Dr. Dad To The Rescue. Jodi O'Donnell
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when you were a kid and nearly come to complete disaster?”
At her question, Holden took another hit, like a bomb going off inside him. Too close this time. Too damn close. The heat of it radiated around him.
This time he knew he’d be unable to temper his reaction, which only added more fuel to it.
“Of course I did!” he exploded, his face inches from hers. “Does that mean Sam’s accident shouldn’t have scared the hell out of me? Good God, Ms. Turner, I may be a doctor, but he’s my son!”
His words reverberated in the room and seemed to bring both of them back to their senses. Holden rocked back on his heels, yanking one hand through his hair. He hated feeling out of control!
Yet his outburst had obviously struck a chord with Edie. Her fingers covered her open mouth as she gaped at him for several moments. She pressed one palm to her chest.
“You’re right,” she said simply. “I apologize, Dr. McKee. I haven’t been dealing with you as a parent. As a...a person. I realize now your comments, however analytical or critical or inept, were your way of showing concern for your son.”
“So glad you understand,” Holden muttered, cramming his fists in his pockets.
She actually smiled, and it changed the whole aspect of her appearance, brought back that warmth of spirit she’d shown with Sam and less that role of fierce protector of all that was innocent—with Holden starring as the barbarian invader.
He even found himself adding ruefully, “I suppose I might have given you the impression I was treating Sam like any other case with my comments. I only meant to offer him encouragement.”
His olive branch, such as it was, seemed to be accepted.
“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself,” Edie said. “I bet mere were some of the usual father-son dynamics working there, too—you know, that male trait of not being able to be open with understanding or sympathy. Or maybe—” she cocked her head to one side, that fall of hair sliding down the length of her arm “—you’ve been angry with yourself, for letting him get hurt. Maybe that’s what I was picking up on in the other room.”
“‘Picking up on’?” he asked cynically.
“Having Sam suffer an accident might be harder for a doctor to accept, even one who claims to have no power issues.”
He felt himself tacking back toward ticked off at this woman. “Please, Ms. Turner, I really can do without the pop psychology. Which brings up a point.” She wasn’t the only one who could render a performance evaluation. “Speaking as a doctor now, you need to keep more of a professional distance and do your job. You’re a physical therapist, not his shrink or his mother.”
Her chin set rebelliously at his suggestion, but she answered readily enough. “Point taken, Doctor.”
Holden had just begun to think he was getting a leg up on the situation—and Edie Turner—when she said, “Which brings up yet another matter. Where is Sam’s mother?”
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