Finding Dr. Right (Contemporary Medical Romance) (2 page)

Catherine stilled and met his tawny gaze without flinching. Nathan Conners was more perceptive than she had realized.

Nathan Conners. Again she had the nagging feeling that she knew his name from somewhere else. She focused on the man across from her. Deep eyes, thick, dark hair that hung a bit below the collar of his short-sleeve Henley, a slightly crooked nose that looked like it had been broken once or twice before. Tall, very well-muscled — definitely in good health.

And young.
Catherine judged him to be in his early to mid-twenties, and she suddenly felt old. She shrugged the feeling off and continued studying him. He had physique, health and age on his side, which would help him through any extended recovery period he would need — if he needed it. She hadn’t studied his file as thoroughly as she would have liked, and she didn’t know what kind of recovery time Brian expected of his patient.

“No, your knee seems to be healing well. There’s still some swelling and I detected some roughness under the kneecap, but that’s to be expected. Dr. Porter will be able to better answer any questions you may have the next time you see him.”

“So there shouldn’t be any problems?”

“No, I don’t see why there should be.” Catherine noticed the slight lines that creased his forehead as he frowned. He was overly worried, and she offered him a comforting smile meant to reassure him. His sigh of relief would have gone unnoticed if she hadn’t been watching him closely.

“Good. I was starting to worry. It looked like you were ready to permanently confine me to a wheelchair for a minute there. I’m not sure I could handle being crippled.”

Catherine’s sympathy immediately vanished at his choice of words. She mentally chastised herself, cautioning against the overreaction blossoming in the pit of her stomach. She forced a tight smile but failed to keep the coldness from her voice.

“I really don’t think you need to worry about that, Mr. Conners. Now if there’s nothing else…”

Nathan didn’t miss the slight narrowing of her eyes, or the sudden frost in their brown depths. Her shoulders stiffened, too, and he knew without a doubt that he’d just offended her. She was dismissing him. Plain and simple. And he was torn between leaving without saying another word or staying to apologize for whatever he’d said or done to cause this reaction in her. The abrupt buzzing of the intercom stopped him.

“Dr. Wilson, Matthew’s here.” A disconnected voice made the announcement. Nathan winced as the doctor’s slender finger punched the intercom button. There was no doubt that she wished she were punching something entirely different — like
him.

“Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.” Her frosty voice melted only a few degrees before she turned a cold look on him. “If you’ll excuse me, I have other business to attend to.”

He finally stood when she did. She was shorter than he was, but he suddenly felt small as she fixed him with that cold look.

No, not small, he corrected himself. He felt like a worm.

“Dr. Wilson, I obviously —”

“Good day, Mr. Conners.”

Nathan studied her a second longer then turned to leave, knowing that whatever he’d said, he wasn’t going to correct it just then. He walked out of the office, feeling the chill of her stare in the middle of his back. Not until he reached the end of the hall did he dare turn around, certain her attention was no longer focused on him.

With that one quick look behind him, he reconsidered his earlier self-assessment. He cursed under his breath as he watched the scene in the hallway.

Catherine was kneeling on the floor, her arms wrapped protectively around a little boy about nine years old. The boy motioned wildly, obviously embarrassed as he tried to shrug off her embrace. Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary with the scene, except for one thing: the boy’s slight frame was nearly lost, engulfed by the bulky wheelchair that surrounded him. Nathan didn’t need to look hard to see that the boy’s right leg was missing, amputated just below the knee.

No, he wasn’t a
worm,
he was worse. No wonder the doctor’s warmth had suddenly vanished and she’d seemed ready to throw him from her office. A chill swept through him as he pulled his gaze away from the boy and saw Catherine looking straight at him.

Nathan pivoted around and jabbed the elevator button. The child’s excited voice at the end of the hall drew closer, and he closed his eyes as a feeling of utter dread swept over him.

“C’ mon, c’mon,” he muttered impatiently, watching the digital readout above the elevator with a sense of helplessness.

“But, Mom, don’t you know who he is?”

“Matty, I don’t think —”

“C’ mon, Mom!”

Nathan smiled to himself at the whine in the boy’s voice as it got closer still. No matter what else may be wrong with him, he had the normal impatience of all kids his age.

“Hey, Mr. Conners! Mr. Conners! Can I have your autograph?” Nathan heard the excitement in his voice, knew that the boy in the wheelchair had nearly reached him. He took a deep breath, turned around and forced himself to look only at the boy.

“Sure, no problem, kid.” Nathan automatically kneeled and winced as a sharp pain shot through his knee before he repositioned himself. He sensed the doctor’s sudden reaching and waved her away before taking the paper and pen the young boy offered. He looked into the kid’s brown eyes and felt a smile spread across his own face at the hero worship he saw in their depths. “So are you a big fan, Matthew?”

