by Annie O'Neil
He took a few steps away, the smile he’d so recently worn eradicated without a trace. “Si, Dr. Firenze. How can I help you?”
CHAPTER SIX
THE WEEK HAD passed in a blur. An adrenaline-fueled blur that was about to culminate in the arrival of his first five patients. T minus eighteen hours and counting.
Luca pulled the weights out of their packaging and began lining them up on the rack. These would all be in use soon.
He sat back on his heels and scanned the rehab gym. Gleaming weights machines. Several pairs of handrails ready to bear the weight of patients ready to be put to the test.
The doctor in him itched to get back to work. Not the doctor who’d worn the fancy suits and tended to Rome’s image-conscious elite. The doctor who’d retrained at night after working all day with his niece. The doctor who’d poured every last cent he had into getting to this point.
At least Pia and Fran had been so engrossed in working with the dogs that Luca hadn’t had to add the guilt of neglecting his niece to everything else he was feeling. And, in fairness to Fran, she’d gone above and beyond being an assistance-dog trainer this past week. Any spare moment she’d had away from Pia and the dogs had, true to her word, been spent doing anything and everything she could to get the clinic to the gleaming, immaculate state of readiness it was in now.
“Are you ready for the big reveal?” Fran appeared in the doorway, a mischievous smile making her look more imp than workhorse.
“Does Pia really need to do this now? Half of Mont di Mare still isn’t renovated. I haven’t checked the patients’ rooms or the family quarters yet, and there are still—”
“C’mon!” Fran held up a hand, then arced her arm, waving for him to join her. “This means a lot to her—and I have an idea about the other thing. The unrenovated tidbits.”
“How unusual,” he answered drily.
Tidbits.
Half the village, more like: ten family houses, ten more patient rooms and the same number again for common rooms and treatment facilities. Tidbits. Only an American! He checked himself. Only an optimist like Fran would call the amount of work left to be done tidbits. The same projects that buoyed her up near enough pinned him to the ground with worry. What had possessed him to turn one of the least disabled-friendly places in the universe into a specialized clinic for disabled people?
Optimism?
Necessity?
“All right.” He pushed up from the floor once the final row of weights had been laid out. “Let’s hear it, Little Miss Creativity.”
“Ha-ha. Very funny, Signor White-Walls-or-Bust.” She fluttered her lashes. “It’s not my fault the spirit of Italy’s esteemed relationship with beauty and art courses through my veins and not yours.”
Luca watched, unexpectedly transfixed as Fran struck a modeling pose, swooshing her hair up and over one shoulder as she skidded her slender fingers along the length of her athletic figure, eventually coming to rest on her thigh.
He tried to tamp down the flare of heat rising within him.
A lab coat would be most convenient right about now.
He cleared his throat. There were things to do. A clinic to open. This mysterious “reveal” to witness. No doubt another one of Pia’s feats with her dogs rather than Francesca reenacting Salome’s Dance of the Seven Veils.
He considered the swish of her derriere as she turned to walk down the hall.
Pity.
Where had he put those lab coats?
She glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll spell out my idea on the way, and you can let me know if it’s a yea or a nay by the time we get there.” Fran glanced back again, eyes widening as he remained glued to the spot for no apparent reason. “It’s our thing! Walking, talking, deciding. Remember?”
Just one week together and they had a “thing”? He rolled his eyes.
She dropped him a wink.
A flirtatious wink.
Was that the tip of her tongue peeking out between her teeth, giving the bow and dip of her top lip a surreptitious lick?
Sleep. That was what he needed. A good night’s sleep and he’d be seeing things more clearly.
“All right, then. What’s this grand idea of yours?”
“Well!” She wove her hands together underneath her chin. “I know you’re rehab royalty—”
“Along with a team of highly trained experts,” Luca interrupted.
She didn’t need to know he’d been dubbed the King of Collagen before the accident had pushed him away from plastics to spinal injury rehabilitation. He probably would have carried on with plastics forever until—bam! In thirty horrifying seconds his life had changed.
He shook his head against the rising bile, forcing himself to focus on what Fran was saying.
“I read all of the bios for your clinicians last night, and there is some serious brainpower in play here.” She dropped her hands. “Anyhow, I was thinking about the psychological advantages of being part of things here.”
Luca gave her a sidelong look. “Do you mean you or the patients? All your chipping in has been much appreciated, Francesca. The painting, making the beds as promised... But if you read the résumés properly you will have noticed we have two very experienced psychiatrists on the team.”
“I’m not talking about me and a paint roller. I’m thinking more hands-on stuff for the patients. There is the itty-bitty problem of half your village needing a splash more work done to it.”
Her lips widened into an apologetic wince-smile.
“How very...politic, Signorina Martinelli. I presume your plan includes you wrapping everything up nicely before your intended departure date?”
The smile dropped from Fran’s face as quickly as the light fled from her eyes.
