Although she’d never regretted her choice, Maddie sometimes dreamed of a life with a loving husband and children of her own. It wasn’t her destiny, but the fantasy was harmless.
“You just haven’t met the right man yet,” Samantha insisted in a gentle, yet confident, tone.
“Forgetting Owen, aren’t you?” Maddie’s high school, then college sweetheart, they’d been engaged when her mother had suffered the first of many strokes. Lillian had only been in her forties at the time, young for the onset of the neurological nightmare that had stolen her short-term memory.
Samantha’s expression was steady. “He’s a rat. What kind of man asks you to choose between him and your mother? He knew what was going on, how painful it was for you to give up everything.”
Maddie tried to interrupt. “But—”
“But nothing. I know you’d make the same choice again, but asking you to put her in a nursing home …” Samantha shook her head angrily. “And it’s not as though he was new to your life, didn’t know your history.”
Stroking the silken smoothness of the porcelain cup, Maddie remembered Owen’s unyielding stance. “I did think he might understand. We were going together when my dad passed away.”
“He also knew you didn’t have any relatives to share the load.” Samantha’s fierce loyalty didn’t waver. “Total rat.”
Maddie reluctantly smiled. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“Nope.” Loyal to the end, Samantha didn’t give an inch. “And J.C.’s about as different from Owen as a rat is to a cat.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it until you came back to Rosewood, but you’re a romantic, Sam. Just because you and Bret got back together after nearly a decade—”
“That was fate,” Samantha insisted. “And real, genuine, honest love. It wasn’t a reunion, it was a new start.”
“I imagine Owen’s got his hands full with his business.” His family had money, and Owen had stepped into the enviable position of entrepreneur with none of the struggle most young business owners faced.
“Hmm. And, yes, I know, Bret’s running his family business, but it wasn’t stuffed with cash.”
In fact, it was almost failing when Bret took the helm. “No comparison, Sam. I agree. When we were younger I didn’t think Owen was that affected by having … okay, everything. He just seemed to take it in stride. But when he got older …” He wasn’t the boy she’d fallen in love with.
“Hey, I’m sorry.” Samantha’s voice changed to one of concern. “I didn’t mean to stir all that up. I guess I just thought … well, J.C.’s such a great guy, and you’re my best friend …” She smiled encouragingly. “I still think your life’s going to change because of him—he’s going to help Lillian and that’ll help you.”
“It’s not as though I don’t daydream myself. And you’re right. If he can help Mom …” Maddie smiled. “That’s all I ask.” Because her other dreams were just flotsam in the ether. And as likely to materialize.
True to his word, J.C. began Lillian’s tests with a noninvasive CT scan. Officially called computed tomography, it could detect a blood clot or intracranial bleeding in patients with a stroke. And the scan aided in differentiating the area of the brain affected by the disorder.
J.C. had prescribed a light sedative so that Lillian could lie still. Forgetting where she was, otherwise Lillian might have tried to move, skewing the test results.
The test took only about thirty minutes, but Maddie paced in the waiting room. She didn’t want her mother to wake up disoriented and scared. The technician had assured her that he would watch out for Lillian during the scan, but Maddie couldn’t stop worrying.
“She’s all right,” J.C. announced quietly from behind her.
Maddie whirled around. The carpeted waiting area had camouflaged the sound of his footsteps.
Dressed in scrubs, he acted as though it was normal for him to deliver the news, rather than the technician.
Maddie began to shake, fearing the worst. “Was there a problem?”
He stepped closer, his eyes flickering over her trembling limbs. “None whatsoever. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just got out of surgery, thought I’d pop in and check on your mother.”
Relieved, Maddie exhaled, her chest still rising with the effort to breathe normally.
J.C. took her arm, guiding her to a chair. “You’re going to have to take it easy.”
Perched on the edge of the chair, she stared up at him.
“CT scan’s about the mildest procedure your mother’s going to have. You’ll sap your energy if you get this upset about every test.”
Suddenly Maddie could breathe. And stand. Nearly nose to nose with him. “I know you’re an excellent doctor. Samantha Conway is proof of that. But don’t presume to tell me how to react. I’ve been caring for my mother for years. I know she gets confused and scared …” Maddie’s trembling increased. “And I won’t let anyone make that worse.”
“Good.”
Maddie blinked.
“A dedicated caregiver is the best medicine any patient can have.” J.C.’s tone remained mild. His gold-flecked brown eyes were more elusive. “I’ll call you when I have the results. Should be about two days.” With a nod, he left.
Maddie wasn’t certain what to think. Plopping the palm of her hand against her forehead, she wished she could travel back in time a few minutes. This doctor was a road of hope for her mother and she’d just insulted him. Refusing to consider that her defensive reaction could have anything to do with her attraction to him, she bit down on her thumbnail.
Catching sight of the technician, she tried to shove the thoughts away and decided it would be easier to tame an infuriated horde of wasps.
J.C. strode down the familiar corridors toward his office. The sandy-beige walls were lined with portraits of the hospital’s founders and patrons. But he wasn’t looking at any of them. He wanted to kick something, preferably himself. Maddie Carter had been on his mind since the day they’d met. He’d sensed an empathetic soul. One who could understand what he was going through.
A tall, slim man in a white coat plopped himself in J.C.’s path. “Someone put cactus needles in your scrubs?”
J.C. immediately recognized the voice. “Adam.”
His colleague and friend Adam Winston tugged at the stethoscope looped around his neck. “I don’t normally drive into tornados, but from the look on your face, I think you might need some help getting out of the storm.”
“Just a mild gale.” J.C. exhaled. “Put too much thought into a nitwit notion.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
“Don’t you have rounds?”
Adam
