PROMISE OF GRACE
Behold, I tell you a mystery; we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed.
—1 Corinthians 15:51
For my father, George Yedlovsky, for making me reach and assuring me nothing was beyond that reach. I love you, Daddy.
Prologue
Houston, Texas
W onder wasn’t always a good thing.
Not when it was all you could do.
Grace Stanton tentatively tried to reach out, but she wasn’t able to feel anything because of the thick layer of bandages wrapped around her hands. Even that small movement hurt. Yet she couldn’t stop herself.
Just as she couldn’t stop the wondering. How had she come to be in the hospital? What was beneath the bandages? And why had this happened now with the wedding only a week away?
Aunt Ruth hovered, her eyes dark with concern. “Grace, can you hear me?”
“Yes.” The word formed in her mind, but emerged as little more than a croak.
Ruth looked as though she was about to cry. And again Grace wondered. Only this time it was mixed with dread.
“The other driver and his family are going to be fine,” Ruth finally managed, her voice a bit shaky, “because of your sacrifice. If you hadn’t driven into that concrete barrier when they drifted into your lane, none of them would be alive.”
Grace wanted to ask questions—about the crash, her injuries…but she couldn’t summon her voice. Instead she blinked her eyes.
In turn, Ruth swiped hers.
Exhausted and confused, Grace wanted to comfort her aunt, but mind and body refused to cooperate. And the beeping and whooshing of all the machines frightened her.
Ruth, who had taken Grace’s parents’ place after they died, leaned forward. “I know you’re scared, Gracie. But remember, the Lord is with you. He’ll take care of you.”
Tears collected in Grace’s throat. Unable to shed them, she began to wonder yet again. Was He really with her? She’d been uncertain about that since her mother and father had died.
A procession of nurses and technicians rotated through the room. Grace was relieved that they didn’t expect a response from her, instead speaking to her aunt, some poking and prodding, others simply making notations.
Her aunt leaned close. “Gracie, the doctor’s here.”
Although her eyes were swollen, she opened them, studying the man.
“I’m Dr. Jamison, Miss Stanton. And you’ve had quite a bang-up.” He studied the chart. “Which means you’re going to be with us for a while. Your internal injuries are manageable, but you’re in for a number of restorative surgeries.”
She held up one of her heavily wrapped hands in question.
“You’ve severed a tendon in your right hand. But don’t dwell on that. Many people find they can compensate very well by using their left.”
She gasped. She knew that her injuries were significant, since Ruth had driven from where she lived in the small town of Rosewood to be with her in Houston. But Grace hadn’t guessed how bad the injuries were. To think she wouldn’t be able to use her hand—
The doctor’s words interrupted the thought and jarred her at the same time. “I understand your hand isn’t your major worry. But we’ll have to wait for the results of the first plastic surgery to determine how much of your face can be repaired.”
Terrified, she turned slitted eyes, searching for her aunt.
Ruth stepped forward, her look censoring the doctor. “Grace hasn’t been awake long enough to be told how much recovery time to expect.”
The doctor scratched his balding head. “Sorry to be blunt, but this is an extremely busy hospital, Miss Stanton. Our touch may not be very personal but trust me, it’s extremely skilled. It may take you some time to adjust to the gravity of your injuries, but that’s also normal. Don’t be discouraged. You’re in for a lengthy process, but you’ll have to take it a day at a time. I’ll be back to check on you this evening.” Dr. Jamison carried the chart with him as he exited.
Ruth laid a very gentle hand on Grace’s shoulder. “It’ll be all right, dear. There’s a lot to take in at once. Don’t worry. We’ll sort everything out.”
A nurse entered before she could reply, injected something into one of the many tubes, and Grace felt herself fade.
When she awoke hours later Grace struggled to speak, and one word emerged, raw but audible. “Patrick?”
Ruth appeared swiftly at her side. “He’s not here yet, Grace. He called the nurses’ station a short while ago and he should be here any minute. It took a while for his office to reach him, but he headed here as soon as he heard.”
Grace had to know. “What will he think?”
Ruth’s chin firmed. “He’ll be worried about you, I’m sure. But he loves you, not your face.”
Grace closed her eyes. Unknowingly Ruth had confirmed Grace’s worst suspicions. Holding on to consciousness, she heard more footsteps nearing the bed.
As she opened her eyes, her fiancé, Patrick Holden, paused at the end of the bed.
Relief started to warm her. But then it faded. And in that sickening moment she realized she no longer had to wonder. She knew. It was written on Patrick’s stricken face.
“Grace…” Patrick stared at her in horror for an instant, then shuttered his eyes so she couldn’t read them.
She wanted him to come closer, to stand by her in every sense. And after a moment’s hesitation he approached, his expression sorrowful.
Ruth slipped quietly from the room.
Patrick leaned close, his manner changing abruptly, becoming hearty. “You’re going to get better. I know it’s scary right now, but doctors can do so much now for…Well…doctors can work miracles.”
Grace blinked yes, again struggling to speak. “Why now?”
