Miracle for the Neurosurgeon

by Lynne Marshall

  “It’s just part of the process, Wes.” She smiled, and it lit up the room again.

  An ordinary expression shouldn’t be that noticeable, but coming from her—plump lips parted over naturally spaced teeth, lips he’d tasted and liked, the smile easily infecting her eyes—it was extraordinary. Everything she did for him seemed larger than life, yet humble and sweet, and always forced him to get too close to her, her kisses the prize he wanted to keep winning.

  “Well, if neurosurgery isn’t in my future, maybe I can get a job as a sleight of hand magician somewhere?”

  And there was that beam again, as if it was a beacon showing him the way to happiness, touching his heart and a whole lot of other places. He juggled the metal balls in his palm faster and faster, looking forward to the rest of the day, and especially their dinner that night. Alone. With Rita banished once she’d set everything up for the meal.

  For a guy who’d woken up grumpy, things were definitely looking up.

  For the first time since his accident he believed he might be able to pick up the skills he’d once honed, and continue with his professional life again. Before now, he’d refused to consider it, especially after attempting to return to the hospital too soon, and experiencing full throttle failure. Not to mention humiliation. No longer able to juggle patients with ease and conviction, he’d fumbled with simple things like holding a laptop on his lap and wheeling himself into an examination room. He’d had to face colleagues feeling less than their equal. When he’d bumped into an examination table and set off leg spasms, he’d had enough. His ears heated with the memories. After a few days of denying the truth, he’d had to admit defeat and return home feeling lost.

  Never a quitter, that’s when he’d gone even more manic in the gym, and for his efforts he’d never felt physically stronger in his life. From the waist up. Yet he was still so insecure about returning to his life’s vocation. The job he’d felt called to do since he was a teenager.

  Now, here he was with news about a special stand-up wheelchair, and Mary with a deck of cards, a quarter, some odd little balls, plus a promise to string beads tomorrow. The crazy thing was, every little part of the day’s equation had made him feel anything was possible again. Looking at life through new eyes, he felt ready to say, Why not?

  He watched her across the room, setting up for their passive range of motion session, and took a moment to marvel over how she’d opened up his world to the possible again. It wasn’t sleight of hand magic she peddled either. She spoke the truth. Honest and practical. And for that he’d always be grateful.

  Like a spear to the chest, it hit him. She’d signed on for two months, and one had already passed. He’d miss her when she left. A sensation he’d compartmentalized for months forced its way out—giving a damn. He cared about her, looked forward to seeing her every day, and would definitely miss her when she packed up that tiny house and moved on.

  With her help he’d go back to work and become part of the living again, even though he wasn’t at all sure he was ready to join that group.

  *

  Mary showed up on time for dinner, worrying about her choice of clothes—her best black slacks and a clingy blue patterned top that might show a little too much cleavage. After their kissing game earlier, she didn’t know what to expect from Wes. One thing she did know for sure, though, she liked it!

  She’d called out once she’d gotten to his front door.

  “It’s open. I’m in the kitchen.”

  She didn’t want Wes to think she was trying to seduce him with her choice of clothes, but she wanted to look nice, and this top came with a definite dip of cleavage. From the appreciative gaze in Wesley’s eyes when she walked into his kitchen, she figured she’d made a good choice.

  “Wow, something smells delicious!”

  “I owe my amazing cooking skills to Rita, who had the good sense to prepare all the ingredients for our meal and take off, leaving me with the easy cooking part.”

  Hadn’t he said he used Rita when he wanted to impress his date? Was she considered a date or an old friend? And did old friends find multiple excuses to kiss each other? Man, she was confused.

  “Must be nice.” She could only imagine what it would be like to have a personal sous chef. She’d never been in his kitchen and was blown over by the huge marble-topped island, all the high-end appliances and a breakfast nook large enough to throw a party in. Heck, it was the size of her entire kitchen! This for a guy who lived like a recluse.

  He led her to the dining room, just around the corner from that breakfast room. He had a casserole dish on his lap as he rolled the wheelchair, and she worried it might be burning his legs and he didn’t know it. “May I take that for you?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  Dumb question. She needed to learn to let him be independent without rushing to his aid. If her hope was for him to feel whole again, she shouldn’t interfere with his process. Let him be a man.

  The dining table nearly took her breath away. He’d chosen a cozy area with a splendid view of the ocean, with light naturally stained table and chairs, making her think of beach chic, whatever that was. The dishes were brightly patterned and she picked one up to see where it had been made.

  “Got those on a trip to Spain.”

  Oh, the life he must have led BP. Before paraplegia. “They’re beautiful.” The yellow patterned dishes with dark blue highlights picked up the midnight blue drapes bracketing the long line of windows.

  “Come, help me bring out the rest of the food. All that sleight of hand stuff makes a guy hungry.”

  After a couple more trips back and forth to the kitchen, their table was set, but before he took his place at the head, where she’d noticed no chair had been placed, he opened a drawer in the sideboard. Soon he rolled from candle to candle placed all along the buffet and at several stations across the expansive table, as he used the candle lighter. Once done, he turned off the overhead lights and gestured for her to sit next to him, but not before he fiddled with something on the wall, next to the electric switch. Voilà! Music. Soft, strings and piano. Perfect.

