Healing the Doctor's Heart

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “Yes, thank you,” she said, gathering up the remainder of the clothes and bags on the sidewalk.

  He stepped aside and she led the way to the house. Nana was still upstairs in her room when Shannon pushed the door open with her hip.

  Nana stood with her back to the window, a serene smile on her face as she looked past Shannon to Ben. “You are so considerate to help my granddaughter,” she said, her tone bordering on effusive. “How lucky you were around when she needed you.”

  Shannon shot her nana a puzzled glance. What was with her? She sounded positively giddy.

  “I was glad to do it.” Ben turned to Shannon. “Where do you want this stuff?”

  “Just put it on the floor.”

  Ben did as he was told, but the wedding dress he carefully stretched out on the bed.

  “What is that?” Nana asked, shooting Shannon a frown.

  Shannon didn’t bother to answer, figuring her grandmother’s question was rhetorical. Anyone could see it was a wedding dress. Shannon grabbed the box Ben still had tucked under his arm and gave him a quick smile. “Thanks again for your help.”

  “Anything else you need ferried?” Ben said, slipping his hands in the back pockets of his blue jeans.

  “No. I’ve got it all. Thanks again.” His overpowering presence in her bedroom created an unwelcome discomfort and a hint of her previous attraction to him.

  Not happening.

  “Would you like a cup of lemonade for your troubles?” Nana was asking.

  “I don’t want to bother you,” Ben said.

  “It’s no bother,” Nana replied, taking his arm. “You really should join us and I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Well, I guess I could have a glass,” Ben said, and Shannon’s heart sank. She really didn’t want to spend social time around a man who made her feel so ill at ease. Especially after he’d seen her old wedding dress.

  He probably thought she still pined for the man who had turned her down when, in reality, the unused dress was simply a cautious reminder of what could happen when you let a man get too close.

  “Excellent. I’ll go get the cups out,” Nana said, glancing over her shoulder at Shannon and giving her a broad wink.

  As Nana left the room, Shannon thought of her grandmother hurrying her to unload her car. Nana was up to something and Shannon guessed that something involved Ben Brouwer.

  Not happening. Not with the brother of her ex-fiancé.

  Not with any man, period.

  But she couldn’t do anything about it for now so she followed her nana downstairs and set out the cups still packed in newspaper, while Nana got together a plate of cookies Hailey had baked as a housewarming gift.

  “We still have a few things to unpack,” Nana said with an apologetic smile as she put the plate of cookies on a wooden table, its matching chairs grouped haphazardly around it.

  “You’ve made it look homey already,” Ben said, standing by the table while Shannon poured lemonade into the glasses.

  He didn’t sit down until Nana and Shannon took their seats, earning an approving smile from Nana.

  Shannon wasn’t as approving. He had ended up only a few inches from her and as he reached to take a cookie from the plate, his arm brushed hers.

  Don’t jump. Don’t react. He’s just a guy.

  “And you’ve been making a big difference in your mother’s yard,” Nana said. “It’s looking much more civilized.”

  “It was a bit overgrown,” Ben agreed. “I’ve been wanting to get at it for some time now.”

  “Well, it’s wonderful you could take time away from your busy work. How is your mother doing?”

  As Ben responded to Nana’s gentle questioning, he glanced over at Shannon. She managed a lukewarm grin, struggling not to tap her fingers against the table. Nana may have been having fun, but Shannon was growing increasingly uncomfortable sitting so close to Ben. It bothered her more than she cared to admit that he had seen her old wedding dress. It was as if its very presence branded her a loser.

  And now he sat in their kitchen sharing lemonade and cookies as if he were a part of the family, sending her the occasional glance as if including her in the two-sided discussion.

  “So what do you do in Ottawa?” Nana asked, extending the conversation past its natural life. Nana knew exactly what Ben did. Shannon had explained it all to her when she and Arthur were dating.

  “You know he’s an E.R. doctor,” Shannon said.

  “Was an E.R. doctor,” Ben corrected, then took a final drink of his lemonade and set the empty glass on the table with a thunk of finality.

  “What do you mean, was?” Nana asked. “Don’t you do that anymore?”

  Ben slid the empty glass from hand to hand, one side of his lower lip caught between his teeth. “I’m taking a break right now” was all he said.

  Shannon caught his gaze and when she saw the desolation in his eyes, she knew she hadn’t imagined the cool note in his voice when he responded to Nana’s question.

  What had happened to him that he needed this break? From what she saw in his expression she sensed it was more than stress.

  She held his gaze, her puzzlement growing. Then, to her dismay, she felt it again. That faint trickle of awareness fingering her spine followed by the sensation of attraction she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  For the tiniest moment she wanted to allow it to grow. To allow that little trill of anticipation, the kind she hadn’t felt since Arthur, to begin.

  And look where that got you.

  Her practical self intervened, thankfully, and quashed her utter foolishness. Getting involved with any guy was silly and futile, especially someone as closely connected to Arthur as Ben was.

  “I should get back to work,” he said suddenly, pushing his chair away from the table and grabbing his empty glass. “Thanks for the lemonade,” he said, giving Nana a polite smile.

