Doctor's Secret (Carver Family)

by Lyz Kelley

  “Don’t mention it.” He didn’t bother trying to misunderstand her meaning. “I’d better get going if I’ve got any chance of making it to the hospital in time to do any damage control before that meeting. You okay?”

  No. Not okay. “I’m peachy. Call if you’re going to be late.”

  A grunt emanated from the other end before the call dropped.

  She studied the Transformer-like machine. The hulking robot stood lifeless in the middle of the room. Mechanical arms and wires hung limp. No doubt because she’d watched a few too many late-night science fiction movies, she half expected a red laser beam to flicker on and focus on her—the target. She moved to the outer edge of the room just in case.

  The physicians’ observation tower loomed dark overhead. She could almost picture Garrett in his scrubs, directing the synchronized efforts of his team, intricately performing heart surgery on a muscle no bigger than a kumquat.

  “I heard there was an accident,” a voice exploded like a sonic boom in the room.

  Her body jerked. Fear choked off an inhalation. Her feet acted on their own to conceal her behind the machine, a barrier to the threat.

  “McKenzie?” Garrett stopped short on the opposite side of the operating table.

  A small part of her recognized the soft concern in his eyes, the one she’d seen him use a hundred times with the kids. She forced her eyes to meet his. “Garrett, I was going to come find you.”

  He looked at the machine, and then reached out a hand to caress the metal. His face softened, and then knotted with concern. “I heard someone was injured. I went to emergency. When I couldn’t find you, I came here.”

  “One of the worker’s hands was smashed when the machine fell. A replacement part is being flown in from overseas. I’m so sorry. I promise we’ll get your machine working as soon as we can.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be okay. I’ve waited this long.”

  Now he finds his steady-eddy, just when she wanted him to be fired up, like she was. “I’ll work with the nurses to reschedule the surgeries. Just let me know what’s on your calendar, and we’ll take care of it.”

  He took a step closer. She wanted to avoid his judgment, his frankness, but she owed him at least one good “I told you so.”

  “Boss, are you all right?” he asked. “You look frazzled, and that’s not like you. At least not here.” The way his body tilted forward, his eyes mellowed, his lips parted, he wanted to give her a hug. Instead, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “Dr. Cowell was right. You know this place, the people and processes, like I know the muscles, tendons and valves of the heart. A machine can be fixed. A hand will mend. The important thing is everyone is okay. So, tell me how I can help you. Want a lollipop?” He withdrew a round, red-wrapped sphere on a stick from his pocket.

  A warm sensation churned in her chest. He didn’t have to be so kind, after all their relationship was as fake as it could get, yet his benevolence didn’t go unappreciated. “No, thanks. I’ll manage.”

  “I thought my oldest sister was the most stubborn, independent woman I’d ever met. You, Boss, would give her some fierce competition. Stop being so obstinate, and tell me what I can do.” His mouth quirked in a semi-smirk.

  Funny guy. He had lobbed her word back at her like two kids playing catch.

  “Are you planning to attend the Board meeting this afternoon?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. But if you need me there, I will be.”

  “Liam will need the support.”

  “Liam? So it’s Liam who needs help, not you,” he observed with a crooked half-smile. “I guess face time with the board might do me some good. As you said, I need to—what did you call it?—be socialized.”

  The term sounded insulting. She hadn’t meant it that way, but could see how the statement might be misinterpreted.

  The mischievous glint in his eyes reminded her he liked to play. She’d discovered the oversized kid lurking under his hero’s white coat. He liked to tease, and his quick wit outpaced her scholarly mind ten to one.

  She turned to the only shiny object in the room for a distraction. “One of the nurses asked me why you chose robotics. Acting as your fiancée, I should have known the answer, but I didn’t. Care to share?”

  He extended his hand to push and pull at the knobs on the control panel. “My sisters would tell you it’s because I love to play video games. My colleagues would say it’s because the smaller and more intricate the surgery, the more I love it. There’ll be no hip replacements for me.”

  “And you? What would Dr. Garrett Branston say?”

  “Big hands.” He raised a hand and studied his salad-plate-sized palms. “I knew early in my career I wanted to be a surgeon and work with kids. When I took my residency, I struggled working with such tiny objects. All my efforts seemed pathetic and clumsy. Several attending physicians encouraged me to select another specialty. But I found my heart wasn’t in anything else I tried. Then one day I observed a French doctor removing a brain tumor. He targeted a growth no bigger than the size of a pea. The precision. The accuracy. The potential. I was hooked. You sure you don’t want a sucker? They are tasty.”

  He popped one in his mouth.

  She admired the way he playfully eased tension. He was magnificent—at least with the kids and a few chosen adults. He pursued what he wanted, and never gave up—the way she’d given up her art. A mistake she intended to rectify.

  She extended her hand to touch the machine, expecting an empty coldness, but his words created a warm interest. “So you made a choice to become a renowned robotic surgeon.”

  “Sounds easy, doesn’t it?”

  “No. I know it isn’t easy. Nothing about the medical profession is easy. It takes discipline. Hard work. Maybe even a little luck thrown in. Nothing happens overnight.”

  “Is that how it is with painting?”

