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“I-I never knew anybody with initials for a name,” he said hesitantly. “What’s ED. short for, anyway?”
The question, so out of the blue, brought her up short.
“But it’s not...that,” she stammered, wondering why she felt as if she was equivocating. “It’s Edie. I don’t think it’s short for anything. My mother told me the name came to her in a dream when she was pregnant.”
For some reason, she found her gaze locking with Holden’s. He was impassive no more-instead she glimpsed a naked yearning in his eyes that was startling. It brought to mind how he’d stared at her before, right after she’d come into the room and found him looking almost...lost. And how it seemed he looked to her to bring him back home.
Edie was held spellbound by the searching in those intense gray-green eyes. They delved miles deeper than Sam’s ever could—almost intimately. Like a man would gaze at...at a lover.
She realized only now how she’d avoided that look before, much in the same way his little boy had recoiled from her and the potential for pain she represented.
With some desperation, Edie pushed such thoughts from her mind so that she might concentrate on helping the one who needed her most at the moment.
But she was not quite so confident as she’d been a minute ago of who that person was as she left the room, Holden McKee only a step behind her.
Chapter Two
Holden followed Edie down the hall, where she indicated he should precede her into an unoccupied treatment room. She closed the door after them, startling him when she whirled to face him. Gone was the gentle, compassionate angel of mercy, surrounded by her halo of red-gold hair, who had so recently ministered to his son.
In her place was a fierce, passionate champion outfitted in an armor of copper. Her brown eyes snapped, the color in her cheeks rose. She was magnificent to behold.
A surge of some force passed over Holden, through him, paralyzing him like an electrical shock. What was it about this woman that resounded in him so profoundly? Like that ripple in time he’d felt before, which he’d begun to believe had been a result of the stress he was under.
Yet it had happened again in the treatment room with Sam—that little misunderstanding about her name. That time, though, she’d experienced a jolt, too, which he’d seen disorient her.
It wasn’t just him—or was it? He had been under a lot of stress—the job, the move, this new crisis with Sam. The changes and events of the past year were simply catching up with him. That had to be it.
He could not succumb to the confusion.
“Let’s get a few things straight right now, Dr. McKee,” Edie began, starting right in on him, just as he knew she would. Well, he had a few things to say to her, too. “You’ve brought Sam to me for physical therapy. I am assuming this is because your ability to provide such treatment is outside your expertise. Am I wrong?”
“No, but—”
“Then why won’t you let me do my job!” she demanded.
He crossed his arms, determined to remain calm and keep from taking her attack personally, even though she was stepping way out of line. Even though something told him he wasn’t the only one taking things personally right now. “Precisely how have I prevented you, Ms. Turner?”
She stared at him with patent disbelief. “Are you serious? What do you call the lectures on this bone being connected to that bone so that I feel like I’m in Anatomy 101 again? But you know what? I can handle that. I’ve dealt with worse attacks on my competence by doctors. What’s really damaging to any progress I might be making is your indirect criticism of just about anything Sam says or does!”
Holden was surprised into protesting, “Now, that is not true.”
“Dr. McKee. please!” Clearly frustrated with him, she paced to the other side of the room, where she pivoted and slapped her palms down on top of the waist-high table. “He needs to tell me himself where it hurts and how it feels and what he’s comfortable doing. You are not inside his body with him! Only Sam knows what he can tolerate. You should know that as a physician!”
“First of all, Ms. Turner, I did take your hints—as a physician—and kept my mouth shut while you worked at building a rapport with your patient so you could evaluate him,” Holden said evenly, crossing to the table and planting his knuckles on it to face her squarely. “But I was forced to speak out at that last bit of yours, when you practically drew him a diagram of how to break his neck!”
“I was trying to let him know he hadn’t done anything but be a typical little kid!” She leveled an accusing glare at him. “And don’t tell me you’re not angry with Sam for that.”
Despite his resolution, Holden felt his control slip. “I am not angry! Why would I be when he’s done nothing wrong?”
“Hasn’t he? Launching himself down a staircase headfirst?”
Holden’s chin snapped back. Though the accident had happened over a month ago, the mere thought of that day had the power to propel him into a snare of self-blame he’d scarcely become untangled from.
Blast Edie Turner for making him go there!
“This sort of psychoanalyzing hardly falls within your function as Sam’s therapist,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I think it does! Sam’s emotional state affects how well I can do my job, which is helping him to recover from his injury.”
“Which I have my doubts of your being competent to do.” Holden leaned forward on his fists. “I can have you taken off this case, and don’t think I won’t do it.”
Now it was her turn to be taken aback. “You wouldn’t be so rash at your son’s expense.”
“Would it be rash? I’m not convinced.”
