Miracle for the Neurosurgeon
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Lynne Marshall
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11
Chapter One
WESLEY VAN ALLEN looked like hell in a shirt. Not even a shirt, a T-shirt. A worn and dingy old white undershirt, with holes, that would be better suited for dusting furniture than wearing. Plus, it was wet, and he was obviously sweaty.
On second glance he looked more like hell on wheels with that driven dark stare. The pride Mary Harris had always admired in him was still in fine form, and so was that glint in his gaze. From the looks of the bulging veins on his deltoids and biceps she must have interrupted his gym time.
Mary bent and lightly kissed his cheek. “Remember me?” Yeah, he’d definitely been working out.
“How could I forget a pest like you?” Looking surprised, he used the hand towel from his lap to wipe his neck, as he gave her a lazy smile.
When he’d first opened the door, she’d had to adjust her gaze downward to accommodate his being in the wheelchair. His nearly black hair was longer than she’d ever seen it, and she had to admit it looked sexy all damp in disarray. For a man who’d always been proud to a fault and strutted around, letting the world know it, his posture hadn’t changed...from the waist up, anyway. But strutting was no longer possible.
Those once sparkling, take-on-the-world eyes Mary remembered as pale brown, coffee and cream, to be exact, seemed darker, more intense than ever. The way they examined her now, made her question why she’d dared to come here today.
She instantly remembered, he’d become a man who’d nearly lost it all. One who worked every day, far too hard, to regain his balance, or so she’d been told.
Mary fought every muscle on her face to hide her sorrow over the guy she’d once known versus the man she saw now, fearing her eyes would betray her. Do not cry. Do not.
She forced a bright smile. “I’ve come to see if I can be of any help. I am an expert, you know.”
He could probably see right through her, but she was determined to pull this off.
Alexandra, Wesley’s sister, had contacted Mary when the accident had first occurred nine months ago—the shockwave had hit so hard she could barely walk the rest of that day, her chest felt caved in, crushing her heart for the man she’d never gotten to know like she’d once dreamed she might. Mary had just signed on for a six-month hospital physical therapy position in Bangor, Maine, when he’d had his waterskiing accident. Far across the country, she couldn’t get home to see him. But she’d mourned his loss, and had worried about him every day, until Alexandra had assured her he was out of danger. Though he would never walk again.
How many times had she wanted to pick up the phone and call Wes, or write him a card expressing her truest thoughts and feelings, but had chickened out because in the end she’d felt she’d had no right? She was just a girl he’d once known. Nothing more.
Alexandra had called again last week, out of desperation, and Mary had heard the panic in her friend’s voice. Wes had fired the third home health physical therapy assistant in as many months. “He’s taken independence to new heights. No one can stand to be around him!” Alex hadn’t known what else to do, so she’d turned to her long-time friend for help.
Though about to sign a contract for another job, this one in New Mexico, Mary had rearranged her work schedule on the spot to get here. That was the beauty of being a free agent, an interim employee, getting to call the shots while traveling the country. But since that phone call, and after not being there for Wes in the beginning, nothing could stop her from helping the man she’d had a crush on since she was fifteen.
“Seriously, what are you doing here?” His unwelcoming tone stung like a paper cut. He rolled his wheelchair backward to allow her to enter. At least that was something.
“I already told you, I’m here to help.” She followed him, hiding the hurt from him brushing her off.
“I don’t need any help. I’ve got this.” His suspicious gaze seemed to hunt for pity, and if he found it, she knew he’d attack.
She adjusted her over-bright expression to one of questioning. “Really? A guy who’s fired three physical therapy aides in three months doesn’t need help? I beg to differ.” Did she honestly expect him to welcome her when showing up out of the blue?
