- -
- 100%
- +
He could not succumb to the confusion.
“Let’s get a few things straight right now, Dr. McKee,” Edie began, starting right in on him, just as he knew she would. Well, he had a few things to say to her, too. “You’ve brought Sam to me for physical therapy. I am assuming this is because your ability to provide such treatment is outside your expertise. Am I wrong?”
“No, but—”
“Then why won’t you let me do my job!” she demanded.
He crossed his arms, determined to remain calm and keep from taking her attack personally, even though she was stepping way out of line. Even though something told him he wasn’t the only one taking things personally right now. “Precisely how have I prevented you, Ms. Turner?”
She stared at him with patent disbelief. “Are you serious? What do you call the lectures on this bone being connected to that bone so that I feel like I’m in Anatomy 101 again? But you know what? I can handle that. I’ve dealt with worse attacks on my competence by doctors. What’s really damaging to any progress I might be making is your indirect criticism of just about anything Sam says or does!”
Holden was surprised into protesting, “Now, that is not true.”
“Dr. McKee. please!” Clearly frustrated with him, she paced to the other side of the room, where she pivoted and slapped her palms down on top of the waist-high table. “He needs to tell me himself where it hurts and how it feels and what he’s comfortable doing. You are not inside his body with him! Only Sam knows what he can tolerate. You should know that as a physician!”
“First of all, Ms. Turner, I did take your hints—as a physician—and kept my mouth shut while you worked at building a rapport with your patient so you could evaluate him,” Holden said evenly, crossing to the table and planting his knuckles on it to face her squarely. “But I was forced to speak out at that last bit of yours, when you practically drew him a diagram of how to break his neck!”
“I was trying to let him know he hadn’t done anything but be a typical little kid!” She leveled an accusing glare at him. “And don’t tell me you’re not angry with Sam for that.”
Despite his resolution, Holden felt his control slip. “I am not angry! Why would I be when he’s done nothing wrong?”
“Hasn’t he? Launching himself down a staircase headfirst?”
Holden’s chin snapped back. Though the accident had happened over a month ago, the mere thought of that day had the power to propel him into a snare of self-blame he’d scarcely become untangled from.
Blast Edie Turner for making him go there!
“This sort of psychoanalyzing hardly falls within your function as Sam’s therapist,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I think it does! Sam’s emotional state affects how well I can do my job, which is helping him to recover from his injury.”
“Which I have my doubts of your being competent to do.” Holden leaned forward on his fists. “I can have you taken off this case, and don’t think I won’t do it.”
Now it was her turn to be taken aback. “You wouldn’t be so rash at your son’s expense.”
“Would it be rash? I’m not convinced.”
Edie blinked, her mouth working with frustration. But she rallied. “Certainly, you must do what you feel is best, Doctor. Which doesn’t change the fact that Sam needs to hear from someone that sometimes kids do reckless and even kind of foolish things, like jumping off of landings and falling out of trees, and that such a mistake won’t be held over his head forever. I mean, honestly, didn’t you ever try some dangerous, foolish feat when you were a kid and nearly come to complete disaster?”
At her question, Holden took another hit, like a bomb going off inside him. Too close this time. Too damn close. The heat of it radiated around him.
This time he knew he’d be unable to temper his reaction, which only added more fuel to it.
“Of course I did!” he exploded, his face inches from hers. “Does that mean Sam’s accident shouldn’t have scared the hell out of me? Good God, Ms. Turner, I may be a doctor, but he’s my son!”
His words reverberated in the room and seemed to bring both of them back to their senses. Holden rocked back on his heels, yanking one hand through his hair. He hated feeling out of control!
Yet his outburst had obviously struck a chord with Edie. Her fingers covered her open mouth as she gaped at him for several moments. She pressed one palm to her chest.
“You’re right,” she said simply. “I apologize, Dr. McKee. I haven’t been dealing with you as a parent. As a...a person. I realize now your comments, however analytical or critical or inept, were your way of showing concern for your son.”
“So glad you understand,” Holden muttered, cramming his fists in his pockets.