  The word painting was taboo in her family, unless the art was some million-dollar oil hanging above the library’s fireplace. She mulled it over giving him the publicly correct, worn-out answer, but somehow she didn’t want to cheat.

  “Painting is frustrating when the vision in my head becomes elusive. When the image of what I want to paint won’t reveal itself. Then sometimes the details are so clear it feels like I’m living in the scene, yet I can’t get it right on the canvas. That frustration is what pushes me to try harder. The thirst for perfection is always there.”

  “Exactly. It’s the most freeing, frustrating, fragile, and fantastic feeling, don’t you think?” His steady masculine inspection made her skin tingle.

  “I’ve never been able to describe it, but yes. A combination of all those things and more.”

  His steady gaze held hers.

  He’d changed. Over the past several weeks, he’d softened. He wasn’t so quick to judge or argue or control. He listened more. But the warning system in her body still went off in his presence, and she couldn’t find the off switch.

  She checked the time on her phone. “I better go check on the contractor. His wife should have arrived by now.”

  “Before you go, I want to thank you.”

  “For?”

  “Two things. The first, helping Nurse Bernard reschedule the peer introductions and getting doctors Middleton and Heaton to accept the invite. We have a meeting set up next week to discuss pediatric critical care trends.”

  “I’m glad it worked out.”

  He nodded his agreement. “Your idea to use the research paper I wrote last year on pediatric surgical innovations to wedge open the door seemed to work. I got an email this morning with a few follow up questions. I’m anticipating an interesting discussion.”

  The disbelief in Garrett’s face surprised her. She’d read his reviews. Journalists from across the globe used words like brilliant, innovative, and insightful to describe him. During the selection process, she’d read in his recruitment file that CNN voted him one of the top 25 up-and-coming doctors to watch. It seemed odd that his
exterior didn’t reveal his real self.

  “I’m happy for you,” she said, meaning every word.

  “The second thank-you is for helping Ms. Yankovich. Seems she started a new job on Monday. And she got medical benefits for her and her family. Even her mother.”

  The praise made her cheeks warm. “I didn’t do much. Petra interviewed well. The Vice President of Engineering was impressed with her experience.”

  Garrett moved around the operating table and stopped a foot from her. His probing look searched her face. “Don’t you find it odd—medical benefits the first day of employment? No waiting period?”

  Her stomach squirmed and swirled. She crossed her arms over her abdomen to prevent her innards from announcing her guilt. “Some companies do that for their employees.” Her words sounded unconvincing even to her ears. Darn it.

  “But not Carver International. I checked your company’s benefits website page. Are you breaking the rules, Boss?”

  “No, Dr. Branston. I don’t break rules, only bend them a little.” His silence demanded an explanation. “You’re correct. Carver International’s medical benefits are not effective until after thirty days of employment. Nonetheless, the Yankovich family’s medical bill will be paid. I happen to be President of the Carver Trust. As much as I hate all the paperwork, the position offers some nice perks.”

  “It’s nice to know you have a rebellious streak, Ms. Carver. I’m finding it rather sexy.”

  Panic moved her feet back, away, behind. She placed the Transformer between them again. Too bad the intricate metal structure wasn’t real. “I’d better get going. I have a lot to do before the board meets.”

  His teasing smile evaporated. “What time’s the meeting?” he asked.

  “Three,” she confirmed.

  “I’ll be doing rounds until then. Have Liam call if he needs anything specific. Like your grandmother always says, a problem shared is a problem halved.”

  “…is a problem halved.” She grinned while they finished her grannie’s quote in unison.

  The fact that he’d remembered the expression warmed her. She hadn’t thought he was listening during that conversation. In fact, he often appeared to do the opposite.

  “You sure I can’t get you something? A tea? Some banana bread? How about a giant chocolate chip cookie?”

  His offer was undeniably appealing—not the sugar, but the company part. Even if she could manage the conversation, the company part might force her to make counterproductive decisions if she allowed him to get too close. He was way too attractive at being the perfect fiancé, but she needed to keep in mind their relationship was all a scam. A few more weeks and he would go his way and she’d be back to being alone and single. “I appreciate the offer, but no, thank you.”

  A level of interest crossed his face before fading into confusion. “I’ll see you at three then.” His hand slid the length of the robot’s arm before he turned and left.

  Sexy? He found her sexy. Her stomach growled with hunger, and it wasn’t for lunch.

  She couldn’t go there. Not with him, or anyone. The physical, intimate famine had created a need, a need that her heart might be ready to address, but one her mind definitely couldn’t handle.

  Chapter 5

  Douglas Carver’s invitation to the football game came as a complete surprise. But Garrett wasn’t fooled. The Carver-hosted event didn’t differ from being summoned to the Chief of Staff’s office. The difference was that instead of a desk, chairs, and written agendas, he faced hot dogs, beer, and hidden agendas, especially from the man who thought he might be his future father-in-law.

  Sporting-event-styled catered food and the heat from sardine-packed bodies made Garrett’s head ache.

  She was here.

  Somewhere.