Luca could have kicked himself. Still shooting the messenger. Fran had been a trouper, working as hard as his paid staffers—if not harder—to get everything shipshape for the opening. She didn’t deserve to be on the sharp end of his mood. Particularly seeing as he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t behaving like a boor in order to fight off the deepening attraction he felt to his resident sunflower.
“Per favore, Francesca.” He forced himself to grind out the plea. “Please tell me your idea.”
“Why, thank you very much!” She rubbed her hands together excitedly. “I can’t really take credit for the idea, though. The other day I was watching online videos—you know, those feel-good ones where human spirit triumphs over adversity and you end up crying because people are so amazing?”
She looked across at the dubious expression he knew he was wearing and qualified her statement.
“The ones that make me cry anyway. So, there was this huge pile of bricks and a guy in a wheelchair—totally hot. Completely good-looking. Like you. But he was more...uh...Nordic.”
She stopped, took a step back to consider him, and as their eyes caught a streak of pink blossomed on her cheeks.
“Let’s not get carried away, here, Fran. Shall we?”
He gestured that they should continue along the stone-slab route they were making short work of. Fran scuttled ahead, rabbiting on about the video and only occasionally looking back at him. He was surprised to find he was smiling. At her unquenchable thirst for life? Or the fact she thought he was good-looking?
Foolish, really.
He shoved the thoughts away and forced himself to listen to her suggestion. It was the least he could do after his abrupt behavior.
By the time they reached the archway leading out to the bridge he’d been more than persuaded. Her idea was a good one.
“So what you’re saying is if the patients—no matter what their background—put some actual graft into refurbishing the rest of the village, they’ll be happier?”
“Precisely. I mean, this guy—tot
ally paralyzed from the waist down—made just about the coolest fireplace out of bricks and mortar that I’ve ever seen. He made something. Crafted it with his own hands. Something many able-bodied people wouldn’t even dream of starting, let alone finishing. I’m completely happy to oversee the project, of course. I know your team’s hands are full.”
She stood before him, blue eyes bright with expectation. Hope.
Tempting...
Pragmatics forced his hand.
“I hate to rain on your parade, Francesca, but there are thousands of other considerations. Health and safety, for one. You don’t know how many inspections I have to deal with already—if I were to add patients to the mix of some already dangerous situations, I—”
He stopped himself. He’d been about to say he couldn’t afford the insurance. Truth was he could hardly afford any of this. But turning it all over to the bank just so it could be demolished was out of the question. The clinic simply had to be a success.
“Look—” Fran raised her hands in a hear-me-out gesture “—I know what you’re saying, and the idea definitely needs to be fleshed out. Especially as a lot of your patients are on the young side, right?”
“All of them.” Luca nodded. “Teenagers.”
“I’m not talking about everyone building stone walls or pizza ovens—although that would be a totally great idea. Can you imagine it? Pizza under the stars! What teenager doesn’t love pizza?”
Luca glanced at his watch and spun his finger in a let’s-get-on-with-it gesture, all the while trying his best not to get caught up in her enthusiasm.
His focus had to be X-ray machines. Crucial rehabilitation equipment being properly installed. Clipboards! If he’d known just how many clipboards he’d need when he’d started this pie-in-the-sky project...
“Sorry.” She threw him an apologetic look. “I’ve just—I’ve just fallen a little bit in love with this place and it’s hard to fight the enthusiasm, you know?”
Of course he knew. And her enthusiasm—despite his best efforts to be stoically distant—had touched his heart. His passion for the place was why he’d started the project in the first place. But now, with bills to pay and the bank breathing down his neck...
“I’m afraid it’ll have to go on the pipe dreams list, Francesca.”
Fran’s disappointed expression soon brightened into something else. Inspiration.
“I’ve got an even better idea. I bet you there are any number of craftsmen who would love to come up here and work. True Italian craftsmen who wouldn’t mind passing on some of their expertise to willing apprentices. Leather. Glass. Embossing. Calligraphy. I once saw an entire wall done in a painted leather wallpaper. It was amazing.”
“We are not covering the walls in leather wallpaper, Fran.”
“All right Mr. Grumpy. They don’t have to be leather. Who cares what the patients do as long as they’re happy? Even if it’s just throwing a bit of paint on a wall. In the nicest way possible, of course,” she finished with a polished smile.
“And what makes you think working on a building site will be an effective remedy for their ailments in comparison with the unparalleled medical attention they will be receiving here—if you ever let me get back to work, that is?”
Fran looked at him as if he was crazy.
“Who doesn’t feel the satisfaction of a job well-done? Of knowing you’ve made an actual difference to somewhere this special. I mean, you must be bursting with pride.”
A crackle of irritation flared in him.
“Francesca, the only thing I’m bursting with is the desire to untangle myself from this ridiculous conversation and get back to—”
Luca stopped in his tracks as they turned the corner of the archway into the main courtyard. Emotions ricocheted across his chest in hot thuds of recognition.
Humility. Pride. Achievement.