He harrumphed and made a U-turn and continued toward the opposite door in the large and beautifully furnished beach home living room. The ceiling-to-floor windows looked out onto the Pacific Ocean. At the moment it was teal and silver blue, covered with glitter from the sun, and she couldn’t avoid noticing. Yet the house felt shut down, dark and lonely, and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow him or not. She did anyway, through opened double doors into a huge hallway where a wraparound staircase looked like open arms. Because of his accident, that welcoming entrance would forever be off-limits to him. How awful to be reminded every day in such an in-your-face way.
“I’m serious, Wes, you can’t fire the world. It won’t bring back your legs.” She’d always been one to name the elephant in the room head on, that was if she knew what it was, and in Wes’s case she knew exactly why he’d become this guarded and fiercely independent man. He’d become a paraplegic and was dealing with his disability by working too hard, beating the life out of it. And apparently everyone else. No one could keep up with his breakneck schedule, according to Alexandra.
“I don’t need you.” He spat out the words, reacting to her dose of reality, sounding nothing like the successful neurosurgeon who’d known the course of his life since he’d reached puberty. Who could’ve predicted this part?
“Alex doesn’t agree and she’s asked me to help out for a while.” When he immediately opened his mouth to protest, she held up her hand to stop him. “Because she loves you.”
“Alex needs to mind her own business. She’s got her husband and kids to worry about. Tell her I release her of all sisterly responsibility. And you can leave now.”
Crushed, Mary laughed, surprising herself. She hadn’t seen Wesley in ten years, the day Alexandra had gotten married. The day they’d claimed their second mind-boggling kiss and far more, blamed completely on sharing too much champagne. “Not so easy, Wes. I’ve taken two months off work to come here. I literally picked up my home and drove from New Mexico to California.”
“Why ever would you do that without asking first?”
“Because that’s what friends do. Show up to help.”
“My friends always ask first.” Dismissed.
Another paper cut, this one slicing deeper, drawing more blood. Do they ever get invited in?
He might still think of her as a charity case, a stray kitten his sister had once dragged home from public school, but she’d risen above her poverty and all the odds stacked against her. She didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that.
“You used to call me kid sister number two. I practically lived with you, Wes. You can’t deny you were all like a second family to me.” She tried to make eye contact, but he didn’t co-operate. “Your parents gave me shelter, and you, you insisted I make something of myself.” He’d told her that the night he’d been volunteered to take her to the prom. She stepped closer to him, hoping with all of her heart she could get through to him. “Well, I have. I’ve got a freaking PhD, and now I’m here for you, one doctor to another.” Funny how life worked out that way.
“So this is payback?” He looked directly at her, taunting her with hurtful insults to give up and leave him alone. “I don’t need your help. Thank you, though.”
He rolled toward a wall unit lift to take him and his wheelchair upstairs, intent on leaving her standing there, openmouthed. But the snub only gave enough time for fury at being dismissed like a servant to form into words.
“I’ve been told you’re being a total jerk.” Have proof of it firsthand now. She’d also spoken to his parents before coming. They’d thrown up their hands and moved back to their retirement home in Florida after spending the first six months of recovery with him. “Someone’s got to snap you out of it.”
“Have you been talking to my parents? Dear old Dad, who blames me for what happened? I don’t need toxic people like that around.”
His father may had been the pusher in the clan, but certainly his mother had never been anything but supportive.
“And I’m not like that. Toxic.” Had his father actually blamed him for the accident? Shameful. She’d always known Mr. Van Allen had expected the world of both of his children, but most especially from Wes. He’d raised hell when Alex had changed majors from pre-med to become a dietician, which only required a master’s degree. If Wes had ever dared to venture off his life path, who knows what Mr. Van Allen would have done? Somehow, even back then, she’d sensed that failure was not an option where the Van Allen kids were concerned, but to blame his son for a life-altering accident? Unbelievable.
“Can’t you see I’m doing fine?” He staunchly defended his shutting out the world.