Edie blinked, her mouth working with frustration. But she rallied. “Certainly, you must do what you feel is best, Doctor. Which doesn’t change the fact that Sam needs to hear from someone that sometimes kids do reckless and even kind of foolish things, like jumping off of landings and falling out of trees, and that such a mistake won’t be held over his head forever. I mean, honestly, didn’t you ever try some dangerous, foolish feat when you were a kid and nearly come to complete disaster?”
At her question, Holden took another hit, like a bomb going off inside him. Too close this time. Too damn close. The heat of it radiated around him.
This time he knew he’d be unable to temper his reaction, which only added more fuel to it.
“Of course I did!” he exploded, his face inches from hers. “Does that mean Sam’s accident shouldn’t have scared the hell out of me? Good God, Ms. Turner, I may be a doctor, but he’s my son!”
His words reverberated in the room and seemed to bring both of them back to their senses. Holden rocked back on his heels, yanking one hand through his hair. He hated feeling out of control!
Yet his outburst had obviously struck a chord with Edie. Her fingers covered her open mouth as she gaped at him for several moments. She pressed one palm to her chest.
“You’re right,” she said simply. “I apologize, Dr. McKee. I haven’t been dealing with you as a parent. As a...a person. I realize now your comments, however analytical or critical or inept, were your way of showing concern for your son.”
“So glad you understand,” Holden muttered, cramming his fists in his pockets.
She actually smiled, and it changed the whole aspect of her appearance, brought back that warmth of spirit she’d shown with Sam and less that role of fierce protector of all that was innocent—with Holden starring as the barbarian invader.
He even found himself adding ruefully, “I suppose I might have given you the impression I was treating Sam like any other case with my comments. I only meant to offer him encouragement.”
His olive branch, such as it was, seemed to be accepted.
“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself,” Edie said. “I bet mere were some of the usual father-son dynamics working there, too—you know, that male trait of not being able to be open with understanding or sympathy. Or maybe—” she cocked her head to one side, that fall of hair sliding down the length of her arm “—you’ve been angry with yourself, for letting him get hurt. Maybe that’s what I was picking up on in the other room.”
“‘Picking up on’?” he asked cynically.
“Having Sam suffer an accident might be harder for a doctor to accept, even one who claims to have no power issues.”
He felt himself tacking back toward ticked off at this woman. “Please, Ms. Turner, I really can do without the pop psychology. Which brings up a point.” She wasn’t the only one who could render a performance evaluation. “Speaking as a doctor now, you need to keep more of a professional distance and do your job. You’re a physical therapist, not his shrink or his mother.”
Her chin set rebelliously at his suggestion, but she answered readily enough. “Point taken, Doctor.”
Holden had just begun to think he was getting a leg up on the situation—and Edie Turner—when she said, “Which brings up yet another matter. Where is Sam’s mother?”
It was another blow to the gut, and it left him just a little more exposed than after the last.
This was why he avoided becoming personal with people.
“My wife died a little over a year ago,” Holden said without a bit of inflection. Oh, but would the words ever get any easier?
At least they had the effect of stunning Edie into another silence, except for a murmured “I see.”
The silence drew on, making Holden search to fill it with something, anything to draw them away from the dangerous ground he seemed to step onto with this woman with regularity.
“Now you know what Sam’s dealing with,” he said stiffly.
“Yes,” she said on an outrush of air. “Knowing of your loss certainly clears a lot of things up for me. At least I understand a little better the rather...pessimistic philosophy you let fly with earlier.”
“Sure, I’m pessimistic,” he said. “Can you make rhyme or reason out of why a woman in her prime might be struck down with a brain aneurysm?”
“I don’t know why. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a reason.”
Before he could react to such an absurd remark she’d gone on with infinite gentleness, “I’m... terribly sorry, Dr. McKee. For both yours and Sam’s loss.”
“Sorry?” Holden asked. “It’s not your fault.”
“Neither is it yours,” she answered as gently, not rising to his gibe. Her brown eyes no longer snapped with righteousness. On the contrary, within their liquid depths were echoes of the sympathy and understanding he’d seen there before, when she’d leaned over him, her face—her mouth—so close to his he had almost kissed her.
At least now that temptation was held at bay by the treatment table that separated them like two adversaries. Except... Edie’s hand lifted from the table. Holden watched, nearly mesmerized, as she held it out toward him, a lock of that vibrant hair caught on her cuff. It fanned down from her sleeve to her lab coat in a curtain of burnished copper.
If she touched him, he wasn’t certain what he’d do.
Yes, exposed was exactly how he felt. Exposed and not in control at all.
But Edie apparently thought better of the gesture, for she let her hand drop to her side. Holden cleared his throat, wondering what had held her back.
She drew in a deep breath, looking somewhat troubled. “Well, then, Dr. McKee. Are we agreed that the most important thing is Sam’s welfare?”
“Of course.”
“And what’s best, I think, is for me to gain his confidence and trust.” She stuck her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “Most of all, I need to be able to work on his PT at a pace he’s comfortable with, preferably in an atmosphere where his efforts aren’t explicitly or implicitly judged.”
