A Bull Rider's Pride. Amanda Renee
always trying to do something for him. He needed to do things for himself—he wanted to. And that included maneuvering his own wheelchair. If Dr. Lindstrom hadn’t been so attractive he probably would’ve realized what she was about to do and stopped her. But her soft silver eyes had captured his attention and held it until she’d started arguing with him about competing. He’d already heard it from everybody else. It would be nice if other people believed in him the way his four-year-old son did. Gunner was his biggest supporter and the only one who still had faith in him.
Brady barreled into his hospital room and spun his chair around to face the door before Dr. Lindstrom arrived. He squeezed his eyes shut willing himself to get through the next few hours. They were finally releasing him. He’d dreamed of hearing that phrase, yet he’d been completely unprepared for it. Especially when it came from the beautiful doctor he’d watched from afar throughout his stay.
“You’re right.” Dr. Lindstrom stood in the doorway. “That was very rude of me and I apologize. If you’ll humor me, just for a second, maybe I can explain where I’m coming from. I promise it won’t be a lecture.”
Brady nodded. He propped his left elbow up on the arm of his chair, running the back of his fingers across his chin. Sure, he could listen for a few minutes in exchange for his freedom. Regardless of what she or anyone else said, failure wasn’t an option. He realized the odds were against him, but this was the only job he knew.
Dr. Lindstrom entered the room with a nurse in tow. Safety in numbers. Maybe he had been a little too harsh in the atrium.
“As your physician, I want you to recover as completely as your body will allow. In order to do that we need to set a series of attainable goals so you’re consistently seeing improvement. Of course I want you to strive for the best possible scenario, but when you set extremely high goals from the outset, it tends to hinder recovery. The human body has a remarkable way of rebuilding itself—”
“Then you understand the ability to recover and return to a normal life.”
Sheila grimaced. “I understand the body’s ability to heal, yes. And many patients do go on to live normal lives. Not all of them, though. Some must learn to adjust.”
She sighed. “I’ve sacrificed a lot to become an orthopedic surgeon—my family, friends, social life, not to mention four hundred thousand dollars in student loans I still have to repay. I was one of the surgeons who put you back together—you were on the operating table for fifteen hours. I tend to get a little frustrated when a patient wants to put himself in the same environment that brought him here in the first place.”
Well that made him feel like a first-class ass. “Don’t get me wrong, Dr. Lindstrom. I respect your point of view. All I ask is that you respect mine, as well.”
Dr. Lindstrom’s lips thinned. She opened a large envelope the nurse handed her and crossed the room to the light box on the wall. Turning it on, she held up his films. “These are from your CT scans yesterday. Your hip replacement healed beautifully. You’re lucky you’re in a facility that uses the anterior approach because your recovery would’ve been much longer if it had been performed the traditional way. Your broken clavicle, sternum and left humerus look good. The fact you can wheel yourself all over this hospital proves your shoulder surgeries were a success. I understand from your physical therapist that you’re still feeling tightness in your thighs, left knee and spinal regions.”
“It’s not so much tightness as it is weakness.” Brady attempted to sit taller in his chair. “I can stand, but I tire quickly.”
Dr. Lindstrom slid the scans back into the envelope and handed it to the nurse. “Let’s take a look.” She walked to him, checked the brakes on his wheelchair and held out both of her hands for him to hold on to. “Don’t worry, I’m stronger than I look, I won’t let you fall.”
I won’t let you fall. Brady had said those same words to Gunner when he was learning to walk. Now here he was, a twenty-nine-year-old man learning to walk again.
“Brady, most of the therapists at Dance of Hope are women. If this is going to be a problem—”
“No.” Brady met her eyes and reached for her. “It’s not a problem. I just—I needed a second.” Her touch was stronger, more deliberate than when she’d introduced herself earlier. He didn’t doubt her strength or ability to support him. He doubted his resolve to not want more of it.
Her cheeks darkened to a deep crimson—perhaps she sensed his attraction to her. “Take your time,” she reassured. “I’ve got you.”
Brady stared at her hospital identification badge as he slowly stood. Her photograph made him momentarily forget the shaking in his legs. She looked different with her dark hair down around her shoulders. Every time he’d seen her, it had always been either in a ponytail or a braid of some sort. Sheila. Her name was Sheila. He’d never known a Sheila before. It suited her.
She cleared her throat. His gaze immediately flew to hers and then back to her badge, which he realized rested right against her left breast. “I wasn’t looking at your— Your badge... I was looking at your badge.”
Sheila started to laugh. “It’s all right, Brady.” She took a step closer, offering him more support. “How does that feel?”
That was a loaded question. It felt amazing standing less than a foot away from her. Feeling her hands in his. She was tall. Taller than he’d thought from the vantage point of his chair. Maybe only four or five inches shorter than his six-foot-two frame. And she didn’t smell as he’d imagined. Whenever he’d seen her, he’d thought of honeysuckle for some reason. Her scent was more of freshly laundered cotton sheets.
“Brady?”
That feeling he had forgotten a few seconds ago suddenly came back. “Not as steady as I’d like, but better than yesterday.”
“Do you feel any pain?”
Brady shook his head. “I think I stopped noticing pain a month ago.”
“Okay, you can take a seat.” Sheila waited until he was in his chair before releasing his hands. “Hippotherapy will greatly strengthen your core and leg muscles. I’m going to discharge you today with the understanding that you adhere to the program at Dance of Hope. I will be closely monitoring your progress and I’ll be checking in with you when I make my rounds there. Don’t overdo it, Brady. I don’t want to admit you back into this hospital again.”
“I’ll be good, Doc.” Brady winked, then instantly regretted it when the nurse giggled. There was nothing like a disabled man flirting with a gorgeous doctor. “You won’t recognize me the next time you see me.”
Sheila’s brows rose. “I don’t know if I should be scared by that statement or not. Just remember, I’ll be watching you.” She made a V with her fingers and waved them between her eyes and his. “Take care, Brady. I’ll see you soon.”
Brady was torn between wanting to see her right away and wanting to wait until he could do more than stand on wobbly legs. He knew she doubted he’d make a full recovery, but he’d prove her wrong. And then, maybe he’d even ask her out.
Sheila stripped out of her operating-room scrubs and tossed them into the hospital laundry bin. By the time she’d finished with her rotator-cuff reconstruction, Brady had been discharged and was on his way to Dance of Hope. Anyone who had one of the world’s most dangerous jobs definitely had the dedication it took to recover from his injuries. But a full recovery was doubtful. And she didn’t want Brady to become disillusioned if his body didn’t bounce back the way he hoped.
The thought of Brady being disappointed or giving up because he could not ride a bull bothered her more than it should. She’d learned during her first year internship to compartmentalize her emotions. Regardless of how hard she tried, she couldn’t save all of them and there were lots of Brady Sawyers in the world.