Six Sexy Doctors Part 2

Be strong, man. You’ve got to see this through, find out for sure what’s going on before involving Liz.

“Sorry, Liz, but I’ve got to go.” He hung up before she could say anything more.

But mostly before he could say anything more.

The next morning Adam sat in a Jackson Neurology Clinic exam room, staring at a framed Norman Rockwell print that hung on the wall opposite him.

Too bad real life wasn’t as idyllic as Norman Rockwell presented it.

When the neurologist walked into the room, Adam knew by the expression Dr Winters wore that the test results hadn’t been good.

By now he should be used to that expression. Hadn’t every bit of news he’d gotten thus far been bad?

The neurologist pulled up his stool, glanced down at the piece of paper containing words that would forever change Adam’s life, and then glanced up. “There’s no good way to put this and we pretty much already knew what the conclusions of the tests were going to be, so I’m going to be blunt. You have MS.”

Adam’s ears roared. His blood boiled. His skin crawled. He gritted his teeth. He clenched his tingling fingers. Still his body threatened to explode from the impact of those words.

He had MS.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. The analysis of the cerebral spinal fluid shows protein, cells, and increased antibody production. Antibodies containing oglioclonal bands. Unfortunately, that in combination with the demyelization revealed on the MRI are conclusive even if the evoked potential testing hadn’t been positive.”

There was that damned expression again.

“But they were positive, too, weren’t they?” Because all his tests pointed in one direction. A direction he didn’t want to go, but had no choice but to take.

He had MS.

The specialist nodded. “I’m sorry.”

All night he’d lain in bed preparing himself for this, preparing to hear that his body was attacking itself. Yet he shook. Any moment he expected the earth to open, for lightning to strike, for a tornado to rip him from the ground. Because any of those things were possible and expected in this horrible nightmare.

This had to be a nightmare.

God, he hoped it was only a nightmare.

He couldn’t have a debilitating disease. Not him. Not when he had so much to live for. So much he wanted to do with and give to Liz.

MS.

He shuddered. His stomach churned. His heart sank.

Fate couldn’t be this cruel.

Could it?

He closed his eyes and forced himself together. Forced his emotions under control. Well, not control, but the closest he could manage. He doubted he’d ever feel in control of his body, his life, again.

Steeling himself for the worst, he met the specialist’s gaze. “What does this mean, exactly? What should I expect?”

Did he even want to know? With the way things had gone thus far, perhaps he shouldn’t ask. Perhaps ignorance was bliss. Before seeing Larry, he’d known something was wrong but hadn’t felt this heavy sense of impending doom.

“Since this is your first known exacerbation, it’s difficult to say. As you probably already know, symptoms vary from individual to individual just as the course of the disease varies. It’s possible this exacerbation could go away tomorrow and you won’t have another episode for decades.” Dr Winters shrugged. “Maybe never.”

“It’s also possible that this is only the tip of the iceberg, that what I’m experiencing is mild and will get much worse before going into remission—if I go into remission at all.”

“That’s true. There’s no way of knowing the course of your individual disease, or how progressive your case will be,” Dr Winters agreed. “Generally there are considered to be four classifications of MS, each a different level of progression of the disease.”

“There’s no way to know which type I have, is there? No test or study that can be done to determine which one?”

“With time we’ll know, but as far as a test I can run…” the doctor shook his head “…there’s not. The best we can hope for is that this will be your only exacerbation and that you’ve already experienced the worst of your symptoms.”

“But that’s not what you expect?”

Dr Winters frowned. “You know I can’t predict the future. Anything I said would only be a guess.”

“I could lose control of my body functions, go paralyzed, even die from this.”

“That type of progression is rare, Adam. The majority of MS cases fall into the category where the person only has a few exacerbations throughout his or her lifetime.” Dr Winters gave a stern look. “You can’t go into this thinking the worst. You have to fight, keep a positive outlook.”

But no matter how Adam tried to focus on the positive, on the fact that this might go away, the stark reality wouldn’t let up.

“I could end up in a wheelchair. Crippled.” He winced. “Bedridden.”

