Fiance for Keeps

by Gail Chianese

  “Denise.” Jenna waved her over and pulled her into an empty exam room. “Have you talked with Simon yet?” She kept her voice low as she craned her neck around to look out the doorway.

  “Nooo. I just got here.” Denise peeked out the door to see what she was missing. Confused by her friend’s conspiratorial tone, she pulled Jenna back in the room and shut the door. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, only it has something to do with the boy with the broken arm from Thursday. I arrived fifteen minutes ago and Simon called me into his office the minute I walked through the doors. He asked me a bunch of questions and then said to send you in the second you arrived. Do you think his mom filed a complaint?”

  “Can’t imagine what for. Guess I’ll find out in a few. If I don’t get in there soon, you’ll be in trouble.”

  “Yep, because what Simon says, you do.”

  Denise headed straight to her boss’s office. His door was open and he saw her before she could knock. Without a word, he pointed to a chair. Not good. The staff joked about work being a game of Simon Says, and if you didn’t listen, you didn’t last, but she’d always had a good working relationship with the man. The only time she could recall being called to his office had been after losing her first patient. Dr. Thomas Simon might come across as a gruff bear to those around him, but underneath lay a compassionate man.

  She closed the door as instructed and sat down. His desk was massive, like the man, and took up a good portion of the room. The walls were littered with awards and certificates and the bookshelves were crammed with texts, folders, and about a dozen pictures of his wife and kids.

  “Thank you for coming in early.” His gruff voice fit the atmosphere in the room, but when he looked up at her with eyes as dark as the night, with his mouth clamped tight, she knew stuff was about to hit the fan. “Do you recall treating a young boy, Johnathan Ford, on Thursday?”

  “Sure. Little Blaze.” At Simon’s sharp look, she explained. “He’s a fan of Ghost Rider and a bit of a daredevil. Fractured radius. Kid was trying to jump his bike over a couple of trash cans.”

  “You’ve treated him before?”

  “I have. Thursday was his third visit. First was about eighteen months ago—his mom brought him in for a concussion. Johnny had climbed the ladder when the babysitter wasn’t watching and tried to take down the Christmas lights for his mom. Then, a couple of months later, he sprained an ankle playing soccer. What’s this about, sir?” Her gut clenched as she listed off his injuries and an idea of what was going on formed.

  “He’s back, and so are Child Protective Services.”

  No, she couldn’t believe his mom had been behind his accidents. Wouldn’t believe it, as there was no way she’d miss the signs. Not that she’d lived the life. Her parents would cut off their own hands before laying a hand on one of their daughters. There’d been classmates, more than she could remember, who had come to school bruised and injured, spouting lame excuses with hollow, despondent eyes. Broken souls.

  Then there’d been Brody and his mom. Mrs. N didn’t make up stories or label herself a klutz and she stood up, for herself and her son, only to be knocked down again and again. Toward the end, the fire had started to die out in her eyes, and then Mr. Nichols had had a heart attack right after beating the crap out of his wife.

  “Dr. Saunders?”

  Simon’s tapping on his desk brought her out of her thoughts.

  “I’m sorry. There’s no way he’s an abuse victim.”

  “Fourth visit in less than two years.”

  “He’s a boy, full of energy and trying to prove he’s invincible. Typical of a child his age, but also one dealing with his dad being killed in action.”

  “I would agree, except this time it was more than a simple fracture. CPS is going to want to talk to you. They’re in with the mom now. I’ll let you know when they’re ready for you. This isn’t going to look good on your fellowship application.”

  “Is Johnny okay?” she squeaked out. Screw the fellowship. If something had happened to the kid because she’d missed the signs, she’d never forgive herself.

  “Concussion, dislocated shoulder, contusions, and a deep cut on his face. Garcia is attending.”

  She let out a breath. Sounded like an epic fail on another crazy superhero stunt.

  “Dr. Saunders, steer clear until CPS is done. Administration is going to be all over us as it is for not reporting this case sooner.”

