Dr. Dad To The Rescue

It was another blow to the gut, and it left him just a little more exposed than after the last.

This was why he avoided becoming personal with people.

“My wife died a little over a year ago,” Holden said without a bit of inflection. Oh, but would the words ever get any easier?

At least they had the effect of stunning Edie into another silence, except for a murmured “I see.”

The silence drew on, making Holden search to fill it with something, anything to draw them away from the dangerous ground he seemed to step onto with this woman with regularity.

“Now you know what Sam’s dealing with,” he said stiffly.

“Yes,” she said on an outrush of air. “Knowing of your loss certainly clears a lot of things up for me. At least I understand a little better the rather...pessimistic philosophy you let fly with earlier.”

“Sure, I’m pessimistic,” he said. “Can you make rhyme or reason out of why a woman in her prime might be struck down with a brain aneurysm?”

“I don’t know why. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason.”

Before he could react to such an absurd remark she’d gone on with infinite gentleness, “I’m... terribly sorry, Dr. McKee. For both yours and Sam’s loss.”

“Sorry?” Holden asked. “It’s not your fault.”

“Neither is it yours,” she answered as gently, not rising to his gibe. Her brown eyes no longer snapped with righteousness. On the contrary, within their liquid depths were echoes of the sympathy and understanding he’d seen there before, when she’d leaned over him, her face—her mouth—so close to his he had almost kissed her.

At least now that temptation was held at bay by the treatment table that separated them like two adversaries. Except... Edie’s hand lifted from the table. Holden watched, nearly mesmerized, as she held it out toward him, a lock of that vibrant hair caught on her cuff. It fanned down from her sleeve to her lab coat in a curtain of burnished copper.

If she touched him, he wasn’t certain what he’d do.

Yes, exposed was exactly how he felt. Exposed and not in control at all.

But Edie apparently thought better of the gesture, for she let her hand drop to her side. Holden cleared his throat, wondering what had held her back.

She drew in a deep breath, looking somewhat troubled. “Well, then, Dr. McKee. Are we agreed that the most important thing is Sam’s welfare?”

“Of course.”

“And what’s best, I think, is for me to gain his confidence and trust.” She stuck her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Most of all, I need to be able to work on his PT at a pace he’s comfortable with, preferably in an atmosphere where his efforts aren’t explicitly or implicitly judged.”

Holden lifted a cool eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“You want him to come out of this with a fully rehabilitated forearm and wrist, and without any lingering fears about his injury, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then I’d like you to let me treat Sam—without you.”

His other eyebrow shot up.

Her gaze became determined. “I’m sure you’re well aware giving PT to a child outside of a parent’s presence is normal procedure. In fact, most parents feel it’s easier on their nerves as well their child’s.”

“And if I don’t hold that opinion?”

“You could ask for another therapist I’m asking you not to do that.” Her gaze turned almost pleading now. “Please. Let me help Sam.”

Indeed, her brown eyes beseeched him. With a stifled oath, Holden turned, focusing on a chart of the human skeletal system tacked to the wall.

What was it about this woman that made him want to shake her one instant and the next take her in his arms?

She didn’t see him as a parent—or even as a person! Well, appearances aside, Holden thought sarcastically, he was both. But he was also a doctor, and perhaps that was what she’d been getting at—that he closed himself within that persona to keep from letting emotion cloud his judgment Often, it was this very ability to disconnect that permitted him to give a patient the best care. But Sam was not a patient; Sam was his son. And because he was, Holden felt all the normal feelings of fear and guilt and anger.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but believe that he still must continue to set those feelings aside—for Sam’s sake, as she’d said.

No, on first pass, he didn’t like her suggestion, but the second and third times around his head, he saw the sense in it Whatever Edie Turner was, she was committed. Even passionate, in a way that perhaps was imprudent while still being completely reliable. In part, he was glad she was just so, for it did seem to be exactly what Sam needed, or she wouldn’t have made such progress with him in the short time she’d worked with him.

Yet another part of him, Holden acknowledged, rued that very development. He wanted to help his son. But as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t doing the boy any good the way he was now. Edie had the right idea: Sam’s welfare was his main concern.

Holden turned back to her. “All right, Ms. Turner. I’ll still be bringing Sam to his appointments, and you can call me in toward the end of each session to show me the exercises he’ll be doing. He’ll need my help to do them right, and I want to be there for him. I do promise not to push him or make him feel like he’s damaged himself in my eyes in any way. Fair enough?”

Relief broke out over her face as she smiled. “Fair enough.”

He held the door for her as Edie led the way back to the treatment room where Sam was. She paused outside the door, though, and looked up at him.

“Thank you, Dr. McKee, for seeing the sense in my suggestion.” She made a graceful swaying gesture with her head that swung her hair back over her shoulder. It really was her best feature, Holden decided. “I appreciate you putting your trust in me.”

She’d made the same statement to Sam, and despite still questioning the wisdom of such an assurance, Holden found himself liking that she’d make the same one to him, too. It occurred to him then that she might be apprehensive about what had happened back in the other treatment room.

“Just so you know, I won’t switch Sam to another therapist once he’s started with you,” he said gruffly. “You have my word.”

“I trust you, Dr. McKee,” she said, eyes vibrant with that emotion, undoubtedly sincere.

He would wonder later what impulse made him reach out and take a lock of that living mantle in his fingers. Edie stiffened but didn’t pull away, emboldening him to leisurely rub the strands between thumb and forefinger. Each filament was like that of a precious metal, shimmering in the light. And soft, like the feathers he’d imagined he’d felt as the tips of these copper-gold locks had brushed the back of his hand. As then, it took all his might not to surround himself in the curtain of her hair.

“Is it really as easy as that, Edie?” he murmured. “You say you trust someone, so then you do? I give my consent, and so I’ve given you my trust? Is believing really that effortless?”

He waited for her answer, still caressing the silky strands. When none came, he glanced up. The trust had been replaced by the same disorientation he’d seen at Sam’s misinterpreting her name.

“Naturally, it’s not that easy,” she said, her voice low. “Real trust can’t be built in a day. It’ll take time for Sam to put his faith in me. But I won’t let your son down.”

“Yes...Sam.” Holden dropped the lock of hair and stepped back. “Shall we get back to him?”

As he followed Edie through the door, he realized that, indeed, like Rome, real trust could not be built in a day. Yet he knew from experience that it could burn to the ground in an instant.

He would have to be very careful—for everyone’s sake.

Edie pushed open the door from the changing room to the pool area, her running shoes dangling from two fingers, her socks tucked under one arm. Warm, humid air surrounded her, along with the pervading smell of chlorine. Music continued to blast from a boom box on a bench, even though the seniors’ hydrotherapy class had ended five minutes earlier. Several of the attendees were still tooling around in the pool on their foam boards.

She spied her aunt Hazel among the balding pates and bathing caps just as the older woman saw her.

“How’d it go today?” Edie called above the echoing strains of Brooks & Dunn’s “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”