His Girl From Nowhere. Tina Beckett
“Let’s see how you’re doing, Clara, is that okay?”
The lolling of her head was the only answer he got, as she struggled to focus on his face. Clara was seeing a variety of specialists today, her graft team, her occupational therapist, along with her physical therapist and orthopedist. They would come together later in the day and discuss their individual findings and try to figure out where to go from here. As he lifted Clara and laid her on the exam table, he wondered how Trisha expected to keep children like this upright on that horse. Crow—was that the animal’s name?—was pretty large. He hadn’t paid close attention to the sizes of the other horses. And that saddle had seemed soft and flimsy, with fabric grips rather than a traditional saddle horn. How would Clara even hold on?
He hadn’t thought to ask, because something had distracted him. Namely the sight and scent of a certain equine therapist. One who’d stroked his hand down a horse’s neck and made him wonder what it would be like to stroke his fingers down the silky skin of her throat instead.
“Okay, Clara.” He reached over to grab his reflex hammer, putting Trisha out of his mind. “You know the drill.”
She still couldn’t sit completely under her own power, although he thought she’d grown a little more stable over the past few months. He smoothed a couple of strands of blonde hair back from her forehead with a smile that was a little more forced than normal. “Are you ready?”
He carefully went through Clara’s reflex reactions and strength, looking for any increase in weakness or spasticity on her left side. Things looked much the same as they had a month ago, something her mother found frustrating, and Mike couldn’t blame her. It had to be agonizing to work so hard and see so little improvement. It was another reason she was so eager to try something new. Anything new.
He couldn’t let himself be swayed by that.
Helping the five-year-old back into a sitting position and calling her mother over to help keep her stable, he studied Clara’s eyes, smiling at her and watching her reaction. Her lips curled as she tried to smile back, but the left side still lagged behind the right, not lifting as high. He did a few more tests and then they bundled her back into her chair and Mike gently strapped her in. Those blue angelic eyes followed his movements and he could almost see the plea inside of her, although he knew it was probably his imagination.
Shifting his attention back to Doris, he sighed. “Give me another week to get some more background information on hippotherapy. I’ll give you a call as soon as I feel I can recommend something one way or the other.”
Doris smiled, then, as if unable to resist, hugged him. “Thank you. I know you’ll do the right thing.” As soon as the words were out she released him and brushed her fingertips beneath her eyes. Mike’s gut clenched. Again.
Doing what was right wasn’t always a black-and-white decision.
He accompanied the pair out to the waiting room just as his receptionist swiveled in her chair. “A Ms. Bolton called to set up your next appointment. She said she’s a hippotherapist?” Her puckered brow said she had no idea what that was.
Join the crowd.
Unfortunately, Clara knew exactly who that was. “H-h-h-horsy l-lady!” The stuttered words—the first thing she’d said since arriving—came out of the five-year-old’s mouth as a loud squeal, causing every head in the waiting room to swivel toward them. So much for keeping Trisha’s existence quiet for now.
Rather than feeling irritated, Mike squatted down in front of the child and waited patiently until she looked at him. “Do you like the horsy lady, Clara?”
Clara’s head gave that funny little roll that was meant as a nod. “N-nice. Want...h-horse.”
“We’ll have to see what we can do.”
He glanced up at his receptionist. “Find a spot on my schedule that works for Ms. Bolton as well and pencil me in. Oh, and find my next scheduled tumor resection and ask Ms. Bolton if she can free up that time.” If she was going to put his feet to the fire, then he intended to do the same. It was time for her to live up to her end of the bargain. And soon. He ignored the sharp twist inside him that said he wasn’t being fair.
Of course he was. This was what they’d agreed on. Although, if he was honest with himself, he’d suggested the trade because of the way she’d shuddered at the word blood when she’d joked about her horses. He’d felt so sure she’d decide it wasn’t worth it. That hadn’t happened, making him wonder just how badly she needed new clients.
As he waved goodbye to Doris and Clara, a hard, cold lump formed in his throat. This was worst bargain he’d ever made. One that would require more delicate maneuvering than his most difficult surgery. And like most of those surgeries, the outcome was anything but sure. But first of all he wanted to see exactly who he was dealing with. There was something odd about Ms. Bolton...about the way she’d balked about giving him references from her previous location. He’d been lied to before. And unfortunately he’d found that some lies weren’t harmless. Some of them destroyed lives.
Asking his receptionist for five minutes before sending in his next appointment, he made his way back into his office and dialed up an old friend. Swiveling away from the door, he waited through three rings then a familiar voice came on the line. “Mike. How are you?”
“Fine, Ray, and you?”
“Can’t complain. Although things have been a little too quiet lately.”
Mike took a deep breath before forcing himself to continue. “Well, maybe I can help you out with that. Can you do me a favor?”
The sheriff’s gruff voice came back over the line. “Depends on what it is. Although I do owe you a pretty big favor.”
“You don’t owe me anything, Ray.” His friend’s mother had had an aortic aneurism, and Mike had steered them to the finest specialist in the area. The sheriff wouldn’t let it go, saying he’d pay him back somehow.
“Sounds pretty serious.”
It was. If only he could tell Ray why. It was a little hard as he wasn’t sure of the answer to that question himself. “We have a new physical therapist in town who uses horses in her work.”
“Oh, hell, Mike. Sorry, man.”
His old friend knew all about Marcy. They’d all been friends once upon a time—had all grown up together in Dusty Hills. Ray even knew about the affair his wife had had with one of her fellow trainers. “It’s not about her horses. I asked her for references, and she got a little squirrelly on me with her answers. Is there any way you can do a check on her?”
“I don’t know, Mike. I’m assuming we’re not talking about a credit check.”
“No.” He pushed ahead. He still had several patients to see so he needed to make this quick. “I have a patient’s mother who wants to use her services, but I don’t want to recommend something unless it’s on the up and up.”
“You think she has a record?”
Did he? No, not really, and he wasn’t sure how ethical it was to ask his friend to do a background check.
“I’m not sure.”
A chuckle came over the phone. “There is such a thing as the internet, you know.”
Hmm...he hadn’t thought of that. He typed the name Patricia Bolton into the computer on his desk and lots of suggestions came up. Too many. He wouldn’t even know where to begin. “I guess I could try that.”
“What’s her name? I’ll poke around some, but I can only dig so deep without having an iron-clad reason.”
He swallowed, wondering if he was doing the right thing. This seemed a little too close to invasion of privacy for his taste. And just because Marcy had told some whoppers it didn’t mean that every woman he ran across was stretching the truth. Except Trisha had definitely been evasive about giving him names of clients