by Lori Wilde
After completing paperwork and waiting twenty minutes, she was taken to an x-ray room. Marti was pretty sure the young technician was a sadist. That could be the only rationale for how many times and ways her foot and ankle were positioned for pictures.
Finally, she was allowed to limp down a hall and into an exam room. She collapsed into a chair, her leg throbbing.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the nurse, who looked about twelve-years-old. “I should have told you to have a seat on the table.”
After a long sigh, Marti transferred to the table.
“Excellent,” the child-nurse said. “Dr. Boone will be here in just a minute.”
The door closed and Marti sagged against the wall. She suspected her sprained ankle might be in worse shape than she wanted to admit.
Dr. Boone? Was that the name Delene had said? Maybe, but Marti had been a few beers in that night and the name her friend had spoken could have been Johnson for all she remembered.
She waited what seemed like forever, but was probably about five minutes, before a tall, dark-haired man stepped into the room, his long white lab coat flapping around his knees.
“Sorry for the wait.” He held out a hand. “I’m Elias Boone.”
Marti hoped he didn’t note the fact her jaw fell just a fraction as she reached out to shake his hand. “Marti Jenkins.”
He had to be the good-looking doctor Delene had gushed about because holy moley, he was gorgeous. Dark-haired. Chocolate eyes that made her melt. Broad shoulders that stretched his white doctor-coat tight. Totally yummy.
He rolled a stool over and sat. “So, Ms. Jenkins, how long have you been walking around on this ankle?”
She shut her eyes with a shake of her head, embarrassed to admit how stubborn she’d been. “Four days.”
“Well, that must have been painful,” he said. “Let’s take a look, shall we?” He rolled the stool backwards to a computer hanging on the wall, tapped on some keys and pulled up the digital x-rays of her foot. One key stroke and the picture flashed on the wall monitor. He pointed to the monitor. “See right here?”
She leaned closer but it looked exactly like the skeleton she’d played with in her high school biology class. “That’s your ankle.”
“Is it broken?” she asked with a wince.
“Today’s your lucky day. It doesn’t appear to be. If it is, it’s only a small crack, small enough we can’t see it.”
Marti frowned, feeling irritated that she’d made the trip to town just to be told what she already knew. “So what you’re telling me is all I have is a sprained ankle.”
Despite her grumpy tone, he smiled, and she felt as though she’d been hit upside the head. That smile should carry a warning.
“I wouldn’t say it’s just a sprained ankle. You have what’s known as a Grade 2 ankle sprain.”
She blew out a breath. “English, Dr. Boone.”
His mouth twitched. “It’s a partial tear in your calcaneofibular ligament.”
“Yikes, if that’s English, then let’s try French.”
He laughed and a small area behind her navel tugged.
“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “You do have a partially torn ligament. With an ankle sprain, the ligaments are stretched when the person falls or twists the foot. Sometimes, the ligaments can be stretched to the point they tear a little or even tear in half. In your case, you have a small tear. That must have been quite a twist. If I understand the story correctly, you were in a fight with a rattlesnake?”
“Nothing that brave,” she answered with a chuckle. “The bared his fangs to strike and I flailed backwards, out of his way and landed in a gopher hole.”
He shook his head. “I have to admit that’s a different slant on how to sprain an ankle. It’s usually cheerleading, or basketball, or some activity that requires moving from side to side. So no cheerleading, huh?” He grinned.
“Yeah, no. Those days are long behind me.”
“Hmm.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “What does that mean?”
“Just trying to picture you in a cheerleading outfit.”
A loud laugh burst from her. “Not going to happen, Doc.”
He smiled. Her gut tugged again. He had a beautiful smile. Full of white teeth and a pair of dimples. If she’d run into him at Leo’s Bar, she’d have figured out a way to make sure they met. But in this situation, she didn’t want to like him too much. She was pretty darn sure she wasn’t going to like where this appointment was headed.
