Dream Mender

She leveled her green eyes at him and tried to stare him down. When he didn’t back off she shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

She headed for the door and suddenly, perversely, Frank felt uncertain. At least she was company. And as long as they were hurling insults, he wouldn’t be alone with his own lousy thoughts. “You’re leaving?”

“That is what you said you wanted. I have patients who are interested in getting better. I don’t have time to waste on one who’s feeling sorry for himself. Think about it and we’ll talk again.”

She pinned him with an unflinching green-eyed gaze until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned away. A sigh shuddered through him as he heard the door shut softly behind her.

Well, Chambers, you definitely made a horse’s ass out of yourself that time, he told himself. Not that Jennifer Michaels couldn’t take it. There had been that unmistakable glint of steely determination in her eyes and an absolute lack of sympathy in her voice. At almost any other moment in his life that combination might have impressed him. He admired spunk and dedication. He was not in the habit of dishing out garbage the way he had just now, but on the occasions when his temper got the best of him, he appreciated knowing that the target had the audacity to throw it right back in his face. Jennifer Michaels had audacity to spare.

In her case, the unexpectedness of that tart, unyielding response had caught him off guard. He doubted she’d learned that particular bedside technique in therapist school. But he had to admit it was mildly effective. He felt guilty for a full five minutes before reminding himself that, like it or not, he was the patient here. Nobody was exactly coddling him.

Not that he wanted them to, he amended quickly. The papers might be calling him a hero for rescuing his co-worker, and his family might think he was behaving like a pain in the butt, but either label irked. He didn’t feel particularly heroic. Nor was he ready to don a hair shirt just because his attitude sucked. He figured he had a right. With his hands burned and his livelihood in jeopardy, it was little wonder that his stomach was knotted in fear. If he wanted to sulk, then, by God, he was going to sulk, and no pint-size therapist with freckles, saucer eyes and bright red curls was going to cheer him up or lay a guilt trip on him.

But to his amazement, the memory of her sunny disposition and sweet smile began to taunt him. It couldn’t be easy dealing with angry patients, some of them injured a whole lot worse than he was. How did she do it day after day? How much of the abuse did she take before lashing back? How much would she withstand before truly giving up? Somewhere deep inside he knew that she hadn’t given up on him after this one brief skirmish. She’d only staged a tactical retreat, leaving him with a whole lot to think about.

Frank spent the rest of the day intermittently pacing, staring at the door, waiting. Every time it opened, his muscles tensed and his breathing seemed to go still. Each time, when it was just a nurse or a doctor, disappointment warred with relief.

Finally, exhausted and aware that, like it or not, he wasn’t going anywhere today, he crawled back into bed. He was stretched out on his back, counting the tiny pinpoint holes in the water-stained ceiling tiles, when the door opened yet again. This time he didn’t even bother turning his head.

“Hey, big brother,” Tim said from the foot of the bed. “How come you’re not out chasing nurses up and down the corridors? There are some fine-looking women around here.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

His youngest brother stepped closer, a worried expression on his face. He placed a hand against Frank’s forehead. “Nope. You’re not dead. Must be the smoke. It’s addled your senses.”

“My senses are just fine.” He paused. “Except maybe for touch.”

Tim chuckled. “That’s better. A little humor is good for healing. I’ll go tell Ma it’s safe to come in now.”

“She’s here?”

“They all are. They’re just waiting for me to wave the white flag.”

Frank groaned. “All of them?”

“Everyone. You’re the one who taught us to travel in packs in times of crisis. We’re here to cheer you up. Feed you your dinner. Help with a shower. Of course, if it were me, I’d invite one of those gorgeous nurses to give me a sponge bath.”

Frank’s lips twitched with a rueful smile. “I’m sure you would.”

“I know you’re much too saintly to think in such terms. I’m a mere mortal, however, and I don’t believe in wasting opportunities that come my way. If life hands you lemons, make—”

“I know. Make lemonade. If you ask me, too damned many opportunities have come your way,” Frank grumbled, treading on familiar, comfortable turf. “You’re like a bee in a field of wildflowers. It’s a wonder you don’t collapse from overexertion.”

