Josh debated the multitude of flavors. He took his time, as if this was the most important decision he’d make in his life, so she waited patiently until his fingers delved into the jar. “Grape,” he announced, pulling out the lollipop with the purple wrapper. “I like grape.”
“Grape is one of my favorite flavors, too,” she confided, putting the lid back on the candy jar and setting it aside. “Now, wait here for a minute, okay?”
He was too busy sucking on his lollipop to answer. She gestured for Josh’s dad to follow her out into her private office.
Once they were alone, she didn’t beat around the bush. “I want you to get Josh a wheelchair.” Dan, er—Dr. Morris—towered over her, topping her in height by a good eight inches. But she refused to be intimidated even though he was clearly angry.
“Josh isn’t permanently handicapped,” he said tersely. “He doesn’t need a wheelchair. He’s going to learn how to walk again. At least, he would if you were doing more than playing silly games.”
The cutting edge of his tongue only made her square her shoulders to face him with renewed determination. “This isn’t about what you want or need, Dr. Morris, it’s about your son. It’s about giving him the freedom to move around without waiting for you or someone else to carry him. It’s about giving him independence. And lastly it’s about strengthening his core muscles, his torso.” She was growing angrier by the second.
“Don’t you understand how important core body strength is when it comes to walking? You stand there and mock what I’ve done today, but those games I played with Josh were core-strengthening games. And therapy doesn’t have to hurt in order to achieve results!”
He actually stared in shocked surprise at her outburst. A tiny voice in the back of her mind warned her to stop while she was ahead, but she was on a roll.
“Furthermore, how dare you question my methods? I have good outcomes, the best in the region. Do I stand over your shoulder and tell you how to operate on a damaged heart? This is my job, my career, and I’m damn good at it.”
Her temper flared easily, she didn’t have red hair for nothing, but it dissolved as quickly as it ignited. She took several deep breaths, immediately feeling bad at how she’d lost control. Was she crazy? A powerful surgeon like Dr. Dan Morris could make or break her career.
Well, he probably couldn’t totally break her career, as she really did have excellent outcomes that spoke for themselves. But he could make her life miserable.
And what if he stopped referring patients to her? The very idea made her gut clench and roll.
Why, oh, why hadn’t she bitten her tongue?
The silence stretched interminably between them, until she decided he was waiting for an apology.
One he honestly deserved.
But before she could take her foot out of her mouth to formulate the words, he totally surprised her. “Where can I get a pediatric wheelchair?” he demanded.
“Um, right here. I can get you one from the storage room.” She didn’t move, though, afraid that he’d capitulated too easily. She licked her lips nervously. “Look, I’m—”
“If you wouldn’t mind getting it now, I’d be happy to reimburse you for it,” he interrupted, as if impatient to get the wheelchair now that he’d decided Josh really did, in fact, need one.
She nodded and quickly left the office to rummage around in the back storeroom. She found a perfect-sized wheelchair for Josh, and brought it back to his father.
He stared at it for a long moment, before dragging his gaze up to meet hers. “I never meant to take away Josh’s independence,” he murmured, his gaze full of stark agony. “That’s the last thing I would ever want to do.”
She felt her eyes prick with tears, hardly able to bear to see the lines of tortured self-reproach grooved in his cheeks. “I know. You were seeing the wheelchair as a sign of giving up. But encouraging Josh to use an assistive device isn’t giving up at all. Trust me, this is just the first step on the road to Josh walking again.”
His jaw tensed and his intense gaze seemed to drill all the way down to her soul. “Do you really believe that?” he asked hoarsely. “Do you really believe he’ll walk again?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t stop herself from stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on his forearm. The warmth of his skin shot tingles of awareness dancing along her nerves. But she kept her gaze centered on his, ignoring her inappropriate reaction. “I believe he will. I won’t lie to you, though. Josh’s leg muscles are weak, so this isn’t going to happen overnight. He has a long way to go. But I know he’ll be able to walk again.”
He covered her hand with his, surrounding her with even more heat. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he said wearily.
She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze, and then subtly pulled out of his grip. “No more than I’m holding myself accountable,” she assured him. They’d gotten past the first hurdle, but there would be more. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re going to have to help,” she added. “Because Josh can’t do this on his own. He’ll need your support.”
To her surprise, he nodded in agreement. “I know and that’s perfectly fine with me. Obviously, he’s not going to be able to walk with just one hour of therapy a day. I expect you to give me a list of leg-strengthening exercises to do with him at home.”
She wanted to roll her eyes heavenward at his determination to direct the physiotherapy of his son. She supposed this tendency of his was part of being a surgeon but, really, hadn’t they already gone through all this? She was the one in charge, here, not him.
The sooner he recognized that fact, the further along they’d be.
“Now that you mention it, I do have a list for you,” she agreed as she headed over to her desk. She picked up the bright blue folder, and then came back over to hand it to him. “Inside you’ll find everything you’ll need. And, of course, I’ll be seeing Josh five days a week. You’ve asked for early morning appointments, so he’s scheduled every day at 9:00 a.m.”
“No problem,” he agreed readily, as he opened the folder to peek inside. He scanned the printed pages she’d tucked in the pockets, and then looked up at her with a deep frown. “These aren’t exercises,” he accused. “They’re games.” He emphasized the last word as if it was a curse.
She tried not to smile, but her mouth quirked up at the corners despite her best effort. “Yes, I’m aware of that, Dr. Morris. Your son is seven years old. Surely you know how to play games with him?”
She could have sworn there was a momentarily blank look in his eyes, before he snapped the folder shut with a flash of annoyance. “Of course I do.”
This time she couldn’t stop the smile from blossoming on her face. “Don’t worry,” she said, patting his arm as if he were one of her small patients, rather than a big, broad-shouldered heart surgeon. “You’ll get better with practice.”
CHAPTER THREE
MOLLY WAS PHYSICALLY exhausted by the time she finished her day, and while she’d cared for many patients during her nine-hour