  “Understood, Dr. Simon.” Yeah, she understood that he’d just told her if CPS didn’t clear Johnny’s injuries as accidental, her ass would be in a sling. A slingshot out of there.

  She headed to the locker room and changed into her scrubs. She had a few minutes before she needed to report in, so she pulled out her phone to text her sister and saw she had a message waiting. Brody. For five years they’d stayed out of each other’s stratospheres, yet lately he was everywhere. Or so it seemed, thanks to one slightly tipsy kiss.

  Slipping out of the ballroom to escape the chaos of Cherry and Jason’s wedding so she could find a few minutes of solitude and enjoy the manicured gardens of the country club had sounded like a good idea until she’d stumbled upon Brody kicked back in her gazebo. Well, not hers as in she owned it, but hers as in it had been her destination. She wouldn’t let him leave and he wouldn’t let her. They’d settled into an uneasy silence as they both watched a couple of ducks dive for food. Not romantic at all, especially when neither would make eye contact or talk.

  Until Brody pulled her into him and skimmed his lips across hers. A whisper of a caress that led to deeper, breath-stealing kisses. She’d slid her hands inside his tux jacket and run her palms up his abs and grabbed a fistful of shirt. If she hadn’t, she might have fallen down with her heart racing like a NASCAR driver in the final stretch. The world around her went fuzzy and her legs turned watery.

  “Someone’s going to see us,” she panted between kisses.

  “It’s a wedding. They expect to see people kissing.”

  “Kiss, yes, but you’ve got my dress unzipped and halfway off.”

  He skimmed his hand down her bare back. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Denise had looked away, unsure if she was ready to hear what Brody was thinking. Standing in his embrace was like a sweet, overdue homecoming. Part of her didn’t want it to end, but another wasn’t sure how long she could stay.

  “We partake in the time-honored tradition of sleeping with a member of the wedding party.”

  The proposition had appeal. It had been eons since her last date, and even longer for other adult activities. Except it also had drawbacks. This was Brody, not some random hookup who, come morning, she could roll out of bed and forget the minute the door closed behind her. They had a complicated history, but maybe five years had been enough time to move forward or even to try again?

  “Stop overthinking it. A night of fun between old lovers.”

  She’d run her hand up and down the front of his chest, considering his words. “What happens after, when reality rears its ugly head?”

  “Let’s worry about that bridge when we get to it.” He bent his head down and nibbled his way from her ear along her throat and stopped shy of the edge of her bodice. “Say yes, Dee. Live a little.”

  The familiar nickname, the sweet, warm kisses, and the challenge were all too much to resist. “Your place or mine?”

  They had chosen his—more food in the fridge, and his bedroom wouldn’t be a shambles—then each had made their separate ways to their vehicles and left. Denise had refused to think about what she was about to do and most definitely what would come after. Which turned out to be the best course of action. The one night had turned into the next day and night, and by Monday morning Denise rolled out of bed exhausted, loose, and happy.

  Then work called.

  “Hey, Denise, you in here?” Jenna called out.

  Denise blew out a breath and headed out. “Yeah,
what’s up?”

  “Twenty-eight-year-old female, lower right abdominal pain, nausea with a temp of one hundred one point five, and a very distraught husband.”

  Stepping into the exam room, she found “distraught” didn’t even begin to cover the husband’s stress level. Denise let him rant and rage and, when she was sure he wouldn’t strike out at her, she introduced herself and stepped over to the sink to wash and sanitize her hands. She ran the patient through a list of questions, then assured the husband they’d find the source and get his wife feeling better. This helped until she ordered a blood panel and urinalysis.

  “It’s her appendix. Shouldn’t you be prepping her for surgery?” The husband had grabbed Denise by the arm and was blocking her way to the door.

  “Mr. Bell, it could be a number of different things. Yes, some of her symptoms do match that of appendicitis. However, the tests will help us narrow down the problem.” Denise placed her free hand gently on top of his, which was holding on to her. “I know you’re worried about your wife. So am I. Both your wife and I need your patience while we rule out certain problems and confirm exactly what’s going on.”

