Texas Healer

by Jean Brashear

  All six interns regarded her with owlish eyes. “What does his family have to do with it?” one brave soul asked.

  A question she herself would have asked once. “We cannot treat only the symptoms,” she said. “We have to deal with the whole patient. That means his mind and spirit, as well as his heart.”

  “But we’re doing surgery,” one protested.

  Diana listened to her own words with rue. Rafe would love seeing me in this position. “Our concern for the patient can’t begin and end in the O.R.,” she said. “Nor can it be limited to the span of an office visit.” A warmth crept over her as she felt, for the first time in months, a sureness she’d thought never to know again. In her mind’s eye, she could see Rosaria’s serene face. Feel the old woman’s peace steal into her heart.

  “Western medicine has accomplished miracles, many of them in your lifetimes.” She scanned the faces, so young, so ambitious. “But we are healers,” she said. “And the tradition goes back for centuries before the scalpel, before antibiotics, before technology separated our minds from our bodies, our souls from our skin—”

  Diana broke off, realizing that only one of the six was really listening. Cast back into the days of her internship, she remembered the pervading sense of exhaustion, of wondering if she’d make it through that next double shift. The energy to argue philosophical viewpoints was beyond them at this moment.

  “Tell you what,” she said. “Anyone who’s off tonight, meet me at Maguire’s at eight. I’ll buy you a beer, and we’ll argue about this. That’s all for now.”

  Earnest faces sagged in relief. “Thanks, Dr. Morgan. See you at eight,” said the girl with all the answers—who might actually come but likely wouldn’t listen. Holistic medicine did not make the big bucks, and this girl’s ambition crackled around her like chain lightning.

  The group dispersed, and Diana turned to head back to her office to review some charts before time for therapy.

  “A little missionary work, Queenie?” Judd Carter stood only a few feet away, no doubt having heard the whole thing. “Not your usual style.”

  She looked at the man who’d once been able to engender such ire in her. An image of Rafe rose in her mind, and she could only feel sorry for the man before her, so sure of his superiority but so much less of a man. “What do you want, Judd?” She braced herself for more ridicule.

  But he only studied her, frowning slightly. “What happened to you out there, Diana?”

  “Out where?” The last person in the world with whom she’d discuss Rafe Sandoval or the valley would be this man who would never understand.

  “You’ve lost your edge,” he mused. “Be careful or even if you get the hand back, it won’t matter.”

  Diana cast a glance at the hand that could now hold a pen, that could deal with buttons and do needlework but was not yet ready to operate. A frisson of fear shimmered down her spine. She had to get the hand back. She would do whatever it took.

  Her chin tilted, and she met Judd’s eyes with her own unyielding stare. “So sweet of you to worry about me, Judd.” She patted one cheek, wishing it were a slap. “I’m a lucky girl to have such great friends.”

  She slid past him, shoving down on the cold, jellied fear that he was right.

  Something inside her had been changed forever, it seemed. There was therapy for her hand, but she had no idea what to do with the heart that had once been easily guarded, once so bulletproof. The old Diana Morgan had been revered for being hard and unshakable, skilled and single-minded.

  That Diana had been shattered by her time in the valley like the brittle glass she’d once been. Evita, Mariela, Ramón, Rosaria…none of them cared that she was the best, that she could climb to the top of the mountain. They’d seen her damaged and hadn’t blinked.

  They’d liked her for herself, battered and brittle. They’d accepted the woman no one here knew.

  While she couldn’t seem to find the woman she’d been.

  She was a fraud, but no one here understood it yet. She couldn’t go back and didn’t know how to go forward.

  But Judd Carter already suspected. Soon others would, too.

  And she’d left behind the only person who would truly understand what it was to belong nowhere. To face inventing oneself again.

  She’d abandoned that man beside a spring. Turned up her nose at what he’d offered, certain she belonged here, that resuming her life was all that was important.