“Wow!” The kid reached up and tugged on Catherine’s arm. “Hey, Mom, he knew my name! Wait till I tell everyone at school! I love hockey, Mr. Conners.”

“Matty, that’s enough.”

Nathan winced at the ice in her voice but still refused to look at her. He scrawled a brief greeting on the paper, followed by his name, and handed it back to the boy.

“You can call me Nathan. So, how many hockey games have you been to, Matthew?”

The young boy shrugged. “Not a whole bunch. Mom says she doesn’t like it. But I watch on TV. When it’s not real late, I mean. Hey, Nathan, when are you going to start playing again?”

“I guess that’ll be up to the doctors. So…I bet your dad’s a fan, too, huh? How’d you like to go see a game? I could get tickets for you and your dad. Your mom, too, if you’d like.”

“I don’t have a dad.”

“Oh.” Nathan swallowed around the foot in his mouth as Catherine’s icy glare drove deeper into him. “Um, well, how about just tickets for you and your mom then?”

“Wow! Could you? That would be neat!”

Nathan felt the urge to laugh at the boy’s excitement and tried to recall the last time he had felt like that. The joy was short-lived, though, dampened by Dr. Wilson’s quiet voice. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Matty.”

“Mom —”

“Matty, we shouldn’t put Mr. Conners to that kind of trouble.”

Nathan stood up, trying not to flinch against the pain in his knee. He turned and finally faced Dr. Wilson, meeting her cold brown eyes with his own steady gaze in silent challenge. “Really, it’s no problem. I’ll send the tickets over by the end of the week. Will two be enough?”

Her lips pursed into a tight line as she met his stare and Nathan knew she wouldn’t be able to say no. It would kill her, he was sure, but she wouldn’t say no to her son. A bell dinged behind him, followed by the hiss of the elevator door opening. He took a step backward and placed his hand on the frame of the elevator to prevent it from closing as he waited for her answer, surprised he was anxious to hear it. There may have been no dad, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t someone else.

“Two. It’s just me and Mom.”

“Matty!” She pointed a look of openmouthed surprise at her son then turned back to face him, a tinge of red scattered across her cheeks. Nathan offered her a slow smile and an even slower wink as he released his hold on the elevator door.

“Two it is.”

He was glad no one else was in the elevator to witness the cold look she gave him.

“I
realize that, yes.” Catherine looked up at the knock on her door and waved Brian inside when he poked his sandy-haired head through the opening. “Yes, Mrs. Johnson, I’m aware of that. I really do need to go now. I’ll call you later this week.”

She placed the phone back in its cradle with a sigh, then offered Brian a half smile. “That woman is going to send me to an early grave.”

“Was that Matty’s principal?”

“The one and only.” She motioned for Brian to sit. “She seems to think that Matty should at least attend gym class. I keep telling her that I don’t think he’s ready.”

“Catherine, it’s been ten months since his amputation. The cancer is gone. He should have started with his prosthesis months ago. I have to side with Mrs. Johnson this time.”

Catherine met her partner’s serious blue gaze and let out a weary sigh. She pushed a strand of hair back over her ear and began straightening the papers scattered on her desk.

“I think I know what’s best for Matty. I don’t need you ganging up on me, too. Not now.”

“You’re going to have to give him some freedom sooner or later. He’s young and active. And healthy. Give him the chance to enjoy what he’s been missing.”

She slammed her hand on her desk. “Not now. Not yet — he’s not ready.”

“Are you sure he’s the one who’s not ready?”

The words hung in the air between them, suspended in the sudden tension that threatened to overwhelm Catherine. Slowly, she released her pent-up breath and focused on the papers in front of her. Brian was right!

If she was completely honest with herself, she’d admit that a large part of the problem with Matty was that
she
wasn’t ready. His health problems and the resulting amputation had happened too recently. The pain of seeing him suffer was still a raw wound, one she had no intention of reopening. She swallowed around the thickness in her throat.

“His doctor suggested not letting him use the prosthesis now would cause more harm later.” Her words came out as a whisper, not quite hiding the pain and anxiety that was a part of her everyday life. She felt Brian’s gaze on her and reluctantly looked up, putting on her brave face. One glance at his sympathetic expression told her she had failed miserably. She blinked her eyes against the tears that threatened.

“And?”

Catherine took another deep breath and shrugged. “As a doctor, I know he’s right. But as Matty’s mom…I’m afraid he’s not ready yet. I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself. I’m afraid of a million other things I have no control over. I can’t go through that again.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, willing the memories to disappear with the pain. All those months of uncertainty, of anguish. And fear. Her whole life had changed with Matty’s diagnosis, and while he seemed to have made a full recovery, Catherine was still terrified, still not ready to reenter life.