It was time to double down. She knew, though on the surface Wes looked like he was in fact doing fine, he needed assistance from daily PT in ways he didn’t even think about, and not just on the parts that were working, but also the muscles and joints in need of passive range of motion. That was something he needed to learn to do for himself, too. And even in the gym, which she presumed from the looks of his upper torso, chest and arms, he did rigorous workouts, someone needed to be standing by in case he got hurt, possibly further injuring his spine. No. She wasn’t going anywhere. At least not today. “Have you ever performed surgery without consulting another neurosurgeon first?”
“What’s that got to do with this?”
“Everything. You may think you know what you’re doing but, whether you know it or not, you need a second opinion.”
They shared a ten-second stare down, and he was the first to look away. “Get used to it, Van Allen, I’m not leaving.” She waited for him to turn and look at her again. “For the next two months, anyway. In fact, regardless of what you want or think, I’m the best person in the entire world to show up on your doorstep today.” Pure bravado. False bravado. She caught up to him and placed her hand on his arm to make a point, her knees nearly knocking with insecurity as she did. He jerked at her touch, but didn’t yank the arm away.
“There’s no doubt you’re doing great, but you can’t do it all by yourself. You need some supervision with the process. I’m only temporary, but I’m necessary for now. You’re a smart man. You know that. So let me help you.” To hell with the anxiety summersaulting through her stomach over the possibility of being rejected, his long-term health was more important than her nerves...or her ego. Yet if he told her to leave one more time, she wouldn’t be able to justify sticking around.
He shook his head, looking irritated. Something told her to intercept his thought before he said it, to state her case one last time, this time pulling out all the bells and whistles.
“It’s because of you that I’m the perfect person to help.” She tried to keep eye contact, even though matching his resolute stare made her ankles wobbly. “Wasn’t it you who told me to make something out of myself? To not let my parents and poverty hold me back? Well, here I am, a bona fide physical therapist, with a doctorate degree, at your service. I understand it may come as a surprise, but I just might know a little about what you need at this point in your recovery. And I don’t intend to leave before you’re back on your feet.” Damn, she’d said the wrong thing! She saw his jaw twitch. Without intending to, she’d delivered her own paper cut. “Metaphorically speaking.” It was too late—she couldn’t retract the stupid and insensitive phrase.
“For a second I thought you were selling yourself as a miracle worker.” He let out an exasperated huff of air, like she’d solicited a service he didn’t want or need—subscribe to this magazine or donate to this cause—but felt obligated to take anyway. “If this is your sales pitch, I suppose I have to pay?”
“No!” She was making a total mess of everything, but couldn’t back down now. “Let’s get that straight from the start. I don’t work for you. I’m here as a friend.” That way you can’t fire me!
“And where do you expect to live?”
“I’ve got that all taken care of.”
He sat quietly, offering a dead stare in her vicinity, along with a sigh. “Suit yourself,” he said, as though he couldn’t care less, and continued on toward the wheelchair lift. “I’m going to the gym.”
Dismissed again. Well, not so fast, buddy. “I’ll be back at eight o’clock tomorrow morning to begin your therapy. In the meantime, do you have a groundskeeper? I need some help with something.”
He tossed her a quizzical glance, then propelled himself out of the room, calling a woman’s name as he did so. “Rita!” His housekeeper? Once she’d come out from the far recesses of the kitchen, making Mary wonder exactly how big the house was, he gave a quick instruction for her to find someone named Heath, as he rolled his chair onto the lift and began ascending the stairs.
Rita tipped her head at him and passed an inquisitive gaze at Mary. “I’ll call him now.”
“Thanks. I’ll be on the porch.”
She stepped outside the front door, her hands shaking, her body quivering. She leaned against the wall biting her lip, blinking her eyes, until sadness overtook her. The man she’d idolized as a teenager was sentenced to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. She’d known it in advance, of course, but seeing him—the same yet so changed—drove the point home and deep into her heart.
The ocean blurred, her skin flushed with heat, and her pulse jittered, forcing her to let go of the threatening tears. To stop fighting and release them before she choked and drowned on them. It had been a long time since she’d cried, and they pricked and stung the insides of her eyelids. She buried her face in the bend of her arm, smothering the sudden keening sounds ripping at her throat, thankful the screeching seagulls overpowered her mourning.
