Miracle For The Neurosurgeon - Lynne Marshall

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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.

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE NEXT MORNING, Rita met Mary at the door and escorted her as far as the stairs, which Mary took two at a time, priming herself for a fight when she reached the gym. Instead, she found Wesley dressed, freshly shaved, and with his hair tied up, waiting for her. Surprise.

      “This is a change.” She smiled, entering the workout room, but Wesley, dressed in a black T-shirt and grey sweatpants, didn’t exactly return it. At least he didn’t scowl.

      “The sooner we get on with this, the sooner...” He stopped himself.

      But she had a hunch what he’d planned on saying was, the sooner you’ll be gone. “Two months. Remember? Give me two months and you’ll be a different man.”

      Now came the deadpan stare. “I already am a different man.”

      She refused to take the bait. “You may be buffer than I ever remember, but there’s more work to be done, though the outcome will be less obvious...” she held up her index finger “...but necessary.” Without giving him a moment to protest, she grabbed a stool on wheels by the nearby wall in his top-of-the-line equipped gym and rolled over to his wheelchair. “I need to do a complete evaluation of your muscles and reflexes.”

      He pulled in his chin and his brows pushed down.

      “You didn’t think I was going to start you on exercises without first evaluating your motor and sensory status, did you?” From her large shoulder bag she pulled out a multi-paged form. “Let’s get started.”

      “I’ve already been through this.”

      She’d learned from his online records—which she’d been approved to view—that he’d had sufficient occupational training for activities of daily living. She’d also learned about his past and personal medical history, which, to be honest, prior to the accident had been uneventful. But if there was any health issue, she’d leave that part up to his primary physician. He certainly seemed independent from the looks of him, all dressed and ready to go so early in the morning.

      “Yes, but you haven’t had a thorough examination in several months, and I need to compare your current status with the last one.”

      Her plan was to measure muscles, grade their power, tone and level of flaccidity. She’d test modalities of sensation, both superficial and deep, above his injury and compare them to the American Spinal Injury Impairment Scale. He’d nearly severed his spinal cord at T11-12, which made him paraplegic but able to sit on his own, which he obviously handled like the Prince of Westwood, and that definitely helped with breathing and the ability to deep cough. Both important for general health and well-being.

      After the first part of the evaluation, which took a good half-hour, though impressed with his upper body strength and the fact he’d increased muscle mass since his last evaluation, she was most concerned about the decrease in the use of joints below his waist. With him being a doctor, she’d have thought he would have cared about such things, but she hadn’t taken into account his mental outlook. He was an achiever and worked like the devil on what he could change, in his case developing strength and muscles like a regular Adonis, while ignoring the part he had zero control over—his hips and lower extremities.

      She continued with her examination and as she used her hands to feel and measure his thighs, she sensed his discomfort and decided to lighten the mood. “Hey, it’s not like you haven’t had women groping and crawling all over you before, right?”

      “They were usually naked.”

      He’d actually tried to make a joke—or a snide remark, but she preferred to think of it as a joke—and she couldn’t let his effort lie flat so she played along. “Are you asking me to take off my clothes?”

      She pinned Wesley’s caramel eyes with her own, wondering where she’d gotten the nerve to be so bold, but rode it out in spite of her inner cringing. Acting this way felt completely wrong. He didn’t look away and it sent a subtle shudder right down her middle.

      “That’s a thought,” he said, his voice a rough whisper that definitely wasn’t snide.

      She’d never pull something like this with a patient, and as long as she was here to help she’d expect nothing less from herself. “Excuse me, Wes. That was uncalled for. I apologize for crossing the line. You being an old friend shouldn’t make a difference.”

      He didn’t let her off the hook but studied her, his head tipped just so as he did. Inside, she squirmed, wishing she’d never pretended to be bold, waiting to see if she’d offended him and if he was going to let her have it.

      “I’m still considering your first offer.” His were now the eyes doing the pinning...and the teasing. The internal cringing doubled. He was testing her. She may as well be naked since she couldn’t hide the total body goose-bumps.

      “Gah! You win. I had no business acting all vampy with you. I’m the least sexy person on earth.”

      “Says who?”

      “Oh, trust me, I am. Anyway, you win. I bow to your poker face.” She went overboard, taking the ditzy route, hoping to keep him from realizing what she instantaneously had. He was paralyzed from the waist down. She felt safer with him. It was a sad truth she’d have to face herself with later in the mirror. She’d judged him without even realizing it, putting him in the “safe” male category, becoming gutsier as a result.

      For that one instant, she

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