Mendoza's Miracle. Judy Duarte
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she wants.”
Five minutes later, as Leah waited for her order, she went into the courtyard to cut a few sprigs of the fuchsia-colored bougainvillea with the scissors the hostess had given her.
As she took the last cutting, she wondered how Javier would react to her surprise.
The man was a little moody at times and hard to read, so it was anyone’s guess. But the idea had certainly put a bounce in her step and a smile on her face. She just hoped it did the same for him.
Javier had just talked to Jeremy Fortune, who’d told him he’d be sending him to the rehab unit tomorrow or the next day, depending upon when they had a bed available.
“You won’t have to stay very long,” Jeremy added. “After you’re discharged, you can do the rest of your rehab as an outpatient.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had in months.” Javier blew out a weary sigh, glad to see some light at the end of the tunnel, even if he still had a long road to full recovery and a life he’d have to recreate in many ways. “You have no idea how badly I want to get out of here.”
“I can imagine.” Jeremy placed a hand on Javier’s shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot these past two months. In fact, if you ever feel the need to talk to a professional, I can refer you to someone.”
Javier stiffened and clucked his tongue. “Did my family put you up to that?”
“No, they didn’t. Do they think you need counseling?”
“It was suggested,” Javier admitted, before making his own opinion clear. “But I don’t need it.”
“I’m not saying that you do. Just know that it’s available should you change your mind. And that if you do decide to talk to someone, it wouldn’t be a sign of weakness.”
Maybe not, but Javier already felt like a ninety-pound weakling going up against a UFC fighter in a championship bout, and that’s what frustrated the hell out of him.
Still, Jeremy had a point—and Javier knew that his family had reason to be concerned, too.
“Well, I’ve still got several patients yet to see,” Jeremy said, “so I’d better finish my rounds.”
“I… uh…” Javier heaved another sigh. “I’m sorry, Doc.”
“What for?” Jeremy asked.
“For snapping at you.” Javier ran his hand through his hair, which was shorter than he was used to, thanks to the neurosurgery he’d had two months back. “I’ve been pretty quick-tempered lately, and you don’t deserve to be the target of my frustration.”
Of course, neither did his family. Maybe he really should talk to a counselor, someone he could unload on instead of the people who loved him the most.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jeremy said. “You’ve got every reason to be irritable. You nearly died, spent a month of your life in a coma, woke up in pain and confusion. And now that you’re facing some intensive physical therapy… It’s enough to make anyone touchy.”
Yeah, well maybe Javier had better figure out a way to shake that dark cloud that hovered over him. His future might be messed up, but he didn’t need to make everyone else’s life miserable, too.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jeremy said as he turned to go. Then he stopped in his tracks, allowing someone to enter the room.
But not just any someone. It was Leah.
What was she doing here? She was supposed to be off today.
She was definitely not on the clock since she was wearing regular clothes—a black sweater and jeans. Her glossy auburn hair had been pulled back in a soft, loose ponytail.
She’d draped a striped, brightly colored serape over her shoulder. What was she doing with a Mexican blanket that looked a lot like one his sister Isabella might have woven?
Leah greeted Jeremy first. “Hello, Dr. Fortune.”
“Do you need any help?” he asked. “It looks like you’ve got a full load.”
That was for sure. In one hand, she held a heat-insulated bag with the familiar Red logo, and in the other, she held a couple of sprigs of bougainvillea.
“Thanks for the offer, Doctor. But I’ve got everything balanced just right.”
As she placed the insulated bag on the chair near Javier’s bed, Jeremy stepped out of the hospital room and into the hall, leaving the two of them alone.
“What’s all this?” Javier asked.
“I decided to surprise you with a picnic.”
In the hospital? Was she kidding?
“I would have taken you out into the rose garden in a wheelchair,” she added, “but I figured this was better for now.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“Carne asada, rice, beans, chips, salsa, guaca-mole… And a taco salad for me.”
Javier didn’t know what to say. Nor could he get over the sight of her in a form-fitting sweater and a pair of tight jeans, rather than those blousy hospital scrubs he was used to seeing her wear. More than once he’d tried to imagine what she hid behind the loose-fitting fabric, but now…?
Dang. There wasn’t much need to guess. Denim didn’t lie. At least, hers certainly didn’t.
She draped the serape over the portable bed table. Next, she pulled out a small vase and filled it with a couple of sprigs of the bougainvillea that he suspected she’d found growing in one of the clay pots in the courtyard of his family’s restaurant. Then she placed it on top of the serape-covered table.
For a moment, he almost forgot that he was in a hospital—and that he’d been there for ages.
He nodded toward the Cinco-de-Mayo-style decorations. “That’s a nice touch.”
“I thought so.” Her smile nearly turned him inside out. He’d always considered her attractive when she’d tended him as his nurse, but now?
His head was almost spinning as he tried to take it all in, tried to take her all in. He’d never seen hair that color—a rusty shade of auburn—and wondered if she ever wore it loose and wild.
He’d only seen it pulled back and out of her face, but he could imagine it splayed across a white pillow…
Cut it out, he told himself. Thoughts like that weren’t going to do him any good in a place like this.
He was tempted to call her Florence, to try and put some lighthearted humor into the situation, but all he could think of was one of the oldies but goodies his dad used to play on the radio in the car. “Just look at her in those blue jeans, her hair in a pony tail.”
She could be Venus, as far as he was concerned.
He hadn’t even been alive when that song had first come out, but he was tempted to hum the tune or even belt out the lyrics—something he’d been known to do when the mood struck him.
And it was the first time the mood had struck him since last Christmas Eve, when he’d sung “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” just to make the kids laugh.
“I hope you don’t mind me bringing lunch,” Leah said.
“Not at all.” Heck, right now, he didn’t care if she poked him with a hypodermic needle. “It was a really nice thing for you to do. Thanks for thinking of me.”
How many nurses went above and beyond the call of duty like that?
He reached for the button that lifted the head of his bed higher, then adjusted the pillows so that he was sitting up.
As Leah removed the food from the red bag, he caught a whiff