* * *
Wesley took a break from his demanding workout routine and peered out the upstairs window, not believing what he was seeing. Heath, his groundskeeper, directed Mary as she backed a tiny portable wood-covered house, complete with porch—if you could call that a porch—onto the graveled ground beside his unattached garage. So that’s how she’d taken care of living arrangements. She drove the pickup truck like a pro, threw it into park and jumped out to check her handiwork. Clearly satisfied with the parking job, she dusted her hands and went about releasing the house from the towing hitch.
This wasn’t her first time at that rodeo.
His guess was that the RV-sized house couldn’t be more than two hundred square feet, tops. Sure, Mary was petite, no more than five-three and a hundred and ten pounds wringing wet, but it had to be snug in there. Why would she want to live like that for two months?
She smiled, and from all the way upstairs he could see the self-satisfaction in her expression. Determination had always been her saving grace, and he’d admired it. Until just now when she’d trained her grit on him and weaseled her way back into his life. He didn’t need anyone—didn’t his family get it? He shook his head, frustrated yet amused. That same tenacity had always been the key to her survival. Could he fault her for not letting him send her away?
He moved further into his gym and grabbed some free weights.
Mary had gotten a lousy start with her parents stumbling their way through life, blaming everyone and everything else on their failings, rather than taking a good look at themselves. Fortunately, she hadn’t picked up their lax habits. In fact, she’d done exactly the opposite—she’d taken a long look at her parents and had become convinced she could do better for herself. Then she’d set out to prove it. And prove it she had. She held a doctorate degree. Could work anywhere she wanted. And at this point in time she’d chosen to work here. Lucky him.
When Alexandra had first brought her home, Mary had been scrawny and had worn clothes from thrift shops. They’d been assigned to work on a science project together, and instead of judging Mary on her appearance Alex had been raised to be open-minded. She’d treated Mary like all of her other friends, though those friends had all been rich. Without passing judgment, Alexandra had quickly zeroed in on how bright Mary was—beyond how nice and sweet she was—and their team project had taken first place. She’d also realized that Mary couldn’t always depend on meals at home so she’d quickly become a regular guest for meals at the Van Allen house. Soon Mary had become best friends with his big-hearted sister.
Back then, he’d also been taken in by Mary’s upbeat spirit, and secretly by her waist-long strawberry blonde hair, which she wore only shoulder length these days. Her shining inquisitive green eyes had stood out like a newly discovered gem in a household of brown-eyed people, and he’d been drawn to her from their very first meeting. Plus, he’d seen something else in that wide and intelligent stare of hers—admiration. Admiration for him. He’d enjoyed knowing his sister’s new best friend had a huge crush on him, accepted it with pride, even fed that crush from time to time.
But she’d been innocent and vulnerable and, with parents like hers, hungry for love and attention. With a father like his, who had unwavering expectations for him, well, Wes had been wise enough to play gently with Mary’s heart by keeping her at arm’s length, knowing his future would take a far different direction from hers. Still, selfish eighteen-year-old that he’d been, he’d strung her along, given her enough attention to keep her hopeful.
Damn, he’d been mean even then. Or careless? Egotistical for sure. Hadn’t the Prince of Westwood been his family nickname? Especially the one time he’d slipped up and let his—what should he call it—curiosity or desire get the better of him.
Long before everyone had had a cell phone—especially kids like Mary—and social media had taken hold of the entire world, she’d appeared on their doorstep, breathless and excited. Alexandra hadn’t been home—come to think of it, no one else had been either—but he’d invited her in anyway. When he’d seen her disappointment at not having Alex to share her great news with, he’d offered to listen and to deliver the information personally to his kid sister.
