Dr. Dad To The Rescue. Jodi O'Donnell
shut behind him. Left alone, Holden let his head fall back against the wall behind him with an oath of self-censure. He really needed to pull himself together, once and for all, for Sam’s sake, if nothing else.
But things had gotten so complicated, so close, lately.
He stared at the recessed spotlights above him and wondered if their brutal illumination, so like the flash-bulb brilliant lighting in the ER, might help him find the distance he usually donned as easily as a stethoscope. At least pondering the subject gave him something to concentrate on, take his mind off of...things.
Like how hard he’d been working. He’d thought leaving the job at County Hospital in Chicago and the daily dose of senseless death would help put his life on a more even footing. Yet even within the less-intensive atmosphere of a private suburban hospital, he continued to feel as if he slogged through a mire as thick as quicksand.
Holden realized the lights had burned hot spots on his retina only after he heard someone say his name. All he could see was a reddened aura surrounding the figure before him.
He closed his eyes, giving them a second to recover.
“Holden McKee?” the still faceless woman repeated. There was something strangely soothing about her voice. Yet rather than calming him, Holden recognized trepidation mingling with the sense of powerlessness he’d been fighting.
“Yes, I’m Holden McKee,” he said blindly, not liking the sensation. “Who are you?”
“I’m here to help your son,” she answered. She had a faint drawl he found rather attractive. “You, too, it would seem. Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course. It’s just temporary. Stupid of me, looking into the light like that—”
A hand rested on his shoulder, delicate as an angel’s touch. The impression was reinforced by the caress on the back of his hand, which felt like nothing so much as a feather.
With a certain urgency, Holden blinked. What finally came into focus was a young woman bending toward him, her face inches from his. He realized where he’d gotten the impression of auras and feather-light touches: she was surrounded by a glorious veil of red-gold hair, wavy and as fluid-looking as molten copper. The ends of its waist-length strands brushed his hand as it lay on his knee.
He got the strongest urge to reach up and rub a lock of it between his fingers to see if it was real. Or to bury his face in that thick curtain of softness—to see if she was real.
She smiled. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I don’t believe in—”
The rest of his thought was lost as he was captured by a pair of fine brown eyes fringed with dark eyelashes so curly they curved right up over her brow bone. They were quite expressive—open and honest and caring. Quite...familiar.
With that realization, the calm Holden sought settled over him, as if now that the moment of reckoning was near, he could face it—wanted to face it—and get it over with, once and for all.
Her eyes darkened with bewilderment. He must be staring like a madman. His gaze faltered, bringing her mouth into his line of vision.
He found himself riveted by those full lips, so close to his. A mere heartbeat away. All it would take was the slightest shift in his position to bridge the gap between them in a kiss. And with that connection, somehow he would know...what?
The moment held, a wrinkle in time. He felt himself at a crossroads, as if he was being given a rare, brief glimpse of two possible paths to take.
Neither way was quite clear. So close, though.
“What did you say your name was?” Holden whispered, so elusive was the moment.
“It’s Edie. Edie Turner.” Her voice held puzzlement. She didn’t know him, obviously. Disappointment mushroomed and spread in him.
The moment began to slip away.
Desperately, Holden riffled through a mental Rolodex for her name. Edie Turner. It struck no chords with him, but then he came into contact with so many people. Patients, colleagues, co-workers—all passed in and out of his life at such a rate they seemed one faceless blur. He had no time to stop and look closely at anyone, as he was doing now.
Close. So close.
Where on earth—and when—would he have known a woman named...Edie?
“You’re late.” The words popped out of Holden’s mouth of their own volition. Much too late, he wanted to add.
At his accusing tone, she straightened in surprise. Her hand dropped away. “Yes, I-I am, I guess. A little. But we still have plenty of time. There’ll be no one else after you.”
Why did her assurance—and the hurt in her eyes—do nothing to soothe his sudden anger? In fact, that look nearly undid him again, especially coming on the heels of a moment when he’d almost felt he could have told this woman anything and she would have understood.
Unsure why he was so irritated, Holden stood and indicated the time on his watch. “My son’s appointment was at four. It’s now twenty after. That’s more than a little late.”
She took a step back. Whatever connection he’d felt between them snapped.
“I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused,” she said, which only rankled him further.
“I just need to know if this is what I should expect when I bring Sam to his appointments. Because I can certainly put that twenty minutes to good use.”
Edie gave the clipboard in her hand a quick glance. “It’s Dr. McKee, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Of course. Well—again—I apologize for the wait, Dr. McKee, but in the interest of providing the best treatment possible to our patients, appointments sometimes do run over.” Though her tone remained polite, she flicked a long lock of that hair behind her shoulder in a telling gesture. “As a health-care professional yourself, I’m sure you understand.”
He raised an eyebrow at such insubordination. Not the wisest move on her part, but then—
“I deserved that, didn’t I?” Holden said.
“You’re the doctor.” She returned his scrutiny steadily. She had spirit, he’d give her that.
Yet there was not a bit of recognition in her eyes for him. The caring warmth he’d spied there had definitely departed—if he’d actually seen it at all.
He shook his head. He really had been working too hard.
Holden massaged the back of his neck. “I’m the one who should apologize, Ms. Turner. I’ve been under a lot of strain, though that’s hardly an excuse. I guess I don’t blame you, getting back a bit of your own from a doctor. We’re the ones who make the world wait for and on us,” he quipped, trying for a lighter tone.
She seemed slightly mollified, enough to return mildly, “I think they call it a God complex, Dr. McKee.”
Again, the words spilled out of his mouth of their own accord. “Not this doctor, Ms. Turner,” he said with grim emphasis. “Because that would mean I believed there’s such a thing as an almighty and healing God. And the fact is, we’re on our own down here.”
There was a muffled sound from behind him. Holden turned to find Sam had returned and stood in the doorway. He looked as if he’d learned there was no Santa Claus. Holden supposed, in a way, the boy had just endured a similar disillusionment.
His heart sank like lead.
“Sam, I—” Holden extended a hand toward the boy, then dropped it—and shut up. Just as before, he couldn’t think of a single thing he could say to make the situation better. He would have given anything to take back his words. That he couldn’t shake his bitterness about the turn their lives had taken was one thing,