“Fair enough. Although I wasn’t really being serious . . . ”
Oh, don’t actually apologize, she fumed to herself, more embarrassed that he’d caught her being hypersensitive about dating than she was truly angry. “Why am I not surprised? We aren’t talking about anything serious about after all.”
A low, nerve-strumming chuckle floated through the phone. “Sorry, Doc. I have a lot to learn about being serious. So I’ve been told all my life.”
She ignored the late, insincere apology. The self-satisfied, arrogant man.
“Look,” she said. “Can I do anything else for Joely right now? Which would make more sense, for me to call him or vice versa?”
“He’s an amiable guy. I’ll have him give you a call if that’s all right. What’s a good time?”
“Let’s say ten o’clock my time. If I don’t answer, have him leave me his contact number.”
“Will do. Well, I’ve done my job, Dr. Amelia Crockett.” Her name rolled off his tongue like poetry. “So, are we okay before I say good-bye this time? We don’t want to go to bed angry.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Go to bed angry? The man was, without question, challenged in the professionalism department. “Good night, Mr. Gabriel Harrison. I promise I won’t go to sleep angry. It simply wouldn’t be worth the time.”
“That’s the spirit. All right, good night. And you know, if you need anything from me, you have my number. I answer anytime, too.”
“I think I have all I need, not that we have the best track record with exchanging information, as I recall. Good-bye.”
“Bye now.”
He was gone. Like a recurring dream—not frightening but definitely disconcerting. She stood in one place until her head cleared, and she focused for a moment on Joely, sifting through possibilities of things they might find on a new MRI. A blood clot—fairly easy to identify; a prolapsed disc—they would have recognized that; a hematoma—very rare in a spinal cord and highly unlikely. Giving the back of her neck a rub, she went back through St. Sebastian’s office door. Buster looked up from where he’d sat on the floor, his eyes concerned.
“Everything is all right?”
Mia allowed a reassuring smile. “It’s been an interesting day, but yes. All’s well.”
“That’s good. I’ve been thinking,” he said. “If you can’t keep a cat for the long term, is it possible you could just take care of Jack for a week until I can find a foster home for him?”
Jack meowed at the sight of Mia and strolled toward her. Without thinking, she sank onto the floor beside Buster and gathered Jack into her lap. “I’m sorry I left in the middle of my answer. There’s no need to look for a foster home, Buster. I’ll take Jack. You’re right, we have to keep him safe until Rory can have him. In fact, I’ll talk to his foster mom again myself.”
Buster’s face lit like a child’s. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
A thousand memories from her childhood flooded her in that instant: The light in her heart and the joy on the faces of her five sisters whenever a new litter of kittens was discovered or a calf happened to be born close in rather than out in the summer pastures; the unconditional love a dog could give; the comfort of stroking a horse. It had been so long since she’d had animals in her life. She’d forgotten.
Or maybe that’s exactly why she’d taken the subway to Brooklyn.
“I know a little about pets,” she said, basking in unfamiliar delight. “Will you tell me exactly how you take care of him, so I can do things as close to the same way as possible?”
“I’ll be honored to show you.”
AN HOUR LATER, as she surveyed the drastic change a few cat accoutrements could affect in a small New York apartment, Mia’s enthusiasm had faded to something more realistic. The cat was still beautiful. He’d seemed unperturbed by his journey in the car, wandered around the apartment with unruffled curiosity, noted where she put his litter box and food dishes, and now swatted experimentally at the mini-blind cords in her living room. But it suddenly felt like her ordered, busy-but-quiet life was bursting with too many things she couldn’t control.
The litter box took up space in a back hall closet area. A handful of toys decorated the carpet. An oval, stuffed bed sat on her bedroom floor. She had to figure out how and where to stop for more cat litter and food. She worried about leaving Jack for a whole day tomorrow.
