by Mae Nunn
“10-4,” she answered, then whispered something to Ethan that caused him to snicker. “Simba, heel.” The dog obeyed, falling into step beside her mistress with the bedraggled braid.
When the curtain jerked closed behind them the E.R. physician and Ethan both chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Ben asked. It had been a mentally exhausting few days and he was the odd man out in the joke.
“Sir, I think you’re going to owe Doctor Stone an apology.”
“Doctor Stone?”
“Doctor Alison Stone. She’s not only the best child psychotherapist on staff at the medical center, she was the guy hanging from that chopper with Ethan today. It was Alison Stone who rescued your son.”
Chapter Two
Ben hadn’t chased after a woman in a lot of years. A lifetime ago the female football groupies had been plentiful. And certain women had become regulars at his speaking events. Now that a reasonable period of mourning had passed, ladies were overtly showing interest he was still not prepared to return.
But this chasing he was doing today was in the physical sense. The moment Ben realized he’d mistaken Doctor Stone for a general EMT, he’d promised Ethan he would return right away and had taken off down the corridor. A power walk turned to a trot as Ben left the air-conditioned building to be enveloped by the warm Texas afternoon. He darted for the south side of the complex in the direction of the helipad and closed the last fifty yards in an easy sprint, thankful he hadn’t given up running when he’d given up the game.
Two volunteers in familiar jumpsuits stood sentry by the expensive chopper, but there wasn’t a redhead with a big dog in sight.
“Excuse me,” Ben called. “Do either of you know where I can find Doctor Stone?”
One of the men turned to respond, his eyes widened with the recognition Ben had come to expect but never took for granted. “Oh, Mr. Lamar, it’s you. Listen, we’re so grateful things worked out with your son.”
“Thank you.” Ben shook hands with both rescue workers. “I can’t tell you fellas how much I appreciate the incredible job you did getting my boy out of danger.”
“All in a day’s work, sir.” The man whose name tag identified him as Harry shrugged off Ben’s praise. “If you’re lookin’ for the Rock, she and Simba are probably huntin’ down a grassy spot.”
“The Rock?” A play on her last name, maybe? What’s the deal with private jokes today?
“Sorry,” Harry apologized for the confusion that must have shown on Ben’s face. “That’s our nickname for Doc Stone because she’s so solid under pressure, especially if a kid’s involved. She wouldn’t hear of anybody else making that pick up.”
Ben shrunk another few inches. Not only had he insulted the lady’s ability and the pedigree of her animal, he seemed to have insulted her integrity as well.
“Please, guys,” he pleaded. “Don’t take off with Doctor Stone on board until you know we’ve spoken. I might have offended her and I need to apologize.”
“You got it. But whatever it is, don’t sweat it too much. It takes an awful lot to rile up the Rock.” Harry was reassuring.
Ben wanted to be comforted by the comment, but evidence so far was to the contrary. Something in his gut told him there was a doghouse in his future. With a natural aversion to the entire canine breed, that was the last place he wanted to be relegated. He prepared to head for the front lawn of the expansive medical plaza.
“And Mr. Lamar,” Harry continued, “I want you to know you’ll get my vote if you decide to throw your helmet into the ring for that Congressional seat.”
“I’m counting on that,” Ben answered as he began to stretch his legs, once again back in the chase.
“Did you get my joke, Sid?” Ben heard Harry question his co-worker. “Helmet instead of hat? It’s a football thing. You’re a golfer. You wouldn’t understand.”
Ali pretended not to notice Benjamin Lamar striding toward her in fancy cowboy boots that must have cost him a pretty penny. Ignoring him was a challenge considering he was tall, tanned and very easy on the eye. The man already got more attention than the law allowed, and with good reason. He was capital H-O-T!
The last thing he needed was another drooling female.
“Excuse me! Doctor Stone!” he called out. Twenty-five yards still separated them.
