Miracle for the Neurosurgeon Page 16

  She broke free from her hold and rushed to him, then melted into his arms and folded herself onto his lap. “I love you more than you can ever understand, because I’ve never stopped loving you since the first day I met you. There’s no changing a young girl’s heart.” She kissed him, getting his cheeks as wet as hers. “I love your stubbornness and your pride and even your arrogance. I love your resilience and intelligence, but most of all I love you being a big enough man to admit you didn’t know how to love.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed tight. “I’m so happy to be the one to teach you, because you helped me, too, to love like I never believed I could. We ventured into that wilderness together with our crazy bargain, and, man, what a shocker. I love you, not because you’re the best lover I’ve ever had but because you’re the best man I’ve ever met. Sitting or standing. You’re the one, and I don’t ever plan to stop loving you, because I never have yet, and you’ve given me plenty of good reasons.”

  They laughed together, him being self-deprecating, further proof he was a changed man. Then they kissed again, this one not full of fire but more like a solemn vow, a sweet promise of all the great things to come.

  Wes’s fingers stroked her cheek. “You said I could still have it all, and I want it all, but only with you…and our baby.” He tenderly planted his hand on her stomach. “Let’s prove it, Harris. Marry me.”

  How could she not take him up on his dare? “I’d love to.”

  His confident smile soon turned cocky. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  She lifted a brow, then slipped off his lap and took him home.

  EPILOGUE

  Eighteen months later…

  “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!”

  Henry Van Allen was the spitting image of his father, with dark hair and shining eyes, and at ten months he was determined to prove he could walk. He tottered, breaking away from the coffee table in the waiting room, and took four drunken steps toward Wes in his wheelchair. Then stopped.

  Mary clapped her hands, egging him on. “Come on, come to Momma.” She bent forward and held out her hands while walking backward. Henry stood still, as though considering his options, then went for it and made a dozen more steps in quick order across the doctor’s waiting-room carpet before landing on his diaper-padded bottom. He pouted and cried, and Mary rushed to pick him up.

  “Do you know how proud I am of you? You can walk! Such a big boy.” She hugged him then put him on his father’s lap.

  “Trying to show up your old man already, huh?” He proudly squeezed the boy, who always ate up any and all attention from his dad.

  A physical therapist appeared at the door and invited them all in to the therapy room. “Are you ready, Dr. Van Allen?”

  “As ready as I’m ever going to be.”

  “Have a seat right there.”

  A regular chair awaited him, but on the chair was something that looked like a jet pack, and extending down, connected to the back apparatus, were serious-looking leg braces. They called it an exoskeleton and it had cost as much as a new sports car, but with Wes, money was not the object, walking was.

  Once he transferred from his wheelchair to the other chair, the PT assistant helped him slip the straps over his shoulders. He snapped them tight at his sternum. She moved down to his thighs and then around his knees to two other sets of braces and fasteners. Once secured, she handed him two long rubber-tipped canes with braces for his elbows and hands, the hand sections with sensors.

  The PT held a small box of controls in her hands. “Once you get the hang of walking again, you’ll be able to control your steps all by yourself.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Mary had never seen her husband look more determined in her life. She snuggled a squirmy Henry and held her breath as Wes prepared to take one small step for himself, but a huge step for his future.

  The PT stayed close behind him and fiddled with the control panel and, to her amazement, Mary saw her husband stand. Soon he was taking natural-looking steps, with his knees bending and heels touching the floor in a perfectly normal gait.

  Henry squirmed to get down so he could go to his father. Mary held his pudgy hands to keep him from falling.

  “Once you’re more familiar with the technology, you’ll be able to control your walking using the sensors in the canes.”

  Wes glanced up at Mary with an amazed expression. “Can you believe it? I’m walking!”

  “Daddy’s walking!” She watched excitedly as Henry tagged alongside him. “You and Henry have a lot in common.”

  He laughed good-naturedly, as that sweetest part of his personality had grown exponentially since they’d married and he’d become a father. “I think Henry might already be doing a better job of walking than me, though.” He truly had become a new man, starting first from the inside out, and now, with his standing and walking the length of the PT room right before her eyes with the help of the robotic skeleton, proved it.

  “You’re doing great, Dr. Van Allen. How about once more around the room then we’ll let you try it out all by yourself.”

  Wesley looked at his wife, walking beside him with their wavy-haired, chubby and sturdy boy, and had never felt prouder in his life. He and Mary were eye to eye for a change—without being vertical on a bed. Actually, he was a good foot taller than her now that he was standing. He’d spent the last couple of years looking up at people’s chins and nostrils and, to be honest, he’d gotten sick of the view. But not tired of looking at Mary, he’d never get tired of looking at Mary. Or Henry.