All the staff were assembled in the center of the broad arc—an impressive crowd of applauding doctors, rehab therapists, X-ray technicians and countless others. In the center was Pia and the two dogs. When her eyes lit on him she whispered a quick command to the dogs, each holding the end of a thick blue ribbon in their mouths, and they went in separate directions until it was taut and he could read the message on it. “Bravo! I nostri migliori auguroni, Dr. Montovano!”
The unfamiliar tickle of emotion teased at the back of Luca’s throat.
Congratulations on a job well-done.
No one had done anything like this for him. Ever. His partners at the plastic surgery clinic had always mocked him for his pro bono cases. For bringing a bit of pride back into the life of a child with a birth defect or a scar that might have changed their lives forever. Money! they’d said. The high life!
He looked across at Fran. A flush of pleasure played across her cheeks as she watched him take it all in. The ridiculous conversation they’d been having made sense now. A distraction. Typical Fran. Perfection and mayhem in one maddening and beautiful package.
He felt torn. The sentiment of the moment was pure kindness.
“Zio! Come! Look at the food Fran has organized! It’s all from artisan specialists in Tuscany!” Pia wheeled over to him and took his hand.
Behind the doctors and other medical practitioners—a team of about thirty, who were now reliant on him and the success of the clinic—were two trestle tables heaving under the weight of a bounty of antipasti, salads, savory tarts. All the regional specialties—and the people who had made them. Anything and everything a red-blooded Italian would crave if he were away from home.
He gruffly cleared his throat, giving them all a nod of thanks for their contributions.
More cries of “Bravo!” and “Auguroni!” filled the air.
He waved off the applause with a quick comment about how they were a team. How they all deserved a pat on the back for pulling together in the same way generations of villagers had back in the day when someone had been fool enough to start carving into the side of this blasted mountain and call it home.
Looking around at the smiling faces, hearing the laughter, feeling the buzz of anticipation in the air, he allowed himself a brief moment of elation. If he could hold on to that feeling—
Luca’s eyes lit upon Fran, the only woman in the world who would have bothered to make this moment happen.
Something deep within him twisted and ached. Longed to have a spare ounce of energy, an unfettered moment to explore...test the waters and see what would happen if he and Fran were to—
Enough.
He couldn’t even hold on to a girlfriend he’d no plans to marry, let alone pay enough attention to his niece.
Pia and the clinic. His two priorities. Everything else—everyone else—would have to wait.
* * *
Fran saw the lift in Luca’s eyes as he scanned the team. The glint of renewed energy. The gratifying blaze of pride. She hoped he knew just how proud all of these people were of him. Of the life he’d brought not only to Mont di Mare but to the community as a whole. A center of excellence, right here in their own little hideaway nook of Italy!
“Cut the ribbon!”
The call originated from Pia, but soon everyone was chanting it.
A nurse ran up to Luca with a small pair of surgical scissors from her hip kit when Pia put out a panicked call that she’d remembered the ribbon but not the scissors. The dogs were instructed to stand at either side of the archway in front of Luca, and as the scissors swept through the silken sash, marking this historic moment, Luca’s eyes met Fran’s.
It was impossible to read his expression, but the effect his gaze had upon her body was hard to deny. The explosion of internal fireworks. Her bloodstream soaring in temperature. The roar in her ears while the rest of her body filled with a showering cascade of never-ending sparks. The feeling that she was less mortal
than she had been before.
She gave herself a sharp shake.
She was here to do a job. Not to get all doe-eyed over the boss man. And yet...was that a hint of softness in Luca’s gaze? A concession that she might not be the thorn in his side he’d initially pegged her to be.
Little sparkles of pleasure swirled around her belly at the thought. Sparkles she was going to have to round up and tame if doing her job and leaving this place with her heart intact were her intentions.
She felt a set of familiar fingers giving her hand a tug.
Pia. Her golden-hearted charge. The entire point of her being there.
“What do you say we get some food?” Fran asked.
“Sounds good to me.” Pia swirled her chair around then looked up at her. “Fran?”
“Mmm-hmm?” Fran pulled her attention back from another surreptitious glance in Luca’s direction.
“You’re good for him, you know.”
“Beg pardon?” Fran’s attention was fully on Pia now.
“Uncle Luca. He’s a bit like me, I think.”
Fran swallowed a disbelieving laugh out of respect for Pia’s serious tone. “In what way?”
Pia’s expression turned suddenly shy, and her fingers teased at the belt that held her petite torso in place against the low back of her chair.
“He’s a bit lonely, I think. He works so hard. And with all the pressure my...my condition must put on him I can’t help but worry that he’s going to work himself to death. I know he loves medicine and everything, but what if this is all too much for him? What if...?” Pia’s voice broke, though she maintained eye contact and tried again. “What if...?”
Fran’s heart felt as though it were going to burst with compassion when Pia’s eyes filled with tears. The amount of loss the poor girl had endured and now she feared losing her uncle, as well? She saw that Luca was trying to spend time with Pia, but she also knew the long hours he put in with the clinic. It was exactly what had happened with her father and his cars. Even when he was at home he wasn’t really there. And getting access to his heart was near impossible.