The ridge of thick hair on Simba’s back stiffened. She grumbled, a threatening sound deep in her chest.
“You don’t care for him, do you, girl?” It was amusing but puzzling. Simba was such a lovable and easygoing hound. Her reaction signaled that she sensed the presence of danger. Or fear. Was it possible the big, bad football star could be afraid of a dog? Just in case, Ali quieted Simba with a hand signal.
“Doctor Stone.” He trotted to her side, then eyeing Simba he backed up two steps. “Thanks for waiting on me.”
“Actually, Mr. Lamar, I was waiting on my mongrel to do her business.”
“I apologize for that comment.” He lowered captivating blue eyes and ducked his head in a manner that had publicly charmed Texans for two decades. If rumor of his political aspiration was true, he’d soon be using that humble gesture to convert interested females into registered voters.
“It was a dumb thing to say, but what I know about dogs wouldn’t fill a Dixie cup. There was zero chance I’d recognize a working animal.”
“Hmm, and I always thought the ‘Service Dog, Do Not Pet’ emblem was a pretty good clue.”
Probably for the first time, he took a long look at Simba and noticed her embroidered orange vest. Most people asked to pet a service animal as soon as they realized they weren’t allowed to. This guy didn’t. In fact, he shifted his weight away another step.
He was close to a strikeout, or whatever football players do when they blow a big chance. Ali wasn’t impressed with his sports celebrity, she thought his positive living mantra was simplistic, she didn’t approve of his politics and she had reason to question his parenting skills.
“You don’t like dogs, do you?” she asked.
“They don’t care much for me either, so it’s mutual. I don’t take it personally.”
“That’s probably a good thing. Political campaigning requires thick skin.” Something he’d need to soothe his ego when he lost if her vote counted for anything.
“Well said.” He nodded. “But that’s not the subject I tracked you down to discuss.”
She checked her watch, knowing the crew was waiting. “If you were a paying client I’d start the meter, but the first one’s always a freebie. What do you want, Mr. Lamar?”
His handsome head snapped back at the tone in her voice. Good! After what he’d put his son through, she wanted to shake the confident man till his teeth rattled!
“Since time appears to be money to you, Doctor Stone, I’ll be brief. First, and most important, I want to thank you for bringing Ethan safely home to me.” Lamar pointed toward the E.R. “That boy is the center of my life and I’ve been sick with worry these past few days. You righted my world when you hoisted him out of that canyon and I’ll never forget your bravery.”
Now, as she bothered to look beneath the very appealing exterior, it did appear he hadn’t slept in a while. Okay, it was Ali’s turn to stare humbly at her steel-toed boots. Before she could ask for forgiveness for being a jerk, he hurried on.
“Second, I believe you called this meeting.” He fished a scrap of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “This says you wanted to have a word with me.” He looked at his heavy, gold wristwatch. “I need to be with my son, so please make it quick.”
The small amount of guilt she’d been feeling toward the famous linebacker crumbled like a vanilla wafer between Simba’s molars.
“I’m a psychotherapist and I deal primarily with kids who’ve suffered traumatic loss or abuse—”
He held his palm outward to silence her. “Ethan already has a therapist, several in fact. If you were going to pitch your services—”
“You
r son’s condition is not in my area of expertise,” Ali blocked his interruption with one of her own. “But it took me less than sixty seconds to realize how terrified Ethan is of being left alone or, worse, being sent away. I think it’s unconscionable that your therapist suggested you allow your son to attend that wilderness camp. Any idiot who feels that was the proper way to treat Ethan should be strung up and used for a punching bag.”
“Uuf!” He bent at the waist and grabbed his gut.
She had no idea how to interpret his action. “Are you in pain?” she asked the obvious.
“Only if you consider a low blow painful.”
Lamar stood tall. He folded arms any man would envy, stretching his black T-shirt tight across a broad chest. Then he raised his chin and stared her down from a height that forced her to look up. His eyes were dangerous slits of blue ice.