“Well, I have to admit a rattlesnake story is a first for me. I didn’t see many rattlesnakes during my ortho residency.”
“Where you from?”
“New York.”
“And you moved from New York to Whispering Springs, Texas? Why would any sane person do that?”
He laughed again.
And that tug pulled again, almost taking her breath. His brown eyes sparkled with delight. Whew. Wait until the single ladies of Whispering Springs saw those eyes. Catfights would abound.
Not the time and not the place, she warned herself. Her engagement had ended badly six months ago. She wasn’t looking for, or needed, another guy in her life. She’d sit on the sidelines, eat her popcorn, and watch the others slug it out over him.
Too bad, though. He did make her heart sigh.
“I’ll be here for the next four months while Dr. Kelley does a fellowship in knees. Apparently, people in this town blow out knees regularly.”
She snorted. “Oh yeah. Working cowboys and ex-rodeo cowboys. Hard on the body.”
“Now, about you…”
Sighing, she frowned. “Yeah, about me.”
“You are a very lucky lady. Nothing broken, but you’ll need to rest your ankle for it to heal properly.”
“For how long?”
“Not horribly long. Maybe three weeks. Four at the worst.”
“I have to be off my feet for three to four weeks?” She immediately began shaking her head. “Nope. No can do. I’m a rancher. My parents are leaving on their dream vacation. I can’t lay around for a month. Do you have another option?”
“For a Grade 2 sprain, I usually recommend an air cast. Light. Removable for showers.”
There was a knock on the door, and a woman’s head popped around the corner. “Need me?”
“In a minute, Debbie.”
The door shut and he paused. “What was I saying? Oh right. Air cast. It’ll make walking easier, but you’ll still want to baby that ankle. Rest, elevation and ankle exercises should fix you up in no time. I’ll have my nurse come back and go over some dorsiflexion-plantar-flexion range-of-motion exercises I want you to do at night.”
“Great. No problem.”
“Rancher. Is that what you said you did?”
She nodded.
“Your problem will be riding a horse for the next couple of weeks. Even though your foot is in a stirrup, your leg hanging down like that will cause your ankle to swell. So, I suggest you stay off horses for a couple of weeks. Is that doable?”
“I can take the ATV when I need to go in to the pasture.”
She would have sworn he rolled his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t do that either. Try to keep off your feet unless necessary.”
“Will I need crutches?”
“I don’t see the need. The air cast will support your ankle. If you still have a great deal of pain after a week to ten days, call me.”
She’d love to call him but not because she was in pain.
And, she reminded herself, he was first, her doctor, and second, she wasn’t looking.
But if she were….
She blew out a long frustrated sigh. This sucked. She had two new juvenile offenders coming out on Monday as part of the joint program. She’d assumed responsibility for the program and its teens last year from dad. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint him by being unable to do her job.
Damn gophers.
“Fine. Fine,”
she muttered. “Whatever.”
“I’ll send my nurse in with all the instructions. I know I’m throwing a lot of information at you, but everything is written down. Call me if you need anything.” He squeezed her knee. “Good luck.”
There was nothing sexual about the touch. It was a doctor comforting a distressed patient but her heart shot off in a gallop nonetheless.
Nope, nope, nope. She would not be attracted to a short timer, especially a Yankee.
Chapter 2
Eli Boone closed the door to the exam room and leaned against it for a moment. When he’d agreed to see a last-minute patient as a favor to his scheduler, he’d had no idea his world would turn upside down. It’d been quite a while since he’d had a date. Hook-ups, yes. Dates, no. But since moving to Whispering Springs two months ago, he’d even forgone the hook-ups. When Hank Kelly had asked him to come to Whispering Springs, he’d warned Eli about small town gossip.
“Watch out for the gossip grapevine.” Hank had said. “And no local hook-ups, unless you want a shotgun wedding.”