She actually smiled, and it changed the whole aspect of her appearance, brought back that warmth of spirit she’d shown with Sam and less that role of fierce protector of all that was innocent—with Holden starring as the barbarian invader.
He even found himself adding ruefully, “I suppose I might have given you the impression I was treating Sam like any other case with my comments. I only meant to offer him encouragement.”
His olive branch, such as it was, seemed to be accepted.
“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself,” Edie said. “I bet mere were some of the usual father-son dynamics working there, too—you know, that male trait of not being able to be open with understanding or sympathy. Or maybe—” she cocked her head to one side, that fall of hair sliding down the length of her arm “—you’ve been angry with yourself, for letting him get hurt. Maybe that’s what I was picking up on in the other room.”
“‘Picking up on’?” he asked cynically.
“Having Sam suffer an accident might be harder for a doctor to accept, even one who claims to have no power issues.”
He felt himself tacking back toward ticked off at this woman. “Please, Ms. Turner, I really can do without the pop psychology. Which brings up a point.” She wasn’t the only one who could render a performance evaluation. “Speaking as a doctor now, you need to keep more of a professional distance and do your job. You’re a physical therapist, not his shrink or his mother.”
Her chin set rebelliously at his suggestion, but she answered readily enough. “Point taken, Doctor.”
Holden had just begun to think he was getting a leg up on the situation—and Edie Turner—when she said, “Which brings up yet another matter. Where is Sam’s mother?”
It was another blow to the gut, and it left him just a little more exposed than after the last.
This was why he avoided becoming personal with people.
“My wife died a little over a year ago,” Holden said without a bit of inflection. Oh, but would the words ever get any easier?
At least they had the effect of stunning Edie into another silence, except for a murmured “I see.”
The silence drew on, making Holden search to fill it with something, anything to draw them away from the dangerous ground he seemed to step onto with this woman with regularity.
“Now you know what Sam’s dealing with,” he said stiffly.
“Yes,” she said on an outrush of air. “Knowing of your loss certainly clears a lot of things up for me. At least I understand a little better the rather...pessimistic philosophy you let fly with earlier.”
“Sure, I’m pessimistic,” he said. “Can you make rhyme or reason out of why a woman in her prime might be struck down with a brain aneurysm?”
“I don’t know why. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason.”
Before he could react to such an absurd remark she’d gone on with infinite gentleness, “I’m... terribly sorry, Dr. McKee. For both yours and Sam’s loss.”
“Sorry?” Holden asked. “It’s not your fault.”
“Neither is it yours,” she answered as gently, not rising to his gibe. Her brown eyes no longer snapped with righteousness. On the contrary, within their liquid depths were echoes of the sympathy and understanding he’d seen there before, when she’d leaned over him, her face—her mouth—so close to his he had almost kissed her.
At least now that temptation was held at bay by the treatment table that separated them like two adversaries. Except... Edie’s hand lifted from the table. Holden watched, nearly mesmerized, as she held it out toward him, a lock of that vibrant hair caught on her cuff. It fanned down from her sleeve to her lab coat in a curtain of burnished copper.
If she touched him, he wasn’t certain what he’d do.
Yes, exposed was exactly how he felt. Exposed and not in control at all.
But Edie apparently thought better of the gesture, for she let her hand drop to her side. Holden cleared his throat, wondering what had held her back.
She drew in a deep breath, looking somewhat troubled. “Well, then, Dr. McKee. Are we agreed that the most important thing is Sam’s welfare?”
“Of course.”
“And what’s best, I think, is for me to gain his confidence and trust.” She stuck her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Most of all, I need to be able to work on his PT at a pace he’s comfortable with, preferably in an atmosphere where his efforts aren’t explicitly or implicitly judged.”
Holden lifted a cool eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“You want him to come out of this with a fully rehabilitated forearm and wrist, and without any lingering fears about his injury, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then I’d like you to let me treat Sam—without you.”
His other eyebrow shot up.
Her gaze became determined. “I’m sure you’re well aware giving PT to a child outside of a parent’s presence is normal procedure. In fact, most parents feel it’s easier on their nerves as well their child’s.”
“And if I don’t hold that opinion?”