  Her patients were important. Not being able to operate yet was maddening, but at least she could see them, could follow their care. But she found herself wondering about Trini Vargas, thinking about Mariela’s child. Hoping Rosaria was taking things easier; wishing she knew if Rafe’s clinic was operating.

  A part of her had stayed in La Paloma, and every day—every patient—brought a fresh reminder of her loss.

  She didn’t fit in yet. Surely in time she would, but right now, no matter how she filled the days, the nights were endless. Her time in La Paloma had opened her eyes to a different way. For so many years, she’d clung to thoughts of the future, unable to bear remembering her past.

  But she’d seen the love of family, how it made poverty unimportant, how it bestowed strength. Rafe and Rosaria, Rafe and his brothers, his mother’s fierce devotion, his little sister’s adoration.

  For the first time, Diana realized just how lonely she was.

  That she’d been lonely for most of her life.

  Rafe sat on his front porch, seeing none of the vista spread before him, cup of coffee going cold in his hand. Beside his chair, Lobo sat patiently, wolf eyes never leaving him.

  Rafe let his head fall against the high back of the rocking chair. The day had been long, like every day before it since—

  No. Not tonight. I’m not thinking of her tonight.

  He needed sleep, that was all. News of the clinic had spread fast; people were coming from farther away now, seeking the help they couldn’t afford before. Evita and Mariela pitched in when they could; there was so much to be done, even with something as simple as he’d envisioned—records to be kept, supplies to be ordered, cleaning and sterilizing. It was rapidly growing into more than he could handle alone.

  And then there was Trini. Rafe had found a cardiologist at the base hospital, but the man spared little sympathy when he was overworked himself. It would be weeks before he could see Trini—if Rafe could ever convince the old man to go all the way to El Paso.

  Trini wanted Diana.

  He wasn’t alone in that. In her short time, she’d left an indelible impression on many people.

  Take himself.

  In a lifetime of encounters with the opposite sex, Rafe had enjoyed many women, had tried to leave each one with grace, making sure that she would have fond memories of their time together.

  He’d never been the one left before. As much as that might once have hurt his pride, ego had little to do with his feelings now. He’d known from the beginning that she was temporary. Hell, he hadn’t even liked her at first—prickly as a cactus, high-strung as any filly he’d ever had to tame.

  But he knew more now of what made her that way.

  He wanted to stand between her and the world. Wrap his love around her until it became the shield she needed to feel safe. He didn’t think she’d ever had that.

  He’d had it from birth. The battles he’d fought, the sense of not fitting in, had come from the wider world and from within himself, but never, not once, had anyone in his family made him feel anything but cherished. Special.

  Had anyone ever told Diana how special she was? Not for what she accomplished—she’d likely had commendations aplenty for her grades, her skills, her ability to make money. But had she ever felt the glow of being loved simply for who she was, her valor, her refusal to give up, her strength?

  Lobo whined and stood up. Rafe snapped from his reverie and saw his grandmother approaching. He rose and went to meet her. “I would have come to pick you up, Abuelita.”

 
She took his arm. “A walk in the evening does one good.”

  “May I get you something to drink?”

  She smiled. “A glass of water would be welcome.”

  Rafe settled her in the companion rocker and got her drink, wondering what she wanted. Abuelita did nothing without a purpose.

  When she didn’t speak but simply gazed out over the land, he sat down again and resigned himself to waiting. As the moments drew out, she placed one hand on his, and the peace that was so much a part of her seeped into him and eased his unrest.

  “You are troubled, m’ijo.”

  He avoided that eagle’s gaze. “Just tired.”

  Her hand squeezed his. “You work very hard, but you are making a difference, Rafael. Yet as much as I wanted you here to care for the people, I never wanted you to suffer.”

  He frowned. “You’ve worked hard all your life. I’m not complaining.”

  “Of course not. You are a good man. These people badly need what you have to offer, but—”

  “But what?”