Then there was Joely. And Rory. And Shawna Murray. And her concern over the new job. And it was too late now to reach Monique Beltane’s physicians to find out how she was doing. After staring almost catatonically for fifteen minutes, sorting mentally through her rearranged life, she got up to pour a glass of wine. She’d taken her first sip when her phone rang. This time she recognized the Wyoming area code and the VA Medical Center’s exchange.
“Hello?”
“Is this Dr. Amelia Crockett?”
“Yes.”
“This is Perry Landon. I’m an orthopedic surgeon working with your sister in Jackson, Wyoming.”
She settled deeply into the corner of her couch and set her wine glass beside her, relieved to have something on which to focus. “It’s good to hear from you.” Jack sprang into her lap. She stroked him, surprised but comforted.
“I promised Joely I’d call you as soon as I got the results of her latest MRI. Hers is an unusual case, but I’m glad to report I think we have some answers.”
“That’s good to hear. So you’ve identified the spot or mass on her spine? Mr. Harrison said you weren’t sure what it was.”
“We have. It’s a spinal epidural hematoma, probably caused by the little fall she took.”
“Oh, it is.” Professional curiosity warred with personal concern. “I admit, that was at the bottom of my list of possibilities.”
“It’s definitely unusual.”
“So is more surgery required to drain the hematoma? I’ve never done one, but I know quick intervention is key—especially if Joely’s neurologic symptoms are worsening.”
“In my opinion, they had been. She lost bladder and bowel control and some feeling in her previously unaffected leg. In addition, her pain had increased.”
She couldn’t stop the small sound of concern that escaped.
“I’m sorry,” Perry said, genuine warmth in his voice. “I went about this in a poor order. You’re family, too, not just a surgeon. I should have begun by explaining that we’ve chosen to treat immediately and aggressively with steroids, and she’s already begun to improve. Those new neurologic signs have almost all disappeared. We’ll take one more image in the morning to see if the hematoma is shrinking. The good news, I guess it’s good news, is that because of this I found a hidden injury I think it’s important to repair.”
“Oh?” She was grateful for his sensitivity. The kind, she knew, people were always telling her to develop. She supposed she should take notes on this conversation.
“Three small bone fragments are pressing into the spinal dura just below the T-four level. I can send you the image if you’d like.”
“That would be great.” She gave him her e-mail address.
When he repeated it back with not a single hesitation or question, the strangest revelation hit. Perry Landon hadn’t irritated her once. Her guard was down; he spoke her language; she wasn’t rolling her eyeballs. It was the first ordinary, calm thing that had happened all day.
“I’d recommend surgery once her strength from this is recovered,” he said. “I know Joely is very worried, however. You’ll see when you look at the image—there, I just sent it—that this won’t be routine surgery. The fragments are so close to the spinal cord itself that, while the hope is Joely would notice improvement, there could also be further damage to the nerves.”
“There’s a reason you guys are the experts at this. It’s crazy delicate work. I’ll be happy to talk to Joely about the surgery. I’m sure she’s just exhausted from this whole ordeal.”
“She thinks the sun rises and sets o
n you, and rightfully so judging from your resume. Youngest board certified general surgeon at New York City General. Three research grants accepted. Half a dozen JAMA articles.”
Wow. This man knew how to play to a woman’s vanities. No innuendo. No cockiness. She pictured Gabriel Harrison, prepared to throw mental darts at his smug image, but for some reason all she could recall were images of a million megawatt smile. Are we okay before I say good-bye? We don’t want to go to bed angry.
Oh for pity’s sake.
“That’s very kind,” she said into the phone. “I’ve been lucky to have time to pursue my interests.”
She moved Jack gently from her lap to a spot right next to her thigh, then picked up her laptop and opened her e-mail. She smiled when she saw Perry Landon’s va.gov e-mail and pushed Gabriel Harrison out of her mind as professional curiosity took over.
“Got your e-mail,” she said. “Hang on.”
The three images were remarkable. Mia studied them silently, and Dr. Landon allowed her the time. “Oh my,” she said at last. “Impressive job spotting the hematoma. And it’s amazing that the steroids seem to be working.”