Patrick looked blank.
“Our wedding,” Grace whispered, thinking of the picture-perfect day that she had been planning for months. Actually years; she’d dreamed of this day since she was a child.
“Don’t worry, Grace. We can postpone it. Everyone will understand why.” He smiled too brightly. “Then you can have the fun of picking out new invitations and flowers. You know how much you enjoyed that. You’re like a kid in a candy shop with all the wedding preparations.”
She could see, despite his show of bravado, that he was overwhelmed. Grace found her voice; however, it was still a mere whisper. “But it’s not candy. It’s bad, Patrick.”
He reached for her hand, then paused when he saw the thick bandages. After an awkward moment he patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, Grace. We’ll get through this.”
Grace met his eyes, trying to see beyond the forced cheerfulness of his words. And there she saw apprehension and fear. “It won’t be that easy.”
He swallowed visibly. “The doctor says you’ve got a lot of surgeries ahead of you, that it’s going to take a long time to recover. You’ll have to be patient…we’ll have to be patient.”
Patrick was giving his best, saying all the right words. But there was no fire in his eyes or determination in his voice. And somewhere deep inside, she knew he wouldn’t stand the test. How strange that it took something like this to show her his true mettle. Awash in pain and despair, she slowly shook her head.
“Grace, you can’t give up. I…I know how difficult this is for you.” He paused, clearly in far over his head. “I don’t know what else to say.”
But what he couldn’t say was plastered over his perfect face. And she recognized the other emotion in his expression. Pity. He stared at her with unrelenting pity.
And beneath the swaddle of bandages, she flinched. Yet she had to know it all. She couldn’t stand to wonder about anything else. “Do you still want to get married?”
His pause was barely perceptible. “Grace, we weren’t expecting anything like this. It’s going to take adjustments…for both of us.”
And something inside Grace that the accident couldn’t reach to damage suddenly crumpled.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick continued. “I’m probably saying all the wrong things. Truth is, I don’t know what to say.”
I do. Even though you’re fighting it, I see it. Grace wasn’t sure she would ever view him in the same light again. And she wondered how the breaking of her heart could be so silent. There should be a great crashing noise, louder than cymbals, more wrenching than a bitter blast ripping apart the tallest structure.
He patted her shoulder again. “Things will look better as time goes by.”
She pushed herself to speak past the tears collected in her throat. “I’m tired.”
Patrick looked immediately remorseful. “Of course you are. You need to get some rest. I’ll stop talking and just sit with you.”
Somehow her heart continued to limp on despite its mortal wound. “There’s no need. Ruth will be here.”
“Are you sure?”
Relentlessly sure. “Yes.”
“All right, then. I’ll be back in the morning. You’ll see. Things will look better after some time.” He leaned forward, then slowly pulled back. “I’d kiss you goodbye, but I don’t want to hurt any of your wounds.” More pity filled his eyes. “I hate that you’ve been hurt like this.”
Knowing how eager he was to be away from her, Grace couldn’t bear to respond. Instead she half closed her painfully swollen eyes.
Patrick turned away, quickly looking back one more time before walking away. The door closed behind him as the first hot tear dampened the gauze covering her cheekbones. The tears turned to sobs, ones that pulled at her wounds, both emotional and physical.
As her sobs finally dwindled, the room became unbearably silent. Then Ruth pushed open the door. “Grace?”
“He’s gone.”
“I know, Gracie. But he’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll be here, too. And don’t forget, the Lord’s always with you.”
Grace gathered the last of her draining energy. “Is He?”
Ruth didn’t wince at the bitter question. “Yes. But I know it’s hard for you to see that right now.”
Everything rushed at Grace and she couldn’t control the sobs. “My life is over.”
Ruth cradled her as much as possible without pressing against Grace’s injuries. “No, sweetie. It’s just beginning. I’m going to take you home with me to Rosewood.” Silently Ruth vowed to do everything in her power to help her beloved niece. “We have a wonderful plastic surgeon, Noah Brady. All the big-city hospitals are always trying to lure him away. But Rosewood’s his hometown and he’s staying put. It might be easier for you there, all things considered. And we’ll see things through.” She patted her niece’s shoulder. “Don’t give up hope, Gracie.”
Hope. That was gone. Along with Patrick and her faith. Everything was gone. Including the wonder.
Chapter One
Rosewood, Texas
N oah Brady reread the last pages of Grace Stanton’s already massive chart. The woman had been through a horrendous experience. While he’d worked on equally damaged people, this case brought his own memories close to the surface. And instinctively he knew Grace had even more pain ahead of her.
He remembered Ruth Stanton’s call from Houston, her plea for his help. Despite knowing her for most of his thirty-three years, Noah had never heard her cry before. But she had broken down, her love for her niece cracking through her usual resolute demeanor.
Since the call, Noah had been consulting with Grace’s attending physician. She had already been through four surgeries to repair internal injuries. Her surgeon was convinced that she wouldn’t require further operations for those injuries. But her restorative plastic surgeries would be extensive.