Mary had made the principal’s list, which would ensure she’d be able to continue on at the Magnet school for the next year. She’d only been admitted the prior year on that contingency, and because, like most private schools, the school held a certain number of slots for marginal teens like her. Her joy had been contagious and swept up by her beaming smile—the same one she’d tried to flash at him just minutes earlier in his entryway—he’d let down his usual barriers where Mary had been concerned, crossed the line and kissed her.
What had started out as a congratulatory kiss had soon changed into one packed with typical teenage male need and longing that he’d kept hidden since the first day he’d met her. And she’d been a very active participant in that kiss, a kiss so heady he remembered it clearly to this day. If his mother arriving home from her charity meeting hadn’t abruptly broken things up, being young and driven by hormones, not to mention dumb enough to let desire take over back then, who knew what might have happened?
He traded in the first weights and lifted two heavier weights and began vigorously trading repetitions, like a locomotion locked in place.
He’d always been lucky that way, saved from his wandering, kept on the straight and narrow if not by himself then by outside forces, especially by his father, because he was meant to be a doctor. And not just any doctor, a neurosurgeon. He’d planned his entire life around it, and a young, pretty and fresh face like Mary’s couldn’t get in the way. Yes, his parents were open-minded about many things, but getting mixed up with a girl literally from the wrong side of the tracks would never have been tolerated by dear old Dad. Alexandra having Mary as a friend had proved to be charitable enough for the Van Allen family.
Until her prom two years later. When no one had invited Mary the first week after the school prom kick-off announcement, Alexandra had begged Wesley to invite her. He’d fought it at first, knowing there had to be several guys who’d love to take a girl like Mary, unless they were snooty and let her being poor get in the way of good taste. By the end of week two Alexandra had gotten her mother involved, and what had seemed beneath him as a twenty-year-old university student had been foisted on him. Two-three years older than all the others attending, he’d been volunteered to take Mary to the prom.
If he’d let himself look deep down, he wouldn’t have been able to deny he still had vague feelings for her. He’d become a sophisticated pre-med student and a seventeen-year-old woman was not only jail bait but socially undesirable. The Prince of Westwood had taken her to the prom anyway, just so his family could wear the “aren’t we good people” badge.
His worldly-wise self hadn’t expected to be knocked off his feet when he’d seen Mary that night in the dress his mother had bought. Not as pricey or special as Alexandra’s dress, of course, but perfectly suited to her. His conscience had been dealt its first blow when he’d picked her up at the ratty mobile home park she’d lived in, her parents not even bothering to make an appearance. Maybe they’d been embarrassed? Regardless, he’d taken Mary back to his house where Alexandra and her friends had waited to take before-prom pictures, wondering how such a lovely flower had grown in such bleak surroundings.
Then he’d spent the entire evening keeping her at arm’s length, being a boorish cosmopolitan-minded university man, The Prince of Westwood lecturing her on making something of her life. Explaining to her how insignificant something like a high school prom registered in the course of a lifetime. So why was he still thinking about it now?
While on his soapbox that night, he’d warned her about guys—like himself—who’d love to take advantage of her.
So wise. So stupid. So moved by her poverty. So protective of her. Out of obligation, he’d asked her to dance and when holding her he’d made the mistake of looking into those eyes, a shade darker than her pastel green dress. Innocent and beautiful and calling out to his soul. To love her.
He’d known he couldn’t. He hadn’t been nearly enough of a man to risk that. When he’d taken her home, out of gratitude she’d thrown her arms around his neck, and he’d nearly kissed her the way he’d wanted to all evening. But he’d known it would change everything if he did, and he couldn’t stray from his calling. Nothing could keep him from medical school, and surely getting involved with a girl like Mary would change his life. For the better? Who knew?
How pompous he’d been, lecturing her on making something of her life. To do it for herself because no one else could.
He stopped the repetitions and stared out the gym window down to where her crazy little house stood.
