Читать книгу Return of the Rebel Surgeon - Connie Cox, Connie Cox - Страница 7

COLE had sworn he would never come back, but here he was, on the edge of his seat, watching the boy on the track who had never broken stride the whole five kilometers. He glanced at the second hand on his watch. The boy was doing a consistent six-minute mile.

The boy sprinted for the finish line, his ground-eating stride putting him ahead of the pack. Athletic grace like that could be honed by training but began in the womb.

Despite the New Orleans heat and humidity, Dr. Cole Lassiter kept his attention on the competitions as a way of keeping the painful memories at bay.

Today and tomorrow were track-and-field competitions at Tad Gormley Stadium in City Park. Thursday was the swim meet at the hosting hospital’s full-size facilities and Friday was back at the track for the soccer matches. Then home to New York for the weekend if he could get loose ends tied up—or at least keep things from unraveling.

The wise thing to do would be to stay in New Orleans over the weekend to wine and dine the doctors and their families, and make sure everyone was comfortable with the merger of the two medical clinics.

If he could only keep his own personal unease from showing. His hometown of New Orleans held nothing but nightmares for him—and a lucrative possible partnership between Lassiter Hand and Wrist Institute and the equally renowned New Orleans Sports Clinic. But negotiations were fragile.

A cheer from the bleachers had him turning his attention back to the field and the final lap of the race.

A modest but enthusiastic crowd encouraged the athletes as they competed for a sense of accomplishment as much as for a victory. These regional “special games” were hosted by a leading New Orleans hospital and run by scores of volunteers. It was certainly a different experience from the professional events he usually attended.

These games, free to all who wanted to watch, were every bit as exciting as the big-ticket events Cole usually went to. Maybe even more so, considering what these athletes were up against. All had mental challenges, and many of them had physical challenges, as well. But they had the same heart and courage as any other athlete.

From the sidelines, a distracted girl wandered onto the track right into the boy’s path.

Cole winced as the boy jerked and hurdled to keep from running into her and ended up on his knees.

Without a word, the boy climbed back to his feet and took off running, trying to catch the two runners who had passed him.

He closed the gap to inches. If he’d had three more strides, he would have caught the front runner. Instead, the boy took second place.

An official leaned down to check the boy’s knee, then pointed toward the medical tent. Without needing a prod from the intercom system, Cole headed in that direction.

From the moment she’d entered the stadium that morning, Bella Allante’s attention had been drawn to him as if he had some preternatural power over her.

Why now? Why, when her world spun on the tip of a needle, did Cole Lassiter have to show up now?

Distracted, she tried to focus on the one-sided conversation her teenage helper was carrying on.

“So my mom says to tell you thanks. Working with our family photo album has really helped my sister understand age appropriateness much better.”

“You’re welcome.” Isabella had stumbled upon her son’s fascination with family photographs a few years back. “I’ve used them to teach everything from facial recognition to table manners.”

“My sister is obsessed with photos of our grandmother. Didn’t you tell us that happened with Adrian, too?”

“Yes, it did.” Obsession wasn’t an unusual trait for someone on the autistic spectrum. Isabella just wished Adrian’s obsession had been with anyone other than Cole Lassiter.

The day her son had asked about the tall, dark-haired boy in many of her high-school photos, displaying curiosity but also being able to recognize him in photos at different ages, Isabella had been overjoyed at Adrian’s breakthrough in development but torn about using the image of the man she despised above all others to teach her son.

Although she’d been mightily tempted to tell him a half-truth that day, she had never lied to Adrian. So she had confessed that the boy in the photos was Adrian’s father, now a grown man and a renowned surgeon.

Instantly, she’d had to page through copies of her father’s medical journals to show Adrian photos of Cole as an adult.

Since then, Adrian had elevated Cole to the status of superhero, insisting on having a dark-haired plastic doctor doll along with his superhero action figures and adding Cole’s photo to the collection of pictures of family and friends on his bedside table.

She had been so thrilled she had found a way to reach her emotionally locked-away son she had decided to encourage and embrace his fascination with Cole, in the certain belief that she would never have to deal with the man in person.

Was that Adrian in the lead? He never wanted her to watch him compete, so she had only seen him run from afar.

Once more she scanned the crowd, intently watching the athletes take their final lap.

What was Cole doing here—beyond watching the son he had never acknowledged? That small part of her that needed closure nagged at her now like it had so many dark nights in the past. Had she tried hard enough, done enough?