Now that Grace was stable and her internal injuries on the mend, she was being airlifted to the small Rosewood hospital. A short time ago he’d been apprised that the helicopter would be setting down soon.
Although the hospital staff could capably transport her from the landing pad, Noah wanted to be there. Ruth had phoned him that morning, worried because she didn’t want to leave Grace on her own to be loaded into the helicopter. But by staying with her, Ruth wouldn’t be able to drive back to Rosewood fast enough to outpace the helicopter. So Noah had promised Ruth that he would personally greet her niece and situate Grace in a room.
Rising from his desk chair, Noah made his way from his office in the building adjacent to the hospital. He bypassed the core of the hospital, heading to the emergency-room exit. The helipad was located just beyond the ambulance driveway.
Although Rosewood wasn’t in the hub of a medical center, Noah had worked hard to ensure that the facility had what was needed for the small town. Since he had turned his back on his lucrative job in Houston, it had taken a lot of fund-raising to keep the community hospital current.
As he walked outside, Noah could hear the distinctive whir of the incoming helicopter. As it approached, winds from the blades flattened thickly leaved branches and sent errant spring buds scattering.
Accustomed to the forceful currents, Noah didn’t blink as the wind slicked back his hair and tugged at his lab coat and scrubs while the helicopter landed. His concentration was focused on the woman inside the copter.
Grace had been sedated for the journey, and as expected, she was nearly obscured by heavy bandages. Despite her medication, the jolting of the stretcher as it hit the ground must have jarred her.
Grace’s eyes flew open. And as Noah looked into their blue-gray depths he saw terror. When she noticed him, the look changed, hitting him with unexpected force. It was a raw plea.
Unable to resist the compelling pull of her gaze, he let her know with his own eyes that she’d made the connection. Then he nodded, guessing she wouldn’t be able to hear him clearly with the noise from the copter and the barrier of her bandages.
He walked beside her as the attendants rolled her inside. Noah made sure he was in her line of vision as they took the shortest route to the room that had been readied for her.
Although he could easily prescribe more medication that would sedate her, he wished there was another way to erase the fear and uncertainty in Grace’s eyes. Ruth hadn’t indicated whether there was anyone else to stand by her niece. But Noah’s instincts told him that Grace Stanton was alone except for her aunt.
Once Grace was settled in a bed, her vitals taken and recorded, Noah adjusted the blinds and the overhead lights so they wouldn’t glare into her eyes. He saw her lids flicker in relief.
And it occurred to him that he hadn’t yet heard her speak. Her records hadn’t indicated damage to the vocal cords, but he wondered if emotional trauma was silencing her.
“Grace?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead she lifted her eyelids with what seemed to be great effort. “Yes.”
Her voice surprised him—the clarity, the bell-toned sound of the single word.
“I’m Dr. Brady.”
“Ruth told me about you.”
Despite his usual reserve, he smiled, lifting his eyebrows. “I doubt you could have stopped her.”
Surprise lit her eyes.
The past had taught Noah to maintain only a professional relationship with his patients, yet he wanted to put Grace at ease. “I’ve known your aunt since before she started planting blackberries.”
“Blackberries?” Grace echoed.
Seeing her focus on something other than her pain, he continued. Besides, with the medication he’d just diagnosed, he was fairly confident that Grace wouldn’t remember his words. “I told her the pears on her tree weren’t worth snitching. The next spring she planted blackberries. Over the years she’s complained how they sprawled out in the yard, climbing up her ivy lattice and taking over.” He grinned, remembering that easy time. “They’re so big, one berry fills your mouth. Better than caviar. And to this day Ruth hasn’t ripped them out. Between you and me I think she likes knowing she can make the best blackberry pie in town.”
A fraction of relief eased into Grace’s eyes. He guessed few people still spoke to her as though she might enjoy a normal conversation.
“Her pie’s the best,” Grace finally replied.
“This is making me hungry. Do you feel like eating?”
“No.” The word was small, seeming to match her damaged spirit.
“Have you had much appetite since the accident?”
She sighed. “The doctor questions begin.”
Noah studied her, having acquired a second sense about victims. He didn’t need to see her expression to guess what it would reveal. “Had enough of those already?”
She nodded.
“You’re going to have a lot more,” he told her. His tone was uncompromising, but she needed to hear the truth. “We’re going to be a team, Grace. But I can only function as the captain if you’re an able navigator.”
Her eyelids closed again.
He recognized the action as a defense, one he’d seen many times before. Noah turned away. But an inner voice nagged him to turn back. And his words seemed to come from a source he no longer thought he possessed. “I’ll make you a deal. You drink your broth and I won’t ask you any more questions today.”
It took a moment, then she nodded.
Noah made a quick, unprecedented decision. Leaving Grace, he called the cafeteria. It took only a few minutes for a worker to bring up the tray from the kitchen.