Wes had seen the disappointment in Mary’s gaze after their chaste kiss the night of the prom, yet her sweetness had remained. She’d dutifully thanked him and promised not to let him down, playing her “kid sister” role perfectly. Before he’d left, he’d told her how beautiful she looked and even in the dark of night she’d beamed. So princely. Such power. All the more reason to save her from him. Yet he’d walked away wondering who between them had the most power over the other and sure he’d left a piece of his heart behind. Forever.
The least he could do was let her share her expertise with him now. Who knew, he might learn something, and if that helped his recovery and goal to get back to work again, it would be worth all of these memories bombarding him about his unwanted guest.
He’d had enough of the free weights and trained his sight across the room, out of that blasted window...to her house.
Returning to university that next afternoon, it had been easy to brush the moment—their special night—under the table and move on. Not really, but he’d worked at it at least. Truth was he’d carried those memories around with him for a decade until they’d been replaced with an amazing kiss they’d shared at his sister’s wedding several years later.
He rolled under the pull-up bar and grabbed hold, lifting himself out of the wheelchair, pressing his chin to the bar, over and over, until sweat rolled down his temples and his arms trembled.
Still on the fast track to success back then, he’d been about to become engaged to Giselle, a young woman of his social standing, with all the proper credentials and diplomas to be a rich doctor’s wife and a doctor herself. Plus she’d been vetted by dear old Dad. Yes, the decision had been cold and calculated, but it fit in with his future. To this day, long after his engagement had fallen apart, his medical practice had taken off and his bank account had doubled—but what did success matter anymore?—he’d recalled that champagne-inspired kiss he’d shared with Mary at Alexandra’s wedding with a longing smile.
He let go of the bar and landed with a plop in his waiting wheelchair—his special, no-choice buddy for the rest of his life—remembering the night of his sister’s wedding.
Mary had changed at twenty-four. She’d become a woman who knew herself and how to tempt a man. She’d taken control of her life just like she’d promised the night of the prom, and she’d radiated confidence and inner peace because of it. Always reaching for that next step on his ladder to the pinnacle, Wes had wanted that. A taste of her secret recipe for contentment. She’d also happened to look amazing in the strapless maid-of-honor dress. It had been ice blue, he vividly recalled, enough to make him smile.
A forgotten sensation tickled down his spine until it reached the location of his spinal cord injury and stopped. He glanced out the window again, watching her sweep her tiny porch as he experienced phantom tingles in his toes. What was that about? Maybe he’d pulled something during his workout?
He’d always known Mary deserved a family of her making, a place to call home. A shot with a decent guy. He’d also had the wisdom to know that they were never meant to be together, so he’d never followed through on his “what if” thoughts. BP—before paraplegia. Useless, silly thoughts, meant only for thinking, savoring even, but never acting on. Until it was too late... AP—after paraplegia.
He wiped his face with the towel, searching the room for another form of man-against-machine torture to take his mind off these wandering thoughts. What was the point? He chose the cable machine, first lowering the sides of his specially made workout wheelchair, then grabbing the bar to begin a series of triceps cable extensions.
Was this how she lived now? Dragging her mini-house with her everywhere she went like a mega-sized backpack? What kind of vagabond life was that for a woman like Mary? She’d been raised in a trailer park by inattentive parents. He’d always pegged her as a girl who wanted to set down roots, who wanted a family more than anything else in the world, the kind she deserved, not the one she’d been born into. Though he could never picture a guy worthy of her, he’d still imagined her settling down, raising children. Now, apparently, she traveled the country alone. In that thing. A house suited more for a mouse.
The irony didn’t take long to sink in about him wondering about what kind of life she led. Take a look at yourself. More money than one person could ever use, living alone in a fortress made of the latest building materials, a ten-million-dollar view of the Pacific Ocean out his front door, yet completely alone.
The last thing he needed to do was examine his own situation. Nope, he was determined to ignore that.
He shook his head. He wasn’t ready to think about the AP future. Not after failing miserably when he’d tried to go back to work prematurely three months ago. How the humiliation had burned like a branding iron when his department head had suggested he’d come back too soon, telling him to take more time off to get a better handle on balancing his demanding job with being in a wheelchair.
