His Long-Awaited Bride

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Good.” He sounded satisfied. “As soon as you’re ready, I’ll get started.”

She nodded. “Give me a couple of minutes to set up.” By the time she’d returned with the supplies, Justin had the latest lab report in his hand and was explaining the procedure to the elderly lady.

“It won’t be very pleasant,” he warned with an apologetic smile.

Lucy closed her eyes and nodded. “I’m not feeling particularly chipper right now, so anything you do will just blend in with all the other aches and pains.”

He patted her forearm as he stared down at her with the compassionate gaze that Marissa had seen him give his patients so often. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Lucy whispered, before her eyes glimmered with unshed tears and she sniffled. “You’ll think me a silly old woman,” she said in a wobbly voice that testified how strongly his conviction had touched her heart.

“You’ll be weeding those petunias before long,” Justin said with a wink.

A lump formed in Marissa’s throat as she set the LP tray on the bedside table. She’d always dealt with her patients and their problems objectively, but it bothered her to see this seemingly unstoppable woman in such a state. Justin’s fierce determination was as reassuring to her as it clearly was to Lucy. Fighting the urge to grab a tissue for herself out of the box he’d handed to his patient while knowing that if she did, she’d be sidelined before she could say “Intensive Care,” she marveled at his ability to always say the right thing to his patients. Lucy wouldn’t have been satisfied if he’d told her not to worry. Unlike some people, she was the sort who wanted answers, even if they weren’t good, and Justin had, in effect, promised to deliver.

However, even if Lucy had been content with a platitude, her physician still wouldn’t leave a stone unturned when dealing with her medical problems. Marissa wondered if his patients really knew how deeply he threw himself into their care; most probably didn’t have a clue as to the lengths he went to for any one of them. If the answers weren’t obvious, he spent hours researching their symptoms and contacting specialists.

Little wonder that he had no life outside the hospital. After his wife of eighteen months had packed her bags and left him on the same day he’d graduated from med school, he’d slept more often in doctors’ lounges than in his own bed.

Come to think of it, he’d probably slept more often on her sofa than in his own bed, too.

“I have complete faith in you both,” Lucy said, as she blotted her eyes dry. “Now, tell me again about how you’re going to poke a needle in my spine.”

His raised eyebrow and pained expression as he glanced at Marissa suggested that he didn’t appreciate the way Lucy had broken down his explanation. He’d obviously forgotten that age had given Lucy the right to plain speaking because, as she’d said more than once, being on the downhill slope of life meant that if she didn’t speak her mind, she might never have another opportunity. At her age, she couldn’t count on having a second chance to say what needed to be said.

“Actually, I’ll be sliding the needle. Not poking.”

Lucy waved her hand. “From where I’m sitting, it’s the same difference. Either way you look at it, I’ve got a sharp object stuck in my back.”

He chuckled. “True, but it won’t be for long.”

“And don’t worry,” Marissa came in. “Justin will make the experience as painless as possible.”

“I’d appreciate it,” Lucy said fervently.

Marissa gave her neighbor’s hand a final squeeze, then arranged the table so that Justin’s supplies would be positioned just the way he liked them. She’d worked alongside him enough times to create a routine that had become second nature. And because she didn’t have to ponder his every move, she paid more attention to his conversation with his patient. He outlined everything in the right mix of medical and lay terms for Lucy to know, step by step, what would happen during the next few minutes.

As she watched Lucy visibly relax and the heart monitor reflect similar changes, she guessed that the soothing timbre of his voice was just as responsible as his matter-of-fact explanations. Although she knew that a spinal tap wasn’t quite as simple as he made it sound, his voice carried such certainty and authority that even the most nervous patient’s worries would have faded away.

Truthfully, though, Justin was the best of the best—even with a hand that had never fully recovered from the injuries he’d received in a plane crash—and she wasn’t admitting that out of loyalty. Having seen her share of physicians whose skill ranged from the average to the exceptional, she knew in which physician she’d place her complete trust. Lucy couldn’t have asked for anyone better.