Isabella lifted her chin. An Allante didn’t beg—and she would never stoop that low again. If only he had acknowledged her pregnancy in some way, she could have put her doubts behind her, along with those tarnished memories of first love.

“Ms. Allante, is something wrong?”

Isabella replaced her worried frown with a forced smile. “No—just anticipating a problem that might never happen.”

If only it was just a commonplace problem worrying Isabella now, instead of the man in the front row, sitting all alone with his elbows propped on his knees.

The girl, old beyond her years, nodded with understanding. “My mom does that all the time. My dad keeps telling her to just take it each moment as it comes, but it doesn’t seem to help.”

Isabella tried to follow the same creed, even while she tried to provide an environment as secure and routine as possible for her son. While she was doing well on the secure environment part, she was failing miserably to live in the moment.

Usually her problem was trying to anticipate the future. But today her worry was all about the past.

Only fifteen short years ago, she had wished with all her heart to set eyes on Cole Lassiter.

She had wished it right up to the moment she had repeated her marriage vows to another man. At that point she had begun wishing just as fervently never to see Cole again.

Cole stood and stretched, spreading to the skies those arms that had once held her so tight, and began to amble toward the medical tent.

The loudspeaker popped and squealed, then blasted out, “Will the mother of athlete number 183 please meet him in the first-aid area?”

A burst of panic flipped her stomach with her heart. “That’s Adrian.”

“Go.” The girl threw away the pencil Isabella had snapped in two. “I can take care of this.”

“Thanks.” Like she had every day since the pregnancy test had shown positive, Isabella straightened her spine, put her anxiety behind her, and vowed to do whatever was best for her child.

Under the tent in the makeshift first-aid station, Cole knelt to examine the boy’s skinned knee.

“You’re Adrian, right?” He was careful to move slowly and talk plainly.

“That’s right, Doctor,” an assistant answered for the boy. “Adrian is fourteen years old.”

Cole would have guessed he was a year or two older. The boy was tall and rangy. He rocked back and forth as he flexed his left forefinger over and over again.

Adrian wasn’t Cole’s standard client. As a hand surgeon who specialized in sports medicine, Cole usually treated highly paid professional athletes.

He’d been informed that Adrian was autistic, mostly nonverbal, and skittish around strangers. Adrian particularly disliked being touched.

Volunteering for these special athletic games challenged Cole’s doctor-patient skills. He wasn’t familiar with treating athletes with mental challenges, but he had stepped out of his comfort zone to fill in for one of the future partners who’d had a family emergency.

Family—something else Cole wasn’t too familiar with.

Cole could relate to the boy, though. He himself was more of a thinker than a talker. Thankfully, professional athletes rarely required much chit-chat.

Still, he felt the need to be encouraging. “That was quite a race you ran, Adrian.” Cole kept his voice calm and low despite the noise of the cheering crowd around them.

Adrian smiled with his eyes, showing acknowledgment of the compliment.

“Tough luck about the fall.”

Adrian showed no anger, or even frustration, over the accident. Good sportsmanship personified.

“Adrian’s mother is here, Dr. Lassiter,” the assistant warned.

Before Cole could stand and turn around, Adrian’s mother asked over his shoulder, “Honey, are you all right?”

He knew that voice.

Even after fifteen years, it rasped down his spine. Who would have thought a voice from his past could slam into his gut like this?

Calling on all the stoicism he’d developed over his career, Cole stood and moved aside so she could take his place. Isabella Allante was more beautiful now than the last time he’d seen her—sound asleep in his bed.

For the sake of the boy, Cole used every ounce of professionalism he had to reassure the anxious mother. “Adrian is fine. Just a scrape.”

“Cole,” Bella said in a monotone, as if she’d turned off a switch to her emotions. Her face registered nothing, a mask of calm.

She had always been good at keeping her emotions in check, a trait that would have made her a good doctor if she had gone to medical school as they had planned.

He did the math. Had marriage and pregnancy, not necessarily in that order, caused her to drop out? Had it been her choice or her husband’s?

That husband should have been him.

Betrayal and anger made him turn away from her, even after all these years. No other woman had ever affected him this way. He’d hardened his heart to make sure of it.

Bella bent down to inspect Adrian’s knee.

“Doesn’t look too bad, huh?” she asked her son, the compassion switched on again.

Cole watched Adrian’s face as his eyes shifted up and to the left, then back to his mother’s mouth. Adrian’s way of agreeing, Cole guessed, when Bella gave him a gentle smile.

