Aileen gave Siobhan a tender-hearted, loving look. “Because we’ve had far more important matters to consider.”
The words set a clamp on Siobhan’s heart. Never again did she intend to sit behind the driver’s wheel of an automobile. Unreasonable, perhaps, but she’d find a way. Driving was off the list. Permanently.
Siobhan focused on Aileen as she absorbed the accompanying round of playful chatter. The interlude with her friends chased away shadows. Siobhan’s heart filled with the kind of easy joy she hadn’t experienced since the accident. What she focused on beyond that, however, was the way Maeve had dodged Aileen’s question about romance. With cool efficiency, their fiery red-head had switched topics, and even now, Maeve cast her eyes downward, ostensibly to track the manicure process. The motions were a ruse, and Siobhan knew it. She recognized a heart in hiding when she saw it. She speculated about why Maeve might be skittish, but could only come up with one answer: personality. Maeve had always been the more guarded of their ensemble. Quiet and reserved, she didn’t reveal much about matters of the heart.
Siobhan’s brow puckered while she thought that through, but as usual, conversations skipped along a swerving path. Talk soon turned to the album and tour, which pulled Siobhan far from thoughts of Maeve’s reticence.
“Zion’s Peak has chosen eleven songs. They’re covers of Christian classics we all know, but we need to develop our own interpretation; hopefully the task ahead won’t be too daunting.” Aileen tipped her head back and released a sigh when her feet were dipped into a warm whirlpool. “Get this, though—they’re even interested in including the song I wrote for Liam, ‘The Story of Us.’”
“Ailee, how wonderful! That piece is incredible.” Kassidy swirled her fingertips through the water receptacle built into the armrest of her chair. “We’re facing some serious rehearsal time, ladies.”
Heaviness fell upon Siobhan’s chest. She cleared her throat softly and watched her attendant carefully perform a toenail trim and buff—ever mindful of the plaster cast. “Actually, that brings me to a point I’d like to discuss.”
Siobhan’s quiet comment might as well have been blared over loudspeakers with HD amplification. At once, silence reigned. At once, three pairs of eyes focused on her. At once, intensity wrapped her in a cord against which she fought.
Breathing deep she decided to take the necessary dive, hating what she was about to do. “Here’s the thing. I’ve got so much to do—with intensive recovery plans, the dance studio and such. Really, this stupid accident of mine couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
Aileen and Kassidy scowled. Meanwhile, Maeve centered her gaze on Siobhan. “Meaning what, exactly?”
Her friend’s careful, deliberate words didn’t diminish Siobhan’s commitment to the decision she had made. “Meaning I need to step back from Sisters in Spirit.”
Sizzling lightning bolts, a deep, vibrating roll of thunder, couldn’t compete with the triple-threat reaction of her friends.
“What on God’s green earth are you talking about, Siobhan?”
Aileen’s ominous tone struck against Siobhan’s resolve, but walls of doubt stood strong. Push through, she thought. Push through and release your friends to the future…
Forcing her face and posture into calm lines, Siobhan plowed ahead. “I’ve given the idea considerable thought, and believe me nothing would give me greater joy than being right there with the three of you on stage, but—”
Kassidy gasped, eyes going wide. “There’s no but here. None whatsoever. Furthermore, you better not even try to say—”
“Please—don’t make this more difficult. I’ve made up my mind. You don’t need me. Not really.”
Preparing to launch from her seat, Maeve nearly upended the bubbling aqua-treatment for her feet. Siobhan stayed her friend’s reaction by raising her hands. “All of you need to look at the big picture. God has sent us a pretty clear message. You’re meant to take the stage by storm. I am as well, but in a completely different way. By teaching. By focusing on my studio. Really, it’s for the best.”
A bright, even tone belied the fact that Siobhan’s heart shattered with every word she spoke. Still, she doled out an assuring smile and focused intently on the attendant who sat on a stool before her. The manicurist urged Siobhan’s hands back into silky, perfectly warmed water perfumed by the scent of roses. That delicate aroma was a lovely counterbalance to the turbulence in her soul.
