Revealing The Real Dr Robinson. Dianne Drake

He’d opened the door just a crack to let somebody in. Only now the holiday was over and Shanna was but a memory. And like every other time he’d been tempted to break his resolve, he’d take a deep breath and remind himself about his responsibilities. Then stay on track. “Water, please,” he told the attendant. “Water will be fine.”

      “Okay, Ben Robinson, just who are you?” Two days ago he’d left her sitting in the café, wondering what it was about her that clearly hadn’t inspired his trust. And it wasn’t just about his drinking. It was about everything. They’d spent some nice time together, but every minute of it had shown her how obviously distant he was. More than that, how distant he wanted to stay. Being alone together—that was how she’d felt when she’d been with him. Alone. They’d shared a ski lift, shared meals, shared a few walks, shared time. What he hadn’t shared had been himself.

      “So who are you, really?” she asked her computer screen as she typed his name into a search engine. “And why are you in Argentina?” The even bigger question was, Where in Argentina? Because it was only after he’d gone that she’d realized she didn’t know. Realized she didn’t even have his phone number. Realized he had merely been a stranger passing through, stopping for a few moments without making a connection.

      Except he had. She wasn’t sure what kind it was, but here she was, looking for information about him, wondering what it was about Ben Robinson that pulled her in.

      Maybe it was a simple thing, really. He was so found, and she was so lost. Found had a certain sense of stability to it. A security she’d thought she had but had then discovered it had all been an illusion. Ben didn’t give in to illusions. Didn’t even let them come near. Sure, it was a harsh way to live your life, but there was safety in that harshness, and that was what she needed—that safety. Because the rug had been pulled out from under her. All those things she’d defined her life by—gone now. One tug and she was flailing.

      But Ben had flailed, hadn’t he? The scars on his neck accounted for some kind of flailing. So did the alcohol. He’d recovered, though, and that was what eluded her. How to recover. How to even start. Or where to start. Which was why she was keying in his name and connecting it to Argentina medical facilities.

      Her life was open now. She had no place to be and nothing to do until she figured out how to be someone else. A journey to start over—that was essentially what she was about. And Ben knew that journey. It was, in a word, dispassion. It’s where he lived, where he succeeded. It’s where she needed to live and succeed if she were to continue in medicine. Because if she couldn’t find that place in her own soul, what she loved would destroy her. So her choices were two: learn how to separate herself completely from her passion; or walk away from it altogether.

      That was why Ben fascinated her. He’d separated himself. She’d seen that the first morning he’d refused to sit across the table from her, then later sitting shoulder to shoulder on a ski lift with her in near silence. Yet he was a doctor. Owned a little hospital. It didn’t seem to jibe. Or maybe it did. Maybe Ben was the master of that separation she needed to find, and embrace.

      “I’m probably crazy, Ben,” she said to the screen as a series of links popped up, none of them leading her to her object of fascination. “But I don’t think we’re through. If I can find you…” she said to the next futile attempt. The one after that she cursed, and the one after that she merely grunted at. But the next attempt… maybe not so futile. “Are you my Ben Robinson?” she asked the figure who finally popped up on her screen. Handsome, not a particularly friendly smile on his face. Same eyes, only hidden behind glasses. Shorter hair, no three-day growth of beard covering his face.

      “Dr. Benjamin Robinson, owner and director of…” Shanna breathed a sigh of relief. No, she wasn’t crazy. She was simply looking for a way home and Ben was the map. So, with that in mind, Dr. Shanna Brooks booked a plane ticket, packed her bags and headed to Argentina.

      “Are you finally back in the swing of things?” Dr. Amanda Kenner asked her brother. “Or do you need some holiday recovery time?”

      “Another week or two in Tuscany would work. But if I can’t have that then, yes, I’m back in the swing of things.” He gestured for her to follow him through the central ward in the forty-patient-capacity hospital called Caridad. There were no epidemics now, thanks to Amanda’s husband, who’d solved a recent crisis with giardiasis. But there were still patients to be seen, and he was glad to be back on steady ground. This was where he belonged, and as much as he’d loved Tuscany, waiting another half decade for his next holiday would suit him fine. Getting away was good, but this is where he belonged.

      Although… his thoughts drifted back to Shanna. Thoughts filled with regrets and missed opportunities. He was a normal man in those things, had desires, hopes and dreams. But he also had his reality, the one that told him who he was every time he looked into a mirror. And that was the fact of his life that never changed.

      “You couldn’t stand being away any longer,” Amanda teased. “In fact, I’m surprised you stayed as long as you did.”

      “It was a nice place. Good food, the best skiing I’ve ever done. And Signora Palmadessa ran an outstanding little inn. But it was a holiday, and we can’t spend our lives on holiday, can we?”

      “Am I hearing some sadness in your voice?” Amanda asked.

      He shook his head. “Exhaustion. It was a long trip home.” Emotionally and physically.

      Before they walked through the doors of the ward, Amanda stopped in front of her brother and studied his face for a moment. “You met someone there, didn’t you?”

      He nodded. “Not like you think, though.”

      “But you fell in love with her. You had a holiday fling and fell in love.”

      “No fling, no falling in love. She was just a nice way to pass some pleasant hours. Someone to take the stigma off eating alone. No big deal, really.”

      “Then why the wistful sigh?”

      “Not wistful. Agitated. I have patients to see and you’re standing in my way.”

      “I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Ben. Whatever it was between you, whoever she was, I’m sorry it didn’t work out, because I was truly hoping you’d meet a beautiful Tuscan woman who’d steal your heart at first sight, then you’d have some kind of wild adventure with her. Maybe even get married and send me an email telling me you were staying there to have a full life and lots of babies.”

      She backed away from Ben and brushed tears from her eyes. “Anything that makes you happy… that’s all I want. All I’ve ever wanted for you.”

      “I know and I appreciate it. But I’m reconciled to what I have, what I am, Amanda,” he said gently. “It’s taken me a lot of years to come to terms with it, but it’s a decent choice, all things considered. So now it’s your turn to comes to terms with it. Okay?” Being alone had been his choice since he’d been fifteen. More strongly confirmed at age twenty-two with a fiancée, Nancy Collier, who’d gasped, but not in ecstasy, the first time they’d made love. Or attempted to.

      The look on her face then the apologies and the discomfort… no man wanted to face that. But what he’d faced that day, even more than Nancy’s repulsion over his physical scars, had been the fact that this was the way it was always going to be. One look at the monster, and people turned away. And that was what unleashed the real monster.

      Now it was easier to not let them look.

      “No, it’s not okay. Your choice is too hard, Ben. You’re too hard on yourself, and it worries me, because if someone wonderful did come along…”

      Someone wonderful, like Shanna… “It is what it is. My life is good, I’m not alone.” Subconsciously, he brushed his fingers across the scars on his neck. “And you’re too sentimental right now. Pregnancy hormones running amuck with your emotions, or something like that. How’s my nephew, by the way?” he asked, fervently hoping to get off the circumstances