Too soon, Alyssa released his mouth and lowered her heels to the floor. “There’s something I need to tell you before this goes any further.”
He pushed his fingers through her hair, enjoying the silkiness on his skin. “You can tell me anything.”
“Gauthier got Landry’s job.” Toying with the collar of his shirt, she hesitated.
With a gentle finger under her chin, he turned her head and met her stare. “And?”
“And he offered me his old job.”
A big goofy grin spread across his face. She’d worked so hard for the SQ and given up so much in the process. She deserved the recognition. “Lieutenant Morgan? That’s fantastic.” But she didn’t look very excited. In fact, she looked worried. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“It’s a wonderful opportunity, and I’m thrilled that he offered it to me. But I’m going to turn him down. I want out.”
“You aren’t the desk-jockey type, but do you really want out of the SQ altogether?”
Her hand smoothed over his shoulder, her fingertips trailing along his arm. When goosebumps broke out on his skin, she smiled. “I was never really cop material. Rules… get in my way.” When she dragged her gaze from where her fingers traced the bumps on his arm, he saw the sheen in her eyes. She blinked and the tears overflowed. “I love you. I love the way I feel when I’m with you. I love that I can feel when I’m with you. And I never want that to stop. But I can’t be that person and still be a good cop.”
He touched her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her perfect ear. “Alyssa, you’re a great cop. Gauthier wouldn’t have offered you his job if he didn’t believe that too.”
“I was a good cop because I was like a goddamn robot—focused and cold. But I can’t shut my feelings off anymore.” She shook her head. “I can’t do it. I can’t go back to dealing with the Blanchettes and Lalondes of the world.”
“Then you don’t have to.” Careful of her arm between them, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Have you thought about alternatives?
“I don’t know. Maybe a PI? That way I can help people and not be limited by protocol and procedures.”
He grinned at the uncertainty in her gaze and kissed the tip of her nose. “Alyssa Morgan, Private Investigator. Has a nice ring to it.” And it would fit in well with his own plans.
Her mouth settled into a straight line and she looked down again. “I heard the Public Safety Committee offered Tommy the Chief of Police job.”
“I withdrew my name.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Killing Chaz, making orphans of his children, is the worst thing I’ve ever done. And I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. As a tribal cop, I’d be dealing with friends and family members every day. I never want to be in the position of having to kill someone I care about ever again.”
She pushed out of his arms and took a step back, brushing her fingers on her cheeks. “I should have dug deeper, pushed harder. I should have been able to figure out the connection between the Vipers and the Guardians sooner. If I hadn’t given in to Landry and fought for the SQ squad, the rez would have had a tribal force in place and none of this would have happened. You lost your dream because of me. I don’t know how you can stand to even talk to me.”
Snagging her wrist, he pulled her to him so her softness cradled his hardness. “Sweetheart, first off, that’s bullshit. Chaz was my cousin and I didn’t see it. Second,” he softened his voice, “I haven’t lost my dream…unless I’ve lost you.”
A purr escaped her lips. “But if you aren’t running the force, what are you going to do? It’s all you’ve talked about since I met you.”
“Dreams change. I wanted to be chief to help my community because that’s where I thought I belonged. But all this crap about the rez revoking my membership and our children not having Indian status got me thinking about all the others in similar situations. There are hundreds, even thousands, of mixed-race natives who wind up on street corners begging for handouts, or worse. I can reach out to them, offer them a home, a place to explore their native roots. I can’t do that if I’m tied to one reserve.”
Alyssa stared at him, open-mouthed, her expression telegraphing her shock. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “Nic has even offered to help with funding.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Leaning down, he brushed his lips against hers, hoping he could make her understand that the future held nothing but new opportunities for them both. They could finally live their lives according to their own rules, their own dreams. “Say you’ll go on this adventure with me.”
“I want to say yes.” She paused and rested her forehead on his chest. “I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but… I’m scared. Really scared.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out two wood carvings: the small wolf he’d made the other day, and the broken wolf carving from Raksótha’s house. “The Wolves were my mother’s clan, and I’ll always be grateful that they took me in as one of their own.” He thumbed the wolf’s broken tail. “But to be accepted, I had to deny the white half of myself. We can start our own clan, where everyone with all their varied parts will be welcome and cherished.” He grinned. “Then maybe my tail will be fixed.”
Her hand moved slowly down his chest until she stroked his erection. “Your tail feels fine to me.”
He groaned and closed his eyes. “Is that a yes? Will you be my wife, the mother of my children, the other half of my heart?”
She took the small wolf and tugged his head down for a kiss. “That’s a yes. A hell yes. And a take-me-right-now yes.”
“Fuck, I love you.” He ran his hands to her gunbelt. “Since you’re about to turn in your badge, do you think maybe we could go back to the ranch and put this sexy uniform to good use one last time?”
Throwing her head back, she rotated her hips and licked her lips. “One condition.”
His heart skipped a beat. Whatever she wanted, it was hers. He swallowed. “Anything.”
He watched in fascination as a shiver rippled over her. She gripped his shoulders. “Show me The Rémi.”