Grace was resting quietly when he returned to her room. He adjusted her bed carefully, knowing her body was a mass of pain. Once the broth was in place on her bed table, Noah situated the straw. Then he pulled up a chair, placing the tray across his knees. He’d only spent this much nonwork-related time with his young patients. And still then, he kept his distance. Not because he didn’t care, but because he’d learned his lesson well in the past.
Grace glanced over at him, then down at the loaded tray. “I can’t eat all of that.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. This is my dinner.”
Surprise lit her eyes again.
“You don’t mind my eating with you?” he asked, retrieving a french fry, acting as though he routinely shared dinners with patients.
Cautiously she shook her head.
Noah ripped open a packet of ketchup. “Hospital life can get somewhat intrusive. It’s difficult to make a phone call or eat a meal without interruption. People assume if you’re a doctor you don’t have a life.” He took a bite of his hamburger. As he swallowed, he acknowledged how true that was. His complete commitment to the hospital only emphasized the empty holes in his life.
“I never thought of that,” Grace replied softly.
He was pleased that she had offered a complete reply. “Most people don’t. But you take the good with the bad. When I first decided that I wanted to be a doctor I didn’t think it was possible.” Pushing away the difficult memories, he stood, placing his tray on the bedside table. “You’re not keeping up your part of the bargain.” Grasping the straw, he held it up to her mouth. Seeing she wasn’t motivated to eat, Noah hoped it wasn’t an indication of a complete loss of will. “You don’t want me to start the inquisition again, do you?”
Her eyes, darkening pools of sorrow, met his.
An unexpected fist of emotion clobbered him. The danger that feeling held made him pause. But he couldn’t ignore the agony in her eyes. “Can you manage a small sip?”
She parted her lips.
Noah held the straw for her. She drank about a teaspoonful of the broth. Even that movement seemed to fatigue her.
“It’s okay, Grace. Your appetite will return as you heal. I’ll keep prodding you so the healing process goes more quickly.” He gently encircled an uninjured patch of her forearm. “We’re in this for the long haul, Grace.”
A new uncertainty flashed in her eyes.
Noah wondered why she had no one except Ruth to care for her. Was it possible she had no family? No special man in her life to stand beside her?
As Noah watched, Grace moved the fingers on her left hand, the less injured of the two.
Momentarily ignoring his own defensive instincts, he grasped her outstretched fingers.
While the noise of carts rattling down the hall and the paging of doctors persisted outside the room, Noah continued to watch her.
A solitary tear escaped from her tormented eyes. Noah gently wiped it away, the echo of the busy hospital receding. And her fingers cautiously tightened around his.
The pit of his stomach tightened. It was his duty as her doctor to heal her. It was his duty to himself to remain uninvolved. At all costs.
Chapter Two
T he lights were bright. But they always seemed that way since the accident. Grace watched the nurse’s expression as the woman carefully unwrapped the bandages covering her face.
Most of the professionals who had performed this task hadn’t commented on the condition of her face. Grace supposed it went with the medical training. Don’t let the patient know she looks grotesque.
Grace knew she should be accustomed to the process, but it wasn’t getting any easier. If anything, it had become more and more difficult as the reality sank in.
“You’re lucky,” the nurse declared.
There was that word again. The same one her new doctor had used before he left. That blackberry doctor with the gentle but supportive touch.
“The left side of your face has a few scratches remaining, but the bruising and swelling has diminished from what’s noted last on your chart in Houston.”
Part of Grace wanted to reach up and touch the allegedly undamaged portion of her face. A larger part of her couldn’t stand the awfulness. She supposed half a face was better than none, but it was difficult to be grateful for that small reprieve. And so she remained quiet as the nurse continued the bandage change.
Grace was surprised to feel coolish air against her exposed cheek when the nurse started to leave. “Aren’t you going to finish?”
The nurse smiled. “I did.”
Grace still couldn’t bear to touch her cheek. Instead she leaned the bandaged side of her face against the pillow. It all seemed so unreal, so unbelievable.
Occasionally she still dreamed that everything was all right. And in the brief moments as she awoke she would feel the relief of knowing the accident wasn’t real. But then the darkness set in.
Other times she would dream of Patrick’s face, remembering his halfhearted attempts to deal with her injuries. And the bitterness of her waking hours invaded the deep of night, as well.
She had expected Patrick to stand beside her. Not motivated by obligation, but rather strength and love. But he’d folded in the first instant. How had she misjudged him so?
Perhaps no such man of strength existed. Wasn’t love supposed to bear all things? She needed Patrick to say he loved her no matter what, not to set a new world’s record for coming up with excuses.
He hadn’t spoken of visiting her in Rosewood. He had muttered something about business commitments. Besides, she would be in the hospital, undergoing numerous surgeries, he’d added.
He had suggested she might prefer to have Ruth with her during this difficult time. But Grace had seen through the excuses. Patrick wanted her to disappear, to take the ugliness she had become out of his well-ordered life.