“If those are all of your questions,” Justin said, signaling Marissa to move Lucy into a recumbent position with her back toward him, “we’ll get started.”

“All right, but I think you’re making too much fuss over a headache and a stiff neck,” Lucy grumbled, although her tone lacked any spark of conviction. “I only came to the ER to get stronger pain relief.”

“Taking care of my patients isn’t making a fuss,” Justin remarked as he donned his sterile gloves.

“How long have you felt like this?” Marissa asked, aware that Lucy had evaded her earlier question. Three days ago, Lucy had been puttering among her flowers and although Marissa had only waved and chatted with her over the fence for a few minutes the previous night, Lucy had seemed fine.

“About a week.”

“A week?” Marissa was horrified. Her guilt for not noticing Lucy’s deterioration grew to epic proportions until it threatened to choke her. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“Oh, dearie. When you get to my age, you try to ignore as much as you can. Why, if I called you or ran to the doctor every time I had an ache or a pain, I’d be wearing out the furniture in Justin’s waiting room.”

“I wish you would wear out those chairs,” he replied as his sidelong glance at Marissa reminded her of their earlier conversation about not feeling guilty. “My waiting room needs a face-lift,” he continued.

“A face-lift?” Marissa echoed. “Wow. I can’t believe you actually admitted it.”

“I’m not completely oblivious to my surroundings,” he said defensively. “Pea-green chairs and gold wallpaper aren’t exactly soothing colors to healthy people, much less sick ones.”

Marissa stared at him in awe. “You actually notice things like that?”

“Of course I do, but if you’re going to start nagging me again about how it’s time I paint my house and buy matching furniture…” His voice held a warning note.

“Why would I do that?” she asked innocently as she mentally added neckties to the list. “Every time I mention it, my suggestion falls on deaf ears, so I won’t waste my breath.” For the last few years, she’d tried to convince him to put his own stamp on the house he’d bought when he’d moved to Hope. A man of his standing in the community needed more than a bed and a dresser, a kitchen table with two chairs and a sofa courtesy of someone’s garage sale. But, as he liked to remind her, he spent more time at the hospital and her house than his, so what did he care if his walls were bare and he didn’t fill every nook and cranny with furniture?

“Good idea.”

While Justin raised the bed to the right height for him to work, Marissa helped Lucy draw her knees to her abdomen and flex her neck before she covered her exposed back with a sterile drape.

“This may be cold.” Justin prepped the skin over Lucy’s spine with antiseptic-soaked, cotton-tipped applicators.

Lucy’s sharp intake of breath suggested that she agreed. “I really don’t want to think about what you’re doing,” she began, “so to keep my mind off the idea of your using me as a pin cushion, I want to chat.”

“What about?” Justin asked.

“The flowers.”

“Flowers?” Marissa asked absentmindedly as she tried to anticipate Justin’s needs. “Your petunias look wonderful.”

“Not those. I’m asking about the ones in the nurses’ station.”

“Oh.” Marissa was beginning to hate flowers or any mention thereof. “Those.”

“Yes, those. I caught the distinct scent of roses, even though I didn’t see any.”

Marissa inwardly sighed. Travis’s actions may have been sweet, but they were certainly causing quite a stir. “We did have roses earlier,” she admitted, “but they aren’t here anymore.”

“Ah,” Lucy said, a satisfied set on her face. “I thought so. I may be old, but my nose still works perfectly.”

“Actually,” Justin added smoothly as he injected lidocaine into the area around Lucy’s spine, “Marissa got all sorts of flowers. It was quite exciting. Wasn’t it, Mari?”

She frowned at him, wishing she could tell him to stuff a sock in it. If she wanted to discuss the meaning behind the flowers with Lucy—and she did—she’d rather do so without an audience. But he’d brought it up and now she had no choice….

Justin raised an eyebrow as he waited for Marissa to explain the details. He wasn’t particularly eager to address the issue of those blasted flowers because he had a feeling that he wouldn’t like what he’d hear, but if the conversation kept Lucy’s mind off what he was doing, then he’d suffer through it.