Just like Gramps.

The thought of Liz putting her life on hold to wait on him hand and foot while he lay in a hospital bed caused bile to rise up his throat.

“What about my job? My career? I’m a surgeon with MS.” He laughed with ill humor.

He felt like he’d made an admission much as an alcoholic would at an AA meeting. Hi, my name is Dr Adam Cline, and I’m a surgeon with MS. Only with alcoholism a person could fight. How did one fight one’s own haywire immune system?

“Am I medically clear to perform surgeries? To pilot my plane?”

“For now,” the neurologist said. “As long as you’re physically and mentally capable. However, you should check with your airport on any regulatory guidelines that would restrict you from flying. But if your symptoms worsen, I’d have no choice but to put you on medical leave.”

Adam liked his life. He had a great job, a hobby he loved, financial freedom, and Liz. Now all the best parts were slipping through his fingers like loose grains of sand. He wanted to grasp each bit, hold it all in place, but doing so was futile.

“Adam?” Dr Winters touched his forearm. “I’m concerned about you. You’re not suicidal?”

His life might be over in many ways, but he wasn’t a murderer and in his eyes suicide was a form of murder. He laughed with a bitterness he wasn’t sure had ever come from his lips before. “Suicidal? No, I’m not suicidal.”

Although he’d rather die than burden Liz with taking care of him for years on end.

“You know…” Dr Winters studied him “…there are lots of people who have MS who live fairly normal lives.”

Adam nodded. There were, but he had to face facts. His life would never be the same. He had MS and no way of knowing that the future wouldn’t leave him an encumbrance.

How could he do that to Liz? How could he put her in the position of having to take care of him that way? It would be like starting all over with her grandfather. Each day Liz would have to care for him, wonder if he’d be able to do anything for himself, if he’d know who she was, as memory issues occasionally went along with MS.

She’d lose all possibility of having a normal life.

They had to end. Continuing their relationship was condemning Liz to a life sentence.

He wouldn’t be able to tell her why. She’d never let him walk away if she knew about his MS. Not his Liz. No, she’d insist on staying by his side, caring for him despite him trying to push her away so she wouldn’t carry this burden.

He didn’t expect her to understand. Not at first, but in the long run she’d discover he’d done the right thing to set her free.

What woman who’d already given up so much of her life to care for an invalid would want to take on that burden a second time?

Worse, what kind of man would he be if he knowingly let her?

CHAPTER FOUR

WHILE chatting on the phone with Kelly, Liz chopped a tomato. Her stomach protested at the thought of yet another salad, but she had to eat and these days her stomach protested at everything anyway. Tonight would be no exception regardless of what she ate so she’d at least eat healthily.

“I’ve barely seen Adam since my grandfather died. I miss him so much. We haven’t spent enough time together for me to figure it out, but I know something is going on with him. He says nothing’s wrong, but he’s just not been himself.”

“He has seemed a bit distracted at work lately,” Kelly agreed, pausing in thought before saying, “Maybe he doesn’t know what to say to comfort you and that makes him feel inadequate.”

“Maybe.” What Kelly said sort of made sense, but Liz wasn’t convinced. Adam wasn’t an inadequate kind of man. With reason. There wasn’t a thing inadequate about Dr Adam Cline. Except his communication skills for the past month. “But Adam was perfect during Gramps’s funeral and right afterwards. He held me and with his arms around me I knew everything would be all right. Just his being with me was enough.”

She sighed. Kelly had to be tired of listening to her go on and on about Adam.

“Sorry, Kel. I know I’ve turned into a major whiner, but worrying about Adam is driving me crazy. I can’t stand not seeing him or talking to him when it’s so obvious something’s bothering him. When I know he’s not telling me something.”

“If it was anyone other than Adam I’d ask if you thought he was seeing someone else.”

With the way he hadn’t been able to get rid of her fast enough on the day they’d gone to the nursing home and then so obviously avoiding her since then, that thought had crossed her mind, but she’d quickly dismissed it. Adam loved her and was the most honorable man she knew. If he was interested in someone else, he’d tell her.

