“It’s nice to know you were worried,” she said with a smile, not letting him see the concern that she felt when she looked at those hands.
Nathan’s jaw tightened at her flippant words, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Worried isn’t the word I’d use. I’m just disappointed that you showed up at all, Ms. Reynolds. I was hoping you’d decided to be reasonable and back off.”
“Reasonable?” Faith blinked her eyes wide. “Whatever gave you the idea that I would be reasonable? Good therapists aren’t. They’re pushy, bossy people who don’t know the meaning of the word quit. And it’s a good thing, too. There are a lot of people dancing tangos today who’d still be confined to wheelchairs if their therapists had been reasonable. Now, hold out your hands.”
Nathan stood there looking at her as if she’d just ordered him to drop his pants in public.
“Hold out your hands, Dr. Murphy,” she repeated slowly.
“What for?”
“For this,” she said, lifting the box she held in her arms. “You need to find a place to put it. I need to get the rest of the equipment out of my car.”
Still Nathan didn’t move.
“Look, Dr. Murphy, this isn’t heavy, and I absolutely promise you there’s no dynamite inside. You’ve got arms, and palms that are flat surfaces. Use them.”
With that, Faith practically dropped the box into thin air. To her relief, he reached out automatically and caught it clumsily. Thank goodness. His reflexes were still good.
Besides, she would have had a lot of explaining to do if she’d broken some of the fragile items inside.
But she offered no words of praise for what was, after all, an accomplishment for a man who’d been sitting around vegetating for eighteen months. Faith wasn’t sure why. Normally she tried to offer whatever words of encouragement she could, to build on every little step. But there was something in Nathan’s eyes, his stance—something that told her that he’d back away if she made even one small compliment. She’d just have to hope that he had offered himself a mental pat on the back, that he even cared.
He was making his way to a dusty table, trying to figure out some way to slide the box off of his arms with hands that really had no gripping ability when Faith opened her mouth again.
“By the way, Doctor,” she said, turning toward the door. “The reason I was late was because there was an incredible mix-up with my supplies when I went to check them out today. You wouldn’t, by any chance, have called the hospital and tried to sabotage my equipment list, would you?”
She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that Nathan had somehow managed to dump the box. He was staring at her, his brow raised, the closest thing she’d seen to a smile lifting one corner of his mouth.
“What do you think, Ms. Reynolds?”
Faith studied him for a full five seconds more, watched the too intense eyes mocking her, daring her to turn and run.
Slowly, she shrugged one shoulder and smiled smugly. “I think that would have been too petty even for someone who dislikes me as much as you do. More likely, it was just typical hospital red tape.”
The half smile left his lips. “Believe me, if I’d thought a move like that would have gotten rid of you, I would have tried it.”
“That’s good to know.” She opened the door. “Even anger can be good if it gets you off your backside and doing things. I’ll keep that in mind in case you need a nudge during treatment.”
Nathan moved with a swiftness that nearly froze Faith’s breath in her chest. She took a step back, but even so, when he came to a halt, he was nearly standing on top of her. His warmth and the clean, male scent of him surrounded her, wrapped her in a drugging awareness of him. She could reach out and rake her fingertip across the line of his jaw if she wanted to. His height forced her to tip her head back just to look into his face. And the expression that she saw there wasn’t reassuring or kind.
“So nothing shakes you, does it, Ms. Reynolds?” he asked. “I’ve insulted you, threatened you, and practically shoved you out the door and you stand there telling me that it’s good for me to get ticked off. What exactly would it take, I wonder—just how hard would a man have to push—if he wanted to make you run?”
Staring up into Nathan’s face, Faith wondered if he knew just how very close she was to bolting right this second. Only necessity and Dr. Anderson’s orders were keeping her here. Because every time she stared into Nathan’s eyes and saw the pain he tried to blot out with anger, she wanted to run. Badly. Run right out the door and keep on running for the rest of her life.
Those eyes spoke to her, pulled at her, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to feel anything for this man other than a clean-cut professional interest in his treatment. But yes, there were definitely things that shook her.
He was one of them. Still, she would give up speaking entirely before she’d let him know that.
“Excuse me, I’ll be back in just a minute.” She eased away from him, fighting for breath, forcing the words out. “There are still a few things in my car. An infrared and paraffin bath. The infrared will serve as an alternate heat source to relax your muscles in case we need it, but I’d rather use the paraffin bath if you can deal with the mess. Don’t move, it won’t take me long to get the stuff inside.”
Nathan let out a long breath. He took a step backward, giving her more space. But his eyes were still angry and lost. His body was still tense.
The few minutes of solitude gave Faith a chance to catch her breath and get her mind back on track. No one had said this was going to be easy. And anyway, when had anything been easy for her? Ever. Not having had a carefree existence was probably the very thing that made her a good therapist. Knowing that there was no one but herself that she could depend on kept her strong and helped her take on anything that came her way. Even this job, one she hated. She did it because she had to, but also so that she could make a better life for her son than she’d had herself.
