Miracle for the Neurosurgeon

by Lynne Marshall

  From doctor…to daddy?

  Neurosurgeon Wes Van Allen is used to being at the top of his game, so when an accident puts him in a wheelchair, he’ll push himself to the limit to regain his strength—he just needs a physical therapist who can keep up!

  Enter Mary Harris, whose sweet kisses he’s never forgotten! She’ll help Wes achieve his dream, if he helps her achieve hers—a baby! Captivated by Mary’s sunny optimism, dare Wes hope for the ultimate miracle—a family, with Mary by his side?

  Emotions ruled his thinking.

  Now he’d gone from red-hot anger to sizzling need in record time. Wesley took her hand, pulled Mary down to his eye level and, letting the barrage of desire take over, he kissed her. He forgot about where he sat or why they’d been spending so much time together over the last few days. All he saw was a woman he’d never gotten out of his mind, who’d just admitted she still had feelings for him. And he went for it.

  As they kissed, every obstacle in his head stepped aside. He did what he wanted, took what he wanted, and she met his rough kisses with sweet music in her throat. Her reaction turned him on even more. She’d ignited fire inside him, and the heat of it, after all this dormant time, shocked him.

  “Prove it,” he said over her mouth, midkiss. A moment later he stared into her fully dilated pupils, clueing him in she’d been as much into that kiss as he’d been. “Prove that I can still have sex.”

  Dear Reader,

  One of the perks of having a romantic’s worldview and getting to write books is to take a tough story but feature the silver lining. When I put my hero, Wes, in a wheelchair, I knew that was the focus I needed to take.

  Wes—or The Prince of Westwood, as I like to call him—had it all…until he didn’t anymore, and this book focuses on his journey after that. In walks Mary from the other side of the tracks, with her never-say-die attitude, her tiny house on wheels plus a crazy bargain, and his current world, based on discipline and survivor’s grit, gets turned on its head.

  Doing research for this book was enthralling, and I was amazed by the leaps we’ve made in dealing with spinal-cord injuries. Of course, this book focuses on Wes and Mary’s love story, but I drew so much inspiration from research and the people who refuse to limit themselves because of where they sit.

  I hope you enjoy the fireworks and the admiration these two meant-to-be lovebirds have for each other as they struggle through to their well-deserved HEA. As I mentioned in the dedication, I wouldn’t have had the guts to bring this story to life without the encouragement of a truly gifted editor, Flo Nicoll.

  I hope you enjoy the book!

  Lynne

  Visit lynnemarshall.com for the latest news and to sign up for my newsletter.

  MIRACLE FOR THE NEUROSURGEON

  Lynne Marshall

  Books by Lynne Marshall

  Harlequin Medical Romance

  Summer Brides

  Wedding Date with the Army Doc

  The Hollywood Hills Clinic

  His Pregnant Sleeping Beauty

  Cowboys, Doctors…Daddies!

  Hot-Shot Doc, Secret Dad

  Father for Her Newborn Baby

  200 Harley Street: American Surgeon in London

  A Mother for His Adopted Son

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  To Flo Nicoll, for giving me the courage to write this story, then helping me make it all it should be. Having you as an editor has been a blessing.

  Praise for Lynne Marshall

  “Emotionally stirring, sensually mesmerizing and beautifully written, His Pregnant Sleeping Beauty will keep you engrossed until the end.”

  —Goodreads

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM ENGLISH ROSE FOR THE SICILIAN DOC BY ANNIE CLAYDON

  CHAPTER ONE

  WESLEY VAN ALLEN looked like hell in a shirt. Not even a shirt, a T-shirt. A worn and dingy old white undershirt, with holes, that would be better suited for dusting furniture than wearing. Plus, it was wet, and he was obviously sweaty.

  On second glance he looked more like hell on wheels with that driven dark stare. The pride Mary Harris had always admired in him was still in fine form, and so was that glint in his gaze. From the looks of the bulging veins on his deltoids and biceps she must have interrupted his gym time.

  Mary bent and lightly kissed his cheek. “Remember me?” Yeah, he’d definitely been working out.

  “How could I forget a pest like you?” Looking surprised, he used the hand towel from his lap to wipe his neck, as he gave her a lazy smile.

  When he’d first opened the door, she’d had to adjust her gaze downward to accommodate his being in the wheelchair. His nearly black hair was longer than she’d ever seen it, and she had to admit it looked sexy all damp in disarray. For a man who’d always been proud to a fault and strutted around, letting the world know it, his posture hadn’t changed…from the waist up, anyway. But strutting was no longer possible.

  Those once sparkling, take-on-the-world eyes Mary remembered as pale brown, coffee and cream, to be exact, seemed darker, more intense than ever. The way they examined her now, made her question why she’d dared to come here today.

  She instantly remembered, he’d become a man who’d nearly lost it all. One who worked every day, far too hard, to regain his balance, or so she’d been told.

  Mary fought every muscle on her face to hide her sorrow over the guy she’d once known versus the man she saw now, fearing her eyes would betray her. Do not cry. Do not.