  For the first time in memory, he saw uncertainty on his grandmother’s face. “We are keeping you from your heart,” she said. “And I think the cost is too high.” Her eyes were troubled when she faced him. “I would not have asked you to stay, if I had known.” Her hands rose from her lap in a helpless gesture. “Now you are here, and so many come to you. I do not know what is to be done, Rafael. And for that, I am deeply sorry.”

  The sight of tears in the eyes of the strongest woman he’d ever known shocked him. He slid forward, clasping both her hands in his. “I am where I belong, Abuelita.” He spoke past the ache in his own heart. “There is nothing to be done about…the other.” He knew better than to deny Diana’s impact to his grandmother. So he shrugged. “I’ll get past it.”

  She lifted workworn hands to his face. “You have conquered much, survived much, m’ijo, but this is different. She is part of you, and you will survive, yes, but you will not be whole without her. Nor she without you.”

  He tried to pull away from her piercing gaze, but she held on. “What would you have me do?” he whispered. “I can’t leave here, and I can’t ask her to give up her life there.” And the fury and hurt of it would be choked back no more. “Anyway, if she felt as I do, she wouldn’t have left.”

  Wise old eyes softened. “Your world changed when she came. Perhaps hers is changed, as well. The answer to your question might be different now.”

  “I can’t ask it. I know what she would be giving up.” At that moment, he could have bitten off his tongue for letting the last dregs of bitterness through. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Abuelita said. “Do you not think I understand how much was taken from you?”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does. Perhaps it always will.”

  “No.” He shook his head and dislodged her hands, rising to look into the distance. “I won’t let it.” He bowed his head, then straightened again. “What’s done is done.” He turned to face her. “I was supposed to be in a wheelchair, but I’m walking. I have many friends. I have patients who need me.” He came to her then, crouching in front of her. “I have love in my life, plenty of it. It’s enough, what I have.” He smiled ruefully. “Or it will be, as soon as I let her go.”

  She caught his hand again. “Not yet, m’ijo. Don’t let her go. I know you are strong, both of you, but in here—” She pressed one fist over her heart. “I know that you are not finished with each other.” When he started to protest, she grasped both his hands and leaned close, her eyes fierce. “She needs you, Rafael. You heal something in her that no one else can touch.” Her smile turned fond and sad. “And she heals something in you. Go to her. Her answer might be different this time.”

  But what if it wasn’t? he wanted to ask. He’d covered precious little ground in getting over Diana, but he wasn’t willing to sacrifice a single hard-won inch of it.

  He’d faced down countless enemies, put his life on the line again and again, beaten odds others had called insurmountable. He had a chest full of medals to prove his valor.

  But he’d never taken a risk with his heart, and the odds on this one were too long for the most foolhardy gambler.

  Could Abuelita be right? A little voice of hope stirred. Diana would never ask anyone to love her, no matter how much she needed it. She fought alone. I’ll never let a man do that to me.

  He thought of her sobbing brokenly in his arms. I tried to show him that I could be as good as a son, but it didn’t matter.

  No, Diana would never come back and tell him she was wrong or that her life was incomplete without him. Too early she’d learned to depend on no one.

  Maybe her answer would be different. Maybe not.

  But he would never know until he asked it.

  Rafe leaned forward and kissed his grandmother on the cheek. “Does it ever bother you to meddle in our lives?” he asked with a grin.

  Her dark eyes lit. “Not often,” she answered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Dr. Morgan, I’m sorry. I should have been able to—”

  “Forget it. It happens.” Diana stemmed her own urge to dance for joy, faced with the need to deal with the resident’s despair.

  “If you hadn’t scrubbed in to observe, I don’t know what would have happened.” The young woman’s shoulders sank lower.

  Diana clasped the resident’s arm. “Come with me.” Once in the hallway, she leaned closer. “You kept your cool. Focus on that—sometimes your composure will be the difference between life and death. Needing another set of hands isn’t the end of the world. That man is going to live to go home to his children. You did that.”

