by Jo Leigh
She pressed her lips together and gave him a stern look. “I’ll deal. Go catch your plane or whatever. Just go.”
The solution was obvious, but he didn’t blurt it out, especially after that rather unsubtle verbal shove out the door. “Let’s get you back to your room.”
He took his coat from her and stood aside, wanting to see how she managed. She certainly looked determined. Squaring herself on her crutches she struck out, but only made it past the first of the chairs before she stopped. She’d have to turn sideways to make it through, and it was hard enough to maneuver new crutches without an obstacle course.
Not that he was going to make her try. She’d probably fall and hurt the other ankle. Tossing his coat and her tote on a pile of books, he took the long way around until he faced her again. “Come on, Willow. Let me—”
“No. I can do this.”
“But you don’t have to.”
“What, you’re going to stay here and carry me for four to six weeks?”
“No, I’ve got a better idea. You’re going to stay with me.”
3
WILLOW REACTED PRETTY MUCH as he’d expected. He’d known she would argue. She didn’t know him and certainly didn’t trust him. The question, then, was how to prove he wasn’t someone to be frightened of.
“You’re out of your mind,” she said finally. He had no doubt she would have backed away, thrown him bodily out on his ass if she could’ve. But he had her at his mercy.Only one thing to do. He pulled out his cell phone, clicked on his contacts and held it out to her. “Call anyone. From any list. I’d go for the hospital first, because there’s less of a reason for anyone to lie. Tell them you need to know if you can trust me.”
“What?”
“Seriously. Call my boss, Dr. Jefferson. Ask to speak to nurses. They’ll be honest. And if you don’t want to use my numbers, if you think this is all some evil plot, use your own phone.”
She stared at him as if he were crazy. He didn’t blame her one iota.
“I suppose it would be less weird if I took you to my sister’s. But she’s gone and so is her staff. So that wouldn’t be any better than you staying in my guest room.”
“I need to sit down.”
He had to give it to her—she was being very calm about this. Hopefully, she’d end up seeing his logic. If not, well, he had to try, right? He owed her.
He held out his other hand for her crutches. It took a bit of maneuvering, but finally she had his phone, he had her, and they were inching their way to her bedroom.
Which turned out to be nothing more than a closet with a bed stuffed inside. Along with her clothes, a sort-of dresser, books and lots of dance posters on the wall.
After helping her off with her coat, she sat on the neatly made bed, her gaze on his, clearly befuddled.
“Make some calls,” he said. “I want to check on your ankle. How’s your pain level?”
“It hurts, but nothing I can’t handle.”
After a quick check of his watch, he saw he could give her another pill in an hour. He went to one knee and carefully lifted her leg. He undid the Velcro straps holding the ice pack on and put it aside. The swelling hadn’t gotten significantly worse. It would be better when she could keep the ankle elevated.
“Yeah, Dr. Jefferson, please. I’m calling about Dr. Bradshaw.”
He didn’t look up, but he did smile. Good for her. If he had any chance of this working, she had to feel comfortable. As he put her ice pack back on, it occurred to him that he probably wouldn’t be able to hire a nurse until after the holiday, and his housekeeper was on her own vacation in Wisconsin checking out her new grandson.
“Hi. This is weird, but I need to know if you’d trust your twenty-four-year-old daughter to stay with Dr. Bradshaw.”
Now he looked up. What had he unleashed? He could just picture Jefferson’s face. He was a crusty old bastard, but an honest one. He’d been more of a mentor than anyone else at the hospital, but that didn’t mean he was going to tolerate this odd line of questioning.
“Right, but say you did. It’s a hypothetical question.” Willow paused. Rolled her eyes. “Sure. Hold on.” She held the phone out. “He wants to speak to you.”
Flynn took the phone as he stood. “She’s hurt,” he said with no preamble. “My fault. She can’t stay at her home. I’ll look after her at my place. Tell her she’ll be safe. Or not.” Then he gave her back the phone.