Eli had laughed, but Hank had added, “Trust me on this. Drive on into Dallas if you’re looking for…temporary companionship. The women in Whispering Springs are great, don’t get me wrong. But all the ones I know are looking for the gold band and white picket fence.”
Eli had had the gold band, but instead of a white picket fence, he and his wife had had a twentieth-floor apartment in Manhattan. When Gina had died, he’d kept it for a while, but finally he’d sold. Just too many memories.
So, no. He wasn’t looking for a gold band, white picket fence or shotgun wedding. For now, he had a close and loving relationship with his right hand.
However, Marti Jenkins, with her laugh and that mischievous twinkle in her eye, made him wish he could get to know her a little better. She intrigued him. The first woman to do so in forever.
He pushed off the door and turned Marti over to his nurse. It was better that he move on to other duties. Lust for a patient was a complete no-no.
He headed up one floor to physical therapy. Looking around, he had to admit that his old classmate had put together a first class facility. The first floor housed a pharmacy, administrative offices, a small café and a heated pool for therapy. The second floor held all the diagnostic services, clinic and treatment rooms, and private offices for the physicians. And finally, the top level was completely utilized by physical therapy activities. It was a very sweet setup.
The physical therapy area was in full swing. Therapists worked with clients on mats, weights, rolling balls, stationary bikes, and other various devices of torture, as the patients called them. Sitting off to one side in a wheelchair was a sandy-haired teen, Joe Manson.
Last year, Joe had broken the state record in the one-hundred yard dash. Twenty-four hours later, he’d been riding shotgun with three friends when a drunk driver hit them head-on. Two of the three boys had been killed instantly. One had walked away with cuts and bruises. Joe’s legs had been amputated in the metal wreckage. Actually, he was lucky to be alive, but he didn’t see it that way. Most days, he let everyone know that he wished he’d died.
“Joe,” Eli called, walking across the room to the teen. “How’s it going?”
“I’m alive,” Joe said with scowl. “Not my choice.”
Eli decided to not comment on the attitude. “I’ve been reviewing your chart. You’ve made incredible progress. Lucky for you, teens heal quicker than adults. You were in superb condition before the accident. That’s also helped the speed of your recovery.”
Joe shrugged. “My superb condition didn’t do shit for me. I’m still a pathetic cripple.”
“Yeah, aren’t you tired of that?”
Joe’s head jerked. “You calling me a cripple?”
Eli shrugged nonchalantly. “Hey, apparently that’s what you want to be.”
Joe’s eyebrows lowered in a threat. “If I could get out of this chair, I’d kick your ass.”
Eli leaned close. “Oh yeah? Then get out of that chair and do it.”
“You’re a bastard, Dr. Boone.” Joe swung his arm across the stumps that used to be his legs. “How the hell do you propose I do that, asshole? Walk on my stumps?”
“No, I propose you learn to walk on artificial legs—unless you like the idea of riding around in a chair the rest of your life. Given that you’re only sixteen, you’ve got a long life ahead.” He gave Joe a pass on the cussing. Hell, truth to tell, he’d probably be as angry as this kid. Life sucked sometimes.
The teen scoffed. “Right. Like any girl is going to date a guy with fake legs.”
This time, Eli scoffed. “Give me a break. I guess you haven’t noticed that we’ve been fighting a war for over a decade. Many of our brave men and women who once would have died due to their injuries now make it home missing a leg or arm or more. Many of them have found love and families and great lives. In fact, I read a story just the other day about a double amputee being sworn in as a new deputy with the Whispering Springs Sheriff’s Department. So, if all these other folks have learned to walk, run, and have families, how are you so special that you can’t, too? Or do you enjoy being… What was it you said?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh yeah. A pathetic cripple.”
Joe’s face reddened in anger. “Fuck you.” He grabbed the wheels of his chair to roll away.
Eli grabbed the chair’s handles to stop the teen from leaving. “Let me help you. I can. Before I came here, I did years of work with amputees.”