“And you see the fragments. Looks like they came off that left T-six transverse process.”
“I do.” She studied more closely the little wing on the vertebra he’d indicated. “I can see why you want to operate, but man, I also see why you have no clue whether it will work.”
“I guess my question is whether you’d concur that it’s worth the risk.”
She hadn’t thought about it before, but she wondered how much experience this man actually had. Exiting her e-mail, she quickly brought up the Wyoming VA’s site.
“I truly have to defer to you on this,” she said. “I am not a spine expert.”
She searched on his name, and his picture popped up. She grinned in spite of herself. He looked like a mature version of Cary Elwes in The Princess Bride, complete with pencil-thin mustache, straight blond hair, and high cheekbones. Unlike the character Westley, however, Perry wore glasses and his face was broader and a little more handsome, with a professorial attractiveness about him.
“No, but you understand surgical risks. My question is just one colleague to another.”
“All right. Then I’d counsel my sister to have the surgery.”
He was silent a moment. “I appreciate that,” he said at last.
“It helped to speak with you. I appreciate you sharing all this information.” Unlike a certain retired lieutenant I could name. “I hope at some point when I’m in Wyoming to visit, we can discuss the positive outcome to Joely’s surgery in person.”
“I hope so, too. I know your sister would be extremely relieved if you were here when and if we choose to go ahead. Is there a chance of that?”
The tiniest spark of guilt flickered to life in her chest. Gabriel had called that morning to ask this precise question, and she’d promised to make every effort. But if Joely’s surgery were to take place within the next ten days . . . When she got the new position, she’d have a lot of prep work to do if she was to start December first. It might even put her Christmas visit home in jeopardy.
“I’m not sure there is, I’m afraid,” she said. “I expect to start a new job within the next month, and that’s going to require my staying here. A lot depends on when surgery would take place. I’ll definitely try.”
“Then I’ll hope for it to work out. It was good to meet you if just by phone.”
“I look forward to updates as we go along. Thank you for taking such good care of my sister.”
“My pleasure. Have a good night, Amelia.”
“Good night,” she replied.
The instant she set her phone down beside her computer on the coffee table, Jack nudged his way back onto her lap. She closed her eyes and stroked him, basking in the decadence of his incredibly soft, pelt-like hair. She pictured Perry Landon’s photo, but the image blurred and morphed into the dark-haired, square-jawed visage of Gabriel Harrison.
Immediately every relaxed muscle in her body went rigid with tension. Why the man invaded every potential peaceful moment from her dreams to cat-cuddling she didn’t know. He’d annoyed her so much she couldn’t get rid of him. She growled and grabbed Jack around his substantial middle, hauling him to a stand in her arms.
“Come on, you,” she said, nuzzling him between the ears. “It’s only our first night together, but how would you like to come to bed with me?”
We don’t want to go to bed angry.
“Arghh,” she said again and looked up at the ceiling. “Get away from me, you boorish man. It’s too late—I’m plenty mad at you.”
But she really had no idea why.
SOMETHING WALKING ON her face woke her up. She cracked one eye, because the second was sealed shut with pressure from a creature’s soft paw, and groaned at the clock.
“Seriously? You couldn’t wait ten more minutes?”
She rolled to her side, pushing Jack off her cheeks, and curled an arm around his thick body. He settled in, shoving his head into her hand and purring. The rolling motor hum soothed her, and a vague memory returned of falling asleep to the same comforting drone. Not a dream had spoiled the night.
“Aren’t you the big, surprising wonder cat?” she murmured.
For all of the turmoil from the day before, once she grudgingly got out of a very comfortable bed to feed her new roommate and shower, she faced the new morning with surprising optimism. It wasn’t because of the cat. That would be too syrupy and sweet-animal clichéd. Nevertheless, the cheeriness that followed her right up to the pediatric floor and Rory’s door had everything to do with the child she’d so unceremoniously walked out on the day before.