She put it to her ear and after about thirty seconds, she smiled. “Thanks.” After she hung up, she clicked down his list of contacts until she found something she liked.
Flynn heard the ring, but not the voice that followed.
“Orthopedic surgery nursing station, please.”
He tried to think who would be on duty. With the holiday, there was no way to be sure. They hadn’t gone past that station earlier today, so it was a real crap shoot. He tried not to be an ass with the nursing staff, with any staff, but he didn’t always succeed.
“Hello,” Willow said. “I know you’re swamped, but Dr. Bradshaw has offered me a place to stay for a few days when he gets back from vacation. While he’s not around, I figured I’d call someone in the know who would tell me if this is a good idea or not.”
Flynn wanted to take his phone back. Move closer so he could hear. This was worse than a peer review. Which was crazy.
And then it hit him. What he was doing. He didn’t know this woman and except for his guilt he had every reason to leave her to her own devices. He didn’t even believe in guilt. Not to this extent, at least. What’s done was done, and he’d made his apologies along with financial restitution. Anything more was excessive. Taking a stranger into his home? Caring for her on his only vacation in more than a year? What the hell was he thinking?
Was it because she was attractive? No. He saw attractive women all the time and he only occasionally invited them home, never to stay long. But he had to admit there was something about her. She had guts and determination, no self-pity there. Sure, there had been tears, who could blame her? Instead of using them to play on his guilt and milk the situation, she’d put up a brave front. Maybe not a front at all.
“Really?” Willow said, her eyes widening as she gave him the once-over. “Is he like that all the time?”
He rubbed his hand across his face, his mind dueling the pros and cons of simply taking the phone back and ending this here and now.
“Do the rest of the team think that?”
Think what? That he was a jerk? That he was a decent guy who needed to lighten up? That’s what his sister told him. Repeatedly. Easy for her to say, tucked safely away in the suburbs, raising her kids, doing her charity work. She didn’t have a career haunted by the Bradshaw name.
“Okay, well, thank you. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll let you know.” She hung up the phone, not giving him any clue to the conversation. All she did was stare at him.
He broke first. “Well?”
“So it seems you’re civilized enough. She didn’t seem to think you were a mass murderer or anything.”
“Who did you speak to?”
“Sorry. I promised not to say.”
He wanted to press her. “Is that all? That I’m not a serial killer?”
“No. She said more.”
He couldn’t hold back. He stepped closer. She didn’t flinch, so that was something. “And?”
“And I guess I should pack.”
WILLOW FELT BETTER THAN she had since the accident. The power had shifted, giving her strength where there had been only vulnerability. If she could keep that look on his face for the next however-long, she could triumph. After all, what was life without adversity? Her heroes wouldn’t let a small thing like a screwed-up ankle get in the way of their dreams, right? So she’d stay in the doctor’s guest room for a couple of days. Make him fetch things for her. Of course, that wouldn’t come close to making up for weeks of missed classes or any chance of an actual dancing gig.
Before she c
ould stop it, her eyes welled with tears again. She wished she was alone so she could cry and scream and beat up her pillows. She didn’t have much money, and there’s no way she’d be able to keep her cocktail job at the nightclub or get disability. Her savings were supposed to keep her in New York until she hit the big time, but six weeks of no income would eat most of it up. How long would it take to heal and then get back in shape?“Willow? You okay?”
She felt her lower lip quiver and willed it to stop. “Sure. Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He sat next to her on the bed, close, but not touching. “I can see that’s not true.”
She pressed her palms to her eyes. Sniffed. Told herself to suck it up.
“I’ll make sure you have physical therapy. That you get back to dancing as quickly as possible.”
She looked at him, then realized he wasn’t telepathic, just paying attention. Kind of nice. “It’s a bit overwhelming.”
“Not a bit. A lot. I’ve really screwed up your life.”
“It’s not as if you did it on purpose.”