  A couple of months ago he’d found an online video of a lady taking her first steps after being paraplegic for over twenty years. With Mary’s eager blessing, he’d soon been measured for his very own exoskeleton. Now here he was, showing off for his kid, who had taken a break and sat down, now playing pat-a-cake and gurgling as he watched his dad take his first steps around the room.

  Once Mary had told him she was pregnant, and she’d wrapped up her contract in Astoria, he’d convinced her to come back to Malibu and marry him immediately.

  Within the month they’d had a small wedding in his living room for family and a few friends, with the Pacific Ocean as a backdrop at sunset. He’d never forget for as long as he lived how beautiful she’d looked in a simple white Grecian-styled satin gown, her shining hair flowing free over her shoulders, with a delicate wreath of baby’s breath flowers around her head and holding white roses. He’d hardly been able to believe she would be his from that day forward.

  Wearing a white tux and sitting in his special standing wheelchair, he’d flipped a switch and, thanks to a smooth hydraulic system, he’d literally risen to the occasion to take their wedding vows upright. Eye to eye.

  He wouldn’t have believed their lovemaking could have gotten any better after saying I do, but that night, making love as man and wife, he’d been overcome with emotion, fully understanding the precious gift he’d been given in the form of Mary Harris. Wondering why it had taken him twenty years to figure it out, but finally understanding how transformative love could be. All he could say was that he was one lucky guy.

  And their life together had only looked up. Within a few short months he’d happily picked up his full career as a neurosurgeon, and he was back to his prior booming practice. Surgery and all. Meanwhile, Mary had quickly found a part-time job nearby, which had also given her plenty of time to plan, paint and decorate the nursery. And soon, as the good book his grandmother used to read to him at Christmas said, she was great with child.

  In fact, she’d looked fantastic pregnant. In her case, she’d truly glowed and beamed with life. He’d taken all the birthing classes with her and had been at her side through a long and grueling labor. When she’d become exhausted and about to give up, their boy had finally popped out his head, already crying before the rest of his body had even been born. And if marriage wasn’t adventure enough, parenting had been the toughest yet most rewarding thing he could ever imagine
. The kid was theirs! Plus he loved the fact his genes were clearly dominant in the boy.

  His son, so far, only knew him as being in a wheelchair, yet today he’d stood and walked. He might look like an astronaut on the moon with the computer-directed steps, but it was a start. He believed in scientific innovation and had read a few successful studies using functional electrical stimulation to restore muscle movements. These were all temporary fixes, but he believed in the power of neuroscience and robotics and figured it was only a matter of time before they’d be able to implant a tiny computer with sensor-stimulators along the injured sections of the spine.

  Until then, his job was to keep himself in good shape. With a wife like Mary, he had no doubt he’d be in top-notch condition for the rest of his life.

  For now, though, he’d settle for this clunky walking suit.

  “Are you ready to try it on your own?”

  He looked at Mary and winked. “Hell, yeah, let’s get on with it. I want to dance with my wife on our second anniversary.”

  Wes grinned, full of bravado, then, showing off for his wife and kid, he used the hand sensors on the canes and took himself for a slow but steady stroll for the first time in nearly three years.

  And the best part of all was hearing his baby boy say, “Yay. Dada. Yay.”

  *

  If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Lynne Marshall

  WEDDING DATE WITH THE ARMY DOC

  HIS PREGNANT SLEEPING BEAUTY

  A MOTHER FOR HIS ADOPTED SON

  FATHER FOR HER NEWBORN BABY

  HOT-SHOT DOC, SECRET DAD

  All available now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from ENGLISH ROSE FOR THE SICILIAN DOC by Annie Claydon.

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  English Rose for the Sicilian Doc

  by Annie Claydon

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE BUILDING SHONE white in the sunshine, a line of tall palm trees announcing that this was a place of some importance. Rose Palmer gripped her son’s hand, walking through the wide entrance doors and into a spacious reception area, refreshingly cool after the heat of the afternoon.

  A building like this showed intent. Any archaeologist would tell you that buildings gave an insight into what a community thought was important, and Rose was no exception. The high ceilings and clean lines were a clear statement that the work that went on here was both vital and serious.

  She hung on tight to William’s hand, for fear of losing him in amongst the melee of people who criss-crossed the space. She couldn’t see a reception desk, and she supposed the best thing to do was to ask someone. Easier said than done. Everyone seemed too intent on getting wherever they were going to stop and give directions.

  ‘Scusi…’ A woman in a white top that bore the insignia of the hospital stopped, and smilingly asked her something in Italian. Hopefully she wasn’t in need of directions too.

  ‘Inglese.’ Rose proffered the piece of paper that her friend Elena had given her, with details of William’s appointment, written in Italian.

  ‘Ah. Sì…’ The woman scanned the paper and shot a brilliant smile at William. Rose was getting used to the way that Sicilians always reserved their brightest smiles for young children, and so was her son. William reached up, and the woman took his small hand in hers.

