Return of the Rebel Surgeon

Isabella had the strongest urge to tell the nurse that Cole was more than just another pretty face. Instead, she clamped down on her own confused feelings, a mixture of relief and disappointment.

The relief came from avoiding a confrontation. No matter how direct she learned to be, she still didn’t like confrontation.

The disappointment, she told herself, was because Cole’s departure left unfinished business between them. He didn’t owe her a goodbye, although he certainly owed Adrian that and a lot more.

“Thanks for letting me know.” Did that mean he’d left without saying goodbye to his son?

Isabella tried to suppress the thought that kept popping up over and over again. Somehow, by some weird twist of fate, could it be possible Cole didn’t know Adrian was his son?

As she headed back to her volunteer post, she shrugged away that crazy notion, just like she’d shrugged it away a thousand times in the last few days.

How many messages had she left on his voicemail all those years ago? For days and weeks she’d called, trying to reach him over and over again at all hours, hoping he’d pick up the phone so she could say what she needed to say in person. She’d written to him every day until a week before the wedding, hoping the deluge of mail would break through the barrier David’s mother had built between them.

She’d thought that if she could only make him listen, she could explain that the engagement announcement to David had been none of her doing. That she had no intention of marrying anyone but him. That she carried his child.

But the letter she sent, the one she’d poured her heart into that he’d returned in pieces, had said it all.

Anger at Cole, confusion about what to do next and relief that Cole was gone and life would eventually get back to normal warred within her, making her stomach roil.

Isabella evaluated. The only action she had to take was to tell her son his father had returned to New York.

It was a discussion she dreaded more than any other conversation she’d had in her life.

Cole walked into the doctors’ lounge, soaking in the atmosphere he thrived on. The E.R. doctor snored on the couch in front of a muted television. Two other doctors consulted quietly at a side table over cups of coffee.

Successful surgeries always sent Cole Lassiter’s spirits on a soaring high.

Still, it didn’t replace the lift Cole had gotten used to for the last few days whenever he’d seen that sweet, shy smile of Bella’s son. How could a kid worm his way into his heart so fast? Was it a pseudo-affection for what might have been?

That boy should have been his.

“Glad to have you on board, Dr. Lassiter.” One of the radiologists greeted him. Cole recognized him as a radiologist contracted with the sports clinic.

“Thanks.” He held out his hand to shake. “Call me Cole.”

He wanted to explain that he wasn’t staying. He had applied for and received hospital privileges as a matter of course since that was where the sports clinic mainly practiced. But negotiations were too tenuous.

That was the excuse he gave his office administrator when he told her he needed to stay over the weekend. That was the excuse he gave himself in the light of day.

But last night, as he’d lain in his bed, he had dreamed of Bella and woken up heavily sad when he’d realized it had only been a dream.

He needed closure and he now had a few extra days in New Orleans to find it.

He sent silent thanks to his excellent office manager, who was shuffling schedules so he could steal this time for himself, a rarity in his hectic calendar.

Walking over to the kitchenette, Cole spread out his lunch of oyster po’boy sandwich and sweet iced tea, a New Orleans specialty.

“Mind if I share this table?” the radiologist asked.

“Not at all. I would enjoy the company.” And the distraction. Normally, after a complex surgery like the one he had just finished, all he could think about was the details of the procedure and the next step to recovery.

Today, he thought about her.

Cole picked up his sandwich and took a bite, letting the flavors roll around on his tongue. Yes, it was as good as he remembered—proof that New Orleans wasn’t all bad for him. He hoped this good feeling carried over into his partnership talks.

After that morning’s surgery, he was more convinced than ever that merging his institute with the sports clinic was the right thing to do—even if the practice had originally been built by Dr. Allante.

Who would have ever thought he wanted a relationship with anything that had to do with an Allante?

What role had Bella’s father played in their break-up? Once he had gotten over the immediate pain, he had been grateful to David’s mother for sending him that engagement notice. Just when had Bella intended to tell him about David? Would Bella have continued to play him the whole time she’d been planning her nuptials with the Beautemps heir?

Thinking of Bella made his stomach churn. Even the delicious sandwich lost its appeal.

“Filling, isn’t it?” the radiologist asked as he took his last bite.