  Tears slipped down his face as he released Denise’s arm. “Don’t let her die.”

  “I have no intention of doing so.” She turned to her patient, who’d been quiet during this exchange. “You mentioned you’re a couple of weeks late, which means we need to do a pelvic exam.”

  “Can Ben stay? I’d feel better if he was here with me.”

  “You bet.”

  Denise told the husband where to stand and led the couple off on a discussion of the weather while she performed a pelvic, every woman’s most dreaded exam.

  She had just finished up when Valerie poked her head in and told her she was needed in exam room thirteen. Assuring the couple that either she or Jenna would be back to check on them in just a few, she headed toward what could be the end of her career because there was no exam room thirteen. Nope. What patient wants to be seen in an unlucky room? None. They’d given Dr. Simon’s office that dubious nickname, which could only mean CPS was ready for her.

  “Dr. Saunders, this is Ms. Oliver from Child Protective Services,” Dr. Simon said.

  Denise said hello and sat in the free chair.

  “We’ll make this as quick as possible. The first time you saw John Ford was for a concussion, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did he get the concussion?”

  She went over the same information she’d given Dr. Simon earlier, hiding her frustration at wasting time sitting around repeating herself instead of helping her patients. When the woman started to ask her the same questions for the third time, she interrupted.

  “Ms. Oliver, I understand you have a job to do and I appreciate how careful you need to be. I’ve answered your questions. Asking them again isn’t going to change my answer. In my professional opinion, Johnny is not an abuse victim. He’s a twelve-year-old boy with lots of energy and a love of superheroes, a kid trying to help his mom while they both deal with their grief. He doesn’t always make the best choices, but that’s being a kid. Now, if you don’t have any new questions, I have a woman in pain waiting for me.” Denise knew without looking at Dr. Simon’s pinched face that he wasn’t happy with her and that she’d probably just landed herself in hot water with the hospital administration.

  “I agree. Thank you for your time and cooperation,” Ms. Oliver said.

  Okay, then. Before the woman could change her mind and start her interrogation again, Denise escaped from the office and went straight to the nurses’ station to check on Mrs. Bell’s test and find out how Johnny was doing.

  Jenna handed her the tests results and looked down the hall toward Simon’s office. “Well?”

  “We’re in the clear. Let’s order up an ultrasound for Mrs. Bell and see if anyone from gyno can consult. Is Garcia still in with Johnny? I’d like to pop in to see him.”

  Jenna took the notepad back and assured her she’d get on it. “I think he was just waiting for CPS to say yea or nay on releasing him.”

  “Okay, let me know when you hear back from gyno. If I’m not mistaken, Mrs. Bell has an ectopic pregnancy.”

  Jenna left her at Johnny’s door, where his mom sat at his side while he told her which tile to move on her phone. “Hey there. I heard my favorite patient was back.” She cringed inside at the sight of the boy. A vibrant purple-blue ringed his eye and she was surprised he could talk with his bottom lip so swollen. On his right cheek he sported a cut held together with two stitches. “Hmm. Do I need to cover that cast in pink wrap with kitties on it?”

  “It wasn’t my fault. Swear.”

  “Yeah, so what happened?” She pulled up the stool on the other side of his bed and kept her focus on the kid.

  “Asshat down the street.”

  “Johnathan,” his mother exclaimed at his swearing.

  “Sorry. Jerk down the street. Thinks he rules the place and was pushing this girl around. I made him stop.”

  “Good job. Maybe next time you could try using something other than your face.”

  “Next time he’s going to come get an adult.” Mrs. Ford looked at her son, her face softening when Johnny quickly looked away to hide his tears. “If he can. I’m proud of you, baby, but I’d really like to see less of Dr. Saunders. No offense,” she said to Denise.

  “None taken, and I agree. You take care of yourself, Blaze.”