The teen’s whole body sagged. “You don’t understand.”
“Try me.”
For a minute, the kid said nothing, just stared at the floor. Then he met Eli’s gaze. “I was somebody. All the guys envied me. I could date any girl I wanted. There wasn’t anything I couldn’t do.” He shook his head. “Now, I can’t even stand up to take a piss.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Eli pulled a rolling stool over and sat. He hated when people stood over him to talk. It always made him feel diminished somehow, which was why he always sat in treatment rooms when he interacted with patients. “You can stand and piss if you want. You can walk, if you want. In fact, you can run again. But all that is up to you.”
The teen grimaced. “I hate those fake legs.”
Eli nodded. “Yeah, I’m glad we’ve gotten past the wooden peg leg too.”
Joe looked at him, and for the first time, laughed. “You’re crazy.”
Eli grinned. “Seriously, the new legs we have today are incredible. Of course you’ll have to learn how to walk on new legs, but you’re young and healthy. Your muscle tone is still excellent. How about this? When’s your next physical therapy appointment?”
“Wednesday.”
“How about I let you talk to some of the war vets who live here and have faced exactly what you’re facing? They can tell you the real truth instead of you getting all your information from a two-legger.” He pointed to his own legs. When Joe hesitated, Eli added, “Do this for me. If you decide to stay on wheels instead of prosthetics after you talk to some fellow amputees, I won’t bug you about it again. Your decision.”
The teen was too young to spend the next sixty years in a chair, especially since there was no need. Eli knew some very persuasive vets. If he couldn’t get Joe up, then those vets could.
When Eli arrived at the third floor the following Wednesday, Joe was surrounded by five amputees. Four of them were vets. One of the guys had lost a leg in a motorcycle accident. Eli had asked him to come because he figured Joe would identify with the accident.
But it wasn’t just Joe caught up in the men’s conversation. Many of the other physical therapy patients listened as they worked out replaced knees or rehabbed from some other surgery. The therapy center was loud, laughter mixing with groans and grunts.
Joe’s face was a combination of awe, fear—and maybe for the first time—hope. The motorcycle rider had his wallet out showing pictures of his new baby. Not to be outdone, a couple of vets were wa
ving their pictures and bragging about their children.
Yes, this was what Joe needed to see. Normalcy. Men having great lives, great wives, children, jobs, and hobbies. He needed to understand that life went on—with or without his legs—and it was up to him to grab on and ride it like the badasses standing around him.
One of the vets announced he was late and had to get home before his wife hid his leg as punishment. Joe looked stunned. The other guys cracked up. Then comprehension dawned on Joe’s face and he laughed.
While they were saying their goodbyes, Eli checked with the head of the physical therapy unit to see whether there was anything that needed his attention. There wasn’t, which made Eli free for the afternoon.
Joe was still smiling when Eli rolled the stool over.
“What’d you think?” Eli asked
“Did you know there’s sort of an amputee club in Whispering Springs? I mean, it’s not a formal club, but the guys get together and do things?”
Eli nodded. “Yup. There are some excellent resources in this town. For example, did you know there’s a nearby ranch that specializes in working with vets who are dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder?”
Joe shook his head. “Man, that’s kind of cool.”
“It is. It’s owned by a military vet and his wife.”
“You been there?”
Eli shook his head then leaned closer. “I’ll tell you a secret. I am terrified of horses.”
Joe’s eyes widen and his mouth sagged in astonishment. “You’re kidding. I love to ride.” His face fell as his body sagged. “Well, I used to love to ride.”
Eli’s heart went out to the boy. “Now, don’t hold me to this. I’ll have to do some homework, but I’m pretty sure you can still ride. Nothing about being a double amputee stops that.” He smiled. “Want me to check it out?”
“Yes!” Joe said, his eyes misting a bit.
“I’ll do that for you—if you’ll give the prosthetic legs a serious try.”