Feature by feature, the boy didn’t look much like his mother. His eyes were dark, almost black, while hers were a crystal shade of violet. His hair was dark, too. Thick and wavy compared to hers, straight and honey-blonde. At fourteen, he was at least three inches taller than his petite mother. Maybe it was his gestures or the way he held himself that looked so familiar.

Cole glanced at Bella’s bare ring finger. Nobody had told him that her marriage had broken up—if, indeed, that was what her ring-free state meant. But, then, he’d made it clear to everyone back in New Orleans that he didn’t want to hear the name Isabella Allante ever again.

“Worth the ribbon?” She held up a medal dangling on a red ribbon.

Again, Adrian spoke with his eyes, delight showing through their dark depths.

“Want to wear it?” She lifted the ribbon to place it around Adrian’s neck.

His left hand started to pat the air while his shoulders tensed and his eyes took on a wild and startled cast.

Bella rocked back on her heels, giving her son space. “Okay, honey. Why don’t I hold it for you?”

Adrian calmed and smiled, a sweet, pure smile like his mother’s could be. “Momma.”

Bella sucked in her breath. “Yes, honey. Momma. Thank you for that.”

The loudspeaker crackled and the commentator announced refreshments for all the athletes and their guests. Adrian’s eyes lit up. He pushed himself off his chair, not even wincing as he put weight on his injured leg.

Without looking left or right, he started for the snack bar. Abruptly, he stopped, pinned Cole with those deep, dark eyes and gestured, more a command than an invitation. Adrian might not use a plethora of words but his body language spoke volumes.

Cole could feel the tension radiate from Bella.

He had no problem reading her body language either. While Adrian clearly wanted Cole to accompany him, Isabella wanted exactly the opposite.

“Adrian, honey, Dr. Lassiter is busy. I don’t think he can take a break with us,” she said, making herself clear.

The odds were stacked against her. First off, Cole was thirsty. Secondly, Adrian wanted his company—and Cole sensed a specialness in that. And, thirdly, Bella had just issued a challenge Cole wouldn’t walk away from.

“Au contraire, Mrs. Beautemps. I’m ready for a nice cold drink.”

Cole had once lived or died by Bella’s slightest desire, but now he wanted nothing more than to prove that what she did or didn’t want had no influence on his decisions.

“It’s Allante,” she corrected.

“Divorce?” Not that it should matter. He wondered purely out of curiosity. He’d always thought she and David Beautemps would stay together forever. But, then, he’d thought that about himself and Bella, too, until she’d dumped him.

“My decision,” she clarified, as if that would mean anything to him.

He shrugged. “Not my concern.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked.”

Sorry. The flippant apology stuck in his throat.

“You’re right,” he forced out, swallowing down the bitter taste of concession.

He and Bella were ancient history—bad ancient history at that—and long since archived under “foolish youth.” Any feelings between them should have been put to bed a long time ago.

Put to bed. Not the best metaphor to choose, not when he still remembered how that honey-gold hair spread across his pillow and down her trim, bare back all those years ago.

He took in her simple T-shirt dress, flattering but not new, and her wedge-heeled sandals that showed wear around the soles. Her simple clothes were very different from the fashions she’d once worn.

Fifteen years ago, her clothes had come straight off a Paris or New York runway. From the looks of things, she would have benefitted from a better lawyer, settlement-wise.

She brushed her hand down her dress then lifted her chin. “What are you doing here?”

“Business.” The multimillion-dollar merger was the only thing that could have brought him back to his old hometown. Bella’s father had been one of the founding partners of the sports clinic a few decades previously but Cole’s lawyers had assured him that Dr. Allante had been out of the partnership for over a dozen years.

“You’re not doing business at a track-and-field meet, are you?” Her question dripped of disbelief with a tinge of suspicion.

Cole knew she had deliberately twisted his answer.

He couldn’t have told her anything even if he’d wanted to. He’d done enough of these mergers to know how tenuous early negotiations could be. Confidentiality and secrecy played a big role in making these kinds of deals run smoothly.

But, then, he had no desire to tell her anything about himself or his life. They had nothing in common anymore but a painful past.

“As you can tell, I’m a volunteer for the special games’ medical staff. I’m a last-minute substitute.” Is that what he’d been to Bella? A substitute while David was away at college?

None of this mattered anymore, he reminded himself as he swallowed down a bitterness he’d thought was long gone.

At eighteen, he’d been sure he and Bella had a soul-deep connection, more than just teenage infatuation, but he’d been wrong.

Apparently, he’d been wrong about more than one thing. Cole had expected David Beautemps to provide Bella with the high-society lifestyle she’d always had. But people changed. He certainly had.