  She forced a bright smile. “I’ve come to see if I can be of any help. I am an expert, you know.”

  He could probably see right through her, but she was determined to pull this off.

  Alexandra, Wesley’s sister, had contacted Mary when the accident had first occurred nine months ago—the shockwave had hit so hard she could barely walk the rest of that day, her chest felt caved in, crushing her heart for the man she’d never gotten to know like she’d once dreamed she might. Mary had just signed on for a six-month hospital physical therapy position in Bangor, Maine, when he’d had his waterskiing accident. Far across the country, she couldn’t get home to see him. But she’d mourned his loss, and had worried about him every day, until Alexandra had assured her he was out of danger. Though he would never walk again.

  How many times had she wanted to pick up the phone and call Wes, or write him a card expressing her truest thoughts and feelings, but had chickened out because in the end she’d felt she’d had no right? She was just a girl he’d once known. Nothing more.

  Alexandra had called again last week, out of desperation, and Mary had heard the panic in her friend’s voice. Wes had fired the third home health physical therapy assistant in as many months. “He’s taken independence to new heights. No one can stand to be around him!” Alex hadn’t known what else to do, so she’d turned to her long-time friend for help.

  Though about to sign a contract for another job, this one in New Mexico, Mary had rearranged her work schedule on the spot to get here. That was the beauty of being a free agent, an interim employee, getting to call the shots while traveling the coun
try. But since that phone call, and after not being there for Wes in the beginning, nothing could stop her from helping the man she’d had a crush on since she was fifteen.

  “Seriously, what are you doing here?” His unwelcoming tone stung like a paper cut. He rolled his wheelchair backward to allow her to enter. At least that was something.

  “I already told you, I’m here to help.” She followed him, hiding the hurt from him brushing her off.

  “I don’t need any help. I’ve got this.” His suspicious gaze seemed to hunt for pity, and if he found it, she knew he’d attack.

  She adjusted her over-bright expression to one of questioning. “Really? A guy who’s fired three physical therapy aides in three months doesn’t need help? I beg to differ.” Did she honestly expect him to welcome her when showing up out of the blue?

  He harrumphed and made a U-turn and continued toward the opposite door in the large and beautifully furnished beach home living room. The ceiling-to-floor windows looked out onto the Pacific Ocean. At the moment it was teal and silver blue, covered with glitter from the sun, and she couldn’t avoid noticing. Yet the house felt shut down, dark and lonely, and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow him or not. She did anyway, through opened double doors into a huge hallway where a wraparound staircase looked like open arms. Because of his accident, that welcoming entrance would forever be off-limits to him. How awful to be reminded every day in such an in-your-face way.

  “I’m serious, Wes, you can’t fire the world. It won’t bring back your legs.” She’d always been one to name the elephant in the room head on, that was if she knew what it was, and in Wes’s case she knew exactly why he’d become this guarded and fiercely independent man. He’d become a paraplegic and was dealing with his disability by working too hard, beating the life out of it. And apparently everyone else. No one could keep up with his breakneck schedule, according to Alexandra.

  “I don’t need you.” He spat out the words, reacting to her dose of reality, sounding nothing like the successful neurosurgeon who’d known the course of his life since he’d reached puberty. Who could’ve predicted this part?

  “Alex doesn’t agree and she’s asked me to help out for a while.” When he immediately opened his mouth to protest, she held up her hand to stop him. “Because she loves you.”

  “Alex needs to mind her own business. She’s got her husband and kids to worry about. Tell her I release her of all sisterly responsibility. And you can leave now.”

  Crushed, Mary laughed, surprising herself. She hadn’t seen Wesley in ten years, the day Alexandra had gotten married. The day they’d claimed their second mind-boggling kiss and far more, blamed completely on sharing too much champagne. “Not so easy, Wes. I’ve taken two months off work to come here. I literally picked up my home and drove from New Mexico to California.”

  “Why ever would you do that without asking first?”

  “Because that’s what friends do. Show up to help.”

  “My friends always ask first.” Dismissed.

  Another paper cut, this one slicing deeper, drawing more blood. Do they ever get invited in?

  He might still think of her as a charity case, a stray kitten his sister had once dragged home from public school, but she’d risen above her poverty and all the odds stacked against her. She didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that.

  “You used to call me kid sister number two. I practically lived with you, Wes. You can’t deny you were all like a second family to me.” She tried to make eye contact, but he didn’t co-operate. “Your parents gave me shelter, and you, you insisted I make something of myself.” He’d told her that the night he’d been volunteered to take her to the prom. She stepped closer to him, hoping with all of her heart she could get through to him. “Well, I have. I’ve got a freaking PhD, and now I’m here for you, one doctor to another.” Funny how life worked out that way.

  “So this is payback?” He looked directly at her, taunting her with hurtful insults to give up and leave him alone. “I don’t need your help. Thank you, though.”

  He rolled toward a wall unit lift to take him and his wheelchair upstairs, intent on leaving her standing there, openmouthed. But the snub only gave enough time for fury at being dismissed like a servant to form into words.