Laughing, he swung her up into his arms. “Sweetheart, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
THE END
His Lady Godiva
by
L.C. Giroux
Dedicated to my own “too intense for his own good” Doctor
The Clinic Building
Dr. Michael Dennison hated seeing new patients. He enjoyed their cases but not the first meeting. Having been an orthopedic surgeon for enough years now, he had an established routine when entering an exam room with a patient he had not seen before. He would enter, shuffling his papers and charts to announce himself, but avoid eye contact. He would put the X-rays on the light box and act like he was looking at them. All to give the new patients time to get used to the idea that the man in the wheelchair could actually be their doctor.
Their surgeon, more precisely. He would maintain this charade for five or so minutes before addressing them and seeing the pity on their faces. In truth, the patients were not what he hated; it was the pity. Along with the poor attempts to look anywhere but at the wheelchair. He expected his next patient would be much the same as all the others. He flipped through her chart.
Violet Bellows, age twenty-nine, seeing him for surgical correction of spondylolithesis. From her X-rays, he was surprised at the degree of slip in someone so young, but there had been trauma to the vertebral bodies hastening the degeneration. He took a deep breath, best to get this over with.
He knocked and, hearing her answer, rolled in while looking at his notes. He moved to the light box, hung the X-rays, and began to study them—or at least appear to.
He was surprised when he heard her say, “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you do surgery?” He was shocked at her challenge to his skills. He quickly turned around, his shock forgotten.
In front of him sat the most exquisite wo
man he had ever seen. Her skin was the color of whipped cream. Her eyes were dark rich brown, her full lips and cheek had a deep rosy blush. But her hair was indeed her crowning glory. Almost black, it hung to nearly her waist in renaissance curls. She wore it over her shoulders in such a way that even in the johnny coat she was breathtaking. She reminded him of a temptress from a Vatican painting. “Excuse me?” He coughed to cover his lack of composure.
“I wondered how you do surgery.”
Michael found the most intriguing thing about her challenge was that she directed it to his face, not over his shoulder, or staring at his chair, but actually looking him in the eye. He searched her face for some kind of condescension, but he only saw intelligence and warmth. He almost smiled.
“I worked with a group to develop a wheelchair to my exact specifications that does this.” He pressed a button, and the hidden engineering whirled to life. In a couple of seconds he was in a standing position. “It's a simple matter of hydraulics and weights, really. I have enough torso and upper body strength that I can do anything that any other surgeon can. In the process, I can save my patients from a life such as mine,” he said as he lowered himself back to a seated position.
“You mean the life of a handsome and famous surgeon?” Now she was laughing at him, and her laughter sounded like the tinkling of bells. But he heard no slight, and it wasn’t for several seconds Michael even realized she had called him handsome. He sputtered and finally got some control of himself and the situation.
“Yes. Right. Let’s see what your issues are then, shall we? If you look at your X-ray here and here, you can note the vertebra are shifted significantly forward. This is putting tremendous strain on these discs and compressing the cauda equina, the nerve fibers at the base of the spine. That is why your legs go numb and you fall. Have you had any pain associated with this?”
“No.”
He had expected more from her, but when he turned to look at her now, she was changed. She seemed smaller, as if having to talk about her situation was too much to bear.
“You’ve had no backaches? No charley horses?”
“Oh, some, but that is just part of life.”
"No, not in your case, Ms. Bellows. You have a grade four slip of all of these vertebra. I can think of only one other case I have seen in someone so young. We will need to get you in for surgery soon. I’ll have the nurse set you up in the schedule, but this will have to be soon.”
She looked at him through her lashes, her face unreadable. Was she scared? He couldn’t tell. He found her beautiful but distant. “Will it be very painful?” she finally asked in almost a whisper.
“I can’t lie to you. We do have very good pain control methods available, but yes, I’m afraid the days just after surgery are not pleasant even with a morphine pump. Unfortunately, without it you are looking at being in a wheelchair within the next few months. If it comes to that, I don’t know that we would be able to get enervation back even if we did surgery. Can you stand in front of me?”
She got off the table and stood facing him. She was about five foot five and fairly slim. Michael noted that her hips were even but tipped forward at a severe angle. She showed the sway back associated with her condition. “Now, walk to the door, stop, turn around, and come back.” She did as she was told. “Yes, you have a classic presentation. I could probably have diagnosed you without even seeing the X-rays. I will need a few more images, CAT scans, and an MRI before we bring you in for the surgery, but we should be able to get those done quickly.”
He had turned and started to leave when she said, “Will I be ugly still?” His chest felt like he had been kicked. How could a woman this spectacular worry about being ugly? He turned back to her, noticing her lashes were now wet. He was not in the habit of giving compliments to his patients or anyone else for that matter. He knew for a fact the nursing staff, while respecting his work, sought to avoid having to deal with him.