“I don’t understand what’s going on with him, but I don’t think it’s another woman.”

“Then you need to confront him. Make him tell you what’s bothering him,” Kelly advised, not for the first time. “Sorry to cut you short, but Jason’s here.” Kelly had dinner plans with the hospital pharmacist she had been dating on and off for the past few months. “I just called to check on you and to see if you’d had a chance to talk with Adam. I really think this is all just a misunderstanding of some kind. I’m sure he’s fine. That everything’s fine.”

Guilt washed over Liz. Her friend had called to check on her and all she’d done had been to moan and groan.

“I’m sorry to lay all this on you.” Eyeing the tomato wedges, she set the knife on the counter. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Liz…” Kelly hesitated. “Promise me you’ll get some rest and not let this keep eating away at you. You’ve lost weight and look so tired. I know you keep saying you’re worried about Adam, but I’m worried about you.”

“I’ll try to get some rest.” She would try. Not that that meant she’d actually get any sleep.

More often than not she caught herself lying in bed remembering the happy days before Gramps had got sick. Remembering him taking her down to Tillman’s Hollow to go fishing in Riley Arnold’s pond when she’d been a small girl. Remembering his laughter at Barney Fife’s antics as they’d watched The Andy Griffith Show—Gramps’s favorite. Remembering his look of pride when she’d graduated from high school with honors.

Tears welled in her eyes. No matter how many times she reminded herself that he was gone, when she dozed off she forgot and when she woke up again, fresh loss washed over her.

Just as fresh loss washed over her each time she remembered the reality that something was horribly wrong between her and Adam.

Why was he shutting her out?

Kelly was right. She needed to confront him, to talk with him and tell him how she felt.

She poured a glass of milk to drink with her salad and gathered her things to go to the living room. She set her plate on the antiquated coffee-table with its peeling veneer and plopped down on the worn, almost threadbare love seat. Curling into the permanently indented furniture, she tucked her feet beneath her. But when she was comfortable, she didn’t pick up her salad. Instead, she looked around the barren living room.

The whole house was barren. Empty. The only living part of the place was the roses that still bloomed brightly in the front yard. Roses that she could see if she flipped on the outdoor lights, but she hadn’t done so since her grandfather had died.

Was Kelly right? Was Adam not dealing well with her grandfather’s death and felt lacking in some way? Was he inadvertently pushing her away without realizing what he was doing?

But what about him rubbing his temple? Adam didn’t have headaches. At least, she couldn’t recall him ever having had one. Was it stress?

An insistent rap at her front door had her jumping up from the love seat. Her fork clanged against the plate, then onto the faded hardwood floor.

With Kelly on a date, only one person would show up at her door this late in the evening.

Excitement shimmied up her spine. Adam. He’d come to her. Finally. They’d talk, work through whatever had been bothering him.

On her way to the door she paused to stare at herself in the small framed mirror that hung on the wall.

Her hair remained pulled up in a loose ponytail, her face was clean-scrubbed, and she wore shorts and a T-shirt. But it was the dark circles and puffiness around her eyes that stood out most. She looked haggard even to her own eyes.

Maybe that explained Adam’s recent avoidance.

Or maybe if she’d quit procrastinating and open the door, she’d know exactly what the problem was.

“Who’s there?” she asked, her hand hesitating on the safety chain until she’d verified who was at the door.

“Adam.”

Barely able to contain her happiness, she undid the chain and lock and stared in horror at the man who’d become so entangled with her very being.

He looked awful.

Even more so than she did. His hair was ruffled from him having repeatedly run his fingers through it. His face was pale, gaunt. And his eyes. Never had she seen such lost blue chasms indenting his face. Deep blue orbs that threatened to drown anyone who looked too closely.

“Adam? What’s happened?” She reached for him, stopping short when he jerked back before her fingers made contact. As if he feared her touch.

“Adam?” she asked, uncertain how to take his reaction.

His gaze shot beyond her, never connecting with her face.