  “I’ve been told you’re being a total jerk.” Have proof of it firsthand now. She’d also spoken to his parents before coming. They’d thrown up their hands and moved back to their retirement home in Florida after spending the first six months of recovery with him. “Someone’s got to snap you out of it.”

  “Have you been talking to my parents? Dear old Dad, who blames me for what happened? I don’t need toxic people like that around.”

  His father may had been the pusher in the clan, but certainly his mother had never been anything but supportive.

  “And I’m not like that. Toxic.” Had his father actually blamed him for the accident? Shameful. She’d always known Mr. Van Allen had expected the world of both of his children, but most especially from Wes. He’d raised hell when Alex had changed majors from pre-med to become a dietician, which only required a master’s degree. If Wes had ever dared to venture off his life path, who knows what Mr. Van Allen would have done? Somehow, even back then, she’d sensed that failure was not an option where the Van Allen kids were concerned, but to blame his son for a life-altering accident? Unbelievable.

  “Can’t you see I’m doing fine?” He staunchly defended his shutting out the world.

  It was time to double down. She knew, though on the surface Wes looked like he was in fact doing fine, he needed assistance from daily PT in ways he didn’t even think about, and not just on the parts that were working, but also the muscles and joints in need of passive range of motion. That was something he needed to learn to do for himself, too. And even in the gym, which she presumed from the looks of his upper torso, chest and arms, he did rigorous workouts, someone needed to be standing by in case he got hurt, possibly further injuring his spine. No. She wasn’t going anywhere. At least not today. “Have you ever performed surgery without consulting another neurosurgeon first?”

  “What’s that got to do with this?”

  “Everything. You may think you know what you’re doing but, whether you know it or not, you need a second opinion.”

  They shared a ten-second stare down, and he was the first to look away. “Get used to it, Van Allen, I’m not leaving.” She waited for him to turn and look at her again. “For the next two months, anyway. In fact, regardless of what you want or think, I’m the best person in the entire world to show up on your doorstep today.” Pure bravado. False bravado. She caught up to him and placed her hand on his arm to make a point, her knees nearly knocking with insecurity as she did. He jerked at her touch, but didn’t yank the arm away.

  “There’s no doubt you’re doing great, but you can’t do it all by yourself. You need some supervision with the process. I’m only temporary, but I’m necessary for now. You’re a smart man. You know that. So let me help you.” To hell with the anxiety summersaulting through her stomach over the possibility of being rejected, his long-term health was more important than her nerves…or her ego. Yet if he told her to leave one more time, she wouldn’t be able to justify sticking around.

  He shook his head, looking irritated. Something told her to intercept his thought before he said it, to state her case one last time, this time pulling out all the bells and whistles.

  “It’s because of you that I’m the perfect person to help.” She tried to keep eye contact, even though matching his resolute stare made her ankles wobbly. “Wasn’t it you who told me to make something out of myself? To not let my parents and poverty hold me back? Well, here I am, a bona fide physical therapist, with a doctorate degree, at your service. I understand it may come as a surprise, but I just might know a little about what you need at this point in your recovery. And I don’t intend to leave before you’re back on your feet.” Damn, she’d said the wrong thing!
She saw his jaw twitch. Without intending to, she’d delivered her own paper cut. “Metaphorically speaking.” It was too late—she couldn’t retract the stupid and insensitive phrase.

  “For a second I thought you were selling yourself as a miracle worker.” He let out an exasperated huff of air, like she’d solicited a service he didn’t want or need—subscribe to this magazine or donate to this cause—but felt obligated to take anyway. “If this is your sales pitch, I suppose I have to pay?”

  “No!” She was making a total mess of everything, but couldn’t back down now. “Let’s get that straight from the start. I don’t work for you. I’m here as a friend.” That way you can’t fire me!

  “And where do you expect to live?”

  “I’ve got that all taken care of.”

  He sat quietly, offering a dead stare in her vicinity, along with a sigh. “Suit yourself,” he said, as though he couldn’t care less, and continued on toward the wheelchair lift. “I’m going to the gym.”

  Dismissed again. Well, not so fast, buddy. “I’ll be back at eight o’clock tomorrow morning to begin your therapy. In the meantime, do you have a groundskeeper? I need some help with something.”

  He tossed her a quizzical glance, then propelled himself out of the room, calling a woman’s name as he did so. “Rita!” His housekeeper? Once she’d come out from the far recesses of the kitchen, making Mary wonder exactly how big the house was, he gave a quick instruction for her to find someone named Heath, as he rolled his chair onto the lift and began ascending the stairs.

  Rita tipped her head at him and passed an inquisitive gaze at Mary. “I’ll call him now.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be on the porch.”

  She stepped outside the front door, her hands shaking, her body quivering. She leaned against the wall biting her lip, blinking her eyes, until sadness overtook her. The man she’d idolized as a teenager was sentenced to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. She’d known it in advance, of course, but seeing him—the same yet so changed—drove the point home and deep into her heart.