“What does Doctor Wonderful have to say about this? Did he tell you this would be a wise and necessary course of action?”
Maeve waited on the answer, eyes sharp and narrow.
“His name is Doctor Cooper, and he happens to think I’ll be just fine. As do I. The problem is I can’t and won’t hold the three of you back. My recovery will take time, and there are things you need from me—promptly—that I’m not able to give.”
Speaking that truth aloud, confronting its ugly residue punched Siobhan in the chest and cracked the protective walls she had built in an attempt to survive this moment. She trembled, and her chin quaked as she blinked furiously to keep from crying. She needed to surrender to God’s will and move on; her friends needed to do the same.
“That said”—Siobhan expelled a puff of air and lifted her chin when she addressed her manicurist—”I’m opting for the cotton candy pink shade today…the third one from the left on your tray. It’ll be perfect.”
“If you think that’s the end of this conversation, Siobhan Marie Douglas, you’re terribly mistaken.”
Siobhan ignored the icy undercurrent of warning in Aileen’s voice. “I’ve made up my mind. Now, let’s celebrate my freedom from medical incarceration and indulge.”
“I’m sorry. Your decision is not accepted at this time. Please try again later.” Maeve put on a robotic voice. She closed her eyes and leaned back, visibly ignoring Siobhan when her specialist went to work on a foot massage. “I have an idea. Let’s return to the topic of Doctor Wonderful.”
Curse it all, Maeve, Siobhan thought. No way are we returning to the topic of AJ Coop—Doctor Cooper…whatever.
Giddy and warm, Siobhan scrabbled for mental purchase. How could her besties be so blooming stubborn? “I’m decided, so deal with it. And by the way, when did you guys decide to change his name? I think that’s just weird.”
Aileen snickered. “Oh, at about the same time you fluttered those disgustingly thick lashes of yours and did the whole, ‘Thank you for everything’ swoon when he handed you your release forms. Plus there was that adorable, I’ve-got-a-crush-on-you way you tried to regain your dignity when he entered the suite during our perfectly fabulous sing-along. You do many things well, Siobhan, but you’ve never been able to hide your emotions, or your heart.”
Increasingly helpless, Siobhan leaned forward a bit so she could see Aileen. “I was only being nice.”
Aileen snorted.
Siobhan flung out her hands in exasperation which caused her manicurist to back off from the subtle spray of water. After an apologetic glance to her attendant, Siobhan beseeched Maeve and Kassidy. “Neither of you are willing to step in and lend an assist? Seriously?”
“Nope. Sorry.” Maeve studied her now raspberry hued fingernails.
“Nah, not really.” Kassidy wiggled her freshly painted, sparkly purple toes. “I’m good for now.”
“Chickens.” Siobhan’s mutter didn’t even stir a ripple of regret amongst her friends. Giggling, her manicurist went back to work by drying Siobhan’s hands and starting to polish.
Aileen moved just far enough to give Siobhan a tender glance. “You’re adorable when you’re riled. It happens so seldom. You’re perfectly in control, every movement beautifully and wonderfully executed. Every once in a while, though, it’s OK to stumble. Especially when there’s the potential to fall into a safe pair of arms. Doctor Wonderful or not, it’s something to think about, Siobhan.”
6
Beads of sweat trickled down AJ’s temples; perspiration damp
ened his back, causing his t-shirt to tack to his skin. The racquetball court sang with tennis shoe squeaks as he dodged Mason Schaefer’s bang-on shot then lent chase to that evil, miniscule black rubber ball. Slicing his racquet in a swift, level backhand, he crushed the ball with a solid stroke. It ricocheted off the far wall and zipped right past his friend and opponent who spun and struck back with a backhand of his own that left AJ flying to save the point.
As the game progressed, while he literally pounded against a batch of sudden and unexpected uncertainties, AJ took a mental wander through recent events, trying to somehow make sense of his emotions.
