by Dianne Drake
But an hour later, as she sat across from Mrs Gunter’s bed, still trying to chart the notes about the incident, she simply couldn’t get that wall to go into place. Not when all she could think about was Dante.
And it was neither Dante the doctor nor Dante the racer whose image just wouldn’t go away. It was Dante the man she’d loved.
He hated the bed, ultra-plush as it was. Hated the room. Hated every damned thing about this place. Most of all he hated it that he wasn’t able to get up and pace the floor. He liked to pace. It worked off the frustration, gave him some exercise doing it, allowed him to think on his feet. Somehow, rolling back and forth on the cold, tile floor in his wheel-chair didn’t have the same cathartic effect, and tonight he needed that effect. Desperately. Too many things bottled up in him, with no escape valve.
Dante glanced at the clock. Much too late to call Gianni now. He wanted to, even though he’d talked to him earlier—twice, actually. The second time Rosa had scolded him about worrying so much. She was taking good care of Gianni, she said, and after raising six children she knew how to do it just fine, thank you very much! She was right, but that still didn’t ease his mounting frustration. He missed his son.
Of course, when he mentioned that to his mother, the discussion—or actually, admonition—turned into the same old thing he’d heard dozens of times. Gianni needed more stability in his life. “A child deserves a home and family, Dante. We gave that to you and you owe it to Gianni. He’s already had so much turmoil…”
Oh, Dante knew the argument. He’d heard it every time he’d bundled Gianni up to take with him on the racing circuit. They wanted stability for their grandson, which to them meant a mother to stay home and care for him. Except Dante wasn’t in a marrying mood, and certainly recruiting a wife for the sole purpose of being Gianni’s mother was out of the question. So was leaving Gianni with any number of family members. Ruling out all the unacceptable options, Dante was doing the best he could as a father. And he took the responsibility seriously.
But it wasn’t a traditional lifestyle, at least not by his parents’ standards. That’s just how he and Gianni lived, though. Well, the two of them plus Gianni’s nanny and his tutor. They traveled along during race season, and when the season was over life turned more normal for everyone concerned. Dante and Gianni lived back in Tuscany as a regular family, then. They had daily routines, Gianni went to a regular school. They picked lemons. But during the race season…well, as far as Dante was concerned, there wasn’t another choice to be made. Gianni was with him on the road in spite of all the objections. And to prove that he was right about that, Gianni was a normal, happy, healthy little boy who was well advanced in his schooling. Not having a regular roof over his head every night for half the year wasn’t hurting him.
Although Dante did foresee a time in the future when Gianni might want to settle down more, make steady friends, go to a regular school for the full year. But that was some way off. Too far ahead to think about now. And right now…all he had to think about was this damnable place.
And Catherine!
Admittedly, a good part of this bad mood was about what had just happened—the way Catherine had accused him of practically forcing her into the position of being controlled. That wasn’t the case. He’d just meant to help, yet she’d taken a simple act and twisted it into something it hadn’t been. And that just plain stung.
Oh, sure. He’d made a horrendous mistake all those years ago by not including her in his plans and, in essence, just expecting her to go along with whatever he’d wanted. He’d paid for that, though, in more ways than one. More than that, he regretted what he’d done because that had cost him the only woman he’d ever seen a future with. But live and learn. At least, he hoped he’d learned his lesson. Catherine didn’t think so, apparently. That much was obvious in the way she’d twisted a simple gesture into something ugly, with ulterior motives.
What was also obvious was that she’d certainly moved on with her life. Done a respectable job of it. He was proud of her, even if what she’d chosen for herself was so narrow. “Get over it,” he muttered, as he finally wheeled up to his bed. “It’s all in the past.” Except that telling himself to get over it and getting over it were two different things, and after an hour of tossing and turning and staring up at the dark ceiling, he finally consented to a mild sedative from Nurse Reasnor. Even after he’d taken it, he went through another twenty minutes of fretting before he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. As he did so, the last thought that danced through his mind was of Catherine.