“What does Matty want?” Brian’s quiet voice broke the silence, pulling Catherine from her maudlin thoughts.

Unwilling to meet his clear gaze, Catherine kept her head bent. “I haven’t talked to him about it.”

“Oh, Catherine.”

She finally looked up and saw the censure mixed with sympathy. He shifted in his chair and continued to fix her with that clear gaze, made all the more powerful when seen through his wire-rimmed glasses. The seconds ticked by, echoed by the old grandmother clock that stood in one corner of her office.

“All right, enough of the stare-down. I know I need to talk to him.” Her voice was scratchy and she cleared her throat. “I will. I just need a little more time.”

Brian nodded once, seemingly satisfied with her answer. “Fine. I’ll give you a week.”

“Brian —”

He held up one hand to interrupt her, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I don’t want to hear it, Catherine. You know as well as I do that you’ll keep putting off telling him, just like you’re putting off living your life. You need the pressure of a deadline hanging over your head. Consider me your deadline. And speaking of living life…” He lifted a bulky package covered with the red and blue tape of a delivery service. “Are you ever going to open this? It’s been sitting out there with your name on it for two days. The staff is dying, wondering what the ever-dependable Dr. Wilson is ignoring.”

Catherine shrugged, feigning indifference. She had seen the package delivered, had even made the mistake of signing for it before she realized what it was. She had tossed it onto the outside desk as soon as she had seen the sender’s name.

“Who says I’m ignoring anything?”

Brian tossed the package onto the desk, where it landed with a gentle smack in the middle of the papers she had just finished stacking. “Then open it.”

“I don’t need to open it.” She pushed it to the side, only to have Brian push it back.

“Don’t you want to see what’s in it?”

“No, not really.” She picked it up and threw it back at him. Brian wasn’t ready for the sudden move and raised his hands in an attempt to ward off the flying missile, deflecting it to protect his face. The package landed at his feet.

“Hmm.” Brian stared down at his feet, then looked back at her, his eyebrows raised in question. Catherine covered her mouth with her hand to hide her embarrassed smile.

“Brian, I am so sorry.”

He waved away her muffled apology and bent down to retrieve the package. He held it out to her, daring her with his eyes to take it, promising dire consequences if she didn’t. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d almost swear you were afraid to open it.”

The challenge was clear in his voice and Catherine knew she’d never hear the end of it if she refused. Suddenly irritated with herself, she yanked the package from his hand and violently ripped it open. A fluff of light blue material fell to her desk, followed by a crisp white envelope.

Brian released a low whistle as he pulled the material from her desk and held it up. The fluff turned out to be a jersey emblazoned with the logo of the
Baltimore Banners,
including Nathan’s name and number. Her heart twisted when she realized it was Nathan’s actual jersey, not a replica.

“Not bad. Matty’ll get a kick out of this. Wish Nathan would have sent me one. These things are a hot commodity right now. Especially with the way the
Banners
are playing.” Brian motioned to the envelope. “What’s in there?”

“Probably tickets.” She thrust the envelope into his outstretched hand, ignoring the fact that her fingers trembled. “Here. You take them.”

Brian looked at her questioningly then opened the envelope. He studied the contents then looked back at her, a glint in his eyes. Catherine involuntarily pushed away from the desk.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d almost swear that you did something to Nathan Conners when he was in here the other day.”

“What? Why? What’s in there?”

“Two tickets for very, very good seats. On the ice. And I mean, on the ice. You can’t buy these seats anywhere — they’re saved for special promotions and businesses.”

Catherine’s throat closed up. She hadn’t expected him to follow through with his promise of tickets, had done her best creative thinking to come up with excuses to tell Matty so he wouldn’t be disappointed when the time came. Now here they were. And not just the tickets, but a jersey, as well. Catherine knew Matty would melt with excitement when he saw them.

“I — I didn’t think…why don’t you take him, Brian? I can’t really see myself at a hockey game.”

“Since when? I mean, I know you don’t follow the players or anything, but I’ve seen you watching with Matty. I think you should go. It’ll be a fun night out for both of you, which is something
you
definitely need.”

“No, I can’t. I didn’t think he’d send the tickets.” Catherine fought the heat that spread across her face as Brian studied her. He neatly folded the jersey and placed the tickets on top, then crossed his arms and stared at her.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on. I just don’t like the idea of some kid jock sending these things to Matty because he feels guilty.” Catherine inwardly winced at her tone of voice, wondering why she sounded so bitter and cold, knowing she had no reason to feel that way.

“Wait a minute.” Brian leaned across the desk and grabbed one of her hands. “Number one, Nathan is twenty-nine, only a year younger than you. Hardly a kid. Number two, I can’t see him doing anything out of guilt. Number three, why would he feel guilty in the first place?”