That’s when she got a whiff of him. Still wonderfully masculine Adam. Spicy, musky, sexy, intoxicating to her senses, but something more. Something intoxicating in a very different way. A way very unlike Adam.

He’d been drinking, and not just the glass of wine they occasionally shared.

She stared at him, wondering if he was drunk.

At least that would explain his strange behavior.

Liz’s anxiety increased tenfold. What was going on?

“Adam, has something bad happened?” She lifted her hand to touch him, almost crying out when he grimaced. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please, Adam. I know something is wrong. Tell me.”

Oh, Adam.

“Invite me in,” he ground out in a voice she barely recognized as his. A voice that bordered on angry, cold, devoid of any feelings for her. “There is something I have to tell you, and I’d rather not do so standing in your doorway smelling these damned roses.”

Liz’s heart sank. Something bad had happened.

Or was about to happen.

Was Adam breaking up with her?

Had she been wrong in her confidence in their love?

All the feelings of the past, feelings of those who loved her walking away, slammed full force into her, usurping her belief in her ability to be loved.

No, she reminded herself, Gramps loved you. You are lovable.

But still childhood wounds opened. Her confidence wavered and she couldn’t meet Adam’s eyes.

“Come in,” she said, and spun away, fighting tears.

She walked over to the sofa where she’d been sitting and picked up her plate. She really had no appetite, but needed her hands busy so she forked up a bite. Forced her mouth around the tasteless food.

He stood, watching her eat, making swallowing seem impossible beneath his stare.

“Good to see you’re eating. You’ve lost weight and look awful.”

What? She lifted her gaze to glare. “You come into my house and criticize me?” She couldn’t help the defensiveness in her voice. Kelly had told her pretty much the same thing only minutes before, but that was her friend who hadn’t been shunning her. Not someone who had been giving her the cold shoulder and winced when she’d reached for him.

“Stating the obvious isn’t criticizing,” he said matter-of-factly.

She dropped her gaze back to her plate, staring at a crouton, wishing he’d sit down so he wouldn’t tower over her, wishing she understood what was going on, afraid of what that understanding might bring with it.

She closed her eyes, hoping all the warning bells sounding in her head were wrong.

“The past few weeks have been strained.”

He had no idea.

“You’ve avoided me,” she accused softly, struggling to keep her earlier defensiveness from slipping back into her voice. “I don’t understand what’s going on between us, Adam. If I’ve done something, just tell me. We’ll discuss it and figure out how to make it right.” She gulped. “If you don’t want to make it right, well, we’ll figure that out, too. Just tell me what’s going on so I can understand.”

His frustration became a palpable pulse between them. Without looking, she knew he raked his fingers through his hair. It’s what he did when searching that genius mind of his for a solution to a problem.

Unfortunately, she was the problem.

Although she wanted to hang onto her faith in his feelings for her like a protective shield, she felt loss prickling at her soul, robbing her strength to hold herself together.

No. No. No. She would not cry. She wouldn’t.

“Liz, I… You…” His voice broke, as if he was struggling as much as she was. As if he battled within himself and didn’t know how to deal with whatever ailed him.

She glanced up, needing to see what was on his face, in his heart, because for the life of her she just didn’t understand what was happening between them.

He’d jerked away from her touch.

“Aw, Liz, I can’t do what I came to do.” With those strangled words he took her hands, pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “Lord, forgive me,” he whispered into her hair, “but I just can’t.”

Can’t what? she wondered, meant to ask, but he held her tight, closed his eyes and nuzzled her neck, inhaling her scent. Held her like he’d missed her every bit as much as she’d missed him, maybe more.

“Liz,” he moaned. “My sweet, beautiful Liz.”

His lips covered hers. Not a slow and tender kiss, but the kiss of a desperate man, a man who wanted her and couldn’t go one more moment without kissing her. A man who needed her.

Her brain warned that she should stop him, that things weren’t right between them. That something terrible had been going on for the past few weeks. That she’d gotten the impression he’d come to break off their relationship.

She knew all those things, but she couldn’t stop Adam any more than she could stop the sun from rising. Not when he was so clearly tormented, when he so clearly did need her.