  ‘Terzo piano…’ The woman gestured towards the lift and then thought better of it. Taking a pen from her pocket, she walked over to a water dispenser, leaning on the side of it to draw on the paper, smiling at William as she did so. Then she proffered the hand-drawn map, holding up her thumb and two fingers and pointing to the lift to indicate that Rose should go to the third floor.

  Third floor, turn right and then the second on the left. She got it. Rose nodded and smiled and thanked the woman falteringly in Italian. William waved goodbye, and the woman responded cheerily, watching her all the way to the lift.

  Upstairs, the corridors were less grand and more utilitarian. Rose followed her map, and found herself in a small, comfortable waiting room. A receptionist scanned her written directions and waved her towards the rows of chairs, before picking up her phone.

  Rose made her way to the far corner, and sat down. She would rather have flown back to England to do this, but Elena and her husband would have none of it. All of the visiting archaeologists working at the dig were covered by private health insurance and this hospital was one of the best in the world. They would make the appointment for her and request a translator, and William would be in good hands. She was a guest on the island and anything less would be considered as a lapse in hospitality.

  And the one thing that Rose had learned very quickly was that you faulted Sicilian hospitality at your peril. So she’d accepted the offer and driven here, privately deciding that if the language barrier turned out to be more than she or William could cope with, she’d find an excuse to be on the first plane back home for a couple of days.

  Someone laughed, and Rose looked up to see a man chatting with the receptionist. Her face was animated, smiling up at him in the way that women did when someone they liked also happened to be breath-catchingly handsome.

  And even by the rigorous standards of the island this man was handsome. Straight, dark hair, grazing his collar. Smooth olive skin, high cheekbones and lips that were meant to smile. Rose couldn’t see his eyes, but she imagined them chocolate brown.

  Only a man so immaculate could have got away with that jacket. Dark cream, obviously linen—on anyone less perfect it would have looked rumpled. But on him it seemed as if every crease had been carefully chosen and styled, to make the most of his broad shoulders and the slim lines of his hips.

  Suddenly he turned, looking straight at her. His eyes were brown. Dark, seventy per cent cocoa, with a hint of bite. Rose dropped her gaze, embarrassed to be caught staring.

  ‘Mrs Palmer?’ He’d walked over and dropped into a chair opposite her. His voice was like chocolate, too.

  ‘Ms Palmer.’ It was a convenient halfway house for a single woman with a child. ‘Um… Parla Inglese?’

  He grinned and Rose felt her ears start to burn. ‘Yes, I speak English. I’m Matteo Di Salvo, and I’m here to translate for Dr Garfagnini. He’s the paediatric specialist who’ll be seeing William today.’

  Perfect. His English was clear and almost unaccented, although the slight difference in tempo made it sound seductive. Or perhaps that was just the way he spoke. Seductive just about summed him up.

  Rose took a breath, trying to concentrate on the practicalities. ‘Thank you. You’re the interpreter here?’

  ‘No, I’m a doctor. Our interpreter is busy with some En
glish tourists in the emergency department…’ He gave a shrug, which indicated that the matter shouldn’t be given a second thought. ‘Dr Garfagnini is running a few minutes late, and I wondered if I might take the opportunity to get to know William a little.’

  Handsome and kind. And he spoke English. This man was a bit too good to be true.

  ‘Thank you so much, Dr Di Salvo. I appreciate it.’ Rose remembered that a handshake was usual in these circumstances and held out her hand.

  ‘Matteo, please…’ The caress of his fingers was just as alluring as the rest of him.

  ‘Rose.’ She snatched her hand from his, feeling her cheeks burn, and curled her arm around her son.

  ‘Ciao.’ William had learned a few words of Italian in the last three weeks, and had also learned that they were usually greeted with approval. Matteo was no exception to the rule.

  ‘Ciao, William.’ He held out his hand, and William took it, staring up at him. ‘Your Italian is very good. Molto bene.’

  ‘Molto bene…’ William parroted the words and then decided to return the compliment. ‘Your English is very good.’

  Rose quirked her lips, ready to apologise for William, but it seemed it wasn’t necessary. Matteo smiled and nodded.

  ‘Thank you. I used to live in London.’

  ‘I live in London!’ William crowed with delight.

  ‘Do you? What football team do you support?’

  ‘Tufnell Park Cheetahs. They’re the best.’

  No one had heard of the Tufnell Park Cheetahs other than the handful of supporters who turned up on a Sunday morning to watch them play in the local park, but all the same Matteo nodded as if he approved wholeheartedly of the choice.

  ‘And how old are you?’ It was impossible to tell whether Matteo’s questions were just to pass the time, or whether he was testing her son in some way. Rose suspected it was a bit of both.

  William counted on his fingers. ‘Uno, due, tre…four. And four days.’