at the moment I don’t know that he could walk that far. I’ll have to see,’ she flannelled. ‘If you could just give me some advice initially…’
‘I really should see him to be on the safe side. Have you taken him to the hospital for an X-ray?’
‘Um—no. I’m sure he’s just jarred it. There’s nothing broken.’
‘Then if you could manage to get him in to me—perhaps a taxi?’
Damn. He wasn’t going to just give her advice, that was clear. She swallowed. A taxi was totally out of the question. Al’s mother, Belle, might be able to give them a lift if she wasn’t working, but she was a community midwife and worked strange hours—as well as juggling Al and Flora as a single parent.
No. She couldn’t ask Belle. ‘We’ll manage. We’ve got a wheelchair we can use.’ Judith drew in a steadying breath, lifted her head and met the man’s searching eyes. He seemed to be waiting, as if he knew there was something to follow—something difficult and awkward and embarrassing. She hated what she was going to have to do, but she’d do it for Woody.
‘I haven’t got any money,’ she told him with quiet dignity. ‘I’m hoping to get a job soon for the term. I wondered…’ she swallowed ‘… if you would be able to bill me for the treatment and let me pay you back as I earn the money.’
There. It was said. She held his eyes, resisting the urge to run away, and brazened it out.
Hugh looked deep into the challenging eyes of this gutsy little woman daring him to turn her down, and wondered at the hurdles she’d had to overcome and the struggles she’d had to face.
There was such determination in the jut of her chin and the tilt of her head, such uncertainty deep in those lovely, soft grey eyes. What had she had to cope with? She hadn’t said how old her son was, but he guessed around ten, probably. She looked as if she was in her early thirties—maybe not that old if life had been cruel.
He was sure it had. Life was. His own had been cruel, leaving the indelible marks of grief etched on his face. It didn’t hurt so much now, but it had and the scars showed.
Mrs Wright had scars, too—worry and strain engraved on such soft, fine skin that it seemed a travesty. His fingers ached to soothe away the worry.
That wasn’t all that ached. For the first time in what must be years, he felt attracted to a woman, not only physically but somewhere deeper in the hidden recesses of his subconscious. When he’d touched her he’d felt the most unbelievable warmth flow through his hand. He’d never felt anything like it before. It was more than simple sexual chemistry. It felt almost like—destiny?
Lord, he was going nuts. Anyway, inevitably she was married to the probably undeserving Mr Wright. Hugh wondered if the lucky dog realised just how lucky he was. If not, he wondered if there was some other fortunate ingrate keeping this lovely woman warm at night.
He felt a sharp, shocking twist of something which could only be jealousy. Good grief! What on earth was the matter with him?
Anyway, he’d probably imagined his reaction and, even if not, it was almost certainly not reciprocated.
He curled his fingers over his still-tingling palm and got back to the reason for her visit.
‘How old is your son, Mrs Wright?’
‘Thirteen—and it’s Miss. I’m a single parent.’
He ruthlessly suppressed the urge to whoop with delight. ‘And has he had any back trouble before?’
‘Aches and pains—nothing the physio and I couldn’t keep under control.’
‘And what makes you think he needs to see an osteopath and not a physiotherapist this time?’ Hugh asked, curious about her motives.
‘Experience. I know him, and I know the limitations of physio. I also know about bad backs to an extent. There are times when nothing else works.’
‘And you think this is one of those times?’ Hugh pressed.
‘Yes, I do.’
Even her voice was wonderful. Soft, well modulated, almost a caress. He forced himself to stop fantasising and engaging her in needless conversation, and got to the point.
‘It may take several treatments.’
She swallowed. ‘I know.’
He nodded. ‘OK,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sure we can stagger the payments if that will help you,’ he told her, and was rewarded by the bright glimmer of tears in her eyes before she dropped her head forwards.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He stood up, angry with himself for dragging out her misery and making her justify herself just so he could hear her voice. ‘Have a word with my receptionist—I can probably fit him in at lunchtime today so he doesn’t have to wait over the weekend. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to press on, I’ve got a patient waiting. I’ll see you both later.’
He watched her walk over to Christine, closed his eyes briefly to clear his mind of the sensual image burnt on his retinas and stuck his head round the waiting-room door. ‘Mrs Parker, would you come in, please?’
Woody found even the wheelchair difficult. Sitting was nearly as bad as walking, and by the time they arrived at the lovely red-brick house he was tight-lipped with pain.
He still managed a smile for her, though, as she wheeled him in. Lord, he was a gutsy kid. Judith looked away from him, her eyes bright with tears, and found herself face to face with the man whose image she had been unable to get out of her mind since this morning.
‘Hi,’ he said cheerfully, then hunkered down beside Woody. ‘You must be Edward. Pleased to meet you. I gather you’ve hurt your back?’
Woody mumbled a response, and Judith watched as they shook hands, then Mr Barber looked up at her. ‘I wonder if you’d mind filling in a card with all Edward’s details while we go and have a chat and I have a quick look to see what he’s done to himself?’
He gave her a card, a pen and a wink, and disappeared into his consulting room, pushing her son ahead of him in the wheelchair. She chewed her lip. Should she be in there with him?
She’d been clearly dismissed. Oh, well, perhaps he’d have some joy getting the truth out of him without her hovering about being a fussy mother.
She sat down with the card and obediently filled in all the information.
‘So, Edward, I gather you fell down some stairs, is that right, and now your back hurts?’
The boy nodded slowly. He certainly had quite a bit of spasticity in his muscles, Hugh noted. His handshake had been slow and deliberate but strong, and Hugh knew the hardest part of the treatment would be getting the muscles to relax enough to allow him to work on the spine.
Inevitably after thirteen years there would be some deformity and contracture problems. Just how bad and how insurmountable, he would have to establish. ‘I wonder if you could stand up and let me take a look at you?’ he murmured.
Woody