Closing her eyes, Grace listened to the sound of footsteps in the corridor, wondering if any of the technicians or doctors were headed her way. Ones like the blackberry doctor. Silly to think of him like that. But he was the only medical professional Grace had encountered who hadn’t treated her as though she was only a mound of bandages.
She didn’t place any value in his words or actions, though. It was simply his job. Beyond that, he was a man.
The following day Noah strode toward Grace’s room. He’d had her on his mind most of the day. And strangely, when Ruth had come to relieve him the previous evening, he had been disappointed, reluctant to leave this fragile woman. It was an atypical reaction for him. He couldn’t survive becoming involved again.
Quietly he pushed open the door to Grace’s room, careful in case she was asleep. His breath caught as he saw her unbandaged face for the first time. Aware from her chart that the damage was limited to the right side of her face, he’d left instructions with the charge nurse to leave the other side exposed so that air could reach the skin.
However, Noah wasn’t expecting the lovely lines of the undamaged side of her face. He’d met his share of beautiful women. But this was different. Grace Stanton was different.
Even so, she would think he was either crazy or lying if he told her he thought she was beautiful. But that’s what he saw.
A beautiful woman.
The impression had begun with his first glimpse of her eyes. She had spoken more with her eyes than her voice. And more than most women did with both.
This one woman struck him far more strongly than any in his memory. So much so that Grace had been in his thoughts since the previous evening and throughout his morning rounds. He’d purposely made her the last patient on his rounds in case she needed extra attention.
Grace moved her head, and he realized she was awake.
“Hello, Miss Stanton.”
“Hello.” Her reply was soft, hesitant.
Noah was certain Grace had long since tired of being asked how she was feeling. Instead he approached the bed, studying her exposed face carefully.
She averted her eyes.
He picked up her chart. “Did you eat your Wheaties this morning?”
She turned her face back toward him, her eyes blinking in surprise. “Wheaties?”
“Yep. You’re going to have to be a champ today. I’ve scheduled a full day of tests.”
She looked at him in silent inquiry.
“The sooner you’re ready for surgery, the sooner you’ll be dancing on tables.”
Her eyes reproved him. “I don’t do that.”
“Maybe not. But you’ll be able to if the whim strikes you. The last tests you had in Houston show a marked progression. So my instincts are optimistic that we can begin surgery in a few days.”
“Oh.”
He glanced up from the chart. “You don’t sound very encouraged.”
“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. But it’s difficult to be enthused.”
He met her gaze, noticing that today her eyes seemed gray. He wondered if it was a trick of light or if she possessed changeling eyes. “I don’t expect enthusiasm, Grace. You’ve been thrust into a life-altering experience with little time to absorb what’s happened. Many of your friends probably haven’t known what to say or do.”
He saw a flash of recognition.
So he continued. “You’re going to have to take the lead in your recuperation. I can captain the medical care, but if you steer us into a reef, we’ll go aground.”
“I’m not feeling much like steering.”
“No. I don’t imagine you are. But it does get better. It’s not easy. In fact, it’s frustrating and painful.”
“Don’t feel you have to use kid gloves, Doctor.”
“I don’t. I could tell you a lot of soothing lies, but I respect you too much. I suppose I’m making a big assumption, but I’m guessing you’re made from the same stuff as your aunt Ruth. And she’d take a switch to me if I fed her cotton candy instead of the truth.”
Grace briefly closed her eyes, then met his. “You’re right. But…I’m scared.”
Noah gave in to his unexpected instinct to take the unbandaged portion of her left hand. “I know you are. But you’re not in this alone. Your aunt Ruth has the stamina of a dozen people.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she murmured softly, her voice cracking.
He suspected there were buckets of unshed tears in her. There would be times she needed to cry, but he couldn’t let her slide into self-pity and depression. Her recovery depended on a strong spirit. “You’ll probably be ready to throw rocks at me before we’re through, but like I said, I’m tough.”
Tough enough to disregard the appeal she evoked in him, he reminded himself, seeing her fingers curled inside his. Yes, tough enough.
Nearly two weeks later, Grace pushed at the soft, mushy food on her tray. The taste and consistency resembled baby food, since she still couldn’t chew properly. Dr. Brady had promised she would be able to in the future. He had also emphasized the importance of eating so that she didn’t compromise her health. Listlessly she stirred the carrot-colored section. The unappetizing hospital food certainly wasn’t helping.
Dr. Brady was later than usual. He had taken to making his daily visit during the dinner hour, often eating with her. Perhaps he had decided she’d had enough personal hand-holding.
Grace couldn’t repress seeds of disappointment. Funny, he was the only person who had thought to offer her physical comfort, to actually take her hand. Even though it was in his professional capacity. Patrick had looked scared to death simply to stand by her side. Ruth was afraid of hurting her. But Dr. Brady seemed to know she needed the tactile contact, the simple human connection.
As the minutes ticked by, she stirred her applesauce aimlessly. Ruth had gone home for the day. She would be back in the morning faithfully as she always was. But that left a lot of empty hours.
The door whooshed open suddenly. Noah Brady swept inside. “Hello.”