At just over six weeks into recovery, Siobhan Douglas continued to haunt him as surely as any angelic specter, and the sensation of being so intrigued by—so attached to—a person he was treating, was unlike anything AJ had ever encountered. He awaited each of her routine checkups as though her visits were as much for his benefit as hers. Never had he been swept onto an emotional field when it came to his patients, but her first few appointments following discharge injected him with a hit of energy. Then, when she left, he crashed almost instantly—wondering about her, captivated to a degree that he decided he would ask her out. Nothing heavy duty or complicated. No pressure. Just time together spent over a cup of coffee, or a quick bite to eat. After all, physician or not, he had the right to explore the calling of his heart.
Two weeks later, she arrived at his office, bubbling, warm and glowing…and he lost his nerve. The shadow of introverted shyness, an issue he had chased since high school, drained off what confidence he had built during her absence. When Siobhan left following her appointment that day, AJ paged through her file, determination on the rise. Bravery returned now that she was gone and now that an increasingly familiar form of emptiness settled into his chest.
He jotted down her cellphone number. He folded the paper into a tight, neat square then tucked it into the side pocket of his lab coat. This time, he’d follow through.
Another two weeks later—with not a single overture made by AJ—Siobhan showed up for her scheduled appointment. By now, her cast looked timeworn, frayed and dingy around the toes and at the bottom, but that was to be expected. That pointed to mobility.
“I’m moving as much as I can,” she said when he mentioned the wear to her cast, and her smooth motions with the crutches. “I don’t even feel any pain. I think I just might make it!”
Her eyes sparkled. Her hair, drawn into a high, silky ponytail, danced against her neck and cheeks. Lovely distractions, but her words swept him out of his revelry.
“Your bones are aligned and cushioned. They’re immobile. Once the cast comes off and you’re forced to bear weight and use your leg normally again, there’s going to be pain and limitation at first while the bone continues to mend and you rebuild the strength and muscle tone you had before the accident.” He kept his tone calm and smooth. “I’m not trying to scare you, but I want you to be prepared.”
Her glow didn’t diminish. Man, was she gorgeous.
“OK, OK. I get it. Still, I’m going to push, and in the meantime, we’re working with the reps at Zion’s Peak. We’re battling for more time and the logistics we need to set up the videos for the CD and the tour. This is not going to beat me.”
“I never doubted that for a second.” Their eyes met and held.
She left his office that day seeming buoyed and radiant.
Two weeks later, just like a much-needed infusion, she swept into his office once again. By that point, AJ had made the decision to wait it out. He’d treat their remaining professional meetings like a gift, and once the cast came off, he fully intended to launch a pursuit. Siobhan Douglas compelled him, and he sensed carefully banked interest on her part as well. Especially when, at the end of her last visit, she cast him a bashful look.
“Can I ask you a question?”
AJ finished jotting notes on the fresh sheet of paper at the top of her file folder. “Absolutely. Fire away.”
“I’m curious. What does AJ stand for? What’s your full name?”
The question was timid, softly spoken. Abruptly, his pen strokes came to a standstill. He focused on her chart and wet his lips, breathing deep to steady himself. He looked up and swallowed hard, charmed.
“Anthony James.”
His voice remained smooth, but his nerves most certainly didn’t—especially when her features split into a warm smile.
“Anthony James.” The words rolled off her tongue…and straight into his senses. “I like it. A lot.”
That stirring smile melted him into liquid and fire.
Following that mini-breakthrough, AJ allowed himself to stray just slightly into personal territory and they spent a few minutes chatting. He found out she had lived in Westerville all of her life and opened her own dance studio promptly after graduating from the New York Dance Academy. She had just one brother, no sisters, and as the youngest, she admitted to alternatively chasing after Liam, the leader, and taking full advantage of being protected by those she loved.
Most important, she made no mention of being involved in a romantic relationship, and the only ring she wore was a silver piece on the third finger of her right hand.
AJ missed the next point when the ball whizzed past and bounced toward the far corner of the court. Mason let out a groan. “Coop, c’mon! You’re not even with me anymore, are you?”