In time, she’d get past this. Nathan Murphy would be just another patient in a long line of patients. She had to keep telling herself that.
But when she wrestled the last bit of equipment into the house, Faith found that all her good advice about Nathan flew right out the roof. He was slumped in a chair, his long legs stretched out before him, his eyes closed. When she drew near, his lids drifted open and he gifted her with that deadly green stare.
“Is this going to take long?” he demanded.
Faith raised one brow. “Why? Do you have a pressing social engagement? A cocktail party, perhaps?” Her eyes scanned the room. “From the looks of things, you haven’t been doing much for the past year or so other than wearing out the cushion on that chair. So I can’t imagine what it is you’d be rushing off to. But since your face is beginning to turn a nasty shade of red, I’ll answer your question. This will take awhile, but I didn’t bring my pajamas, if that’s what you mean. Therapy isn’t a quick trip around the block, Dr. Murphy. Get used to it.”
As if her words had hit a nerve, Nathan levered himself out of the chair.
Faith took a step back. She quickly moved to the corner and began setting up the paraffin bath. She could hear Nathan pacing behind her, as if he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he was no longer sitting down.
“You’ll have to soak in this for twenty or thirty minutes so that your hands will soften.” She indicated the container she was working on.
“I’m aware of all the benefits of a paraffin bath.” His voice came from behind, low and steady, flowing over and around her.
For one fleeting second, Faith had a vision of what it would be like to be a patient, to have to lie still beneath Nathan’s gaze while he conducted an examination. The thought made her squirm so much she nearly dropped the paraffin she was holding. That made her angry with herself. Hadn’t she had to assure countless male patients that therapy was purely clinical, that they should not be embarrassed and that they should think of her in the same light they would a
doctor conducting a medical examination?
And here she was, entertaining lewd thoughts about Nathan Murphy just because he had a deadly set of eyes and a voice that made her nerves go on red alert.
She plunked the paraffin into the container to heat it. Struggling for something to say, she grasped the first thought that entered her head. “I’ve never worked with someone of your ilk before, someone in the medical profession. It’s a bit—”
“Annoying?” he asked, sounding tremendously pleased.
“That’s too mild a term,” she admitted, waving one hand in the air. “Look, doctor, I’ve worked with high-powered executives, members of the clergy, lots of people who radiate authority, and it’s never fazed me one bit. But a doctor, that could be a problem. Only one of us can be in charge, because therapy is a delicate blending of caring and control, just like surgery, I’d imagine. If you try to run the show, if we cross swords, you could really hurt yourself and do irreparable damage.”
She turned, looking him full in the face, and saw the rebellious light in his eyes. “And don’t you dare say that your hands are irreparably damaged already,” she warned. “Because if you’re the doctor that they say you are, you know that’s not true. You’ve neglected treatment that should have been started a long time ago, and that’s definitely going to slow things down. But with the proper care, you’ll operate again. On the other hand, if you second-guess me, if you try to pull rank and threaten your chances for recovery in any way, I—well, who knows? I just might lose it and wring your neck. Then we’ll both be in trouble. You see the problem?”
Her hands were bunched into fists and she was leaning toward him when she realized that he was looking at her from beneath raised brows.
“Are you always this intense about your work, Ms. Reynolds, or is it just me who lights your fuse?”
Faith opened her mouth to speak, but not knowing what to say, she quickly closed it again. She hadn’t meant to let him get to her like that. And while it was true that she was dedicated to her work, she wasn’t usually in the habit of making such impassioned speeches. The fact that she’d let him see that he irritated her both flustered and embarrassed her.
Turning, she quickly finished what she was doing and prepared to begin. This was just a job, she reminded herself again. Nathan Murphy was a patient, like any other.
But then she felt him close behind her. She hadn’t heard him moving, but she felt his presence.
“Any other words of wisdom you’d like to drop on me, Ms. Reynolds?” he asked in that low, slightly gritty voice that must have once charmed a million patients.
“Yes.” She tested the temperature of the melting paraffin. Now was as good a time as any to speak her mind. She’d already made her position on his rank clear. She might as well go the extra mile. “I’d like to drop all the formalities. I’m used to being on a first name basis with my patients, and a title definitely gets in the way. Therapy, like it or not, is a very personal kind of relationship. If I have to bow and scrape, things are definitely going to stall somewhere down the line.”
Turning around, Faith looked up at him. Amazingly enough, he hadn’t sneered at that “bow and scrape” line, and he didn’t point out that she’d been anything but deferential right from the start. Instead, he simply nodded.
“If you and I are going to go head-to-head, it’ll be easier to lay into each other if we’re on a first name basis...Faith.”
Immediately, Faith recognized her error. Her name sounded so intimate on his lips, like a touch instead of a word. But there was no going back now. Soon enough he’d be calling her names that didn’t sound nearly so alluring. Therapy could, at times, be painful.
“Well, then, Nathan, I’ll just finish up here, and we’ll get started.” When his name fell from her lips, she felt as if she’d just said something erotic, forbidden, and hastily she repeated it to herself several times. Nathan. Nathan. Nathan. In time, it would become easy, ordinary, she was sure. Just like all her other patients. It had to.