“You could ask for another therapist I’m asking you not to do that.” Her gaze turned almost pleading now. “Please. Let me help Sam.”
Indeed, her brown eyes beseeched him. With a stifled oath, Holden turned, focusing on a chart of the human skeletal system tacked to the wall.
What was it about this woman that made him want to shake her one instant and the next take her in his arms?
She didn’t see him as a parent—or even as a person! Well, appearances aside, Holden thought sarcastically, he was both. But he was also a doctor, and perhaps that was what she’d been getting at—that he closed himself within that persona to keep from letting emotion cloud his judgment Often, it was this very ability to disconnect that permitted him to give a patient the best care. But Sam was not a patient; Sam was his son. And because he was, Holden felt all the normal feelings of fear and guilt and anger.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but believe that he still must continue to set those feelings aside—for Sam’s sake, as she’d said.
No, on first pass, he didn’t like her suggestion, but the second and third times around his head, he saw the sense in it Whatever Edie Turner was, she was committed. Even passionate, in a way that perhaps was imprudent while still being completely reliable. In part, he was glad she was just so, for it did seem to be exactly what Sam needed, or she wouldn’t have made such progress with him in the short time she’d worked with him.
Yet another part of him, Holden acknowledged, rued that very development. He wanted to help his son. But as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t doing the boy any good the way he was now. Edie had the right idea: Sam’s welfare was his main concern.
Holden turned back to her. “All right, Ms. Turner. I’ll still be bringing Sam to his appointments, and you can call me in toward the end of each session to show me the exercises he’ll be doing. He’ll need my help to do them right, and I want to be there for him. I do promise not to push him or make him feel like he’s damaged himself in my eyes in any way. Fair enough?”
Relief broke out over her face as she smiled. “Fair enough.”
He held the door for her as Edie led the way back to the treatment room where Sam was. She paused outside the door, though, and looked up at him.
“Thank you, Dr. McKee, for seeing the sense in my suggestion.” She made a graceful swaying gesture with her head that swung her hair back over her shoulder. It really was her best feature, Holden decided. “I appreciate you putting your trust in me.”
She’d made the same statement to Sam, and despite still questioning the wisdom of such an assurance, Holden found himself liking that she’d make the same one to him, too. It occurred to him then that she might be apprehensive about what had happened back in the other treatment room.
“Just so you know, I won’t switch Sam to another therapist once he’s started with you,” he said gruffly. “You have my word.”
“I trust you, Dr. McKee,” she said, eyes vibrant with that emotion, undoubtedly sincere.
He would wonder later what impulse made him reach out and take a lock of that living mantle in his fingers. Edie stiffened but didn’t pull away, emboldening him to leisurely rub the strands between thumb and forefinger. Each filament was like that of a precious metal, shimmering in the light. And soft, like the feathers he’d imagined he’d felt as the tips of these copper-gold locks had brushed the back of his hand. As then, it took all his might not to surround himself in the curtain of her hair.
“Is it really as easy as that, Edie?” he murmured. “You say you trust someone, so then you do? I give my consent, and so I’ve given you my trust? Is believing really that effortless?”
He waited for her answer, still caressing the silky strands. When none came, he glanced up. The trust had been replaced by the same disorientation he’d seen at Sam’s misinterpreting her name.
“Naturally, it’s not that easy,” she said, her voice low. “Real trust can’t be built in a day. It’ll take time for Sam to put his faith in me. But I won’t let your son down.”
“Yes...Sam.” Holden dropped the lock of hair and stepped back. “Shall we get back to him?”
As he followed Edie through the door, he realized that, indeed, like Rome, real trust could not be built in a day. Yet he knew from experience that it could burn to the ground in an instant.
He would have to be very careful—for everyone’s sake.
Edie pushed open the door from the changing room to the pool area, her running shoes dangling from two fingers, her socks tucked under one arm. Warm, humid air surrounded her, along with the pervading smell of chlorine. Music continued to blast from a boom box on a bench, even though the seniors’ hydrotherapy class had ended five minutes earlier. Several of the attendees were still tooling around in the pool on their foam boards.