CHAPTER FIVE
“HOW’s he doing this morning?” Catherine asked. She hadn’t gone into the room with the whirlpool yet. Rather, she was standing in the doorway, watching Dante take his morning therapy. He was immersed in the tub, sitting in soothing water midway up his chest, gently working out the kinks in his ankle by moving it in small, slow circles as Hans, the physical therapist, watched. It was a quiet, almost somber scene, with Dante scowling at nothing in particular and Hans casting Catherine speculative glances.
“Not very talkative, but he’s co-operating,” Hans confided in a low voice. “He has a lot of stiffness to work out before we can even begin to see what he has left in the way of strength, yet the first thing he asked me when they brought him down was when he would be up and about on his own. The man clearly doesn’t want to be here and I’m worried that he’ll quit in the middle of what I have planned for him and leave Aeberhard.”
“Which is what got him in trouble before. Dante’s impatient. And demanding of himself. Very bad patient.”
“Do you think he’ll go against orders?” Hans asked.
“I hope not but, to be honest, I don’t know. He’s got a lot more at stake this time because his career is on the line, and I have to hope he’s finally coming to terms with his limitations and what it’s going to take for him to work through them.” She nodded an acknowledgment as Dante finally looked in her direction, but he did not respond to her in any way. Perhaps today was a good day to take herself off his case no matter what he wanted as she was clearly not the doctor best suited to his needs. Not to mention the undertow of all their personal issues pulling them both down. “But he’s smart. He knows what he has to do, even if he doesn’t want to do it. So I’m hoping he’ll listen to reason, because if he doesn’t…” She finished off her sentence with a shrug.
“Well, I’ve seen him race,” Hans admitted. “In person, as often as I can. He’s good and I hope we can get him rehabilitated because watching him race is worth the price of a ticket.”
Another fan. It was still hard to believe that Dante had fans…fans who were people she knew, people she respected. In her mind, in the image of him that wouldn’t go away, he still wore surgical scrubs, and his only fans were the patients whose lives he saved. “What, exactly, constitutes ‘good’ about his driving?” To be honest, she’d never watched a race. Couldn’t find the heart to do it.
“He pushes the speed more than some of the other drivers, takes the curves a little tighter, risks a pass where no one else will. That builds up the overall sport, makes it thrilling for the spectator. In other words, being good means taking more risks. Coming closer to death.”
Life came with enough risks without adding to them on purpose. She knew that intellectually, as well as emotionally, knew the awful results it could bring, not only on the ones taking the risks but on the people who loved them. Especially on the people who loved them. She’d never seen that daredevil streak in Dante when they’d been together. Never suspected it might exist in him or else she wouldn’t have even given him that first tumble. But it was there, wasn’t it? Which made her glad their affair had been nothing more than that—an affair. Without risk.
Unless the twinges of her heart that she’d refused to call a broken heart could be considered a risk.
“After he’s through here, go ahead and fit him to a walker, will you?” Catherine asked. “It’s time to see what he can do
on his feet.”
“He’s not going to like that. Somehow I’ll bet he’s more the type for a cane, ego and all considered.”
Catherine laughed. “He is that type, isn’t he? But I still want him to start out on a walker. It’s safer.”
“He’ll refuse,” Hans warned.
“No, he won’t.” She sounded confident, but truth was, she wasn’t. Dante could, and probably would, refuse. “If he wants to get back into that race car come next season, and if he fully intends to do more than sit in it, he’ll co-operate. Remind him of that when he gets stubborn. Tell him if he refuses the prescribed therapy, I won’t certify his health and he’ll never get back to racing.” Which, actually, might be a blessing. But that was only a personal opinion that had no place here.
Catherine assessed two more patients under her care as they went about their morning therapy routines, then returned to her office, only to meet up with Max, who was simply staring out the window as he waited for her.