“I guess I deserved it since I’m the unconscionable idiot who thought sending Ethan to camp was a good idea.”
Ali’s belly quaked in a way that never happened when she was suspended a couple thousand feet above the earth from the bottom of a rescue line. This person looming over her was both manly and menacing, celebrated in a sport where intimidation was a minimum daily requirement. It was his right to call the shots on treatment. Ethan was his son.
She should back down, apologize for overstepping her bounds. Still, Ali completely disagreed with the man’s approach and wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight if she thought the boy could be sent back into a dangerous situation.
“Sir, I respect you as Ethan’s father and support your right to make decisions about his future. That said, since I was engaged in his rescue I have every intention of following up on the welfare of my patient. I’ll be keeping my ear to the ground for any news on this case.”
“Take a number.” Lamar walked away from any further discussion.
“Simba, heel,” Ali called. She hurried to catch the aggravating man. “Wait up, Lamar!”
“Going my way, Stone?” He didn’t as much as glance over his shoulder.
“As a matter of fact, I am. I told Ethan I’d be right back.”
“I don’t know what he found so funny about that.”
She smiled to think she’d coaxed an appropriate response from Ethan. “He was amused?”
“Laughed out loud. And with his weird sense of humor that’s something he doesn’t do often. What did you whisper to him, anyway?”
“I told him Simba and I needed to go for a walk before one of us marked our territory right across the toes of your handmade boots.”
Chapter Three
Ten days had passed and Ethan was stubbornly nursing a grudge.
“Son, you’ve got to leave that room sooner or later. Please come down and join me for dinner,” Ben called from the top of the stairwell. Since Ethan could detect a pin dropping, there was little doubt he’d heard his father’s request.
That Big Bend business with the camp and the helicopter rescue was over and done with, behind them forever. The publicity had died down, most of Ethan’s scrapes were healed and the swelling in his ankle was gone. But the boy hadn’t been outside the threshold of his bedroom since the E.R. experience.
Ben knew there was no bribe he could offer or threat he could make that would get his son to budge. Short of starving Ethan into cooperation there was little to do but give it time, the one thing Ben had in short supply.
As much as it irked him to admit it, that know-it-all doctor had been right when she’d called him an unconscionable idiot! Coaxing Ethan into the camping experience seemed to have set them back months of progress. Ben was not only running out of time, he was running out of places to turn for help.
His visits to online forums revealed patient coping methods he never dreamed anybody would attempt. Reading the posts by self-proclaimed “Aspies” was heartbreaking. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to save his son from sinking further into the depths of the bizarre disorder.
“Ethan? We may have company later.” Ben was winging it, determined to get a reaction.
There was no reply, nor could he detect volume from the television. Self-injury was a concern since Ethan had done his share of experimental cutting. So, complete quiet in the rooms upstairs was never a good sign.
“Ethan!” Ben called loudly, as he traveled the hallway toward the rooms where privacy was no longer his son’s right. The last shred of patience snapped as Ben’s shoulders filled the open doorway. “Answer me this instant!”
Ethan jumped at the sudden intrusion, brushed away his earphones and flung himself against the headboard of the bed where he’d been sitting.
“What is it?” he demanded. “Why are you always scaring me like that?”
The boy’s abrupt tone and disrespectful comments were almost intolerable for Ben. He’d been reared with strict rules of etiquette and sportsmanship, had embraced them all his life. In his head he knew Ethan’s rudeness was a symptom of anxiety—the boy probably wasn’t even aware of the effect of his tone and choice of vocabulary—but the words penetrated Ben’s sense of decency like darts pierced a bull’s-eye. Every medical professional he’d spoken with had warned him to choose his battles. On the worry scale, disrespect was fairly low compared to what seemed like a budding case of agoraphobia. Ethan’s refusal to leave his rooms had to be brought under control, but Ben was at his wit’s end.