  With chills across her shoulders she sat, watching the man she’d seen every day in the gym for the last few days, and who she’d recently started kissing for pure pleasure. He was on his own turf and he looked nothing short of handsome and confident, and for that she let fly a quick, secret dream. What if?

  He opened a bottle of red wine and poured each of them a glass, then removed the lid from their appetizer dish.

  “Wow, that looks great.”

  “Good, you like shrimp. This is my version of shrimp cocktail. I sauté them and serve them warm. Help yourself.” He handed her the platter and she dug right in.

  “You made this?”

  “Spent the last hour and a half getting everything ready for us.”

  “What about Rita?”

  “She bought everything I’d need and had all the ingredients right where I wanted them.”

  “That’s great. So you like cooking?”

  “Sometimes. If there’s a lady I want to impress.”

  She stopped, shrimp midway to her mouth. Their eyes met and she saw the flash of interest. She’d felt it earlier when they’d kissed too. The chills returned and she knew tonight was going to be different. “Well, thank you, then. I’m definitely impressed.”

  Over spinach salad with pancetta and feta cheese Wes seemed to relax. “I used to do all the cooking when I was with Giselle.”

  “Your ex-fiancée?”

  He nodded and took another bite.

  She wondered why he’d brought Giselle up, especially since they’d been seeming to slip into something more serious the more time they spent around each other. She worried she was setting herself up for a fall by thinking a few kisses meant something to Wes. According to Alex, he’d never been without lady friends.

  “I forget, was she fiancée one or fiancée two?”

  He ignored her dig, but went serious. “My fia
ncées never stood a chance, I suppose, not with how work was my total world and all. Emma found someone else to make her happy and Giselle married her job, just like I did.” He’d jumped off on a subject that nearly made her drop her fork.

  “Are you saying you think it was your fault?”

  He served New York steak strips with smashed potatoes, and the heavier food seemed compatible with the topic of conversation. “I feel like I squandered any chance of being in a solid relationship, you know, that one you mentioned the first day we worked out, that ‘special one’. I never believed in it before and now it’s too late.”

  “Why do you say that? You’re talking like your life is over, and that’s just not true.” Why couldn’t she get through to him?

  “It would be really tough to get involved with a guy like me. I’m a special needs guy now.”

  “You’re the same person inside you’ve always been. That’s the part that attracts people.”

  After two failed engagements, Wes was hell bent on never opening his heart again, had his excuses lined up and waiting, and she didn’t have time for him to figure things out. Besides, she’d already been through that with her one and only fiancé, Chuck. From him she’d learned if a guy didn’t want you, he simply didn’t want you, and there was nothing she could do to change that. Yet, foolishly, she had tried.

  Like Wes focusing on his job back when he’d been engaged, these days all she wanted to focus on was becoming a mother. Holding a baby of her own in her arms, loving and protecting it was her number one goal, and she couldn’t let anything stand in the way. Especially not a guy unwilling to accept there was life after paraplegia.

  “I’ll give you this, Harris,” he said, forking a piece of steak and mixing it with potatoes before eating it.

  She waited as he chewed, taking a dainty bite in case she needed to prod him along.

  “You’ve brought life back into this house. It had gotten dreary and lonely, but now things have changed. That’s all thanks to you, and don’t choke on your steak but that means a lot to me.”

  He’d been refilling his glass with dark red wine, and she was sure he’d never broach this topic if it wasn’t for the magic of vino. She was so grateful he had, because he’d just paid her an amazing compliment.

  “And that means a lot to me, too, Wes. I came here because I’m an old family friend and I wanted to help.”

  “And my sister begged you to come.”

  “And I am a family friend, did I mention that?”

  He winked at her, and damn if that didn’t give her a quick thrill. She almost forgot what she was going to say. Oh, right. “So we got off to a rocky start, but I’m super happy with where you’re at now.”

  “Cheers.” He raised his glass and smiled, his eyes showing the effect of the couple of glasses he’d enjoyed, as he charmingly ignored what she’d just said.

  She drank more and admitted he’d chosen the perfect wine to complement the steak and potatoes. The wine warmed her insides, and also loosened her lips. He was opening up, why shouldn’t she? So she decided to be supportive of his reaching out by giving her a huge compliment. Coming from him, that was a big deal. “Just so you know, I can totally understand how you feel about it being too late. I’ve given up on finding the right life partner, too. But here’s the crazy part. I’ve always prided myself on being a free spirit, you know, independent and self-reliant. Heck, I never had anyone to depend on until I met your family.” She took another sip of wine, choosing to hold the glass nearby rather than put it down. “But guess what, since meeting your youngest niece, Rose, this free spirit wants more than anything to have a baby.”

  There, she’d finally admitted it to someone, and it didn’t sound so crazy, did it? She took another sip of wine just in case it did seem like a whacky idea, and watched the expression change on his face.

  Wes stared at her for a few seconds, digesting what she’d confessed, looking so serious she chose to think he was treating her secret with great care, and she deeply appreciated that. So she drank more wine to give him time to mull things over.