He didn’t say anything. Just sat there looking guilty.
It wouldn’t do either of them any good to keep this up. He could have just gotten in the cab this morning and driven away, and there wouldn’t have been a thing she could have done about it. She needed to remember that. This could have been so much worse.
“Where do we start?” he asked finally.
Willow pointed to a cupboard above the dresser. “Duffel in there.”
He turned to grab it, and she focused on one thing she knew was true. She was her own hero. She would believe that with her whole heart, despite all the evidence. She could get through this. Her parents hadn’t believed she could make it in New York, but she’d proved them wrong. So far, at least. And now she had Flynn’s help, as well.
Talking to the nurse had actually made her feel a lot better. The woman had three kids, no husband and worked ungodly hours. She’d told her that Dr. Bradshaw was one of the good guys, with only an occasional slip. Then she’d laughed. A real laugh, full of piss and vinegar. Then she’d explained that if she’d known Dr. Bradshaw was so generous with his guest rooms, she’d have signed up long ago.
If Nurse Ellen could laugh at life’s twists and turns, then so could Willow. Torn ligaments and lost auditions were nothing in the face of true grit. Or even guilty doctors.
He held up the duffel bag. She smiled. “I’ll need all of it.”
He didn’t even blink. Just got right to work, putting the bag next to her on the bed. Then he pulled out the top drawer, the only drawer. The rest of it was shelves with folded clothes on top. He proceeded to take all her underwear and stuff it into her bag.
He packed efficiently and without comment. Probably still wondering about the mystery nurse. Maybe later she’d tell him who it was, but then again, maybe not. She’d wait to see how it all worked out. If it was hellish, she could leave. Or he could kick her out. But she doubted she’d have to be on her own before tomorrow.
“Anything else?”
She looked around, amazed at how much he’d crammed into the duffel. Even more amazed at how few things she owned. “Bathroom stuff,” she said. “But I’ll do that. It’s too small for both of us.”
“Tell you what. I’ll carry you and your crutches in there and leave you to it while I take the bag to the taxi. If he’s still there. If not, I’ll call another. That should give you plenty of time to get your things together and take care of any phone calls you need to make. Sound like a plan?”
“A great one,” she said.
“Will you need another suitcase?”
“Nope. Just my tote.”
“All right, then.” He bent at the knees until he was at eye level. “It’s going to be fine,” he said, his voice low and sure. “I promise you don’t need to be frightened.”
She touched his cheek with the back of her finger. “Neither do you.”
FLYNN WAS SCARED TO DEATH.
They’d reached his brownstone. There was no turning back. He felt like an idiot asking a stranger to his home. Pasting a smile on his face, he left his front door ajar as he helped her from the cab. Seeing her so pretty with her cheeks flushed with cold made him even more uncomfortable. He would have liked to have met her in Vermont. She was a vacation kind of pretty. The kind where it didn’t really matter what was beneath the surface because there were only a couple of days to play. Four to six weeks was a completely different kettle of fish.“Would you like to lean on me?” he asked. “Or try the crutches?”
“Crutches,” she said with a nod. “I just haven’t figured out this curb business yet.”
“Okay, that’s easy enough to fix.” He crouched, put his hands around her waist, then looked up to make sure she wasn’t going to smash her head on the door, but he stalled at her eyes.
They were blue and curious and more scared than her smile wanted him to know. That made him feel a lot better. For several reasons. Only one of them was noble.
4
HE HAD A FOYER. No one she knew in New York had a foyer. Especially one with a marble floor and a round table with a huge vase of fresh flowers.
Willow looked at him again, suspicious now that this wasn’t his house at all. “Do you live with your parents?”He laughed. “No. Why?”
“That’s a lot of flowers.”
The doctor appeared flustered. “I didn’t decorate the place.”
“Ah. Wife? Girlfriend?”
“Decorator,” he said, flustered again.
“Where were you when it happened?”