She spied her aunt Hazel among the balding pates and bathing caps just as the older woman saw her.
“How’d it go today?” Edie called above the echoing strains of Brooks & Dunn’s “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”
“Fine.” Hazel dog-paddled over. “This left hip of mine is acting up again. Fool thing.”
“Hey there, Edie,” called one of the older gentleman.
“’Lo, Ralph.” She shoehorned her heel into her shoe with one finger and nodded toward Hazel. “Say, would it be possible for you to give her a lift in tomorrow afternoon, too, and I’ll see if I can get a room where some work can be done on Hazel’s hip?”
“You betcha.”
Edie grinned at the sight of her aunt’s pink cheeks. Ralph Janssen gave Hazel a ride to hydrotherapy class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, even though her house was out of his way, allowing Hazel to then ride back home with Edie. Ralph’s motives were not altogether altruistic. It was obvious to everyone that he was sweet on Hazel, but the older woman would hear nothing about it.
“Actually,” Edie suggested, “you wouldn’t have to come in tomorrow—so long as you spend another twenty minutes bare minimum doing your stretching exercises in the water while I’m working out, okay?”
Hazel frowned at her mightily. The pool was Ralph’s element. He could hang out there forever.
“Hey, Edie, whyn’t you join us?” Ralph asked.
Edie concentrated on picking a knot out of her shoelace. On a shrug, she answered, “I’m not much of a water person, to tell the truth. I guess it’s from growing up near Lubbock where the most water a person sees at one particular time is at the bottom of their bathtub—and that’s only during the wet season.”
Ralph laughed. “I thought I heard a West Texas twang. What brings a small-town girl like you all the way to Dallas?”
Instantly, the answer popped into her head: Holden McKee. If her mouth had been open, she’d have said it. Holden McKee.
A premonition rippled through her, making her shiver in the warm, humid air.
“You know why, Ralph,” Hazel jumped in. “She’s my caretaker. Gave up a good job in Lubbock to come be with me. Without her, I’d be in a nursing home.” She gave an emphatic nod. “Yup, she’s been nigh onto a savior to me.”
Edie smiled at her aunt with great affection. Rheumatoid arthritis certainly limited Hazel’s activity, but she was hardly an invalid. If anything, the older woman inspired Edie, for Hazel Turner lived daily with pain that was literally bone deep. Yet her spirit would not allow her to sink into despair. Whatever her limits, she lived life to the very edge of them, fearlessly so.
As for being a savior, it was Hazel who’d been one to Edie, urging her six months ago to leave Lubbock behind and come live with her. Family should be with family, her aunt had said, and each was all the family either had left.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Aunt Hazel, but flattery goes as far with me as it does with you.” Setting her hands on her thighs and shoving off, Edie stood and pointed a finger at her aunt. “Stretches. Twenty minutes. I mean it.”
“Oh, all right,” Hazel said.
Edie was still chuckling a minute later as she programmed the treadmill. She’d have preferred an outdoor run, but her hours rarely permitted it. At least at this time of the evening she had the equipment in the exercise room to herself. And she had Hazel’s company on the rather long commute home to rural Parker.
She sank into an easy rhythm, her mind coasting as impressions of her day sifted into place, such as the high school athlete with a torn rotator cuff she was rehabilitating, her conversation with the clinic supervisor...
Then there was Holden McKee. Of its own volition, her mind called up a picture of father and son, with their expressive eyes—one set gray, like beaten pewter, the other the gray-green of verdigris—and that unruly chestnut brown hair that both contended with.
Of course. She must have been thinking of Holden’s son when Ralph had asked what brought her to Dallas. Not that Sam had brought her here. It had been more like a sense of real purpose that had infused her upon seeing him. The serious, dark-haired boy had tugged good and strong on her heartstrings. She didn’t get many children that young as patients; they were open books, their struggles written clearly on their faces. Naturally he’d make an impression on her.
But no denying it, there’d also been the tug from Sam’s father, perhaps because she was quite grateful to him. Holden McKee could have demanded a different therapist for his son today, which surely would have led her supervisor to giving her a formal reprimand. At one point, Edie almost thought Holden might report her.
