The Billionaire's Christmas Wish

Was it because she wasn’t sure Ivy was even going to be around to celebrate the event, which was a short two weeks away? That thought sent icy perspiration prickling across his upper lip. “Plans for?”

Ivy, who had been silent for the exchange, said, “For Sanna Claus. And your presents.”

Her mispronunciation of good old Saint Nick’s name made him smile, relief making his shoulders slump. It had become a running joke between them, with him correcting her and Ivy persisting in leaving out the “t” sound with a nose crinkled in amusement.

He glanced at his daughter and then at Madison. “The only present I need is for you to get better, sweetheart.”

He put a wealth of meaning into those words and aimed them at the diagnostician.

Uncertainty shimmered in the green depths of the other doctor’s eyes and his relief fled in an instant. Theo knew how she felt, though. Before he’d founded the hospital—back when he’d been a practicing surgeon—there’d been a few cases where he’d been unable to promise the family a good outcome. He’d still done his damnedest for those patients despite seemingly impossible odds. Was Madison feeling that same pressure? Worse, did she think Ivy’s case was hopeless?

Unable to face what that might mean, he turned his attention to Ivy. “Have you been out of bed yet today?”

“Yes. Madison helped me.” Ivy took the rag doll she carried everywhere with her and struggled to lift it to her chest in a hug. “I had to leave Gerty on the bed. She was too heavy today.”

The ache in his chest grew. Hope had made that doll for their daughter a few months before she’d given birth to Ivy.

“Wheelchair? Or walking?” He kept his eyes on his daughter, even though the question was directed at Madison.

The other doctor went over and laid a hand on Ivy’s head. “I’m going to have a chat with your dad outside, okay? You keep thinking about that list.”

Right on cue, Ivy yawned. “I will.”

Madison led the way through the door. Once it swung shut, she said, “She’ll be asleep in five minutes.”

Was she avoiding answering his question? “Wheelchair or walking?”

“She hasn’t walked in a week, Theo. You know that.”

“Yes. But I’d hoped...” His eyes shut for several long seconds. “Tell me again what we’ve ruled out.”

“Did you get the list I emailed you? Your staff had already ruled out most of the obvious conditions before I arrived.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, fingers worrying the ends for a second or two before continuing. “There is no brain tumor. No lesions that suggest something is going on with the synaptic connections. And the results of the muscle biopsy I ordered came back yesterday. There’s no sign of limb-girdle muscular dystrophy.”

She must have seen something in his face because she hurried to add, “That’s a good thing.”

“Then why are her arms and legs getting progressively weaker?” As relieved as he should be that there was no sign of the deadly condition, his inability to help his daughter made his voice rough-edged yet again.

“I don’t know.” She pulled in a deep breath and blew it back out. “But I’m still going down a list of possibilities. I just don’t want to rush through them and overlook something and then have to double back. Wasted time can’t be recaptured.”

No, it couldn’t. What was gone was gone.

He did his best to ignore those last words and tried to focus on the positive: she hadn’t exhausted everything. Not yet, at least.

“Multiple sclerosis?” Although MS normally affected adults, he’d researched everything he could think of and had found cases where children were diagnosed with it.

“Again, there’s no sign of brain lesions. I went over the MRI scans with a fine-toothed comb. I saw no anomalies at all.”

“Damn.”

A tug at his sleeve brought his eyes back to hers. “I told you I’d tell you when to worry. We’re not there yet.”

“Yes, we are. I can see it in your face.”

“It’s not that I’m worried. I’m just frustrated I don’t have an answer for you. I’m exploring every avenue I can think of.” Her fingers tightened.

“I know you are, Madison. I’m treating you like Ivy is your only patient, and I know that’s not true.”

“I’m here for her and for patients just like her. She has a great team of specialists fighting on her behalf, and I’m grateful to be included in that. Ivy is a big part of Hope Children’s Hospital.”

Named after his late wife, who’d waited patiently in the wings for him to break ground on his dream, even putting her own career on hold to look after Ivy while he’d worked day and night. She’d died before seeing the fruits of their labor or being able to practice medicine again. And he damned himself every single day for not spending more time with her and Ivy while his wife had still been here.

“Wasted time can’t be recaptured.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

He leaned a shoulder against the wall and turned to fully face her. Her fingers let go of his sleeve in the process.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.

“Just throw out any ideas that might help—even if they seem farfetched. I sent a panel off looking for some markers of Lyme disease or any of the co-infections that might be related to it. I should have something back in a few days.”

“Lyme. Is that even a possibility? I keep going back to it being a brain issue.”

Madison’s brow puckered the way it had back in Ivy’s room. She was either thinking or irritated. Maybe she thought he was challenging her readings of the MRI scans. He wasn’t. He just couldn’t get past the possibility that something in Ivy’s head was misfiring or inhibiting signals. The condition mimicked one of the muscular dystrophies. But the biopsies said it wasn’t. So if it wasn’t in the muscles themselves...

“I thought for sure it was too. But there’s nothing there, Theo.”

Every time she used his name, something coiled inside him. Lots of people called him by his given name rather than his professional title, but that husky American accent, devoid of the crisp consonants that peppered the speech of those in Britain, warmed parts of him that had been frozen in time and space.

She provided hope. A fresh perspective. She was unconventional, could think outside the box. Her files listed one of her weaknesses as being her hard-nosed approach. She had difficulty being a team player, and she wasn’t afraid to question findings or demand a test be run again if it wasn’t done to her satisfaction. He didn’t see that as a weakness. In this case he viewed her reputation as a strength, which was why he hadn’t insisted she attend the staff meetings related to Ivy’s care.

She’d made a few enemies back home—and even here in Cambridge. But she’d also made friends. And one of those friends appeared to be his daughter.

“Where do you look next? She’s had no headaches. No symptoms other than the growing weakness in her limbs. And wondering whether that weakness is going to progress to her breathing or autonomic nervous system is making me—”

“Crazy? I know. It’s making us all a little crazy. That kid has a lot of people wrapped around her little finger.”

“Yes, she does.” He smiled. “Including her father.”

Her fingers toyed with the edge of his sleeve again, not quite touching him, as if she wanted to give comfort but was afraid of skin-to-skin contact. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Right now he was glad she wasn’t touching him. Because the warm flow of her voice was doing what her hand wasn’t. It was permeating his pores and meandering through his bloodstream, where it affected his breathing, his heart rate and his thoughts—taking them into dangerous territory. Territory that only his late wife had occupied. He couldn’t afford to let Madison trespass there. If he did, it could spell disaster for both him and his daughter.

“I’m sure you will.” In a deliberate move, he tugged his sleeve from her grasp. “I’m counting on it. And so is Ivy.”

Then he was walking away, before he could ask exactly what she and Ivy had been planning for Christmas, or ask if Madison was including herself in those plans.

* * *