For this woman, he wished he could be polished, more articulate. He searched his mind, his love of opera, food, wine, beautiful art, but could come up with nothing that compared to her. Finally he gave up and tried for honesty. “You are already so beautiful, a small thing like straightening your spine will have very little effect.” Lost in trying to pay her a compliment, he had not realized he had placed his hand on her knee. He saw her look down and blush. He immediately felt her skin go warm through the thin cotton of the gown. He pulled away as if he’d been burned.
He had no idea he could make a woman respond to his mere words like that. “Well, yes... I should go and let you get dressed. You need to stop at the front desk. They have the list of things to be scheduled, and then my nurse will set up the surgery date.” His mind was chaos. He needed to get out of there quickly. Thankfully, a returning patient was waiting for him next. After getting outside the door, Michael’s hands were shaking. What had this woman done to him?
The Clinic Building Entrance
Violet thought that would never end. Everyone was so worried about the patient experience, but it would be a lot better if the appointment process were more streamlined. She made a mental note to talk to Allyn about it. She let her thoughts drift to Dr. Dennison again. He was unarguably attractive in a buttoned up way, even in scrubs. What was it about him that made her want to unbutton him? She had become very practiced at no longer looking men in the eye. That way she didn’t see the initial attraction fade when they saw how deformed her back was.
Could her interest only be because in a wheelchair he was “safe”? He’d understand what it felt like to be stared at for something you couldn’t control. Maybe. But the silky sandy blond hair, sapphire blue eyes, close cropped beard, and those broad shoulders didn’t hurt. He had already called her beautiful. Just thinking about him saying it made her light up as if it were Christmas. Hmm, good. She’d need that to be nice and warm to go outside. She hated winter and yet couldn’t really live anywhere but Boston. It made no sense, but she loved the house. And Allyn was there. Living in the huge place together allowed her to feel like she was part of a family still, even if it was just the two of them.
Stepping out of the building, her attention was drawn to the street by the blaring of car horns. The light had changed, and someone crossing in a wheelchair was still in the crosswalk. It took a second to register that the chair must be stuck, either with a power failure or snow clogging the wheels. “That poor man!” All she saw of him was his overcoat and a fedora. She couldn’t stand around and not try to help him. She ran into the traffic now, trying to go around him. Once she reached him she asked, “Is there a way to release the drive so I can push you?”
Michael Dennison had never been a patient man, but at times like these he could be a complete bastard, and he knew it. Some do-gooder wanting to help the cripple. Just what he needed today. He growled, “I can deal with this myself, thank you very much.”
“If you’ll just let me help, I can get you across the street, and then you can be on your way,” the woman yelled over the blaring horns.
“I said I am fine, thank you!”
“Look, you are obviously not fine. You are stuck in the middle of traffic, and if you don’t tell me how to release the mechanism so I can roll you to the curb, you are going to get us both killed.” Shouts now added to the car horns.
“I didn’t ask you to help.”
“No, but I’m here now, and you obviously need it. Stop being so pig-headed and... oh, here is the damn release.” Violet flipped the switch and pushed the miserable man across the street. Once they were safely out of traffic she moved to the front of him. “It’s all well and good having your pride, but it is not worth getting killed over, or worse—taking someone else with you.” She gulped when she realized the man she was screaming at was indeed her handsome doctor. “Dr. Dennison! I...well, don’t thank me!” She turned on her heel and entered the building.
Michael sat staring at her as she walked away. Wonderful, the one patient that hadn’t pitied him out
right now thought he was a complete prick.
“Brilliant, Dennison, just brilliant,” he said out loud. Today was shaping up to be a top ten worst of all time. And to make matters worse, he had to go to records and sign off on some charts before lunch.
Violet was supposed to meet Allyn at the hospital president’s office, but she was still too angry to be civil and called him to catch up with her down in the lobby. They could go to the cafe in the atrium. He took about twenty minutes to finish up his meeting and found Violet reading a magazine there.
“How did your appointment go?”
“Oh, fine. I need surgery soon, as in I’m scheduled in two and a half weeks. With the number of tests and X-rays and whatever, I should probably just get a bed here now.” She was getting flushed the more she talked.
“Whoa, what is up with you? You knew you were going to need to have surgery. Why so pissed now?”
She debated telling him about Dr. Dennison, but he would get all protective and feel like he needed to do something about it. Dennison might not be a great human being, but he was an excellent doctor, and she didn’t want to delay the surgery any more.
“Oh, you know I hate winter, and they are talking about a once-in-a-century storm coming.”
“It’s weeks away. You can’t worry about it yet. Probably won't even get here. Let's get lunch. I think you’re cranky because you need food.”
Hard to argue with reason. She led him into the cafe to get some sandwiches. She had chosen a sandwich from the cooler and was turning around when she ran smack into Dennison. Allyn was just on the other side of him.
“Ms. Bellows...”
“Come to exact revenge?” she hissed.
She looked up at Allyn staring at her. “Allyn, this is my doctor. Dr. Dennison.” She stepped around Michael, handed her tray to Allyn and walked out.
Both men stared at her retreating figure in a daze. “Um, sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Allyn Bellows,” he said as he stuck out his hand. Michael shook it. “Sorry. I better go see what is wrong with her.”
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