One Night Before Christmas. Susan Carlisle
grinned. “No. We have an indoor practice field. A full stadium without the stands. You should be warm enough in there.”
“Good.”
Melanie led them down a hallway and through two extralarge doors into a covered walkway. Seconds later they entered a large building.
They walked down one of the sidelines until they were near the forty-yard line. A few of the players wandered out on the field and started stretching. They wore shoulder pads under practice jerseys and shorts.
“Hey, Doc,” a couple of the players yelled as they moved to the center of the field.
She called back to them by name. Dalton wasn’t used to this type of familiarity with his patients. As a surgeon he usually saw them only a couple of times and never again.
It was still cooler than he liked inside the building. Dalton crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms.
Dr. Hyde must have noticed because she said, “It’s not near as cold in here as outside but we can’t keep it too warm because the players would overheat.” Not surprisingly Melanie didn’t seem affected by the temperature.
Rocket loped on the field from the direction of the dressing room. Dalton studied the movement of his leg and so far couldn’t see anything significantly out of the norm.
Melanie leaned toward him. “They’ll go through their warm-up and then move into some skill work. I think that’ll be when you can tell more about his knee. In the past he seemed to show no indication there might be a problem until he was running post plays.”
“Post plays?”
“When they run up the field and then cut sharply one way or another.”
He nodded and went back to learning Rocket’s movements. Rocket. He shook his head. It seemed as if he was picking up the slang of the game.
Would Dr. Hyde agree with him if he said that Rocket didn’t need to play? As a medical doctor, how could she not?
They had been standing there twenty minutes or so, him watching Rocket while Melanie spoke with every one of the big men who passed by. The staff along the sidelines with them did the same. She was obviously well liked.
The next time a guy came by her, Dalton asked, “You have a good relationship with the team. Does anyone not like you?”
A broad smile came to her face. “We’re pretty much like family around here. We all have a job to do but most of us are really good friends. I work at having a positive relationship with the players. I try to have them see me as part of the team. I want them to feel comfortable coming to me with problems. Men tend to drag their feet about asking for help.” He must have made a face because she said, “Not all, but I want them to come to me or one of the trainers before a problem gets so bad they can’t play.”
Dalton had nothing to base that type of camaraderie on. Long ago he’d given up on that idea. Unable to think of anything to say, he muttered, “That makes sense.”
She touched his arm. Her small hand left a warm place behind when she removed it to point at Rocket. “Watch him when he makes this move.”
The hesitation was so minor that Dalton might have missed it if he hadn’t been looking as she instructed.
“Did you see it?”
“I did. It was almost as if he didn’t realize he did it.” He was impressed that she had caught it to begin with.
“Exactly. I noticed it during one practice. Called him in and did X-rays. Dad insisted I contact you. We can’t afford for Rocket to be out.”
He looked at her. “Afford?”
She continued to watch the action on the field. “Yeah. This is big business for the team as well as for all these guys’ careers.”
He looked at Rocket and made no effort to keep the skepticism out of his voice when he asked, “No life after football?”
She stepped back and gave him a sharp look. “Yes. That’s the point. A successful season means endorsements, which means money in their pockets. That doesn’t even include the franchise.”
“And all this hinges on Rocket?”
“No, but he’s an important part.” She looked around and leaned so close he could smell her shampoo. “The star—for now.”
He wasn’t convinced but he nodded and said, “I think I get it.”
Melanie’s expression implied she wasn’t sure he did.
They continued to watch practice from the edge of the sideline. The team was playing on the far end of the field.
“How long has Rocket...?” he began.
She turned to look at him.
Over her shoulder he saw a huge player barreling in their direction. His helmeted head was turned away as he looked at the ball in the air. Not thinking twice, Dalton wrapped his arms around Melanie and swiveled to the side so he would take the brunt of the hit. Slammed with a force he would later swear was the equivalent of a speeding train, his breath swooshed from his lungs. His arms remained around Melanie as they went through the air and landed on the Astroturf floor with a thud. The landing felt almost as hard as the original hit. He and Melanie ended up a tangle of legs and arms as the player stumbled over their bodies.
There was no movement from the soft form in his arms. Fear seized him. Had she been hurt? A moan brushed his cheek. At least she was alive. He loosened his hold and rolled to his side but his hands remained in place. Searching Melanie’s face, he watched as her eyes fluttered open. She stared at him with a look of uncertainty.
“What...what happened?”
Dalton drew in a breath, causing his chest to complain. He would be in considerable pain in the morning. “We got hit.”
“By what?”
“Doc Mel, you okay?” a player asked from above them.
Dalton looked up to find players and staff circling them.
A large man with bulging biceps sounded as if he might cry.
“I’m sorry, Doc Mel. Are you okay? I tried to stop.” If that had been his idea of slowing down, Dalton would have hated being on the receiving end of the player’s full power. Dalton returned his attention to Melanie. One of his hands rested beneath her shoulder and the other on her stomach. Her cheek was against his lips. “Do you think you can stand?”
“Why did you grab me?”
“Because you could have been hurt if I hadn’t.” Didn’t she understand he might have just saved her life?
“Hurt?” She turned her head toward him. Her eyes were still dazed. “You have pretty eyes.”
Dalton swallowed hard, which did nothing to ease the pain in his chest. She must have a head injury because he couldn’t imagine her saying something so forward.
“Lie right where you are,” one of the people above them commanded. “An ambulance is on its way.”
Dalton shifted. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
The trainer said, “Yes, it is. You both need to be checked out.”
“Look, I’m a doctor. I would know if I need...”
“Now you’re a patient.” A man with a staff shirt said, “Mel, where do you hurt?”
Dalton’s hand moved to her waist and gave it a gentle shake. “Dr. Hyde, can you move?”
“Melanie...my name is Melanie,” she murmured.
Three of the trainers shifted to one side of her and placed their arms under her, preparing to lift her enough to separate them.
“Melanie,