“Mrs Gunter has a peanut allergy,” he said. “She ate candy with peanuts in it, and that’s what caused her allergic reaction last night. She knows better, but she thought one little taste wouldn’t hurt her.”
“It almost killed her,” Catherine said, sitting down behind her desk. “I’ll stop by later this morning and have a little chat with her—let her know how close she came to dying.” For some people that worked. For some, it didn’t—like Dante, and her father.
“I understand Mr Baldassare, or should I say Dr Baldassare, saved her life?”
“He is still a surgeon and, yes, he did.” She thought about defending herself, and telling Max that she could have performed that procedure to the same end, but the truth was that Dante had been better at it. She knew that, and she wasn’t about to downplay it. “I was glad he was there to do the trach. I’m rusty. Dante’s skills were still perfect.”
Max gave her a brisk nod of approval. “Glad you didn’t let your personal feelings get in the way. Seeing how you react to this man…”
“I don’t react to this man, Max. And you know my personal feelings never get in the way of patient care,” she said defensively.
He chuckled. “You’re reacting to him now.”
She wanted to protest, tell him she wasn’t, but that seemed childish. Especially when she did react to Dante. Maybe even overreacted. “I’m glad he was here to perform the procedure. If nothing else, Mrs Muller will have a much neater scar from his incision than she would have had from mine.”
“Which brings me to another point. We’re growing, Catherine. More patients wanting to come here, which means we’re dealing with more physical ills than those we normally treat here. We’re also getting considerably more enquiries now that Mr Baldassare is here. I’ve been thinking…”
Catherine drew in a sharp breath. Was he about to dismiss her? Growth was inevitable. Perhaps he wanted someone more qualified to take her place? She’d thought that when he’d first hired her, and the initial weeks of her employment were filled with enormous uncertainty. She’d eventually got over that, though. Now here it was, back again. One of the patients had done a better job than she could have possibly done on a simple surgical procedure, and she feared Max was having second thoughts about keeping her there.
He turned round to face her. “We need a larger medical staff, one with varied training. We treat broken bodies, but we need to be better able to take care of other emergencies and medical situations that arise. There should have been more than two doctors in the clinic last night. And I’m not downplaying your skills, Catherine. You’re a fine doctor and a very sound administrator. But you’re not a surgeon and you should have never been forced into a position where you might have had to perform a procedure, even if it was minor.”
“We’ve done well with our staffing the way it is,” she replied. “There’s always someone on call, ready to cover.”
“Until last night. And we were damned lucky Baldassare was here. So I’ve been thinking that it’s time to do better. I can’t take call on the night shift any longer. I haven’t done it for months now, and I think that limits us, which isn’t good. And you’re working far too many hours making up for my lack. That’s not good either, Catherine. Not for you, and not for the patients you might put at risk when you’re exhausted.”
“I’ll hire more staff,” she said, not sure where this was going.
“That’s a start, but I think the first thing you should do is dismiss me. I can’t pull my fair share of the weight, and Aeberhard would be better off if I were to be replaced in my medical capacity.”
“Do you want to be replaced?” she asked, stunned by this announcement. This clinic was his lifeblood. He’d die without it.
“Sometimes it’s not a matter of what we want so much as what’s best. I believe I should be replaced as a doctor, and I don’t have the heart to take myself off my cases, so I’ll leave that up to you.”
“Maybe we could reduce your patient load,” she suggested half-heartedly. She didn’t want to get rid of Max. Not at all. She’d take more of him if there was any more to give, which, unfortunately, there was not. Sometimes the best doctoring wasn’t about the medical care but about the heart that went with it, and Max was the heart here—the heart and soul.