  Before she realized it, he rolled his wheelchair over to her and took both of her hands in his. “So is this our secret?”

  She nodded.

  “Crazy, isn’t it? Neither of us ever expects to find ‘the one’. I don’t have a clue if I can have sex, and you want to be a mother. Does that sum things up?”

  Put that way, she had to laugh. “I know. Crazy, right?” But it felt good to finally tell someone.

  “It’s not crazy, Mary, if that’s what you want. You’d be a great mom, too.” He pulled her close and kissed her gently, then reached around her shoulders and hugged her.

  The hug felt like home, so she kissed him back. He hesitated briefly but soon his lips complied and a simple kiss suddenly turned into much more. Then it ended far too fast.

  He stared seriously at her. “So it seems we both have something to prove. Me going back to work and you putting your uterus to work.”

  “Something like that.” She grinned and was grateful he hadn’t laughed her out of his house, though her thoughts were still hung up on the far-too-brief make-out session from the moment before.

  He stared at her for a long moment, and she projected that he was thinking the same thing she was about the ramifications of his last statement. He wanted to have sex again and she wanted to have a baby. They both had something to prove and she was helping him so maybe he should help her? Or maybe she was reading far too much into his sympathetic expression.

  He backed his chair away. “Are you ready for dessert?”

  “There’s more?”

  “How about some grilled peaches with ricotta and honey?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Great. So come into the kitchen and let’s get cooking.”

  “I’m making dessert?”

  “No. You’re watching me make dessert. I just want your company.”

  They’d both drunk enough wine to open up on topics they’d kept close to their chests until tonight. They definitely didn’t need to drink anymore. “How about I make some coffee?”

  Wesley worked diligently grilling peaches then spreading them with the sugar and cinnamon mixture as he thought what a total disaster it would be to try to make love to Mary. It would be a total clinical trial and humiliating, so humiliating, and it was the last thing he’d ever want to face. Yet, putting his pride and wheelchair aside, the thought of being with Mary made his head spin. What he’d give to go back in time and take her the way he wanted to now. He’d had the chance, was sure of that, back then. Now she needed someone to help her get pregnant, not someone who didn’t even know if he could still function in that department.

  In a far less festive mood now, he served dessert with the coffee she’d made, and they ate in silence. The sweet-tasting peach hardly registered with his brain, because he couldn’t get the thought of helping her get pregnant out of his mind. After all she’d done for him, why shouldn’t he volunteer? Maybe he couldn’t take her to bed like he’d prefer, but he sure as hell could still be a sperm donor. The ramifications of fathering a baby he’d never be involved with didn’t sound appealing. He’d never really thought about being a dad, but he sure as hell knew if he ever became one, he’d want to act like one. Not some donor with no say.

  “We’ve got an early start tomorrow,” she said, out of the blue. Probably because he’d gone missing with his thoughts. “I’d better get home.”

  Damn, he’d really blown the mood he’d so carefully set earlier. He’d wanted tonight to be special, he’d even started to open up to her about his failed engagements, then he’d let insecurity hold him back. Now she’d taken the “all business” route. “Ah, yes, tomorrow we make jewelry from tiny beads.”

  “Yup. Can I help with the dishes first?”

  “Nope. That’s the beauty of Rita. She’ll take care of everything in the morning.”

  “So that’s how the other half lives. Must be nice.”
She strolled and he rolled toward the front door.

  “Hey, don’t knock my life of privilege until you’ve tried it.” He knew she’d grown up the hard way, but never felt she’d held a grudge toward him about it. Now that he spent his days in a wheelchair, he figured the playing field was level. Who could envy him?

  “Tomorrow we’ll work on strengthening your abs, to get you ready for that standing wheelchair I see in your future.”

  She never gave up, and that endeared her to him all the more. “Yes, boss. It sounds nuts, but I can almost see myself performing surgery again.”

  “You will, Wes. I know it.”

  He tugged on her hand and brought her closer. “And I see a baby in your future.”

  “Do you?”

  The excitement on her face nearly broke his heart. He promised something he had no business getting mixed up in, but it didn’t stop him. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m going to tell you something, but don’t let it go to your head, Harris. I like having you around.”

  She gave a flirty gaze. “Then don’t let this go to your head either. I like being around.”

  He brought her face down to his and kissed her, because he couldn’t stand another second without touching and tasting her. Wishing he had that standing wheelchair right now, he’d give anything to be on her level. Eye to eye. Mouth to mouth. Her breasts mashed against his chest and his hands wandering anywhere they liked.

  But kissing her from this angle wasn’t half-bad. In fact, right now, since she sat on his lap, he couldn’t think of any place he’d rather be, as long as they were sharing a kiss.

  Where were they going with all these kisses, anyway? What did it mean that they couldn’t seem to keep their lips apart? Was it a promise of good things to come? The thought of getting his hopes up sent a shudder through him. Or maybe it was the sensation of her tongue slipping over his that set that off.

  He’d gone off at the deep end, imagining all kinds of miracles happening between them, and drinking three glasses of wine had to be the reason.