“What’s up with David?” he asked, to prove—to himself as much as to her—that he didn’t care.

Two years older than him, and almost three years older than Bella, David had been kind, gentle and generous, as well as wealthy. When Bella had chosen David over him, Cole had understood, on a rational level.

Still, he felt raw. He thought he’d extinguished that internal firestorm long ago, but seeing Bella seemed to have stirred up embers from the ashes.

“Daddy,” Adrian said.

Next to him, Bella sucked in her breath.

Cole looked around for the man Bella had married, but didn’t see anyone approaching them. Was she wary of her ex?

If so, David would have to come through him to get to Isabella or Adrian. Cole might not be a part of her life anymore, but he would never stand by and let a woman or innocent child be hurt. Especially not these two. Cole brushed that thought away. Any honorable man would do the same.

Adrian started to flap his hand in impatience.

“Adrian, the doctor is busy. He doesn’t have time for a break with us.” A breeze blew through, plastering Bella’s dress against her, outlining her petite figure.

He couldn’t stop himself from wanting Bella now just as strongly as he had wanted her on their last night together. Though now he understood that desire was purely a sexual response. Then, he’d wanted her enough to consider giving up his lifelong dream of becoming a doctor.

But dreams hadn’t been enough for Isabella Allante. Not his dreams, anyway. Her own dreams of marrying sugarcane plantation heir David Beautemps and taking her privileged place in society had superseded his foolish plans for the two of them together, carving out their own unique niche in the world.

“I can take a break.” Now he wanted to prove to her, and—he had to admit—to himself that she had absolutely no sway over him. “Lead on, Adrian. I’m with you all the way.”

Maybe sitting across the table from her as if they were two old acquaintances with nothing more between them but a couple of sodas—and another man’s son—would close a chapter of his life that should have ended a long time ago.

After this quick encounter, he would throw the book of his youth against the wall and get on with his life—as he’d thought he already had until their chance meeting today.

Isabella forced her shaky knees to carry her. She let her steps lag as she watched father and son walk in front of her. She needed time to think—time to breathe.

How could this happen? She had spent so many nights, so many years trying to resign herself to the loss of the only man she had ever loved. And here he showed up, made an immediate connection with his son and stepped back into her heart as if he’d never been gone from it. She had thought she’d locked him out of that sacred place for ever.

Pain radiated from her chest throughout her whole circulatory system. She felt as dizzy as if she had been whirled in a fast circle for the last fifteen years.

Stop it, Isabella. You don’t have time for childish theatrics, she told herself. She used all her training as a cognitive behavior therapist to pull herself together. Taking note of her mental state and subsequent physical reactions, she exerted mind over matter to bring her heart rate under control.

Only through sheer willpower did she force her world to stop spinning. Now to evaluate the situation. She looked at the pair in front of her.

They both had that same easy, long-legged stride. Adrian’s hair was a shade lighter but in time it would darken to that deep cocoa brown like Cole’s.

Side by side, there could be no denying that Adrian was Cole’s son. Adrian had that same olive complexion and would soon have the same heavy beard that Cole had at such an early age.

Bella had taken full advantage of Adrian’s fascination with Cole in so many ways. Photos of him had convinced her son to swim, to eat his vegetables and, most recently, to shave.

She had always had a worry in the back of her mind. What would Adrian do on the off chance he ever met his father? Now that worry was a reality. But there were no fireworks, no meltdowns, no drama of any kind.

The only volatile reactions going on were inside her own heart.

Unpredictably, her son took meeting his father in his stride, accepting Cole as someone he’d known for years. And, in a way, he had.

Why was he here—and why now, fifteen years too late?

Why the cat-and-mouse game, as if he didn’t know who Adrian was to him?

Was he assessing the extent of Adrian’s autism before deciding on whether to claim him as his son or not? That seemed far too cold for the Cole she had once known. But, then, so had his abandonment of her all those years ago.

She had to face facts. A decade and a half ago she hadn’t known Cole as well as she’d thought. And she certainly didn’t know him now.

For the first time since Adrian’s birth Isabella was glad he rarely talked. She felt bad about it, but she didn’t wish it only for her own selfish purposes. She needed to find out what Cole’s intentions were.

Maybe Cole would satisfy his curiosity and simply go away, and she could get back to the steady, stable routine that served Adrian so well. What would she do if he wanted to become involved in Adrian’s life?

She might not be able to predict Cole’s behavior, but she knew what she intended to do—what she had always done. She would protect her son at all costs.