“Hey,” she replied, her disappointment receding.
He placed his tray on the table, then reached into a white paper sack and pulled out a large disposable cup. “Think I can talk you into a milk shake instead of the usual mush?”
“Chocolate?” she asked, her absent appetite making a revival.
He smiled, a wide grin that revealed even white teeth. “Is there any other flavor?”
“Not for me,” she admitted, studying his face. “But something tells me there’s more to this than ice cream.”
“Ah, the lady is sharp. You’re right. It’s a celebration.”
“For what?”
“I just finished the analysis of your last tests. You’re ready for your next surgery.”
Fear scorched her insides, much the way the pain of her injuries had. What if these surgeries didn’t help? What if all of it was for nothing? She gasped for air as she considered the grim possibilities.
“Take a deep breath,” Noah instructed.
She did. Several deep breaths, in fact.
But he didn’t seem fazed.
“Sorry,” she said, finally calm.
“It’s okay. Plastic surgery isn’t like an appendectomy. It’s rarely routine, we can’t always predict the outcome, and in a case like yours there’s a lot riding on the success.”
“Did you completely skip Bedside Manner 101?”
He smiled again. “That’s more like it. Now, taste your milk shake.”
She obliged. “It’s good.”
“Wrong. It’s delicious. I’ll bring you another one after surgery when you can appreciate it.”
Grace awkwardly grasped the cup with her bandaged left hand. “When is the surgery?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Her eyes widened. “So soon?”
“No point in waiting.”
She supposed he was right, but what if the surgery failed?
“And right now you’re wondering about the outcome, whether it could be bad.”
His intuitiveness took a bite out of her fear. “And if it is?”
“Then you’ll most likely need even more surgeries than I’d initially believed. But that’s possible anyway.”
“It sounds like it may never end.”
He met her eyes. “It will probably feel that way no matter how tomorrow’s surgery goes.”
She swallowed. The truth was harsh, but marshmallow-covered lies would be more painful in the long run. “I’m not sure I could do your job, the part about delivering the news to the patient.”
“I chose this field because of the patients. It’s personal to me.”
“But you don’t know me.”
“I’m beginning to,” he refuted. “Already I know you like milk shakes better than baby food.”
“That doesn’t count. I imagine even babies would prefer milk shakes. Tell me something else.”
“You’re smart. You’re strong. And you have excellent taste in doctors.”
She felt a smile forming despite her injuries, then glanced at the cafeteria tray he’d brought in. “Isn’t your dinner getting cold?”
“I don’t know the difference anymore. I’m so used to leaving meals unfinished that hot food might be a shock to my system.” He glanced down at the tray. “Come to think of it, I’ve had so many carrots and peas it’s a wonder I’m not orange and green.”
“If you go on that basis, I’ll be pure mush soon.”
“Nope. The milk shakes will save you.”
Grace suspected it would take more than milk shakes, but she didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his teasing kindness. Surely he would rather be with his wife or girlfriend than pulling dinner duty in the hospital. “I’ll count on it.”
He swallowed a forkful of vegetables. “I called Ruth a little while ago, let her know what time you’re scheduled in the morning.”
“Isn’t that above and beyond the call of duty?”
He tipped his head slightly. “Depends. Every doctor has his own methods.”
“But doesn’t that take a lot of time away from your family?”
Noah shrugged. “I see my parents when I can and they understand my reasons for a busy schedule.”
“No. I meant your wife and children.”
“Don’t have either.”
She was surprised. He seemed like the kind of man who would nurture both. “Your girlfriend, then.”
“Not guilty.”
Grace studied him as he took another bite of his cooling dinner. “Did you always want to be a doctor?”
“No. I was going to be a lawyer like my dad, only really big time, Ivy League, the whole works. I wanted to be the next household name in law.”
That surprised her. “What happened?”
His brow furrowed. “It’s a long story.”
“I have nothing but time.” She paused. “At least until morning.”
“Remember, when you’re bored to tears, you asked for this story.” He paused and she could see the faraway light of memories in his eyes. “It started when I was seventeen. My mother was burned severely in a chemical explosion. Rosewood didn’t have much in the way of a hospital—it really wasn’t more than a clinic. There wasn’t a plastic surgeon in town. And my mother needed extensive care—turned out to be more than a year of surgeries and treatment. That meant she had to be in Houston the whole time, where we found her doctor. My dad couldn’t take the idea of my mother being on her own through all that, so we moved to the city.”
“That’s a pretty big change for a teenager.”
“Yeah. I was scared my mother would die. But at the same time I couldn’t figure out where I fit in anymore. Here in Rosewood I was the star quarterback with a great future. In Houston I wasn’t even bait in a large pond.”
So he knew how it felt to be the odd one out, as well.
“Then in my senior year we had a class assignment that was supposed to help us figure out what we wanted to do with our careers. We had to shadow someone in our chosen profession. Well, I didn’t really have one anymore because I’d become so unfocused. Law school didn’t have the appeal it had back in Rosewood.