Catherine pulled her hand free and gently played with the folds of the jersey in front of her. “Because he made some crack about being confined to a wheelchair then happened to see me with Matthew a few minutes later. Matty knew who he was right away and had to drag me over to get his autograph. That’s the only reason he sent this stuff.”

She squirmed under Brian’s gaze, realized she was still fingering the jersey and quickly sat back. To her own ears, the reply sounded stiff and immature, a complete overreaction, but she didn’t know how to phrase it any differently. There was something about the whole situation — the way he had acted with Matty, the jersey, the tickets…it was too good to be true. She didn’t believe in good fortune, not anymore.

“As far as the wheelchair comment, I don’t know what to say. But I do know that he wouldn’t go to all this trouble just out of guilt. Listen, Catherine, I don’t know Nathan that well, but he is a nice guy. I think you should just take the tickets and go. Matty would enjoy it, and so would you.”

Forget about what happened.
How could Catherine explain how that single, haphazard comment had biased her against everything else? The careless way he had let it pass renewed the pain she had felt when they had first told her Matty’s leg would need to be amputated. She pushed a strand of hair away from her face and sighed, knowing she would never be able to make Brian understand how much that single comment had hurt her.

“Fine. I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” There was a brief pause as Brian studied the tickets then thrust them into her hand. “I hope you made up your mind to go, because the note in here says a limo will be picking you and Matty up in two hours.”

“What?”

“They’re for tonight’s game so you’d better move. Matty would really be disappointed if he found out he had a chance to go and missed it because you couldn’t move fast enough.”

Catherine’s mouth opened and closed but she couldn’t form any words. Brian picked up the jersey then gently led her to the office door, chuckling the entire time.

“Let me know how you enjoy your hockey game, Dr. Wilson.”

The excited screams nearly drowned out the voice and music that blared over the arena loudspeaker. Catherine looked down at Matty, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as he laughed and cheered with the other 19,000 fans that had come to their feet when the
Banners
scored a few seconds into the third period, widening their lead with a score of 4 to 1.

Catherine leaned back in her seat, the magazine in her hand forgotten as she finally allowed herself to relax and enjoy the game. She would never admit it to him but she was glad Brian had all but demanded that she attend tonight. The look of excitement on Matty’s face when he put on the jersey and saw the tickets had been enough to bring tears to her eyes. Seeing the sparkle in his eyes when the limo picked them up had removed all but the smallest doubts that she was doing the right thing.

“Wow! Did you see that, Mom?” Matty finally pulled his attention away from the ice long enough to look over at her. She smiled and reached out a hand to ruffle his short hair, not surprised when he pulled away, his ears pink with embarrassment.

“Yes, I certainly did.” Catherine curled her hand in her lap, resisting the urge to reach out again and pull Matty to her, knowing he would only become more embarrassed. It was so hard not to smother him, so hard to realize that he was growing up in spite of everything he had been through.

A loud thud directly in front of them caused her to jump, forcing her gaze from Matty to the glass. Brian had been right about the seats: they were in the very front row, separated from the players on the ice only by the protective glass.

“Nice hit!”

The voice came from her left, loud enough to be heard over the cries of the crowd. Catherine’s heart gave a funny little lurch before pumping wildly when she saw Nathan Conners standing in the aisle next to Matty, a tray full of drinks and snacks cradled in his large hands. He was still facing the ice and she had time to notice his profile, full of sharp angles that screamed strength and raw power. Her heart gave another lurch when he finally turned and looked down at her, meeting her gaze with a crooked smile before she could look away.

“Hey, Matthew. Mind if I join you? I brought some snacks.”

Catherine’s fists clenched around the magazine as Matty eagerly pointed to the empty seat beside her. She swallowed any comment she might have made, wondering why the hockey player seemed to rub her the wrong way and knowing she couldn’t spoil this night for Matty. Reluctantly burying her pride and anxiety, she rose and moved over one seat before Nathan could maneuver his long legs around the wheelchair.

He sat between them and immediately turned to her, his crooked smile even wider as he offered her a soda. She looked at the paper cup then shook her head, refusing even as she realized how thirsty she was. Nathan looked at her a second longer, his smile losing some of its wattage before he shrugged and turned his attention to Matty.

“So what do you think of the game? Are the seats okay?”

“They’re awesome! Thanks, Mr. Conners. And thanks for this, too. It’s cool.” Matty fingered the jersey that hung on him.

“
Nathan.
Remember I said you could call me Nathan.”

Catherine watched as the two quickly became engaged in animated conversation and she suddenly felt like the proverbial fifth wheel, a ridiculous notion that didn’t sit well with her. The feeling grew in direct proportion with Matty’s excitement, and she again forced herself to stay quiet. No matter what she thought, Matty seemed to truly like the obtuse man and there was no way she would ruin this for him.