“I’m not serving in the same manner as I’ve always required of everyone else. It’s your responsibility, Catherine, to see that I do, or make other arrangements. And to that end, I do agree that the staff needs to be enlarged. As the owner, and I will still retain my rights of ownership, I’d like to see you increase our physician roster by another three to five members, for starters. And I’d also like to add your name to the title as part-owner of Aeberhard, so when the time comes, you’ll have full authority to make the decisions I normally do.”
That truly shocked her. So much so, in fact, that she staggered over to her desk and sat down in the mahogany-colored leather chair behind it. Speechless for a moment.
“I’ve thought about it for a while, and there’s no one else I’d trust Aeberhard Clinic to. Not as much as I trust it to you.”
Part-owner? She was still stunned. “Max, I…I couldn’t. This is yours, all of it. You’ve worked hard…”
“And I’m getting on in years, a fact that’s rather obvious these days.”
A spark of panic grabbed her. “You’re healthy, aren’t you? There’s nothing wrong?”
He chuckled. “I have a little arthritis in my knees, and my eyesight’s not what it used to be. The rest of me is fine. Just getting…tired. And there are some things I want to do, Catherine. Places I want to see, books I want to read, friends I want to visit. It’s time.”
“So will you finally tell me why you chose me? A year ago, you sought me out and hired me, and now, when you’re turning over part-ownership of your clinic to me, I still don’t know, and I deserve an answer, Max. After all this time, you owe me that much.”
“Yes, I do owe you, don’t I?” He stepped away from the window, his slight limp a little more pronounced than usual, then studied her for a moment. “And, most likely, I’ll tell you some time. When you’re ready.”
She thought about that for a moment, not so much frustrated by his response as puzzled. So much good fortune had come to her by way of this very dear man, yet she didn’t know why and she’d never been up to demanding an answer. He was too kind, too generous. She didn’t want to offend him, so once again she let it go. Briefly, though, as she thought about taking on more of the clinic responsibilities, an image of a sunny lemon grove flashed through her mind—a lemon grove and a villa sitting on top of a hill, overlooking it. But the reality of it came flooding back as she cast her gaze to the window, and the mountains just at the edge of the Aeberhard property line. This was home. She loved it here. “I’m honored, Max. I’ll be glad to take on part-ownership. And as part-owner now, my first order of business is to convince you to stay on, in any capacity you wish.” She turned to look at him. “However you want to practice, whenev
er you want to practice, I don’t want you to resign. Take your holiday, go visit your friends, read your books, but come back to Aeberhard. We need you…I need you.”
“We’ll see,” he said, on his way to the door. “And in the meantime, I’ve got to go have a look around Mrs Gunter’s room to make sure she hasn’t hidden any more candy with peanuts.”
“Maybe over a weekend,” Dante said, smiling as he felt the cozy warmth of this conversation spread through him. Talking with Gianni always did that. “I’ll talk to your grandfather and see if he’ll bring you here for a visit this weekend, if he doesn’t have other plans.” It tore him up every time he talked to Gianni, though. He needed to see his son. For someone who’d never expected to be a parent—at least, not for a very long time—being a father was as essential as the very air he breathed, and he thanked Dario every day for the privilege. It was like having a little bit of his brother still there with him. “In the meantime, tell Uncle Cristofor to set up an Internet connection so we can see each other when we talk.”
“Can we do that?” Gianni squealed into the phone.
Laughing, Dante pulled the receiver away from his ear. “Tell him to get it set up then, when your grandfather brings you here for a visit, you can bring the equipment I’ll need and we can set it up together at this end.”
“Let me go and ask!” Gianni said, then dropped the phone and ran away, while Dante held on, waiting for him to return.
“Can I talk to you?” Catherine asked, poking her head in the door at that moment.
He nodded, motioning for her to enter. She took several steps into the room, then stopped when she saw that Dante was on the phone. “I’ll come back,” she offered, and started to turn away, but Dante stopped her.
“Don’t go. I’ve been put on hold, and who knows how long this will take?”
She nodded. “It’s about your therapy. Hans told me you refused a walker.”