Coop crouched, balancing against his knees, taking a moment to grab some air. Mason did the same then retrieved the ball and let loose a wicked serve. AJ focused in a hurry, determined to put his mind on the game. A spirited volley took place with grunts and more shoe-squeaks.
“So, I had dinner with my mom and dad last night.”
Mason released a hearty guffaw. “How long did it take for the topic of dating to come up?”
“Five minutes. I clocked it.”
“I’ll bet you did.”
“Thing is”—AJ just barely returned a laser-pointed shot—”some of what they’re saying is starting to make sense. If I’m not careful, I’ll become buried by work. Let’s face it my job is grueling, and hardly conducive to building a relationship with a remarkable woman. That’s starting to bug me.”
For a millisecond of time, Mason froze. AJ took full advantage and smashed the ball so it whizzed straight past his opponent. The fact that Mason surrendered the point with barely a flinch let AJ know he was about to be grilled. Big time. “This is about the ballerina girl, isn’t it?”
The rise in heat AJ experienced had nothing to do with the humid confines of their racquetball court. “Ballerina girl? What are you talking about?”
“Way to dodge the question, Coop. So, I get to lay out the specifics. Sweet. That was game point, by the way, congratulations to me.”
AJ strolled toward his duffle. “To celebrate I’ll buy you nachos and a soda in the dining room. I’m in the mood for junk food.”
“Way to be healthy.”
“All things in moderation.” Pulling out a towel, AJ mopped his damp hair and rubbed the cool, fresh cotton against the back of his neck, then his face. After stashing towels and stowing gear, they exited the court, tracking toward the dining area of the club.
“Back to ballerina girl—”
“Her name is Siobhan.”
They grabbed their food orders and sat down at a table overlooking the vacant, snow-kissed tennis courts outside.
“Yeah, Siobhan. Anyway, I’ve been able to track her progress week by week when you talk about her during our matches. You’re hooked. And you’ve ID’d the problem. You’re too busy to go searching, so look at it this way, maybe the right one has ended up right in front of you in spite of that fact.”
“Come on. Get serious.” Mason was one of the few who could—and would—push at AJ and get away with it. Conversely, AJ had no problem pushing right back. “Patient. Doctor. Line in the sand. No way, pal. Never.”
“Never say never. Besides, after next week, when the cast comes off, she won’t be
your patient anymore. You’re itchy. Have been for weeks. It’s because of her. Face it, and break down the barriers. Give it a go. Call her. Ask her out.”
AJ ingested that in silence, swirling a pair of chips through steaming cheese sauce. “I’ll be straight with you. Yeah, she fascinates me. I admit it. I mean, do you know what I keep asking myself? How can a woman who appears to be so delicate be so unbelievably strong, and fierce?”
“It’s about her profession, man. The girl is a dancer. I don’t need to tell you, dancers are athletes of the first order.”
True. Siobhan was set to attack rehab, and he could already tell she carried the same type of tenacity and determination as any other pro athlete—but oh, was she worlds easier on the eyes, and heart.
Whoa. AJ froze when that thought pushed through his mind.
“Being a doctor is a whole lot less complicated than being a single guy trying to date. I function better in professional mode than personal mode.” He finally downed the chips, and a swig of blessedly cold soda.
“That’s a pile of crock.”
AJ laughed at the ready dismissal and sighed, stretching his legs. His mind wandered—again—to Siobhan.
The other night he had Google searched Sisters in Spirit. He came upon a YouTube video uploaded by Holy Spirit Catholic Church several months ago. In the piece, recorded at a fundraising performance for local parochial schools, AJ witnessed Siobhan Douglas in her prime and in her glory—owning the stage with every graceful arc of her arms, every leap, spin and dip. She was mesmerizing.
“Right now, Coop. Right this second. What are you thinking about?”
AJ growled and clutched his pop can in a death grip. Convicted.
“Just as I suspected. You can’t shake her. Why keep trying? Embrace it, or shut the door. I’ve known you for a lot of years. We went through med school and residency together. In all that time, I’ve never heard you talk about anyone the way you talk about her, and you said it yourself. You don’t focus on anything but your work.”
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