Healing The Md's Heart. Nicole Foster

they’d all left her. Sometimes it had been a deliberate decision on their part; sometimes the fault could be assigned elsewhere, but the end result had been the same. “Things change, people go away.”

      Her dark eyes speaking her understanding, Nova said quietly, “Not always.”

      Maybe it worked for other people, but not for her. Lia had had hard lessons in loving and losing, ones she didn’t intend to repeat. “Don’t worry,” she told Nova. “I don’t plan on letting myself get involved beyond doing what I can for his son. That is my job.”

      “No, honey, that’s the problem,” Nova said. She tipped her wineglass toward Lia. “You don’t ever plan on getting involved but you do. And then it’s too late.”

       Not this time. It’s not too late because nothing has started. And I won’t let it.

      She kept that thought with her long after she left the restaurant and took it home and to bed with her, using it as a shield against any doubts that crept in, any whispered warnings that she’d already started something she couldn’t stop or turn back from, that it already was too late.

       Chapter Three

      The next morning, Lia edged open the door a few inches and looked into the still darkened hospital room, uncertain of her reception despite it being almost seven-thirty. Both still sleeping, neither son nor father knew she was there. She stood in the doorway for a moment simply watching them.

      That Duran was sleeping at all surprised her. She couldn’t imagine he was anything approaching comfortable. Awkwardly sitting at his son’s side, he was bent halfway across the bed, one arm crooked under his head for a makeshift pillow, the other stretched out over the blanket to cradle Noah’s small hand in his palm.

      His position suggested he couldn’t bear to be even a chair’s length from his son and an odd feeling, both warmth and chill, twisted in her chest. She could imagine the fear and uncertainty Duran lived with constantly; his desperation in trying to hold on to the little person who meant everything to him. It wasn’t with the same intensity, but she, also, understood only too well the fear of losing someone you loved. For Duran—alone save for Noah—that fear at times had to be overwhelming.

      Figuring Duran’s night had been too short, she hesitated stepping any further inside, torn between not wanting to disturb him and needing to check on Noah. Concern for Noah won out. Quietly as possible, she moved close to the bed and gently brushed her fingers to Noah’s cheek, pleased to find his skin cool and dry. The light touch made him wriggle and scrunch up his face as he blinked awake.

      “Dr. Kerrigan?”

      “That’s right,” Lia said barely above a whisper, giving him a reassuring smile. “I just came to check on you and Percy.” She patted the panda’s furry head. “Percy looks pretty good. How do you feel?”

      “Okay, I guess.” Noah thought for a moment, then added, “Hungry.”

      Lia laughed softly. “I think I can fix that. But I need to check your ears and take your temperature first. Then we’ll see about getting you and your dad some breakfast.”

      “Why is Dad still sleeping?” Noah asked, frowning as he looked at his father. “He never sleeps late.” Before Lia could intervene, he pushed at Duran’s arm. “Dad—Dad, Dr. Kerrigan is here.”

      Duran stirred and sat up, looking at once disoriented and impossibly sexy. His dark, sleep-mussed hair fell over his brow. He yawned, stretched and with no more than a quick glance Lia’s way, turned full attention to his son.

      “Hey, good morning,” he said, smiling as he smoothed Noah’s hair back from his forehead. “You look like you’re feeling a lot better.”

      “I woke up before you.”

      “I see that. Guess I was being lazy today.”

      Noah giggled at that and Lia couldn’t help but smile. She scarcely knew him, but what she had learned of Duran Forrester made for an attractive package: fiercely loving, responsible father, effortlessly sexy guy, a man not easily deterred once he’d chosen a course of action. And—and she needed to stop where this was going because it was so far off course from where her focus should be.

      As though he sensed her eyes on him, Duran looked up, giving her half a smile. “Sorry, I didn’t fall asleep until nearly six. You were right about the uncomfortable chair.”

      “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just needed to check on Noah.”

      Duran stood up, walking stiffly at first, taking a few paces around the room as Lia bent over Noah, satisfying herself that the antibiotics and fever reducers had done their job. Noah’s temperature was normal again and although it would be a few days before the infection cleared, his ears didn’t seem as painful for him as the night before.

      Finishing, she briefly squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Okay, I think we’ll let you and Percy out of here in a little bit—after breakfast,” she added at his hopeful look. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll see what I can rustle up.”

      “You don’t have to do that,” Duran started.

      “I promised,” Lia said, winking at Noah as she headed for the door.

      She returned fifteen minutes later, backing into the room, balancing the heavy tray.

      “Whatever that is it smells great,” Duran said, relieving her of her load.

      “Nothing too fancy, I’m afraid, but at least the coffee’s decent. And it’s a definite improvement over the oatmeal they’d be bringing you, Noah. Unless you like your oatmeal kinda gray and sticky?” Noah made a face and Lia laughed. “I didn’t think so. How about some eggs and bagels instead?”

      “I think you’ve just saved my life.” Duran, accepting a mug of coffee, breathed an appreciative sigh over the hot brew as Noah dug into his breakfast. “I can go without just about anything—”

      “—except decent coffee,” Lia chimed in and they finished the sentence in unison.

      “An addict after my own heart, I see.”

      “With the hours I keep, believe me, it’s survival.”

      Duran smiled, for the first time giving her a full, open gesture of appreciation, unrestrained by reluctance or circumstance. A subtle, insidious heat curled through her, and she cursed it, irritated at herself for being so susceptible to a simple smile that didn’t mean anything except his gratitude for a cup of coffee and her sparing his son overcooked oatmeal.

      “Thank you again,” he said, “for everything. You’ve made this whole ordeal a lot easier. Right, guy?” He glanced at Noah.

      Noah, in the process of stuffing a chunk of bagel in his mouth, nodded. “I hate hospitals,” he mumbled around the bread. “But you made it not so bad.”

      Whatever she could have said stuck in her throat and left her swallowing hard in blank silence. Looking at the trusting smile on Noah’s pale face and the dark hollows shadowing his father’s soulful eyes, she realized father and son had touched her in a way that would leave her marked, this time unable to maintain the detachment necessary to her job—to help them, then move on and forget.

      It made no sense. She’d had many patients with serious, even terminal illnesses, but she’d always been able to distance herself enough to remain emotionally protected. She couldn’t very well get deeply involved with the children she’d devoted her life to helping, to care too much, or she wouldn’t be able to function as a professional. She’d learned that lesson well enough over the years. Until Duran Forrester and his little boy showed up, she’d stuck by it religiously.

      Why were they different? Why did she feel this connection to them, this urgent need to do anything, everything to help? She had no answers.

      “You’re not having