Cole stared at the half-eaten meal before him. “Yes, it’s certainly a full plate. Much more than I want.”

What an analogy for all the emotional trauma seeing Bella was causing him. All the stirring up of old hurt was much more than he wanted, much more than he had expected.

“So how did a New Orleans boy end up going to college in New York? We’ve got so many great medical schools here.”

“I got a scholarship.” But he’d had local scholarships, too. “I wanted to get away.”

He’d never been further north than the Louisiana state line. Going to the big city of New York had seemed like a grand adventure. He had taken it for granted that Bella would wait for him.

The engagement announcement had come at the worst possible time. He’d been having a tough time adjusting to the rapid pace of New York after the slower pace of New Orleans. The accelerated undergraduate program he had thrown himself into required keen focus to stay caught up, let alone to excel.

“I’d like to see New York, but the wife always wants to go the beach on our vacations.”

“Hmm.” Cole gave a noncommittal grunt.

The radiologist took the hint and ate the rest of his meal in silence.

Cole turned his attention back to his meal but couldn’t turn his thoughts away from Bella.

Bella had always seemed content to Cole. That was one of the qualities he’d liked best about her, always willing to go along with whatever he’d wanted to do. But, then, he hadn’t been that special after all. She had gone along with whatever anyone had wanted her to do.

He had been at school a few short weeks when he’d received the newspaper clipping with Bella’s beautiful smile in black and white along with the announcement of her marriage to David. The notice had included details of both their pedigrees and social standings, and it had been the only answer Cole had needed as to why she had chosen David over him.

The thick French bread of his sandwich sat too heavily in his stomach and the highly seasoned Cajun fries tasted flat and cold.

He’d made the official break-up as quick and painless as possible, a fast call that had gone directly to her voicemail—the fact that he hadn’t had to speak to her in person had been his only break. That should have been the end of it.

But then she had started in. Call after call. Letter after letter. How many times had she called him? Hundreds?

They had all finally stopped after he’d written his own letter, making it perfectly clear there could be nothing between them anymore.

He took a sip of his sweet tea, trying to rinse the bitterness from his attitude.

He had deliberately got drunk on Bella’s wedding day—for the first and only time in his life. For his own sanity as much as for the sake of his grades, he’d exerted great willpower and erased each call, destroyed each letter, before reliving the betrayal over and over again.

Instead, he’d thrown himself into his studies, the one thing he could always count on in his life to distract him from his grief.

Cole gathered up the remains of his meal and threw it in the trash.

Nothing about Bella should matter to him. How could he make himself stop wanting her? Why, after fifteen years, was he still asking himself that question? It was about time he found an answer.

Cole stretched, trying to stop the dull throbbing in his left shoulder that traveled down his arm to his fingertips—the results of tensing during surgery.

“Long surgeries will cramp you up, won’t they?”

“Yes, they will. Occupational hazard.” Only the surgery hadn’t taken that long, a mere hour and a half compared to the five and six hours of reconstructive surgery Cole was used to performing. And he’d been a consultant while Dr. Wong had done most of the work.

He flexed his numb fingers.

Strained shoulder muscles took a while to right themselves. He’d give it a few more weeks before he had it checked out. Of course, that was what he’d told himself a few weeks ago. Maybe he should schedule a therapeutic massage soon.

Some pain-management specialists studied massage, didn’t they? He reined in that runaway thought. It didn’t really matter what Bella had studied, did it?

The natural high Cole felt after that morning’s successful surgery was starting to fade, replaced by a need he wanted to deny.

Bella.

After only a few short days he had become addicted to that jolt of energy the sight of her gave him.

Neither of them fit with his old memories of a more pubescent, hormonal time. She had changed even more than he had. Why did it matter to him? How could he make it stop mattering?

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER a long, leisurely swim and a nice parboil in the whirlpool, Cole checked his messages before making rounds.

His office manager had made sure his tuxedo was delivered to his hotel room for that night’s special games reception.

He could tell himself he was staying to firm up the partnership, but in reality today’s observance of Dr. Wong in surgery had put all his fears to rest. The lawyers could now go forward without further input from him.

