Finding Dr. Right. Lisa B. Kamps
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pulled his gaze back to her face, noticed the flush that had spread across her cheeks and realized he had missed the last part of her angry tirade. He shifted from one foot to the other and tried not to wince at the sudden flare in his knee. “What?”
“I wanted to know who you thought…never mind.” She pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and walked back to her desk, passing close enough to Nathan that he could smell the faint hint of her perfume. Something flowery, he thought. “I assume you have some reason for barging in here like Attila the Hun on steroids?”
“Uh, yeah.” Nathan straightened, determined to think of the woman in front of him as a doctor only. The sudden thought that she could possibly be his chance to go back to the ice sobered him. “I want you to look at my knee. I’ve been in therapy for four weeks, and I want to be cleared to go back. At least to practice.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said no.” She lowered herself to her chair and bent over some paperwork, the tip of her pen making scratching noises in the silence. Nathan stared at her in bewilderment before realizing she had, once again, dismissed him.
“Why not?” They were the first words that tumbled from his mouth, far from the angry demand he wanted to make.
Catherine’s impatient sigh brought him up short. She leaned across her desk and pointed at him with a stern finger. “Number one, you are not my patient. If Bri—Dr. Porter wants you released, that’s up to him, though he’d be a fool if he did. And number two, you’re not ready. Period.”
“How do you know what I am and am not ready for?”
“You can’t even stand there with all your weight on that leg, can you? No, you can’t, and don’t lie and say you can. I’m a doctor, and it’ll take more than minor acting to fool me!” Her voice was chilly and she slowly stood, her hand shaking as she pointed at him with that long finger. Nathan knew something else was wrong. There was a split second when he thought to question her, to discover the reason for her misplaced anger, before her earlier words actually sunk in.
He took a hasty step toward her desk and curbed the urge to collapse against it, choosing instead to lean his fists on the glossy surface for support. “What do you mean, he’d be a fool to?” Nathan struggled to keep the fear and anxiety from his voice. “You don’t think I’ll play again, do you?”
She stared at him, a flash of sympathy in the depths of her eyes. She didn’t have to answer him—her look said it all. Her sympathy struck anger inside him. Anger and irrational fear. Nathan stepped back, stunned. He wanted to lash out at her unspoken statement, to scream his denial. The words that finally tumbled from his mouth shocked them both.
“Please don’t make the mistake of trying to protect me the way you are your son. That would cost me my entire career!”
Catherine’s face drained of all color as she flinched. Too late, Nathan realized that his words had hurt her more effectively than if she had been slapped. The anger inside him suddenly disappeared, replaced with deep humiliation. He struggled to find a way to break the growing silence. An apology seemed so trite, but it was the only thing he could offer. The empty words fell from his mouth in a hoarse whisper.
Catherine stumbled backward into her chair, her face void of any expression. Knowing that staying would only make things worse, Nathan turned to leave.
“No, wait.” He halted at her shaky voice, then slowly turned back, expecting some heavy object to come hurtling through the air at him. “What did you mean by that?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it.”
“But you did. What did you mean?” She stared at him, her brown eyes dark with anticipation as she pointed to the empty chair. “Please?”
Nathan hesitated only a second before walking back to the desk and easing his weight into the chair, stretching his left leg in front of him and giving it a quick rub. “Matthew said something about you not letting him get a prosthesis because you were afraid he’d be hurt.”
“He told you that?” It was phrased as a question but Nathan heard the bewildered shock that laced the words. “But he doesn’t even know you!”
“Sometimes it’s easier for a kid to talk to someone he doesn’t know. I got the idea that there weren’t many people willing to talk to him about his amputation.” He watched her expression, saw the tiny flinch in her shoulders and slight pursing of her lips at the word amputation.
“No. I, uh, that is, I thought it would be best…”
“Listen, Matthew’s a bright kid. It was his leg that suffered, not his brain. Don’t treat him like an invalid.”
“Did he tell you what happened?”
“He just said it was some kind of cancer.”
Catherine pulled her attention away from the pen she had been studying and finally looked at the man sitting across from her. Those strange eyes were focused on her and she had the uncanny sensation that he was seeing more than she wanted him to see. If it was her choice, she would be sharing nothing of her personal life with him; it seemed Matty had different ideas. She released her breath on a long sigh and leaned back in the chair.
“Matty was diagnosed with Ewing’s sarcoma a year and a half ago. It’s a bone disease that affects children, usually boys. It was decided that amputation and chemotherapy would increase his chance of survival. Matty responded very well to everything, and so far there’s no sign that the cancer has spread. But there’s always that fear.” Catherine choked out the last words, the ball of fright still tight in her stomach. She watched Nathan’s expression, looking for either the horror or the pity that people seemed to have after hearing the story.
Instead, she saw understanding in the clear eyes that held her gaze and swore she almost heard some kind of click. She looked away, swallowing against the sudden realization that Nathan Conners had somehow, suddenly, become a part of their lives. It wasn’t a realization she was eager to embrace.
“I take back what I said earlier. Your son’s a lot more than just a bright kid.”
Catherine wasn’t sure what to make of that comment so she said nothing. Instead, she tried to figure out exactly what had changed between them in the past five minutes. More importantly, why it had changed. She missed the last part of what he was saying and looked back at him, asking him to repeat it.
“I said, there’s a sports clinic for kids with disabilities. I think Matthew would enjoy it.” He pulled a card from his wallet and passed it across to her. She set it to the side with nothing more than a passing glance.
“We’ll see.” Catherine fidgeted in the silence that hung between them, feeling like she should say or do something. She cleared her throat and pointed to his knee. “Um, did you want me to look at that for you?”
“I thought you said there was nothing you could do.”
“I can’t clear you, if that’s what you’re expecting, but I can look at it. I can tell it’s swollen. Draining may help, and maybe a shot of—Mr. Conners, are you okay?” Catherine jumped from her chair and quickly circled the desk, alarmed at the sudden change in him. His face was pale and sweaty. She didn’t have to be a doctor to realize he was close to passing out and she placed a hand on his shoulder to ease him slightly over.
“Put your head between your legs. That’s it. Nice deep breaths. No, not so fast. You’ll hyperventilate. Nice and deep. There you go.” Satisfied that he wasn’t going to topple over in the next five seconds, Catherine released her hold on him and leaned over to push the intercom on her desk.
“I’m okay.” His deep voice was muffled as he continued to bend forward, his head between his knees.
“No, you’re about two seconds away from passing out.”
Nathan took