  Denise walked out of the room and paused to wipe the tears from her own eyes as she finally figured out why she had such a soft spot for Johnny. The kid was a replica of Brody Nichols.

  Chapter Four

  On Valentine’s Day, Brody found himself standing on his mom’s doorstep staring at a complete stranger. Nothing about the woman before him resembled the one who had given birth and raised him.

  “Mom?”

  “Hi, baby.” She pulled him in for a long hug and Brody sniffed the air. “What are you doing here?”

  “Are you wearing perfume?”

  She crossed her arms in front of her, pushing up her cleavage. Not right. “Is that a problem for you, young man?”

  “No, ma’am.” He took in the form-fitting dress and heels. “I thought your date was for dinner?”

  “It is. You caught me in the middle of getting ready.” Her face lit up as she looked down and caught sight of the basket of flowers and chocolates in Brody’s hand. “Are those for me?” She took the flowers and walked back into the house.

  “Mom, you do know it’s only one in the afternoon right?”

  “Last I checked, I can tell time.” She retreated to the kitchen and Brody followed.

  This had always been her domain, the one place she could generally escape his dad to find a few minutes of solace. It was also where he, Jason, and Dave had learned to cook and engaged in more food fights than he could remember. It was the heart of the house, filled with memories and laughter.

  “Your hair looks different. Good. Just different. New haircut?” he asked as he leaned against the counter, as he had so many times before.

  “Hmm, yes, and color. Do you like the highlights? The stylist said I look ten years younger. I don’t look stupid, do I?” Some of the old Dena Nichols crept back into her voice.

  “You look beautiful, as always.”

  She looked down at her dress and then threw her hands up and walked out of the kitchen. “This won’t work. It screams easy. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  If nothing else, he’d learned one thing from his time with Denise and that was never to argue with a woman when she didn’t like her outfit. It didn’t matter how skilled he was in the courtroom; when a woman hit that point, nothing could sway her from changing clothes.

  “Brody, come here and tell me what you think of this,” his mom called from the bedroom.

  Lord help him. He walked into his mom’s room and stopped in shock. Clothes were thrown everywhere—the floor, across the bed, the bottom of the cl
oset—it was like walking into Denise’s room when they were teenagers.

  His mom stood, wringing her hands, waiting. She had changed from the dress into black slacks and a red sweater that left very little skin showing, thank you very much! He chose his words carefully, hoping he wouldn’t set her off in search of another outfit. “Very festive and, as always, beautiful.”

  “Oh, I knew it. Too cliché. Red for Valentine’s Day.” She huffed out her breath and shooed him out of the room, telling him to wait outside. “I’ll blend in with every other woman out there.”

  He waited in the hall for a couple of minutes, listening to muted curses before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. The thunking and mumbling had died down and he was back at his post before the door opened. He stepped inside and his jaw dropped.

  “Wow. If your date doesn’t think he’s out with the most beautiful woman on the planet, he’s either blind or stupid.” It wasn’t just that she looked great in the long skirt and ocean blue blouse, it was the air of confidence she projected, which Brody had never seen in his mom before.

  She blushed and pushed him out the door again, only to come out a few minutes later in jeans and a T-shirt. “Don’t worry. I haven’t changed my mind again. I just don’t want to get anything on it between now and when I see Kevin. I still have to do my makeup and hair. Now, let’s go in the kitchen and eat those lovely chocolates you brought and you can tell me how you’re spending tonight.”

  A groan escaped as he headed into the kitchen. A lecture was in his near future. Maybe he could distract her with the chocolates. He snatched the bag out of the basket and held out the raspberry truffles—her favorite.

  She accepted the offer and pointed to a chair. “That sound tells me you’re working tonight. What did you do last night?”

  “Mom, it’s important. I’ve got a couple of cases for Legal Aid that I need to familiarize myself with ASAP. I need to be in court on Tuesday and if I blow it . . . I don’t want to think about the consequences.”