  Miserable brown eyes met hers. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Yes, you could, but there’s no question that surgery is a team effort. Keeping your head is rule number one. Number two is working together. Now, go clean up and quit whipping yourself.”

  The young woman nodded and turned to leave, then stopped. “Were you ever scared? When you were at my stage, I mean?”

  How about today? Diana could have asked. She was only slated to observe and instruct, not have her hand inside a man’s chest. For a second, she’d frozen, terrified that despite the wrist brace, she’d blow it.

  But she hadn’t. “Everyone’s scared at times. This won’t be your last.”

  The solemn face broke into a smile of relief. “Thanks, Dr. Morgan.”

  Diana watched her depart. Once the young woman was out of sight, Diana punched a fist into the air. “Yes-s-s!” she yelped, and spun madly, hugging herself.

  She’d held a retractor. Slipped her hand inside a chest. She was close. Oh, God, she was so close to coming back—

  “There you are. I heard!” Sam’s voice had her whirling around.

  “Sam—oh, Sam—”

  Dignified, circumspect Sam Calvert picked her up and spun her in circles in the hallway, both of them grinning like loons. “You’re on the road, Diana. I’ll be damned if you’re not going to make it after all!”

  Sam dragged her down to Don’s office and regaled him with the story that was already traveling hospital corridors at warp speed.

  Miracle Morgan was on her way back.

  An impromptu celebration convened at the bar across the street from Mercy. It was far past her usual bedtime when Diana got out of the cab Sam had insisted on procuring for her. He’d drive her, he said, but he himself had better be taking a cab.

  He’d escorted her to the vehicle and handed her into it like fine crystal, leaving her with a big kiss smack on her lips. She had orders to report to Don’s office first thing in the morning for a revised therapy plan. Don said that in this case, first thing should be considered noon. He’d been at the party, too.

  Actually, she hadn’t needed to drink much; her excitement had been its own buzz. Diana waved to the cabbie from her doorstep, relieving him of Sam’s charge. She let herself inside, blinking against the
light.

  Everything looked just the same as she’d left it. How could that be, when so much else had changed?

  She locked the door and laid her things on the refectory table she’d spent so much time searching for. In the mirror above it, she stared at her reflection, lifting her right hand into view.

  The fingers of her left hand traced its outline as she strove to see it as it was, not as she’d viewed it for so many months: ugly…despicable for its weakness. She held it higher and tried to extend her fingers. With the brace, they could function fairly well; even without it, they no longer hung like so many broken sticks, if not yet normal.

  It was not the hand that had once worked miracles. She had a long way to go. She’d seen the worried look in Don’s eyes when Sam had predicted that she’d be doing procedures on her own by Halloween. Pulling back a flap of skin with a retractor or suctioning blood was a long way from wielding a scalpel.

  But it was a start. For a moment, she closed her eyes and let the remembered smells and sounds of the O.R. filter in. She’d been half-alive since the accident, except when—

  Her head dropped. She wouldn’t think about Rafe tonight. Tonight was for celebration.

  Tossing back the hair she still hadn’t gotten cut into her customary short cap, Diana headed for the kitchen to make tea. She was wide-awake, but if she was to get started off right tomorrow, she needed rest. She still had Rosaria’s tea hoarded. Many a sleepless night she’d been tempted to use it, but she had so little left. She had only to open the tin and sniff and she felt close to them again. Not so lonely for a few precious moments.

  Suddenly, looking around at the cool, pale colors she’d once thought perfect, contrasting them with the explosion of hues in Rafe’s world, Diana felt the pierce of loneliness. It was too quiet around here. Maybe she’d think about getting that dog.

  Memories of fat Dulcita and majestic Lobo crowded in, making way for thoughts of Lobo’s lone-wolf owner. Lost in remembrance, she startled at the knock on her door.