His father’s words to live by had infused his way of thinking. Failure is not an option.
The problem was, he already had. Failed. Big time.
He glanced out the window again, catching sight of the back of Mary as she pushed into her doll house.
One finger skimmed the area on his cheek where she’d bussed him when she’d first entered his house. He hadn’t had the chance to dodge it. Oddly enough, her touch had produced a sweet warm feeling, as she always had for him, and had unleashed his wrath for catching him off guard, for daring to make him feel something. Because these days he, like his legs, refused to feel a thing, other than pain from working out too hard and too long. Which he believed was strength. As crazy as it seemed, physical pain reminded him he was still alive, not locked away by his own choice in this castle by the sea.
He guided his top-of-the-line workout wheelchair down the hall, past the specially built elevator to his bedroom, where he would have slammed the damn door if he could’ve only figured out how to get the right amount of leverage to do it.
This was his truth now. He was a guy stuck in a chair.
* * *
Mary went about the business of settling her home after another long journey. For the last two years and over a half-dozen moves, she’d lived in the tiny house she’d helped design and for which she’d paid cash. Another lesson she’d learned inadvertently from her parents.
She’d chosen to bring her house along with her wherever she got assigned, rather than stay in cold, short-term rentals or soulless extended-stay hotels. This was home. She’d carefully chosen the floor plan to meet her every need, yet using the smallest amount of space necessary. That had turned out to be two hundred and fifty square feet. She’d gone the woodsy cabin route, yet the repurposed materials they’d used to build the house were surprisingly light, making it easy to travel, as long as she was willing to drive a pickup truck. Which had cost nearly as much as the house!
Her living room space came complete with a large enough mounted flat-screen TV. The kitchen had been a bit trickier, yet she’d made it state-of-the-art enough to make do, since she enjoyed cooking. She’d settled for a two-burner gas stove, minimal counter space but with a built-in table that folded down and opened up when it was time to eat or if she needed a place to knead bread dough or cut out cookies. The half-sized refrigerator kept her eating fresher and healthier, since she didn’t have much storage. Yes, the kitchen sink had to double up for face-washing and tooth-brushing, but for payoff she’d managed a nearly full-sized shower, with a stackable mini-washer/drier nearby and a petite toilet, all at the back of the ground-floor living space.
She chuckled, thinking of her mini-house as two stories, but her favorite spot in the entire tiny house was her loft bedroom. That counted as a story, didn’t it? Plus, the permanent wood ladder she needed to climb to get to the loft doubled as a small A-framed bookcase downstairs. No space went to waste, and she liked living like that. Unlike the ratty tin and Formica filled trailer she’d been raised in, this was truly a home. Cozy. Warm. Filled with life. Her life.
She might not be able to stand up straight in her bedroom but, whichever city she set the house up in, each morning she could peer out of the small “second story” window at the head of her bed to greet the day. The view changed often, and so far she liked it that way. This time, she had the luxury of parking on Wesley’s grand Malibu estate, and she was guaranteed to see the ocean first thing every sunrise. If she hadn’t been so depressed about seeing him, she’d be excited about living here for the next two months. What she needed was a serious attitude adjustment.
She sat on the long pillowed and comfy couch, which doubled as a storage bench, with a cup of tea, and thought about Wesley. His situation broke her heart and she’d proved it with her meltdown on his doorstep earlier. He’d always been her hero, the guy with the world at his fingertips. The Prince of Westwood! Invincible. He’d made her want to be better than who she was, to build a dream then follow it to the end. Because of him, she’d pursued a doctorate after her post-graduate P.T. degree. She took a sip of hot black tea, thinking of his intelligent eyes, hers welling up again as her heart pinched.
The man might be considered disabled by everyday standards, but he was also a skilled neurosurgeon, and the world still needed him. She couldn’t allow him to hide away in his gym day in and day out.