But when the time came to actually get Nathan to sit down and begin at last, he simply stared at her when she motioned him to the table where they’d be working.
“Give me one good reason why I should sit down and do as you ask,” he said.
“I’ll do better than that, I’ll give you two. First of all, I happen to know that Dr. Anderson is holding something over your head or you wouldn’t even have let me in the door. And then, of course, there’s the fact that if you don’t sit down right now and let me get to this, I’ll have to call my son’s sitter and tell her to run a pair of pajamas over here for me, after all. I’m prepared to sit here all night if need be. You’ll just have to put up with me longer if you fight me.”
He had raised an eyebrow when she’d divulged the fact that she knew about Anderson’s ultimatum. Now he stood there, silent, his jaw set and hard as he watched her. Finally, he took a step in her direction. He held out his hands as if he’d like to do something unpleasant with them, if only he could.
“Staying the night wouldn’t be very fair to your kid, would it?” His voice was deceptively quiet. Anyone else with a deathly look like that in their eyes would have been shouting.
“No, Nathan, it wouldn’t be very fair at all.” She met his stare. “Not fair to Cory or to me. We miss each other when we’re apart. But what would that matter to you, anyway? You’ve got your own agenda.”
When Faith mentioned Cory’s name, she almost thought she saw Nathan flinch. Inwardly she chided herself. Having heard a little of Nathan’s history, and after what he’d told her about children and family, she knew he was suffering over the loss of his own child. Using Cory’s name and making this personal in order to get what she wanted was a low blow, hitting below the belt. But just as she was about to open her mouth to apologize, Nathan dropped into the chair. He slid his hands across the table.
“Hell, I only have one bed,” he said. “And you’d probably hog the sheets.”
“Believe me.” Faith placed his right hand in the paraffin bath. “If I ever find myself having to spend the night here, who’s hogging the sheets will be the least of your worries. I wouldn’t forgive you easily for forcing my hand.”
“Or hurting your child,” he said roughly.
Faith stopped what she was doing, looked at him. “I shouldn’t have brought Cory into the conversation.”
But, of course, she hadn’t brought her son into the conversation. Nathan had. As if he’d just realized that fact, Nathan turned away, looking down at his hands.
“How long did you say this was for?” he asked, as though he’d just discovered a newfound interest in the therapy he’d been fighting a few minutes earlier.
“Not much longer. We’ll start slow and easy.”
But as she began to work with Nathan, Faith realized that dealing with this man would probably never be easy—or ordinary. She’d always been able to establish a certain amount of camaraderie with her patients while maintaining a professional distance. Usually Faith was so keyed in on the tasks that she lost track of her surroundings. But that wasn’t the case with Nathan. As she talked him through the first moves and began to flex fingers that no longer functioned properly and that surely hurt like hell, Faith was very aware, not just of his hands and his reactions to the now unfamiliar movement, but also to the rest of him.
Sitting across from her at the table, he still seemed close, as if she could feel the heat emanating from him. The afternoon sun was bright and the wide berth of windows that fronted the house reached from floor to ceiling, but his shoulders were broad enough to block a good share of the light.
As always, Faith was alert to any indication that her patient was tiring or in distress.
“You don’t have to watch yourself around me,” she said. “It’s no secret that your fingers have lost a great deal of their flexibility. Don’t worry about groaning or letting me know if this is hurting.”
“You want me to sit here and whine?” he asked, but
his words were uttered through slightly clenched teeth.
“I want you to let me know what you’re feeling.”
He stopped cold then, his hands freezing within her own. “Forget it, Faith.” He stared her down. “Spilling my guts is off-limits. And I don’t care what you threaten me with.”
At that, Faith blew out a breath. She smoothed her hand over the back of his where it lay flat on the table. “I’m not asking you to tell me things that are none of my business. But I’m here to help you, Nathan, like it or not,” she said, one long strand of her hair falling forward as she leaned closer to snag his attention. “You have to at least be a little honest with me. It’s important that I know when you’re tiring. Otherwise, I’ll be doing more harm than good.”
When Nathan leaned over to answer her, his lips were so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath. He’d slid his hands across the table so that his fingertips were perilously close to her body.
“This is your show, Faith,” he said clearly, distinctly. “You’ve gotten your way so far. But asking me to act like a child wasn’t part of the deal.”
“I wasn’t,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t.” Heaven only knew that with his hands mere inches below the line where her breasts extended over the table, Faith was incapable of thinking of him as anything but a man. And she was angry with herself.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This never happened. Allowing herself to think of Nathan as anything but a patient was totally unwise, both as a therapist and as a woman.
“I think we should take a breather,” she managed to get out. “You need a rest and so do I.”
She could tell by the set line of his jaw that he thought she was babying him and that she didn’t really need a rest, but he would have been wrong. She had to have some time to compose herself and get her thoughts back on the right course, back to Nathan’s condition and away from the man.
The Wish List Page 3