Bella. His own personal temptress. But he was no longer that insecure boy hiding behind bravado. That was what he had to prove to himself. That was why he’d changed his plans. That was why he’d stayed.

He donned his best bedside manner and pushed open the door.

Without a greeting, his patient, Heath Braden, confronted him. “Tell me the truth, Doc. What are my chances of regaining full use of my hand?”

Heath no longer had the grip of a fireman.

Cole made himself look into Heath’s eyes. “Slim. You will be able to do tasks that don’t require as much strength or dexterity as you’ve had in the past, but passing the assessment tests to get back to active duty may not be possible.”

Cole inwardly winced at the fear crossing the young man’s face. He’d seen it time after time—would his loved ones still love him if he wasn’t the man he used to be? Sadly, too often the answer was no, but Heath wasn’t a highly paid athlete with a high-maintenance spouse.

Heath’s wife leaned down to kiss her husband’s forehead. “I don’t love you for your hand. I love you for your heart.”

The emotion between the two made Cole feel superfluous.

He excused himself and headed to the nurses’ station.

Heath’s nurse gave him a rundown of the report. “Mr. Braden’s condition could be easier on him but he doesn’t want to take his pain meds, Dr. Lassiter. He says he doesn’t want his son to see him all drugged up. He wants to be able to focus enough to enjoy his son’s visits.”

Cole understood completely. “The pain meds are for his comfort. Taking them won’t affect the surgery or his recovery as long as he keeps taking the anti-inflammatories. But he will be in quite a bit of pain when he starts his physical therapy rehab. Do we have anyone who could do pain-management counseling with him?”

The nurse nodded. “We have a great therapist on staff who works wonders with biofeedback and hypnotherapy. Her schedule is always booked with a waiting list, though.”

Having enough personnel to go around was always an issue, especially in a teaching-charity hospital like this one.

“Surely she could be convinced to add one more patient to her list. Give me her name and number and I’ll have my staff set up an appointment for Mr. Braden.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re open to cognitive behavior therapy, Dr. Lassiter,” the nurse said as she scrolled through the contact list. “Not everyone is willing to give CBT a chance. But we’ve seen great results as long as the patient trusts and believes in the therapy.”

“I’m open to whatever works.”

The nurse handed him Bella’s contact information on a slip of paper. If Cole had been a fanciful man, he might believe fate was playing tricks on him to throw Bella his way. But it all added up. The hospital sponsored the games and Bella had volunteered, just as he had, to be part of that sponsorship.

Of course, with Adrian, she had a vested interest in the special games. So it was rational, almost inevitable, they would end up in the same medical circles.

The odds of their ending up in the same circle all those years ago had been much higher. And he’d been on the outside perimeter while Bella had been at the center of it all.

He made a quick call to his office manager, giving her Bella’s contact information.

“Monday morning. Make it happen,” he instructed his office manager.

“Yes, Dr. Lassiter. I will.”

He surrounded himself with competent staff, so he could confidently put this problem out of his mind and focus on what was important. But, then, he’d been trying to put Bella Allante out of his mind for the last fifteen years and hadn’t succeeded yet.

As Cole tucked the note in his pocket and turned away, a sharp pain arced through his neck and down his arm. He could use some pain management himself. Could Bella help him work through his pain?

There had to be a high level of trust between a medical professional and a patient, especially with the kind of work Bella did. No, with what they had between them, Bella couldn’t help him. Not if he needed to trust her first.

Isabella’s hands ached from gripping the steering wheel of her sensible fourteen-year-old car too tightly. Consciously, she relaxed, head to toe. Stress would only eat up the little energy she had left after such a long week.

Pulling into the hotel’s parking lot, Isabella pasted on her social smile and summoned up her last smidgeon of energy, hoping it would be enough to get her through the special games recognition and fundraising event.

If she could find reserves for just a few more hours, she could go home and collapse for the rest of the evening. She might even be tired enough to sleep through her worries about Cole and the paternity discussion they needed to have. Or did they, since he had now gone back to New York, where he belonged?

Starting now, she would forget about this week and go back to providing a safe and predictable world for her son. If life was too predictable for her at times, that was one of the sacrifices of motherhood she willingly accepted for her son’s well-being.