“I couldn’t go out for high school football because I had to stay home in the afternoons with my younger brothers and sisters. That meant I couldn’t hope to be on a college team, which in turn meant I wouldn’t be recruited by the pros.
“I went to visit my mother in the hospital, and her surgeon was there. By that time he had worked miracles with her, even though she had a long way to go. And it hit me. If Rosewood had a doctor like him, families wouldn’t have to be torn from their homes, away from everything they know, to get good medical treatment.”
Grace suddenly wondered if the doctor was too good to be true. “That sounds really noble for a high schooler.”
“I didn’t mention that the town took up a collection to help us with living expenses and medical care. My family wouldn’t have made it without their help. Not to mention that with the accident, moving, assuming most of the care for my siblings, it was a maturing experience.”
Although still suspicious, Grace thought of her own losses. “Yes.”
“The surgeon let me shadow him. I sat in on late-afternoon rounds and appointments, surgeries. I was able to read what he charted…and it was the greatest experience of my life. I hadn’t really expected that.”
“Does it still feel that way?”
He hesitated, and she sensed he was retrieving more memories. But he didn’t share them, nor did he answer her question. “How about you? We’ve never talked about your work.”
“I’m in…I was a public relations rep.”
“Did you quit?”
Exasperation bubbled. “I had an accident, remember?”
“I don’t see how the two are related. Unless your employer isn’t willing to hold your job until you recover.”
She flinched. “Public relations means meeting the public.”
“I’m sure your job consists of more than appearance. What kind of firm do you work for?”
“Did,” she insisted. Grace thought of her job, how fulfilling it had been. But returning to public speaking and networking seemed impossible. “I worked for an independent oilman who wants to give back to the community. So he’s a strong charity advocate. The biggest part of my job is…was organizing fund-raisers.” She swallowed, remembering, hurting for what was gone. “The fund-raisers were for causes that had become very dear to me.”
“Why should that change? Clearly they still mean a great deal to you.”
Grace remembered how she’d confidently accepted invitations to speak anywhere there was a prospect of raising contributions for the Texas Children’s Hospital, cancer research and others. She couldn’t imagine how she would ever resume her life—not with an endless stream of pity or disgust from the people she had once inspired to help others.
“Grace?”
Belatedly she raised her head. “Things have changed. Even you can’t pretend they haven’t.”
“Of course they have. But there’s a reason for everything.”
“You sound like Ruth. No matter how grim things get, she insists it’s in the heavenly plan.”
“And you don’t?” he questioned quietly.
She couldn’t face those doubts right now. A promise of long ago echoed in her thoughts. An unfulfilled promise. “I don’t know.”
To her relief he didn’t push. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now. But I want you to feel good about tomorrow.”
“Do most of your patients feel good about their surgeries?”
His expression darkened. “Depends. The fighters know each one is a step they have to take.”
Grace looked at him with the obscured view Patrick’s desertion had bred. “And you’re so sure I’m a fighter?”
“I believe in you more than you do right now.”
She swallowed a sudden lump of emotion. “That’s not saying a lot.”
“Don’t underestimate me.”
Grace realized suddenly that the possibility had never even been a consideration. And her doubts flared. Trusting another man, even the supposedly good doctor, could only lead to pain.
Chapter Three
R uth’s anxiety was nearly painful to watch.
“Can’t I get you some coffee?” Noah asked.
“It’s not me we have to worry about. This child’s been through so much loss, so much pain.” Ruth glanced down at Grace, who was still sleeping after her transfer from the recovery room. “The way she lost her parents…now this.”
“She’s strong, Ruth. She’ll get through it.”
“Physically. But this sort of damage is hard for a woman. It’s not something I can explain.”
She didn’t need to. Noah knew the emotional trauma involved. “I haven’t known Grace for long, but I think she’s strong emotionally.”
Ruth nodded slowly. “Maybe so.”
“And like the previous ones, her surgery went without a hitch. I’m very optimistic about her prospects.” He glanced at his watch. “Ruth, it’s late and you’ve been here since dawn. Why don’t you go home and get some rest?”
Her face was lined with fatigue. “I need to be here if Grace wakes up.”
“I’ll stay.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
Even though Noah was regretting his impulsive offer, he couldn’t withdraw it. “Grace will really need you tomorrow. You’ll do her more good if you go home and get some rest.”
Ruth took one last look at her niece. “She’s so dear to me.”
“I’ll take good care of her,” Noah promised. “You can count on me.”
She pursed her lips. “You’ve never let me down before. And I don’t expect you’re going to start now. I’ll take these old bones home, but I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“Good night, Ruth.”
Once she left, Noah studied Grace’s sleeping form. The bandaged side of her face lay against the pillow. And even though he was well acquainted with her disfiguring injuries, he couldn’t help thinking how lovely Grace looked. And how vulnerable.
Noah rarely spent this much time with a singular patient. Not since the experience that had changed him forever.
Still, he found himself drawn to Grace.
