A Very Special Need. Caroline Anderson

it before. It was more than simple sexual chemistry. It felt almost like—destiny?

      Lord, he was going nuts. Anyway, inevitably she was married to the probably undeserving Mr Wright. Hugh wondered if the lucky dog realised just how lucky he was. If not, he wondered if there was some other fortunate ingrate keeping this lovely woman warm at night.

      He felt a sharp, shocking twist of something which could only be jealousy. Good grief! What on earth was the matter with him?

      Anyway, he’d probably imagined his reaction and, even if not, it was almost certainly not reciprocated.

      He curled his fingers over his still-tingling palm and got back to the reason for her visit.

      ‘How old is your son, Mrs Wright?’

      ‘Thirteen—and it’s Miss. I’m a single parent.’

      He ruthlessly suppressed the urge to whoop with delight. ‘And has he had any back trouble before?’

      ‘Aches and pains—nothing the physio and I couldn’t keep under control.’

      ‘And what makes you think he needs to see an osteopath and not a physiotherapist this time?’ Hugh asked, curious about her motives.

      ‘Experience. I know him, and I know the limitations of physio. I also know about bad backs to an extent. There are times when nothing else works.’

      ‘And you think this is one of those times?’ Hugh pressed.

      ‘Yes, I do.’

      Even her voice was wonderful. Soft, well modulated, almost a caress. He forced himself to stop fantasising and engaging her in needless conversation, and got to the point.

      ‘It may take several treatments.’

      She swallowed. ‘I know.’

      He nodded. ‘OK,’ he murmured. ‘I’m sure we can stagger the payments if that will help you,’ he told her, and was rewarded by the bright glimmer of tears in her eyes before she dropped her head forwards.

      ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

      He stood up, angry with himself for dragging out her misery and making her justify herself just so he could hear her voice. ‘Have a word with my receptionist—I can probably fit him in at lunchtime today so he doesn’t have to wait over the weekend. I’m sorry, I’m going to have to press on, I’ve got a patient waiting. I’ll see you both later.’

      He watched her walk over to Christine, closed his eyes briefly to clear his mind of the sensual image burnt on his retinas and stuck his head round the waiting-room door. ‘Mrs Parker, would you come in, please?’

      Woody found even the wheelchair difficult. Sitting was nearly as bad as walking, and by the time they arrived at the lovely red-brick house he was tight-lipped with pain.

      He still managed a smile for her, though, as she wheeled him in. Lord, he was a gutsy kid. Judith looked away from him, her eyes bright with tears, and found herself face to face with the man whose image she had been unable to get out of her mind since this morning.

      ‘Hi,’ he said cheerfully, then hunkered down beside Woody. ‘You must be Edward. Pleased to meet you. I gather you’ve hurt your back?’

      Woody mumbled a response, and Judith watched as they shook hands, then Mr Barber looked up at her. ‘I wonder if you’d mind filling in a card with all Edward’s details while we go and have a chat and I have a quick look to see what he’s done to himself?’

      He gave her a card, a pen and a wink, and disappeared into his consulting room, pushing her son ahead of him in the wheelchair. She chewed her lip. Should she be in there with him?

      She’d been clearly dismissed. Oh, well, perhaps he’d have some joy getting the truth out of him without her hovering about being a fussy mother.

      She sat down with the card and obediently filled in all the information.

      ‘So, Edward, I gather you fell down some stairs, is that right, and now your back hurts?’

      The boy nodded slowly. He certainly had quite a bit of spasticity in his muscles, Hugh noted. His handshake had been slow and deliberate but strong, and Hugh knew the hardest part of the treatment would be getting the muscles to relax enough to allow him to work on the spine.

      Inevitably after thirteen years there would be some deformity and contracture problems. Just how bad and how insurmountable, he would have to establish. ‘I wonder if you could stand up and let me take a look at you?’ he murmured.

      Woody struggled out of the chair, wincing as his back twinged, and Hugh forced himself to stand back and observe. One shoulder was a little higher than the other, indicating a slight scoliosis—a sideways curve to his spine which would be more obvious, of course, without clothes—but basically his posture was better than Hugh had expected.

      ‘OK. If you could just slip off your clothes down to your pants I’ll go and see how your mother’s getting on. Do you want her to join us?’

      The boy shrugged, a slow, deliberate shrug, his face expressionless.

      ‘I think we can probably manage without her, don’t you? I’ll give her a cup of tea and we can get started.’

      He left the lad undressing and went to find Judith. She was sitting in the waiting room with her head bent forwards, resting on a book on her knee while she filled in the record card. Her bottom lip was caught between small, even white teeth in an endearing little gesture that tugged at something inside him. The sun caught her hair, gleaming off the red-gold lights in it, and he had to fight against the urge to pull the band off the back and tunnel his fingers through it, fanning it out over her shoulders and spreading it across the crisp white pillow—

      He yanked himself up short, shocked by the unruly direction of his thoughts, and cleared his throat. She looked up, straight into his eyes, and he had the sudden ghastly feeling that she could read his sordid mind. ‘Ah—how are you doing?’ he asked, conscious of the slow crawl of heat up the back of his neck.

      ‘All done,’ she replied, her voice soft and husky and unbelievably sexy. ‘I was just checking it.’

      ‘Good.’ He cleared his throat again and took the card from her outstretched hand, carefully avoiding touching her. ‘Look, I think your son might appreciate it if I treat him without you there?’ He phrased it almost as a question, to give her the chance to discuss it, but to his relief she nodded.

      ‘I rather thought you wanted to. Perhaps you’ll be able to find out what really happened.’

      ‘That’s what I was thinking,’ he told her honestly. Obviously he doesn’t want you to know the truth because he doesn’t want you hurt by it, and he knows you would be.’

      Her smile nearly blew a fuse in his mind. ‘I’m so glad you understand,’ she said fervently. ‘They’re so convoluted, kids.’

      He grinned at her. ‘I make an art form of understanding teenage boys—I’ve got one of my own. Look, I tell you what, you sit here and have a cup of tea while I get to grips with Edward. OK?’

      She looked astonished, her eyes wide and soft and grateful. ‘Um—fine. Thank you.’

      ‘How do you take your tea?’

      ‘White, no sugar.’

      ‘Right.’ He escaped, almost running down the hall to the kitchen. Christine was sitting on the sofa with her feet up, resting her hands on the smooth swell of her pregnancy.

      ‘Hi. Any tea in the pot for Miss Wright?’

      ‘Should be. Hugh, my back’s giving me hell—I don’t suppose you could have a go at it, could you? It’s been dodgy all day again.’

      He looked across at her. She seemed pinched, a bit tired. Hell. He really must find another receptionist so she could start her maternity leave—

      ‘I’ll