Resolution made, she glared at the back of the man who had left her and never looked back all those years ago.

She’d tracked his meteoric rise in the medical community as a leading hand and wrist surgeon. How could she help it, being the daughter of a renowned surgeon herself? He now had institutes in major cities all over the U.S. to care for his high-profile clients.

His latest patient had been a promising child gymnast with a wrist injury. Under his care she’d made a miraculous recovery. Rumors said the girl’s mother had received Cole’s personal attention as well—for a little while.

And there was her answer. Cole would be in and out of their lives so fast they would barely notice the blip. She just had to keep everything as smooth as possible for Adrian—and for herself.

Isabella caught up to them as Cole and Adrian stood before the counter. Quietly, she observed them, still not sure what she should do, what she should say in front of her son.

“Want a drink?” Cole asked, intently watching Adrian’s face.

As Adrian looked down and to the right, Cole tried again. “Ice cream?”

Seeing a positive response, Cole narrowed the choices. “Vanilla? Chocolate? Whipped cream?”

While it took Adrian’s new aides days to learn his subtle form of communication, it had taken Cole only minutes.

Of course he could communicate with his son. They were so much alike in so many ways. Cole had always been a man of few words—the ultimate strong, silent type.

And Adrian had spoken to him. Isabella waited weeks, sometimes months, for a single sound from her son. Cole had known him for only a few minutes and had already been gifted with one of Adrian’s few words. Daddy.

Without turning around, Cole asked, “Bella, what would you like?”

You, Isabella thought before she could stop herself. “A diet drink, please.”

Cole ordered for her while Isabella deliberately amended her thoughts. What did she want?

You, fifteen years ago.

Answers.

This day never to have happened.

But Isabella had learned a long time ago about wanting something, wanting someone. She couldn’t always have her heart’s desire just because she asked nicely. Cole had taught her that lesson well.

Isabella warred within herself. Her ingrained etiquette insisted she make small talk, but her protectiveness cautioned that an effort to communicate could be misconstrued as an effort to forge a bond.

They ate in silence. In the past, Isabella had been comfortable with Cole’s contemplative moods. But today she knew he wasn’t thinking. He was seething. Fire was in his eyes as he stole glances at her between bites. But why?

She was the one with the right to be angry. He had left her, accepting the scholarship for pre-med and, eventually, the residency at New York’s Hospital for Special Surgery when she’d thought he would come back to New Orleans for her.

She’d been sold out for a ten-thousand-dollar grant. If Isabella had known that was how much money Cole could be bought for, she would have written the check from her own trust fund.

But, then, she hadn’t known she’d needed to buy his love.

Adrian looked up at Cole, happiness shining in his eyes as he sat with his real-life hero in the flesh.

Cole returned the look, adding a smile and passing Adrian a napkin. Adrian took it from Cole’s hand instead of insisting Cole lay the napkin on the table. That kind of trust usually took a carer weeks to establish.

The intercom blared, paging Dr. Lassiter to the first-aid tent. “I’ve got to go.”

As he stood, a storm built in Adrian’s face.

Please, not a meltdown. Not now. Isabella braced herself for the scene she would be dealing with the moment Cole walked away. At fourteen, Adrian’s pubescent temper tantrums were becoming more and more difficult to deal with. She began digging in her purse for Adrian’s scarf, hoping the scrap of fabric would have a calming effect should Adrian’s emotions overcome his learned behavior.

Cole turned to face Adrian, without doubt noting the mottled red in his face.

Would Cole judge her to be a bad mother? Many people would, if they had never had to cope with autism.

He looked Adrian in the eye, not flinching away as his son’s whole body started to shake. While taking the scarf from Isabella and handing it to Adrian, he subtly put himself between her and her son. Did he realize his protective maneuver? Did he think she needed to be shielded from her own son?

Isabella herself prayed that day would never come.

Adrian twisted both hands in the scarf, his thumbs tracing the pile of the heavy cut velvet while he raised the satin side to his lips, taking deep breaths like they’d practiced.

Isabella held her own breath as she watched Cole.

If Cole showed any sign of belittlement or disdain for Adrian’s self-soothing, it could set off Adrian’s barely restrained emotions.

Cole gave Adrian a respectful nod. “Good job, Adrian. A man controls his temper around a woman.”

He took a card from his wallet, scribbling on the back. “Here’s my cellphone number, in case you ever need me.” His glance took in both of them.

He put the card down within Adrian’s reach then once again walked out of her life, leaving his empty promise behind.