Rory sat fully upright in his bed, eyes glued to the television set mounted on the wall ahead of him. Although it was only 7:45 a.m. the remains of breakfast sat on his bed tray.
“Hey, buddy, what are you watching?”
He turned his head with a welcoming grin. “Sponge Bob.”
“Did you know that show goes right over ninety percent of grown-ups’ heads?” She approached his bed. “We don’t get it.”
“It’s dumb, but it makes me laugh.”
“Laughing is very good. But, hey, would you be mad if I interrupted you? I have something I’d like to show you.”
He shrugged. “Naw, I ain’t mad. I gotta go home today.”
“What do you mean, you have to go home? I’d be excited.”
“You might. But I’m not.”
“Rory.” Mia sat on the mattress at the foot of the bed, facing him. She picked up his remote and turned down the TV. “You do know that when the social workers come for their home visits you can tell them you’d like to go to a different place. If you’re uncomfortable at the Murrays’.”
“No social workers listen to what I say. Else I wouldn’t be there at all.”
“They’ll listen if there’s a problem.”
“There’s no problem. I just don’t like it.”
“You don’t like Shawna’s boyfriend, Matt?”
He nodded. “I don’t like watching him drink his dumb power shakes all day. Or changing Cameron’s pants.”
“Rory, we can make a list of all the things you won’t be allowed to do for quite a long time because of your appendix surgery—like change a one-year-old’s diaper.”
“Really?”
“Really. No lifting or holding down a squirming baby. That’s for grown-ups to do.”
“Why can’t you just be my foster mom? My mom said you should if anything happened to her.”
She stared at him, alarmed. She didn’t like at all the casual way he’d brought up the subject or so easily that his mother had said something. It had to be little-boy wishful thinking. Transference or some other psycho-babble term.
“Rory, nothing’s going to happen to your mom. And I wouldn’t be a good foster mother.”
“Uh-huh. You don’t make kids feel stupid. You’re like Buster.”
<
br /> He was right about that. Now that she’d met Buster, she could see he probably would be a good foster father.
“Hey, sometimes kids are much more fun to be around than adults that’s all. But here’s the thing. It’s a pretty tough job, and it’s very important. There’s a lot of responsibility.”
“You’d be the best.”
“That’s really sweet of you, kiddo, but I wouldn’t be a great mom. I work way too many hours and stay away from home too much.”
His features fell so far she almost believed he’d been honestly hoping it would happen. She sat on the bed and ruffled his hair. “Hey. Don’t be sad. I have some cool news, and something to show you.”
“Yeah? What?” Full enthusiasm didn’t return to his voice, but he lifted his gaze.
With a little flourish she pulled her phone from her lab coat pocket and brought up a video of Jack eating and then nosing the camera phone in curiosity.
“Last night I met someone I believe you know.”
He took the phone, and the suspicion in his eyes lasted only for the half-second it took to hit the play arrow.
Chapter Six
FIRST RORY YELPED. Then he let out a yowl of joy that was sure to bring every nurse on the ward running. The next thing Mia knew, he’d leaped out of the bed and was pumping his little legs in place like a football player’s running exercise. Before she could catch him, he’d taken off, zooming around the bed while watching the phone screen. When he turned to come back, she grabbed him.
“Hey, hey!” She laughed. “You can’t go jumping around like that, you just had surgery.”
He threw his arms around her waist and hugged her for all he was worth. “Jack! Jack, Jack!” he chanted. “You found him! You saved him.”
She squeezed him back, her eyes stinging slightly. “I got lucky. Maybe the angels were watching out for him.”
“Where is he? Where . . . ” He grimaced slightly and put a hand to his side.
“Come on, young man. Into that bed.” She helped him climb back in, and once she’d inspected his surgical site and determined he hadn’t popped anything, she tucked him in. “Jack is at my apartment. I went and got him from Buster last night.”
The Bride Wore Red Boots Page 7
