The Doctor's Mission

“No…” He heard her drawn-out moan. Pain? Something clattered to the floor.

“I’m coming in,” he warned.

The moment the door opened, Nick gasped.

She turned to him, tears in her eyes and sobbed. “It…It’s awful!”

He took it in. Long pale hanks of hair littered the sink and floor. The scissors lay open, next to the faucet. His hairbrush and the small hand dryer had tumbled to the floor. Cate was grasping the bars of the walker in a white knuckled grip. Wet hair stood straight out from her head in uneven lengths.

“Oh, Catie,” he groaned.

“Fix it,” she pleaded.

He had never heard her sound so desperate about anything. She certainly had never worried much about her looks. Hadn’t had to. She was a natural beauty.

He went to her and took her in his arms, the bars of the walker between them, a reminder of why she was here. Gently, he patted her shoulders and barely stopped himself from kissing her on the head. “It’ll be okay. Let’s go where you can sit down.”

Patiently, moving at turtle’s speed, he helped her out of the bathroom and into the club chair by the window in the bedroom. Then he retrieved the comb, scissors and dryer.

Good Lord, what had he gotten himself into? Should he call a stylist? Who the heck would make house calls? He didn’t know anyone else who could do this. At least not nearby and not on a Sunday.

Though she wasn’t vain, Cate had always spent a fortune on her haircuts. She had told him once that a good haircut saved money and time because it required so little in-between care. Her straight, part in the middle, all one-length style suited her perfectly and hadn’t changed a bit since she was a kid. Until now.

Well, hell, he was a surgeon. Or had been. Surely he could manage to even up a few strands of hair. Cate was unduly upset by this little tragedy and he couldn’t have that.

“We’ll have this straightened out in no time,” he assured her. “Just sit there, close your eyes and be patient.”

She sniffled. “I thought I could…”

“I know, I know. Actually, it’s not that bad,” he said, hiding a grimace. Actually, it was terrible. She had butchered it. He might not know much about hairstyles, but he could surely make it better than it was now.

He tried to remember what he’d seen the stylists do to women’s hair in the shop where he had his cut. It bothered him that he wasn’t nearly as observant as he’d always thought. His right hand worked better at this than he had imagined it would, but little strength was required to separate sections of hair and hold it for cutting. The movements of his left were as precise as ever.

After about ten minutes, he laid the scissors down, fluffed what was left of Cate’s hair out with his fingers and plugged in the hair dryer. He sort of rolled the brush at the crown of her head, giving her hair some puff. Unfortunately, that was about all he could recall a stylist doing. He smoothed down the rest around her face.

She sat stiffly, eyes tightly shut, her breathing sounding about as ragged as her hair had looked.

The result was a fringed pixie cut that looked oddly endearing on Cate, at least to Nick. He missed the silken flow that used to entice him to stroke it. Good. Now he’d no longer have to deal with that particular temptation. Besides, this new wash-and-go hairdo would be much more practical for her right now.

He gave her shorn hair a final ruffle. “Finished! Girl, I think I missed my calling. You are gorgeous.”

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “I over-reacted, didn’t I? Crying over my hair is not rational behavior. I’m much worse off than I thought.”

Nick tweaked her chin. “Give yourself a break, would you? Women obsess over their looks all the time.” He leaned closer and winked. “Want to hear a secret? Men do it, too. It’s allowed. Now, you want to see?”

She braced her hands on the arms of the chair and got to her feet. Nick led her back into the bathroom, anxious to see whether his efforts would rouse a new spate of tears. Or maybe outright hysteria.

Cate was kind. She smiled, reaching up to flick the bangs, then tug them into some sort of order only she could see. “Not too bad. Now what can you do about these dark circles under my eyes?”

Nick’s breath gusted out in a wave of relief. “Feed you regularly and see that you get enough sleep and exercise.”

Her direct gaze met his in the mirror’s reflection. “Thanks, Nicky,” she whispered. “For everything. You didn’t have to do…all this. Take me in, feed me, do my hair…”

“Sure I did,” he said, hoping she never learned how he had argued against taking her on. “You’d do as much for me, wouldn’t you?”

She nodded. “Could…could we get on with whatever you do have in mind for rehab?”

Nick shrugged. “Don’t you want a day to rest up before we start, maybe tour the apartment, sit outside on the balcony and watch the tourists? Not many come this way, but the locals are interesting. Most are attending church at this hour, but later it gets pretty lively out there.”

She clicked her tongue, impatient. “I don’t have time to watch people!”

He laughed, relieved that her mood had switched. “Then get your britches on and let’s go to work.”

“Where?” she asked, looking altogether too excited, probably expecting a full-scale workout, complete with hand-to-hand combat. Unless she had acquired some patience in the intervening years, he had his work cut out for him.

“I’ve set up in the lounge. I want to do some basic evaluation, then start with hand-eye coordination exercises and build from there. I know they did tests in the hospital, but I need to judge the extent of the injury for myself. And for you, of course. First, we’ll define exactly which parts of your brain are affected, then construct the actual therapy so that other parts can take over and learn new tricks.”

“Got it,” she said with apparent enthusiasm. “So get out of here and let me get dressed.” Her blue eyes twinkled with mischief. “Unless you want to observe me and see how my coordination works with that.”

“Don’t think I’m not tempted.” He teased her back with a fake leer. It felt a little too real.

She gave him a push. “Get out of here!”

Her moods were very pronounced and changed too rapidly with too little cause, he noted. Similar to bipolar symptoms. Could be that she was merely nervous about being with him in a doctor/patient situation. That couldn’t be any easier for her than it was for him. Something to watch, at any rate.

Cate examined the navy sweats he’d left for her to wear, the matching hoodie, white T-shirt and a pair of his sneakers. Those would be too big for her, but not by much and he’d provided thick socks. Walking would be easier with shoes. She had the changes of clothing that her mother had bought, but they were dressy outfits, as useless as the fancy low-heeled pumps and slick-soled flats.

Cate wondered what had happened to the bag she had with her at the ski resort. They would have to shop for clothes for her, but not today.

He came back fifteen minutes later. She was dressed, but exhausted now and lying on her back across the bed. He sat in the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Tire out real easily, huh?”

She groaned. “Weak as a kitten! Couldn’t even manage the socks and shoes. Tell me this is temporary.”

“It is, but you can’t rush it too much.”

“Funny, you never realize how wonderful it is to be normal until you’re not.”

He picked up one of the socks and Cate lifted her foot. “You were actually normal? When was that?” he asked, joking as he slid the sock on.

Years worth of adrenaline-powered action scenes and arduous training ops flashed through her mind like a high-speed slide show. “When I was with you. When you told me what to do. How to be,” she answered without thinking.

Their eyes met. He drew a finger down the side of her ankle, then held her foot flat against his chest, caressing it.

Her breath caught in her throat as the warmth of his gaze registered fully. She clenched her eyes shut against the heat in his.

He gently lowered her foot, then released it. When she opened her eyes, the heat was gone and so was Nick. He had closed the door between them. Or maybe she had done that with her response.