  Shannon picked up her own glass and got up at the same time, also eager to leave this domestic scene. But as she did, his arm brushed hers.

  She couldn’t help it. She jumped and dropped her glass.

  The cup shattered on the ceramic tiles of the kitchen floor, sending shards of glass skittering across the floor and splashing lemonade all over Ben’s blue jeans.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless.

  She gathered up the pieces of glass with jerky movements, too aware of Ben now kneeling beside her.

  “I’ll get a dustpan,” Nana announced, her chair screeching across the tiles.

  Shannon bit her lip in frustration. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she act normal around this guy?

  “Be careful,” Ben warned as Shannon reached under the table to retrieve some more particles.

  But he was too late. As she reached, she lost her balance, and fell. A large shard of glass stabbed her knee, sending a flash of pain up her leg.

  She flailed her hand, trying to catch her balance, afraid she would cut herself again. Then Ben caught her, his arms holding her steady.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, frowning as he looked down at her knee.

  No, she wasn’t, Shannon thought, looking down at the piece of glass embedded in her knee and the blood flowing freely down her leg, soaking into her pants.

  Again their eyes met and locked, but now she was also aware of the warmth of his hands on her arms.

  He released her, then pulled out a jackknife from a small leather pouch on his belt. He flipped it open and, with one quick movement, cut her cotton capris away from her leg up to her knee.

  She stifled her automatic protest, knowing the bloodstains would probably not wash out of the pants anyway.

  “My goodness,
what happened?” Nana called out, returning with a dustpan.

  My day is complete, Shannon thought.

  “Your granddaughter cut herself on some glass,” Ben said in a voice that held a note of authority. “I’ll need to take her to the hospital.” He glanced up at Nana. “She’ll need stitches.”

  Nana slapped her hand to her chest, her face suddenly pale. “Oh, my. What are we going to do? I don’t know if I dare drive. I don’t know if I can take her.”

  Ben held up his hand. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Beck. I’ll take care of getting her there.”

  “Oh, my,” her grandmother muttered again. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  “Could you get me a cloth so I can wrap this?” he said to Nana.

  “Yes. Of course.” Nana grabbed a clean tea towel out of a nearby box and handed it to him.

  As Ben wrapped the bleeding wound, his movements were quick, efficient and yet, at the same time, gentle.

  He glanced up at her, then pushed himself to his feet. “Shall we go?” he said, extending his arm to help her.

  Shannon would have preferred to walk out on her own steam, but she knew with the glass still embedded in the wound, she would make the bleeding worse if she put too much weight on it.

  So she laid her arm on his, wincing as she got to her feet. A new gush of blood stained the tea towel and then, before she could protest, Ben swung her up in his arms.

  “Please, I can walk,” she said, hating the breathless tone of her voice.

  “Better if you don’t,” he said, shifting her weight in his arms. He looked down at her just as she glanced up.

  His dark eyes on hers and his arms holding her close combined to create a flush of awareness both stirring and unwelcome.

  “I’ll get the door,” Nana said, hurrying ahead of them.

  As he strode down the hallway, Shannon hesitantly put her arm over his shoulders to brace herself, hoping he didn’t notice the blush warming her neck and cheeks.

  * * *

  It was hard being on this side of the curtain.

  Ben sat in the waiting room of Hartley Creek Hospital, tapping his thumbs together, forcing himself to stay parked in the leatherette chair.

  He heard muffled voices behind the curtain surrounding the bed Shannon lay on. He heard a laugh, which annoyed him.

  What could possibly be funny about a two-inch gash across the patella? He doubted the lateral collateral ligament was severed or even nicked, but the cut would require, in his estimation, about ten stitches, maybe fifteen if the doctor had to do a two-layer closure. Personally, on a knee he preferred the two layer.

  He caught himself mid-diagnosis. He wasn’t here as a doctor. He was simply Shannon’s driver.

  Old habits, he thought, then laughed at himself. Not that old. Just three months ago he had still been working in a hospital. Still making snap diagnoses, quick calls on what he had to do. When they came into the hospital, the scent of disinfectant had created a sense of anticipation but immediately after had come the regret.

  If only he had paid more attention to Saskia, she might still be alive.

  And then what? You’d still be divorced.

  But he might still be working.

  The unwelcome memories pushed him to his feet. He paced down the polished hallway to the end, turned and came back again, glancing at the curtained-off bay in the emergency ward. Shouldn’t they be done by now?

  He felt the too-familiar clench of dread deep in the pit of his stomach and the unshakeable feeling something bad was going to happen.

  At one time he had been a praying man. When these moments of unreasoning fear came over him while he worked, he would try to release them to God. To put himself in God’s hands and simply be faithful with what had been given him at the moment.

  But he’d seen too much. Lost too much to trust that God would take care of things anymore.

  He clenched his fists and forced himself to breathe. It’s just a cut that needed stitches. One of the most basic procedures in a busy E.R.

  “She’ll be fine,” the receptionist at the desk said with an indulgent smile, misinterpreting his tension. “Shannon is a tough cookie. You don’t have to worry about her.”

