swear an allegiance and waited only for someone to tell him to whom. And if no one did, he’d bolt at any moment.

      In that instant, he owned her heart.

      All the cautions given her by the clinic supervisor not three hours ago—that she could not be the world’s rescuer and continue to work in health care—flew right out of Edie’s head. How could she not respond to such a silent cry for help?

      He was a handsome child, with those enormous eyes and that spiky dark-brown hair begging for a hand to smooth it down. She wondered what his mother was like, and what kept her from being here in her child’s time of need.

      Her heart squeezed painfully.

      Edie tossed a reproachful glance at his father, whose own eyes—more gray-green than strictly gray—looked as bleak, his face carved from stone. Thank God he’d checked his tongue before completely demoralizing the boy. Even she had flinched at the gloom and doom in his voice. At least he seemed to perceive his blunder, for she saw the doctor’s jaw bulge with the gritting of his teeth.

      Reluctant sympathy stirred in her. She’d give him credit for his remorse, even if she had a feeling the damage had already been done, in so many ways.

      She’d have to do the best she could with what was left.

      “So you’re Sam,” Edie said, bending at the waist so she was on a level with the boy. Her action worked. Sam shifted his gaze from his father to her.

      Edie smiled her warmest smile. “I’m Edie Turner, your physical therapist, which means I’m going to see if we can make that arm of yours better so you can get back to playing all your games. Why don’t you hop up here on the table and we’ll take a look at your arm?”

      Sam complied, his climb-up made awkward by his continued grip on the white plastic splint. The padded surface sighed as he stoically settled on the edge of the plinth in front of her, sneaker-clad feet dangling. Yet when Edie moved to take a cursory look at his forearm, he recoiled.

      She knew immediately to drop her hand. This would take some delicate maneuvering. Perhaps it would be best to get more acquainted first.

      Edie pulled a pen from the pocket of her lab coat, flipping to the history portion of Sam’s file. “How’d you injure your arm, Sam?”

      “He took a fall from the top of the stairs to the landing,” the doctor interjected from behind her.

      Edie turned to find him a few feet away in a rather commanding stance, with fists thrust into the pockets of his trousers, coattail flipped back behind him. He nodded toward Sam. “His injury involved a bone forearm fracture, completely displaced and the fragments overriding, which required closed reduction of Sam’s arm and eight weeks’ immobilization. Because of the nature of the fracture, the orthopedic surgeon decided to err on side of caution and recommended therapy.”

      He spoke to her as he would a class of first-year medical students, and with the same СКАЧАТЬ