  The last couple of days, trouble had been brewing—the heart-shattering kind of trouble. He’d watched her read to kids, flirt with a fourteen-year-old until he smiled for the first time in weeks, and cuddle with a six-year-old who woke up scared when she didn’t see her mom. All those things and more defined his kind of trouble. Garrett never wanted to experience that kind of heartbreak again.

  If he could avoid her, he would, but he didn’t have that option. The kids. He had to help the kids. To help, he needed funding. To get support, he needed time. Time to show the suits what he could do, the difference he could make. His performance review countdown had begun. In nine days the board would go over every case, every decision, every procedure, and put each in a plus or minus column.

  He didn’t need distractions. McKenzie was definitely a distraction.

  For the thousandth time, he questioned why he’d accepted this job. Why he’d moved away from family and friends and entered the realm of white-coat politics. Why he’d agree to a mock engagement, that added an additional layer of pressure. The kids, his inner voice repeated. He gave himself a mental pre-game pep talk and took a step farther into the room.

  “Dr. Branston, you made it.” A resonant and commanding voice came from across the room. The Carver patriarch had spotted him.

  The standard, patient-friendly smile slid onto his face, and he extended his hand to Douglas Carver. “Thank you for the invitation, sir.”

  “Call me Douglas. No need for formalities. I hear congratulations are in order.”

  “Yes. The emergency surgery with the robot went well.”

  He chuckled. “I was talking about your recent engagement to my daughter. But we can discuss that privately. So how do you like our machine?”

  “Like a carpenter, doctors want the best tools to do their work.”

  Turning to the cronies gathered around him, Douglas graced them with a see-I-told-you smile. He leaned toward Garrett, a perfectly trimmed eyebrow raised. “I heard there were a few complications, but you handled them superbly.”

  Garrett eased his shoulders back to stretch tight muscles and release the tension building in his neck. “Any surgeon who says they don’t have a few surprises during surgery isn’t telling the truth. An expert expects, and plans for, the unexpected.”

  “Well said. So how’s the boy?” Douglas asked.

  “Stable,” he responded, selecting a word that provided information but remained ambiguous. The law prevented him from revealing particulars. Besides, it baffled him why people asked about patients they didn’t know and took no personal interest in. Knowing the group wanted a little more, he added, “It’s too early to tell how his body might react, but I’m optimistic.”

  “Spoken like a typical surgeon. Vague, yet positive.” Douglas received smiles from the semicircle of casually dressed businessmen, and then looked toward the field. “I understand you played college ball.”

  “I did for a time until a young and overzealous tackle blew out my knee and ended my playing days.”

  The man’s gaze shifted past Garrett’s right shoulder, his expression sliding toward somber. “Sometimes life has a way of yanking our feet out from under us.”

  Garrett got the impression Douglas Carver wasn’t talking about football.

  “Dad, we invited Garrett to a game, not to an inquisition.” McKenzie’s perfume pushed into Garrett’s consciousness, and he greedily inhaled before she circled the group and intertwined her arm with her dad’s. “At least let the man eat.”

  Like all those graced with her presence, Douglas softened, the shadow of somber concern vanished. Garrett observed the interaction. The hardened protectiveness. The tender squeeze. The unshielded pride.

  She had that effect on people, even him. For four weeks, he’d smiled so much his lips were cracked. If he stepped even a centimeter off the fifty-yard line, she appeared at his elbow. She reminded him of a defensive end, always circling around the line and hitting him on his blind side. She’d chase him back across the line to safe interactions and safe decisions. Whenever he turned around, she was there—laughing with staff, reading to the kids, and helping in her methodical, determined manner.

  The stadium crowd
roared, and the group inside the suite rotated in unison toward the monitors. He angled toward her to capture more of her wondrous scent. He snapped back to position when her father turned around.

  Douglas waved a hand at the banquet of wings, pizza, chips, and an overflowing counter of alcohol. “Help yourself. If you don’t like the selection in here”—he pointed at a menu—“order something else. There should be a seat for you out there somewhere. You two go, enjoy the game.”

  Accepting the gracious dismissal, he offered his thanks one more time and stepped back from the crowd.

  “Sorry about that. My father can be overbearing. And he’s always politicking.” Her mouth flattened into a disapproving line, an expression he’d believed she reserved exclusively for him.

  “Per his email, he wants to schedule a private meeting regarding our engagement.”

  Her lightness, like a cloud drifting across the sun, dimmed. “And I will make sure that meeting is put off until it’s no longer necessary. My father is a busy man.”

  He’d expected, appreciated, and sometimes resented her interference. But one thing he was sure of: She excelled at charming people into doing what he couldn’t. One kind word from her, and people rushed to comply. When she rotated her heart-shaped face with that gently curved nose and those passionate eyes in his direction, he too got sucked in by her mesmerizing charisma.

  She leaned in. “Hopefully, I rescue you from answering uncomfortable questions about our relationship,” she said in an undertone.

  “Before I met you, I thought guys in white coats usually did the rescuing.”

  “I was wondering when that obstinate attitude would reappear.” She winked.

  “It was meant as a compliment, Boss.”

  She kept her gaze on a plate of cut vegetables. He enjoyed the slight blush on her cheeks, and the way she refused to take credit for her gifts and charity work.