“Medical school. You need to put your leg up.”
She bit down on a smile. “I think I need a tour first. I mean, I am going to be staying here for several weeks.”
His face told her she might have gone too far on that one. But he looked good when he blushed.
“You can look around on the way to the guest room.”
“Spoilsport.”
He carried her bags as she practiced walking with her crutches into the house proper. The foyer didn’t do it justice.
This was one of those Manhattan homes that appeared in magazines Willow never bought. Artwork graced the walls, and she, who had gotten a B- in humanities, recognized that it was Serious Art, despite the fact that she could identify the subjects. If memory served, he leaned toward the Impressionists.
The furniture was also Serious. Not as sedate as the marble had suggested, but none of it seemed to fit him. Or maybe she had him figured all wrong.
“Watch the carpet.”
She stopped to look down. Sure enough, she’d almost hobbled into an epic fall. “Thanks.”
He nodded curtly. Someone in radiology had told her he was one of their better orthopedic surgeons. From everything she’d heard about surgeons, he should have been full of himself and basically a jerk, and yet, here she was.
“It’s this way,” he said, nodding at a hallway. She carefully made her way past two wing chairs and a fireplace, more paintings and a whole wall filled with hardcover books. The hall led past the kitchen, which was twice the size of her apartment and fully decked out with copper pots and a row of living herbs at a bay window behind the sink.
She wanted to ask him a hundred questions, but he was already standing at the door of what had to be the guest room. Questions would wait. The need to sit was getting more urgent. Her ankle had awakened, no longer appeased by the ice pack.
He led her into the room, which, holy crap, was gorgeous. And come on, a king-size bed? This had to have been his grandparents’ house. No one in his early thirties lived like this.
Maybe he was older than she thought. She watched as he bent to put her stuff down. He sure had the ass of an early thirties guy. At least with clothes on.
“So, did your decorator come here right after doing Windsor Palace or what?”
“I thought it might please you, Your Majesty.”
“Hey. I see what you did there.” She hopped over to the bed a
nd sat on the incredibly expensive-looking spread. “Clever.”
“Stop ragging me about it. I was in school. It’s all family stuff, that’s all.”
“Some family.”
“Yeah.” Flynn glanced at his watch, then at her.
Willow hadn’t missed the sarcasm packed into that one word, no matter how subtle. So the life of the rich wasn’t so perfect.
“Where did I put your pills?”
“Tote.”
“Right.” He picked up the bag and brought it to the bed. “First, let’s get you prone.”
“Ooh. That sounds interesting.”
He stopped. Dead. She blushed and wished she was one of those witty women who could turn a quick phrase. But she wasn’t. She was a hopeful dancer from Bakersfield who hadn’t learned to think before she spoke.
After clearing his throat, Flynn fluffed some pillows at the head of the bed. “Get settled. I’ll bring you some water. I’m sure you can find the pills in your bag.”
“You bet.” She tried to smile as if she’d never suggested they should sleep together. “Absolutely. No problem.”
His forehead furrowed and there might have been a tiny tic at the edge of his right eye, but she couldn’t be sure because he left. Her gaze swept down his back as he did so, and while she tried to convince herself that the remark had been nothing more than a slip of the tongue, in her heart she knew a Freudian slip when she heard one.
CRAP.
Flynn cursed himself for being such an obvious twit. She had to know he found her attractive. More than just attractive. But she was still his patient, dammit. That technicality hadn’t mattered to his father, but it did to him. Mattered all the more because his arrogant father had flaunted his mistresses. Not that anyone had talked about it. Calvin Bradshaw had been far too important and wealthy to be called to the carpet. But everyone knew. And everyone assumed like father, like son.Hell, everything would have been fine if Flynn hadn’t run into Willow. He’d have felt no remorse at hooking up with someone in Vermont. He’d even bought a new box of vacation condoms. He’d had every intention of using them all up, too, and now…