When she’d left Adrian in David’s care, he had been fingering his scarf while hugging the framed photo of Cole that usually sat on his bedside nightstand, all the while keeping a steady pace in the gliding rocker next to her bed. His favorite video played so quietly on the television she could barely hear it. His plastic doctor action figure lay next to the television control within easy reach.

She’d been worried about overstimulation from the active weekend so different from their normal routine. And that had just been from participating in the local games. With Cole on the scene, she would have expected Adrian’s reactions to be all over the board.

Instead, Adrian was taking the appearance of his father in his stride while she was struggling to contain her own anxieties.

Take a step back, Bella, she told herself.

She might be borrowing trouble. Cole might have made his once-in-a-lifetime appearance and now be gone for ever and her life could get back to the way she’d organized it.

Illogically, on top of the anger, confusion and relief, that idea made her very sad.

She had explained Cole’s absence to Adrian by telling him Daddy had to work. It was the total truth, and Adrian had understood. Tomorrow, when both she and Adrian were better rested, she would break the news that Cole had gone back to New York.

She wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow.

As she had so often since Adrian’s birth, she vowed to live one moment at a time and let the future work itself out—but it was such a hard thing to do for a planner like her.

Tonight Isabella’s job was to work the room, making a subtle plea for donations of time and money to support their local special games, a program her family had always championed before they’d ever had an athlete of their own participating. She recognized most of the faces in the crowd from her inner circle—or what had been her inner circle—as well as from the volunteers who gave so much of their time to make this program work.

Normally she could call up her inner sparkle and zest on demand, but Cole had knocked her off her game.

She smoothed the vintage wool skirt she’d inherited from her mother’s collection of expensive and well-preserved clothing and wished she hadn’t gone with an upswept French twist. Her bare neck made her feel exposed and vulnerable.

From the podium, the local chairperson was giving his standard speech, against a backdrop of happy athletes on a screen behind him. “Three and a half million athletes will train and participate in local games like ours on a state, national and global level. None of this is possible without dedicated volunteers and generous donors.”

While there was no more Allante money to give, Isabella did what she could. One thing she’d been taught from birth had been the social graces that made working a room one of her greatest talents. She just needed to put Cole from her mind, pull herself together and get on with it.

She looked for those not with partners. Group mentality being what it was, a single mixing into a circle of couples took more charm than she had energy to give at the moment.

Being single usually didn’t bother her—or rather she’d been able to bury all her disappointments and regrets. How could she look at her beautiful son and wish her life had been different?

But there were times like tonight, being single in a world of couples, when she felt incredibly, soul-searingly lonely.

She often had to go days, maybe even a full week, without human touch. Although she advised others to make friends with affectionate people, friendships took an investment of time to nurture. If anyone were to accuse her of not being the best at taking her own advice, that person would be right.

Lately, she’d been incredibly busy with her practice. Any time and energy leftover had gone into helping to organize this weekend’s games and fundraiser. Then there had been all the mental work with Adrian so he could ready himself to step outside his routine comfort zone and participate in the games. She could only be stretched so thin.

Thus was the life of a single parent of an autistic child.

But, being a therapist, Isabella knew there was no such thing as a “normal” life. She glanced over at Darla with her practiced expressions of frivolity. One outwardly perfect husband with straight white teeth, a politician’s smile—and a mistress stashed in an apartment downtown that they all pretended didn’t exist.

Then there was Corrine, with her two beautiful, over-achieving daughters, one in rehab and the other fighting bulimia. Corrine, herself dangerously close to being addicted to pain meds, came into her office twice a month, trying to master drug-free ways to control her migraines.

In her private practice catering to the rich and powerful of New Orleans, Isabella knew many of these people’s secrets—

which only positioned her even more squarely on the outside, looking in. She was only able to discuss the most banal of topics lest she reveal confidential information. Always on guard, keeping secrets so that everyone appeared perfect on the outside.

But, then, she’d been trained for pretending to be perfect her whole life. Perfectly poised. Perfectly in control. Perfectly satisfied with her solitary life.

David’s mother had made sure she’d learned those lessons when she’d become Isabella’s mother figure after her own mother had died—except for the solitary life one, of course. The plan had been to marry Isabella to her son. It had been a good plan for a while.

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