She melted against the man she loved.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangled in his hair, and she moaned as he pressed her tightly to him. His big hands caressed her back, molded her hips, cupped her buttocks in gentle but insistent motions.

He touched her, caressed her, kissed her, whispered sweet words of endearment to her.

This was insane. Her pride urged her to take heed, to stop and demand where he got his nerve to be on the verge of breaking her heart one moment and making love to her the next. But pride was a poor friend, a poor lover, poor company, period.

Still, pride was all she really had these days.

That thought was strong enough to cause her to twist her mouth free just as his hands slid beneath her T-shirt. “Not like this. Not when I don’t understand. Tell me, Adam. Tell me what’s going on. What’s happening between us.”

“Liz.” He leaned in, rained lingering kisses against her, oh, so receptive nape. Moist heat tickled the delicate skin, sending shivers over her body. His hands shimmied up her ribcage, his touch reverent. “Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer. Not tonight.”

His fingertips skirted along the lower fullness of her bare-beneath-her-T-shirt breasts. Her breath caught, depriving her of oxygen as her body waged war with her mind.

“If you tell me what’s going on, maybe I can help, Adam. Trust me.”

“Just let me love you. Please,” he coaxed in a husky tone.

More kisses along her neck, more urgent ones, more seductive ones. More brushes of his fingers until he palmed her breast in his hand and groaned his pleasure, made her moan with hers.

Too many weeks had gone by since they’d last made love. Too many lonely nights had passed. This, what they shared, the magic that passed between them when they touched, to her was an expression of what was inside, of what they felt for each other.

They shared a connection that transcended all else. Her pride. Her grandfather’s death. His inability to deal with whatever was bothering him so much that he was pushing her away. They shared love.

Maybe that’s what Adam needed. For her to love him. For her to give him all the love in her heart.

She would. They’d make love, talk, laugh at the silly insecurities she’d been dealing with, at how emotionally raw she’d felt. Adam would tell her how wrong she was, that his heart belonged to her and her alone. That this past month had been an aberration on his part and he’d been a fool, that nothing was wrong between them.

When a person wanted to believe desperately enough, she could convince herself of most anything.

Liz wanted to believe in Adam. She wanted to believe so much that she ignored all reason and clung to the hope she wasn’t being naïve.

And if she was? She loved this man, felt his need, not just his physical need but his inner need to be loved, the need for the emotional bond they shared that meant they could face anything together. If she was naïve? So what? She would never turn her back on him when something so obviously ate at him, when he turned to her for comfort. She’d comfort with any means at her disposal no matter what the cost to herself.

She arched into his caresses, molded her lower body against his hips just as his tongue laved her nipple.

Tingles of awareness shot through her. Awareness of Adam’s hands, his lips, his hard body ground tightly against hers.

“I love you, Adam,” she whispered against his lips when they returned to her mouth. “Whatever’s wrong, know that I love you, that I’m here for you and want to help.”

For a moment she thought she’d said the wrong thing, that he was going to pull away from her, but a dam burst within him and fire burned within his eyes.

“This is wrong.” He gave her a desperate kiss. “But I need you so damn much, Liz.”

She’d known he needed her. The fact he was admitting to his need shocked her, amazed her. Adam wasn’t one to verbalize needs. Yes, she saw it in his eyes, recognized the all-consuming desire, but to hear him admit he needed her wound her stomach into knots, reinforced her desire to give him her all.

Adam needed her. Somehow, no matter what was going on with him, everything would work out. Because they had love on their side.

“Adam.” She kissed him back, daring him to deny loving her when the smoldering light in his eyes said he did. “Love me, Adam.”

Adam held Liz close, listening to the sounds of her even breathing, caressing a soft strand of her hair, soaking in her warmth and goodness.

Damn his weakness.

He’d come to set her free, but he ached inside. Ached from his doctor’s visit that morning, learning he really did have MS. Ached that in the blink of an eye he could lose his license to practice medicine, his license to fly a plane, his ability to be a man, his right to have this woman’s love.