Holden lifted a cool eyebrow. “Meaning?”
“You want him to come out of this with a fully rehabilitated forearm and wrist, and without any lingering fears about his injury, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then I’d like you to let me treat Sam—without you.”
His other eyebrow shot up.
Her gaze became determined. “I’m sure you’re well aware giving PT to a child outside of a parent’s presence is normal procedure. In fact, most parents feel it’s easier on their nerves as well their child’s.”
“And if I don’t hold that opinion?”
“You could ask for another therapist I’m asking you not to do that.” Her gaze turned almost pleading now. “Please. Let me help Sam.”
Indeed, her brown eyes beseeched him. With a stifled oath, Holden turned, focusing on a chart of the human skeletal system tacked to the wall.
What was it about this woman that made him want to shake her one instant and the next take her in his arms?
She didn’t see him as a parent—or even as a person! Well, appearances aside, Holden thought sarcastically, he was both. But he was also a doctor, and perhaps that was what she’d been getting at—that he closed himself within that persona to keep from letting emotion cloud his judgment Often, it was this very ability to disconnect that permitted him to give a patient the best care. But Sam was not a patient; Sam was his son. And because he was, Holden felt all the normal feelings of fear and guilt and anger.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but believe that he still must continue to set those feelings aside—for Sam’s sake, as she’d said.
No, on first pass, he didn’t like her suggestion, but the second and third times around his head, he saw the sense in it Whatever Edie Turner was, she was committed. Even passionate, in a way that perhaps was imprudent while still being completely reliable. In part, he was glad she was just so, for it did seem to be exactly what Sam needed, or she wouldn’t have made such progress with him in the short time she’d worked with him.
Yet another part of him, Holden acknowledged, rued that very development. He wanted to help his son. But as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t doing the boy any good the way he was now. Edie had the right idea: Sam’s welfare was his main concern.
Holden turned back to her. “All right, Ms. Turner. I’ll still be bringing Sam to his appointments, and you can call me in toward the end of each session to show me the exercises he’ll be doing. He’ll need my help to do them right, and I want to be there for him. I do promise not to push him or make him feel like he’s damaged himself in my eyes in any way. Fair enough?”
Relief broke out over her face as she smiled. “Fair enough.”
He held the door for her as Edie led the way back to the treatment room where Sam was. She paused outside the door, though, and looked up at him.
“Thank you, Dr. McKee, for seeing the sense in my suggestion.” She made a graceful swaying gesture with her head that swung her hair back over her shoulder. It really was her best feature, Holden decided. “I appreciate you putting your trust in me.”
She’d made the same statement to Sam, and despite still questioning the wisdom of such an assurance, Holden found himself liking that she’d make the same one to him, too. It occurred to him then that she might be apprehensive about what had happened back in the other treatment room.
“Just so you know, I won’t switch Sam to another therapist once he’s started with you,” he said gruffly. “You have my word.”
“I trust you, Dr. McKee,” she said, eyes vibrant with that emotion, undoubtedly sincere.
He would wonder later what impulse made him reach out and take a lock of that living mantle in his fingers. Edie stiffened but didn’t pull away, emboldening him to leisurely rub the strands between thumb and forefinger. Each filament was like that of a precious metal, shimmering in the light. And soft, like the feathers he’d imagined he’d felt as the tips of these copper-gold locks had brushed the back of his hand. As then, it took all his might not to surround himself in the curtain of her hair.
“Is it really as easy as that, Edie?” he murmured. “You say you trust someone, so then you do? I give my consent, and so I’ve given you my trust? Is believing really that effortless?”
He waited for her answer, still caressing the silky strands. When none came, he glanced up. The trust had been replaced by the same disorientation he’d seen at Sam’s misinterpreting her name.
“Naturally, it’s not that easy,” she said, her voice low. “Real trust can’t be built in a day. It’ll take time for Sam to put his faith in me. But I won’t let your son down.”
“Yes...Sam.” Holden dropped the lock of hair and stepped back. “Shall we get back to him?”
As he followed Edie through the door, he realized that, indeed, like Rome, real trust could not be built in a day. Yet he knew from experience that it could burn to the ground in an instant.
He would have to be very careful—for everyone’s sake.
Edie pushed open the door from the changing room to the pool area, her running shoes dangling from two fingers, her socks tucked under one arm. Warm, humid air surrounded her, along with the pervading smell of chlorine. Music continued to blast from a boom box on a bench, even though the seniors’ hydrotherapy class had ended five minutes earlier. Several of the attendees were still tooling around in the pool on their foam boards.
She spied her aunt Hazel among the balding pates and bathing caps just as the older woman saw her.
“How’d it go today?” Edie called above the echoing strains of Brooks & Dunn’s “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.”
