his instructions. The grimace on the player’s face when his leg was almost completely extended said the knee might be in worse shape than Melanie had feared.
Dr. Reynolds placed his hand on the top of the knee.
She’d always had a thing for men’s hands. To her they were a sign of their character. Dr. Reynolds had hands with long tapered fingers and closely cut nails that said he knew what he was doing and he could be trusted. Melanie liked what they said about him.
He moved his fingers over Rocket’s knee. “That’s good. Have you had a hard hit to this knee recently?”
Rocket made a dry chuckle. “Doc, I play football. I’m getting hit all the time.”
“Yeah, I know who you are. But has there been one in particular you can remember?”
“A couple weeks ago in the game I was coming down, and the safety and I got tangled up pretty good.”
Melanie had learned early in her career as a team doctor that many of the players, no matter how large, were deep down gentle giants. Often they had a hard time showing weakness and fear. Rocket was one of those guys. Melanie was grateful to the doctor for his compassionate care.
“Any popping sensation, swelling or pain?”
“Not really. If Doc here—” Rocket indicated Melanie “—hadn’t pulled me off the machine the other day I wouldn’t have really noticed. Players are in some kind of pain all the time if they play ball. We get to where we don’t really notice.”
Dr. Reynolds gave him a thoughtful nod and stood. “I’d like to get some X-rays and possibly a MRI before I confirm my diagnosis.”
“I’ll set them up.” Melanie made a note on the pad at her desk.
The double doors burst wide open. Her father entered. In his booming voice he demanded, “Well, Doc, is Rocket going to be able to play on Sunday?”
Melanie flinched. Based on what she knew about Dr. Reynolds in their short acquaintance, he wouldn’t take kindly to being pressured.
Reynolds looked her father straight in the eyes. “It’s Dr. Dalton Reynolds.” Not the least bit intimidated, he continued, “And you are?”
Her father pulled up short. Silence ping-ponged around the room. Few people, if any, dared to speak to her father in that manner. When he was a coach he had insisted on respect and as general manager he commanded it.
“Leon Hyde, general manager of the Currents.” He offered his hand.
Dr. Reynolds gave her a questioning look, then accepted her father’s hand. The moment of awkwardness between the two men disappeared as the doctor met her usually intimidating father toe to toe.
She couldn’t remember another man who hadn’t at least been initially unsettled by her father. Dr. Reynolds’s gaze didn’t waver. Her appraisal of him rose.
“So, Dr. Reynolds, is Rocket going to be able to run for us Sunday?” her father asked with a note of expectancy in his voice.
“I need to look at the X-rays and MRI before I can let you know.”
“That’ll be in the morning,” Melanie said.
“Good.” Her father turned to her. “Mel, we need Rocket on the field.”
“I understand.” She did, but she wasn’t sure her father wasn’t more concerned about winning than he was Rocket’s health. She just hoped it didn’t come down to her having to choose between the team and her professional conscience. “But I must consider Rocket’s well-being. I won’t sign off until Dr. Reynolds has made his determination.”
Her father gave her a pointed look. The one she recognized that came before the team player speech.
Instead he continued, “You’ll see that Dr. Reynolds gets to the Lodge and is comfortable, won’t you?”
As always, it wasn’t a question but a directive. She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.” He looked at Dr. Reynolds. “I anticipate a positive report in the morning.”
The doctor made no commitment.
Her father then gave Rocket a slight slap on the shoulder. “Go home and take care of that knee. We need you on the field Sunday.”
Melanie watched the doors swing closed as her father exited. She was impressed by Dr. Reynolds’s ability not to appear pushed into making a decision. Her father was known for being a persuasive man and getting what he wanted. He wanted Rocket to play Sunday. Dr. Reynolds didn’t act as if he would be a yes-man if he didn’t feel it was safe for Rocket to do so. On this she could agree with him.
Still, it hurt that her father didn’t trust her opinion.
* * *
Dalton pulled the collar of his coat farther up around his neck and hunched his shoulders. They were in her car, moving through what was now a steady snowfall. It was unbearably cold. Even the car heater didn’t seem to block the chill seeping into his bones.
Dr. Hyde leaned forward and adjusted the thermostat on the dashboard. “It should be warm in here soon.”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever be comfortable again. Thankfully, a few minutes later he began to thaw. She maneuvered along the road with the confidence of a person who had done this many times.
“We should be at the Lodge in about half an hour. Would you like to stop for something to eat? The Lodge does have an excellent restaurant if you’d rather wait.”
He looked out the windshield. “I don’t think I’m interested in being out in this weather any longer than necessary.”
“It does require getting used to.”
He couldn’t imagine that happening either. “Why is Mr. Overtree called The Rocket?”
She glanced at him and chuckled lightly. “You apparently have never seen him play. He’s fast. Very fast.”
“I’ve never seen a professional football game.”
Melanie looked at him. The car swerved for a second before she corrected it.
“You might want to watch the road.”
She focused on the road again. “You’ve never seen one in person? Or on TV?”
“Neither. No interest. I have a busy practice.”
“You have to be kidding! Football is America’s game.” She sounded as if she was going to get overly excited about the subject.
“I think it’s baseball that’s supposed to be the ‘all-American game.’”
“It might have been at one time but no longer.” The words were said as if she dared anyone to contradict her.
He couldn’t help but raise a brow. “I think there are a lot of people who love baseball that