But he hadn’t. He hadn’t let ego or pride or whatever drove him get in the way of doing what was right for his son.
There may be hope for you yet, Holden McKee. she thought wryly as she upped her pace so that she was now at a fast jog.
Yes, one had to look harder and work harder to bring out the flashes of humanity within him, such as when his son had first entered the treatment room on the heels of his incriminating remark. Or when he’d burst out at her about fearing for his son.
Or when he’d first looked at her, gaze open and unguarded.
It had been the memory of that look that had compelled her to hold out her hand to him across the width of the table. The man lived in a world of pain, and while he couldn’t be blamed for wanting to protect himself from more, neither could he remain in that place forever. Now seemed a particularly significant time for Holden McKee, when he might turn toward his son, toward the pain of losing his wife and get past it to heal.
Or he might just as easily turn away.
Edie didn’t think she could stand by and watch that happen to Sam. Happen to both of them. Happen to all of them.
She frowned, shaking her head. Maybe her supervisor had a point. Maybe Edie did need to pull back, take a more objective stance. Not become so emotionally involved. She’d certainly felt uncomfortable with the closeness generated by Holden’s own reaching out to her, capturing her hair in his fingers....
Thankfully, just then the pace on the treadmill kicked up to ten miles an hour—fast yet still well within Edie’s capacity. But it did take more of her concentration.
She regulated her respiration, two strides breathing in, two strides breathing out. She felt her body straining for oxygen. Just a few more minutes and she’d be in the zone...
Legs churning. Hard arms thrashing through a thick fog. Heart pounding.
Edie drew in a gasp, upsetting her rhythm. What...?
Images flashed before her eyes: Woods, all around. A boy. A dark-haired boy.
What was happening?
With a note of alarm, Edie noticed that her breathing had suddenly become uneven, almost labored, as if she were afraid and trying to get away from something—or someone. She struggled to bring it back under control. Two in, two out.
Now there was shouting. He was shouting something at her. Screaming it. Very upset. “Don’t... don’t give...”
Edie’s throat closed. She stumbled, caught herself with a hand on the side rail. Through a haze of emotion, she found the stop button and jabbed it.
The treadmill ground to a halt.
Her breathing came in gulps. Flattening her hand against her stomach, Edie tried to bring it back under control, her other hand clutching the rail for balance. She felt so dizzy, spinning around and around. She pressed two fingers to the side of her throat. Her heart was going like a trip-hammer.
Edie staggered over to one of the weight machines and sat down on its padded bench. She dropped her head between her knees, sucking air. What had happened? It had been as if she were inside someone else’s head, in a whole different place. The dark-haired boy: could it be Sam? Had she picked up on something the child was feeling?
What was that poor little boy dealing with right now?
Edie sat up, fingers digging into her thighs. Was she already in too deep with this child? Because she realized she wanted to see Sam McKee very badly right then, wanted to hold him, comfort him, let him comfort her—
Almost as badly as she did not want to see his father.
With a shaking hand, Edie wiped the perspiration from her forehead. No. All this was about was her internalizing her perceptions about both Sam and Holden. Whatever it was, whatever scared her about Holden, she couldn’t let it overcome her. Sam needed her. If she had to contend with certain feelings between his father and herself, then she would do it.
She would not be the first to turn away.
Chapter Three
“Can you try a royal wave for me now, Sam?” Edie said. “As if you’re greeting your loyal subjects. Excellent! How about some Motown moves?” Hand on her hip, she stuck her arm out straight and cocked her wrist. “Like, ‘Stop! In the Name of Love.’”
Grinning bashfully, the boy followed suit, earning him more kudos. Pride filled Edie’s chest. Only three therapy sessions, and Sam was coming along splendidly. If anything, he seemed even more pleased than she, and Edie had to give credit for the boy’s changed attitude to Dr. McKee. Even if Holden’s manner toward her was strained at best, he’d obviously been true to his word in setting aside his own emotional issues in order to see to Sam’s.
Whatever he was doing seemed to be working. Sam’s handsome face took on a look of amazement at being able to extend his wrist back to nearly a twenty-degree angle.