“Do you realize how many women get on a bus every single day?” his brother countered. “You want me to make an informed choice, don’t you?”

“I knew I should have insisted that you work your way through law school by cutting lawns for little old ladies instead of driving a MUNI bus.”

Tim stared at him thoughtfully. “I wonder if I could get them to bandage your mouth shut for a couple of weeks.”

Frank sighed. “You and most of the staff around here.”

“Yeah, that’s what your therapist said.”

Immediately interested, he searched Tim’s face for some indication of his reaction to the conversation. “You talked to Jennifer Michaels?” he prodded.

“Listened is more like it. That woman can talk a mile a minute. She had plenty to say, too. I’d say you got under her skin, Brother. What did you do? Try to steal a kiss? Ma’s out there trying to calm her down and convince her that at heart you’re a good-natured beast worthy of saving.”

“She’s just frustrated because I won’t do her damned exercises.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing a little exercising with her. She’s a fox.”

The observation, coming from an admitted connoisseur of the fair sex, irritated the daylights out of Frank for some reason. “Stay away from her, Timmy.”

A slow, crooked grin spread across his brother’s face. “I knew it. You’re not dead after all. Just choosy. Actually, I think you’ve made an excellent choice.”

“I didn’t make any damned choice.”

Tim went on as if he’d never uttered the denial. “Redheads are passionate. Did you know that? Fiery tempers and all that.”

Frank thought about the therapist’s absolute calm. “I think our Ms. Michaels may be the exception that proves the rule. She’s unflappable.”

“Are we talking about the same woman? Not five minutes ago she told Ma if you didn’t get your butt out of this bed and down to therapy in the morning, she was going to haul you down there herself. I think she has plans for you.”

The first faint stirrings of excitement sent Frank’s blood rushing. “I’d like to see her try to drag me out of here,” he said, a hint of menace in his tone. The truth of the matter, he suddenly realized, was that he really would like to see her do just that. If nothing else, going another round with Ms. Miracle Worker would relieve the boredom. Maybe if he tried her patience long enough, he’d witness a sampling of that fiery temper Tim claimed to have seen.

Before he could spend too much time analyzing just why that prospect appealed to him, the rest of the family crowded into the room and filled it with cheerful, good-natured teasing and boisterous arguments. Once he’d finished the tedious task of eating tasteless chicken and cold mashed potatoes with the help of his nagging sister, Frank leaned back against the pillow and let the welcome, familiar sounds lull him to sleep.

Tonight, instead of the horrible, frightening roar of a raging fire, he dreamed of a fiery redhead turning passionate in his embrace.

* * *

Jennifer Michaels could feel the tension spreading across the back of her neck and shoulders as Frank Chambers’s chart came up for review at interdisciplinary rounds. The doctors and nurses on the burn unit had their say. Then it was her turn. It was a short report. In a perfectly bland voice she recited his status and his refusal to accept therapy. At least she thought she was keeping her tone neutral. Apparently she was more transparent than she’d realized.

“You sound as if that’s something new,” Carolanne said when rounds had ended and the others had left the therapy room. “Almost every patient balks at first, either because of the pain, because they’re depressed or because they refuse to accept the seriousness of the injuries and the importance of the therapy.”

Jenny sighed. She’d delivered the same lecture herself dozens of times. “I know. My brain tells me it’s not my responsibility if the patient won’t begin treatment, but inside it never feels right. It feels like failure.”

“Must be that Catholic boarding school upbringing again. You haven’t developed a full-fledged case of guilt in months now. You were overdue.”

“Maybe.”

The other therapist watched her closely. “Or maybe something specific about Frank Chambers gets to you.”

Jenny thought of the anger in his voice, the strength in his shoulders, the coiled intensity she had sensed just beneath the surface. Then she thought of his eyes and the wounded, bemused look in them that he fought so hard to hide. He was getting to her all right. Like no patient—or no man—had in a very long time.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Carolanne persisted. “Want me to see him tomorrow? I can take over the case.”

Jenny hesitated. That would be the smart thing to do, run while she had the chance. Then she thought of the lost, sorrowful expression in those compelling blue eyes.