How could he consider moving into the political arena when his son was digging his heels in deeper every day, refusing any help? Being the single parent of a boy whose future had gone from promising to unpredictable had meant putting all personal dreams on hold. Possibly forever. How did a motivational speaker put a positive spin on that?
“I asked you a question,” Ethan snapped.
“I beg your pardon.” Ben attempted to contain his aggravation. A sarcastic tone would only confuse Ethan’s warped decoding process. “I’ve been trying to get your attention.”
“Well, now you have it.” Ethan tightly folded his arms across his chest, unaware of his own body language, much less anyone else’s. The lack of ability to send or interpret a nonverbal cue had been one of the earliest signs of trouble.
“Mrs. Alvarez made your favorite before she left for Mexico. Chicken pot pie,” Ben tempted. “How about coming down to eat while it’s hot? I thought we might invite company over later, maybe watch that History Channel documentary again.”
Ethan leaned toward his night table, opened the top drawer and pulled out a cellophane package of peanut butter crackers. He raised the snack for his father to see, then tossed it back into the drawer where he obviously hoarded treats. “No, thanks,” he muttered.
“Okay, that covers dinner. How about visitors?”
Ethan sighed, unfolding long legs that would have made him a great athlete once upon a time. He stood and turned his back, giving Ben a look at dirty hair flattened to his head. After a few steps toward his bathroom, Ethan glanced over his shoulder.
“Listen, Dad. You don’t have to keep making all this effort, pretending you’re not mad at me for what happened.”
“You mean with the camp?” They’d covered this territory a number of times. Ben hoped the topic was closed, but nothing was ever completely finished with Ethan.
The boy’s chin dropped to his chest. After several long moments he looked up, his face flushed with unspoken pain.
“I mean with Mom.”
Ben shut his eyes against the comment. He shook his head, exhausted from the ever-present subject. “Please, don’t go there again. Not with me anyway.”
“Then with who?” Ethan demanded.
“You name it! There are any number of excellent therapists willing to come see you if you won’t go to them. I’ve had calls from Doctor Ackerson, Doctor Cooke and Doctor Hunter. They’re all anxious to hear from you.”
“What about Doctor Stone?” Ethan squinted, watching for a reaction.
Ben couldn’t help admiring his son’s sense of timing.
“You’re k
idding, of course,” Ben answered.
Ethan shook his head. “I liked her,” he said simply, then moved toward his dressing room, through another threshold without a door. Physically beyond his father’s sight and emotionally beyond his comprehension.
Ali parked in the circular driveway of the three-story mansion that showcased Texas limestone and Mexican stucco. The foundation for the home had been blasted from a hillside and then positioned to appear as if it sprung up naturally out of the rock. In no hurry to go inside, she moved to the edge of the front terrace designed with an overhang facing west where a brilliant sunset was in progress.
“Check it out, Simba.”
Alert eyes followed the direction her mistress pointed, as if understanding perfectly.
Ali had always been fascinated by the setting of the sun, a dazzling kaleidoscope unique for each day. Nothing was more breathtaking than a long line flight during the last twenty minutes of daylight. And she’d prefer the dangers of an air drop mission any day over the one Benjamin Lamar had implored her to consider.
“If this is the view Ethan has from his bedroom, it’s no wonder he won’t come out.” She turned away from the stunning vista and moved to stand before the home’s front entry with Simba close by. The dog was truly a gift from God, a family member who could never be taken away and perfect in her inability to judge the failures of her mistress.
Three sharp raps of a brass knocker brought footsteps and a large blurry figure to the inside of the frosted glass. One of the double doors swung wide and then immediately closed to a four-inch opening.
“Was it really necessary for you to bring that animal?” Benjamin Lamar spoke though the gap.
“It’s wonderful to see you again, too. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.” Ali hoped a snappy response would mask her self-doubt from the man so full of self-assurance.
“I asked a simple question.” And evidently had no intention of inviting her inside until she responded.