It seemed he had to relearn how to be himself. The confident, outgoing guy he used to be. That was a task far beyond her physical therapist’s pay scale. All she could hope was for their once shared friendship and mutual respect to pull him back to what he’d been before the accident. Not the gym rat he’d become. Didn’t he know that true strength came from inside, not from muscles?
Her phone rang. It was Alexandra. “How’d things go?”
“A little rocky at first, but he’s agreed to let me stay for now.”
“How does he look?”
Great! Sexy as ever. “Determined, and obviously buffer than I’ve ever seen him.”
“If anyone can get through to him, I know you can.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Promise?” Mommy! Mommy! Mary heard children’s voices in the background. With three kids, Alexandra never seemed to make it through a phone call without interruption.
“Promise.”
“I’m going to have to cut things short.”
“I understand. I’ll keep you posted. Give those kids a hug from me, and two for Rosebud, okay?”
“Can you believe little Rose is one now?”
“Unreal.” She’d missed her birthday from being out of state, but had seen videos, and had also had face time with her on the computer when little Rosebud had opened the gift she’d sent—a small rocking horse that talked to the rider. Rose had loved it and the grin on her face when she’d opened the package had managed to wrap around Mary’s heart and change her life forever.
They hung up, and Mary remembered the day she’d first held Rose when she was less than a week old. The tiny bundle, completely helpless, had still managed to get her needs across with grunts and stretches, cries and flailing pink spindly arms. And the newborn had felt more amazing than anything Mary had ever held in her life.
Her education and traveling had kept her away from the births of Alexandra’s first two children, Oliver and Bailey. But she’d been given the honor of becoming Rose’s godmother so she couldn’t very well miss out on meeting her right off. That meet and greet had changed her life.
A loving warmth fanned over her skin as she remembered how deeply she’d been moved by holding her goddaughter. How the tiny baby had reached into her heart and planted a need she’d never dared to dream of before.
As she stared out of the two decent-sized windows of her tiny home, looking out toward the beach, she thought of her own situation. She was at a crossroads in life and, at nearly thirty-four, she finally admitted what she really wanted. More than anything. A child.
It was little Rosebud’s fault. And Matthew’s, the sturdy little six-month-old she’d held just last week. Her patient, his mother, had been instructed to do some exercises and the baby had needed to be held. Mary had thought nothing of helping out until the sturdy boy with those chubby dimpled hands, two chins and a Buddha belly had looked into her eyes and squealed with joy. She’d never wanted to cuddle, squeeze and kiss a baby more in her life. Oh, yeah, she wanted one.
Now she dreamed of having a child. Illogical, yes, with no man in her life. Living completely without roots. An inconsistent job that took her all over the country. Yet she’d finally heeded the whisperings of her body that had been building for years, and with the recent help of two little ones, that whisper had turned into a scream. She wanted to be a mother more than anything. To have a baby all her own...before it was too late.
Finishing off her tea, she stood and walked the few short feet to her kitchen sink. How exactly did a woman go about such a task on her own?
She glanced at the mansion up the walk, which may as well be a prison for its current purpose of shutting out the world for Wesley Van Allen, M.D. Then she put her yearning for a baby aside. Wes needed to be her first priority for now.
She was adamant about setting a time limit with him, though. Two months. Tops. She’d allowed for the lapse in a paying job into her annual budget for exactly that amount of time. If she intended to pursue her dream of having a child on her own, she’d need to change jobs to one where she could settle down in one place in order to be a stable parent. It was her chance to provide for her baby what she’d never had herself. Permanence, unconditional love, protection and opportunity. And, father or no father, she wanted it with all of her might.
She washed her teacup, deciding to take a walk on the gloriously beautiful beach. Maybe when she got back she’d crack open that bottle of wine she’d been saving, sit on her cozy front porch, have a toast to her latest post, and lift a glass to her future plans. Truth was, she could spend the entire evening daydreaming about becoming a mother, but...
Right now, her long-ago—but never forgotten—first crush had to come first.