  Ben gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement and turned away from her curious stare. He was sure in a hospital like the one in Hartley Creek most everyone knew most everything about each other. He was also sure this woman was wondering about his connection to Shannon.

  He wanted to assure her there was none but kept his comments to himself. He was afraid that anything he said would be taken as either a protest or a cover-up. Arthur had told him enough about Hartley Creek that he understood small-town politics and relationships.

  “Ben.”

  He whirled around at the sound of his name, relief flooding through him when he saw Shannon standing by the desk, a pair of crutches fitted under her arm, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. She still wore the capri pants with one leg cut neatly above her bandaged knee.

  She caught the direction of his glance and grinned. “Someone finished what you started,” she said.

  “So I guess you won’t be coming in to work tonight?” the nurse beside Shannon asked.

  Shannon gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry, Daphne. I wish I could, but Doctor Henneson said I better take it easy for a couple of days so the stitches don’t tear loose.”

  Daphne simply nodded, glancing over at Ben again as if trying to puzzle out where he fit in the picture. “Well, she’s all yours for the next few days, Mr. Brouwer. Take good care of her.” Then, with a wink Shannon’s way, Daphne hurried back behind the curtain separating the emergency department from the main entrance of the hospital.

  Ben didn’t want to speculate what Daphne’s exaggerated wink had been about. “How does your knee feel?” he asked, glancing down at the dressing covering Shannon’s wound.

  “It throbs a bit. Once the freezing wears off I’m sure I’ll feel it more.”

  “Do you need to get any prescriptions filled?” he asked as she turned and began stumping away from him, her crutches beating out a steady rhythm on the polished floor as she headed toward the entrance.

  “No. The cut was clean and because it was glass—”

  “I imagine your tetanus shots are up to date.”

  “Of course.”

  “You might want to take something for the pain when you get home.”

  Shannon slowed down, giving him a bemused look. “Are you being a doctor?”

  Ben frowned. “No.”

  “Because it sure sounds like you are,” she said, her mouth curving in a curious, off-center smile.

  He couldn’t help return her smile. “I guess I am. Just a bit,” he admitted with a flick of his hand. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Dr. Henneson, like the other doctors here, may be overworked, but he’s really good at what he does,” Shannon said, pausing as the doors leading out of the hospital swung open.

  A young woman, heavily pregnant, came through the doors. Her short dark hair accentuated her pixielike features. Her eyes looked huge in her pale face.

  “Hey, Mia,” Shannon said. “You okay?”

  “Actually, I’m in labor,” Mia returned in a breezy voice at odds with what she just told Shannon. “What happened to you?”

  Ben glanced at her stomach. From the size of her abdomen and the way she carried, he guessed twins.

  “It’s nothing. Just a cut that needed stitches. Hey, aren’t you early?” Shannon asked, laying a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

  “Yeah, but that’s to be expected with twins.”

  Bingo, Ben thought with a beat of satisfaction.

  Then Mia took a slow, deep breath.r />
  “Do you need a hand?” Ben couldn’t help asking.

  She waved off his offer. “I’m okay. This is my third pregnancy. Old hat for me. I’m not that far along yet anyway. Dr. Shuster told me to come in when I felt the first contraction.”

  “Where’s Denton?” Shannon asked, looking behind her for Mia’s husband.

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Mia said, her voice surprisingly sharp. She sucked in another breath through clenched teeth, then relaxed. “I’m going solo on this one,” she said when she had her breath again.

  Ben frowned as he watched the exchange. “Seems to me like things are moving along for you. You might want to get going.”

  A droll grin passed over the woman’s mouth. “Thanks for the concern—” She paused, glancing at Shannon with raised eyebrows.

  “Ben, this is Mia Strombitsky, ach, I mean Verbeek,” Shannon said, still stumbling over Mia’s married name.

  Mia gave Shannon a bemused look. “I’ve been married for six years and you still call me by my maiden name?”

  Shannon laughed. “I’ve known you as Strombitsky longer than Verbeek. Anyhow, this is Ben. Ben Brouwer.” Shannon stopped there and Mia twitched out a smile, more forced than her previous, candid one.

  “I see” was all Mia said.

  Ben guessed Mia had realized he was the brother of the man who had left Shannon at the altar.

  Then Mia winced again.

  “Please, go get yourself admitted,” Ben said, wishing this woman would get herself taken care of.

  “If I’m in labor, which I doubt I am, it’ll be at least half a day yet before these babies come,” Mia said with a shrug and another slow intake of breath. “If they are anything like my other kids.”

  Ben doubted that. If the timing between her breaths was any indication, her contractions were closer than she thought.

  “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll head over to the desk.” She gave Shannon another quick smile. “You take care of yourself, hear?”

  Ben would have had to be deaf to miss the warning tone in Mia’s voice and blind to miss the warning glance she shot his way.

  You don’t have to worry about me, he wanted to tell her as he walked to the door to hold it open for Shannon. The last thing I want to do is get myself and my emotions tangled up with another woman. Especially my brother’s ex-fiancée.