Miracle For The Neurosurgeon. Lynne Marshall

hide her sorrow over the guy she’d once known versus the man she saw now, fearing her eyes would betray her. Do not cry. Do not.

      She forced a bright smile. “I’ve come to see if I can be of any help. I am an expert, you know.”

      He could probably see right through her, but she was determined to pull this off.

      Alexandra, Wesley’s sister, had contacted Mary when the accident had first occurred nine months ago—the shockwave had hit so hard she could barely walk the rest of that day, her chest felt caved in, crushing her heart for the man she’d never gotten to know like she’d once dreamed she might. Mary had just signed on for a six-month hospital physical therapy position in Bangor, Maine, when he’d had his waterskiing accident. Far across the country, she couldn’t get home to see him. But she’d mourned his loss, and had worried about him every day, until Alexandra had assured her he was out of danger. Though he would never walk again.

      How many times had she wanted to pick up the phone and call Wes, or write him a card expressing her truest thoughts and feelings, but had chickened out because in the end she’d felt she’d had no right? She was just a girl he’d once known. Nothing more.

      Alexandra had called again last week, out of desperation, and Mary had heard the panic in her friend’s voice. Wes had fired the third home health physical therapy assistant in as many months. “He’s taken independence to new heights. No one can stand to be around him!” Alex hadn’t known what else to do, so she’d turned to her long-time friend for help.

      Though about to sign a contract for another job, this one in New Mexico, Mary had rearranged her work schedule on the spot to get here. That was the beauty of being a free agent, an interim employee, getting to call the shots while traveling the country. But since that phone call, and after not being there for Wes in the beginning, nothing could stop her from helping the man she’d had a crush on since she was fifteen.

      “Seriously, what are you doing here?” His unwelcoming tone stung like a paper cut. He rolled his wheelchair backward to allow her to enter. At least that was something.

      “I already told you, I’m here to help.” She followed him, hiding the hurt from him brushing her off.

      “I don’t need any help. I’ve got this.” His suspicious gaze seemed to hunt for pity, and if he found it, she knew he’d attack.

      She adjusted her over-bright expression to one of questioning. “Really? A guy who’s fired three physical therapy aides in three months doesn’t need help? I beg to differ.” Did she honestly expect him to welcome her when showing up out of the blue?

      He harrumphed and made a U-turn and continued toward the opposite door in the large and beautifully furnished beach home living room. The ceiling-to-floor windows looked out onto the Pacific Ocean. At the moment it was teal and silver blue, covered with glitter from the sun, and she couldn’t avoid noticing. Yet the house felt shut down, dark and lonely, and she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to follow him or not. She did anyway, through opened double doors into a huge hallway where a wraparound staircase looked like open arms. Because of his accident, that welcoming entrance would forever be off-limits to him. How awful to be reminded every day in such an in-your-face way.

      “I’m serious, Wes, you can’t fire the world. It won’t bring back your legs.” She’d always been one to name the elephant in the room head on, that was if she knew what it was, and in Wes’s case she knew exactly why he’d become this guarded and fiercely independent man. He’d become a paraplegic and was dealing with his disability by working too hard, beating the life out of it. And apparently everyone else. No one could keep up with his breakneck schedule, according to Alexandra.

      “I don’t need you.” He spat out the words, reacting to her dose of reality, sounding nothing like the successful neurosurgeon who’d known the course of his life since he’d reached puberty. Who could’ve predicted this part?

      “Alex doesn’t agree and she’s asked me to help out for a while.” When he immediately opened his mouth to protest, she held up her hand to stop him. “Because she loves you.”

      “Alex needs to mind her own business. She’s got her husband and kids to worry about. Tell her I release her of all sisterly responsibility. And you can leave now.”

      Crushed, Mary laughed, surprising herself. She hadn’t seen Wesley in ten years, the day Alexandra had gotten married. The day they’d claimed their second mind-boggling kiss and far more, blamed completely on sharing too much champagne. “Not so easy, Wes. I’ve taken two months off work to come here. I literally picked up my home and drove from New Mexico to California.”

      “Why ever would you do that without asking first?”

      “Because that’s what friends do. Show up to help.”

      “My friends always ask first.” Dismissed.

      Another paper cut, this one slicing deeper, drawing more blood. Do they ever get invited in?

      He might still think of her as a charity case, a stray kitten his sister had once dragged home from public school, but she’d risen above her poverty and all the odds stacked against her. She didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that.

      “You used to call me kid sister number two. I practically lived with you, Wes. You can’t deny you were all like a second family to me.” She tried to make eye contact, but he didn’t co-operate. “Your parents gave me shelter, and you, you insisted I make something of myself.” He’d told her that the night he’d been volunteered to take her to the prom. She stepped closer to him, hoping with all of her heart she could get through to him. “Well, I have. I’ve got a freaking PhD, and now I’m here for you, one doctor to another.” Funny how life worked out that way.

      “So this is payback?” He looked directly at her, taunting her with hurtful insults to give up and leave him alone. “I don’t need your help. Thank you, though.”

      He rolled toward a wall unit lift to take him and his wheelchair upstairs, intent on leaving her standing there, openmouthed. But the snub only gave enough time for fury at being dismissed like a servant to form into words.

      “I’ve been told you’re being a total jerk.” Have proof of it firsthand now. She’d also spoken to his parents before coming. They’d thrown up their hands and moved back to their retirement home in Florida after spending the first six months of recovery with him. “Someone’s got to snap you out of it.”

      “Have you been talking to my parents? Dear old Dad, who blames me for what happened? I don’t need toxic people like that around.”

      His father may had been the pusher in the clan, but certainly his mother had never been anything but supportive.

      “And I’m not like that. Toxic.” Had his father actually blamed him for the accident? Shameful. She’d always known Mr. Van Allen had expected the world of both of his children, but most especially from Wes. He’d raised hell when Alex had changed majors from pre-med to become a dietician, which only required a master’s degree. If Wes had ever dared to venture off his life path, who knows what Mr. Van Allen would have done? Somehow, even back then, she’d sensed that failure was not an option where the Van Allen kids were concerned, but to blame his son for a life-altering accident? Unbelievable.

      “Can’t you see I’m doing fine?” He staunchly defended his shutting out the world.

      It was time to double down. She knew, though on the surface Wes looked like he was in fact doing fine, he needed assistance from daily PT in ways he didn’t even think about, and not just on the parts that were working, but also the muscles and joints in need of passive range of motion. That was something he needed to learn to do for himself, too. And even in the gym, which she presumed from the looks of his upper torso, chest and arms, he did rigorous workouts, someone needed to be standing by in case he got hurt, possibly further injuring his spine. No. She wasn’t going anywhere. At least not today. “Have you ever performed surgery without consulting another neurosurgeon first?”

      “What’s