He didn’t really understand it. She’d struck a chord deep within. That alone should have told him to back off, to put extra distance in place.
Grace sighed and he stepped closer.
Her eyelids quivered with the effort of opening them. She looked at him in confusion, unfocused. She tried to speak, but her lips and mouth were dry.
Noah offered her a few ice chips.
Grace swallowed, then looked up at him again. “Blackberry doctor?” she croaked.
He smiled at the reference. “Yes, I’m the blackberry doctor. And you’re doing great.”
“Navigator,” she managed, her voice still muffled from the anesthesia.
He took the fingers of her left hand, surprised and touched that she remembered these two things. “Yeah. And I’m the captain.”
She closed her eyes briefly, then stared up at him. “Where to?”
“Sleep,” he replied gently. “And you won’t believe how much better you’re going to feel before long.”
Her eyes drifted closed again.
Good night, sweet Grace.
It took Noah longer than he expected to release her hand. And even longer to finally leave her that night.
Grace could scarcely believe it. Four surgeries later, true to Noah’s promise, she was going home. Well, to Ruth’s home. There would be more surgeries to repair her face, but Noah said she was ready to leave the hospital.
“It’s so wonderful to see green lawns and flowers.” She inhaled deeply. “And nothing smells of antiseptic. I can’t wait to take a walk.”
“You still have to be careful,” Ruth reminded her. “Nothing strenuous for at least six weeks.”
Grace knew her aunt was worried. But Grace didn’t feel fragile.
“Let’s go in,” Ruth was saying.
She followed her aunt, who had insisted on carrying Grace’s small bag. She was immediately drawn back to her childhood, the visits to this comforting home.
It had been years since Grace had been in Rosewood. Ruth had traveled to Houston for their visits and holidays. First, when Grace’s mother had passed away, also spending the summers with her. Then, after Grace’s father passed away, Ruth had made the trips because Grace was in college. And the custom continued when Grace became immersed in her career.
She had forgotten how warm and cozy Ruth’s home was. Sunshine poured in the oversize bay window. Plump pillows in the window seat invited reading, napping, contemplating.
“It looks wonderful,” Grace murmured.
“This old place?” Ruth waved away the compliment. “Pish. I don’t think it’s changed since you were here last.”
“That’s what’s so wonderful.”
“Never having children of my own, the furniture doesn’t get worn out. No one to run and play, mess up things.”
Impulsively Grace laid a hand over Ruth’s. She had never realized not having children bothered her aunt. But the regret in Ruth’s eyes was too clear to miss.
“Aunt Ruth, you have me. I couldn’t ask for anyone dearer—you’ve always been there for me. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. I’m sorry I’ve taken that for granted.”
Tears misted in Ruth’s eyes. “Child, you are a wonder. Let’s get you settled on the couch.”
Grace wanted to protest. But she was exhausted from the trip home. It was ridiculous, but she suddenly felt weak and wobbly. “Okay.”
Ruth fussed, draping an afghan over her. “I’ll make some tea.”
“That sounds good, if you’ll join me.”
“A cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss,” Ruth agreed.
The sofa was situated close to the window and Grace took advantage of her position to study the view. Rosewood was a quiet town, a place where neighbors still knew each other and friends dropped by without notice. Grace touched the bandages wrapped over one side of her face, wondering just how much company Ruth usually had. While she was glad to be home, it occurred to her that she wouldn’t be as protected and isolated as she had been in the hospital.
It seemed nearly unbelievable that she had been in the hospital long enough for the seasons to change. But the children playing in their yards were evidence of the passing days.
The doorbell rang suddenly.
Grace felt her muscles clench at the prospect of seeing anyone.
Ruth left the kitchen, her shoes an even tapping sound on the wooden floor as she walked to the front door, then opened it. There was a murmur of voices, then the door closed.
Ruth entered the living room, carrying an arrangement of flowers. “Now, isn’t this nice.”
Grace eyed the flowers warily. “Yes.”
“They’re flowers, not grenades.” Ruth removed the card, handing it to Grace. “At least find out who they’re from before reacting.”
But Grace didn’t need to read the card. During her hospital stay, the large, formal arrangements had come from her employer, who insisted her old job would wait for her as long as it took for her to recover. It was a kind notion, but not practical.
The roses had been from Patrick. His flowers had arrived regularly, although he hadn’t. He phoned Ruth rather than her, as though scared even to speak to her. And despite Grace’s long hospital stay, he hadn’t made it to Rosewood. As far as she was concerned, Patrick had defected. The roses, she had decided, were to ease his conscience. And were a way to salvage his image.
Glancing at the flowers, she realized the arrangement didn’t fall into either category. Fresh, vibrant daisies were nestled into an ivory Victorian vase. Curiosity compelled her to pull the card from the small envelope.
“Welcome home. Noah”
Grace wasn’t sure how other plastic surgeons treated their patients, but she suspected her blackberry doctor was one of a kind. He had continued his custom of visiting her each evening, often sharing her dinnertime.
She remembered his pep talk that morning. To his credit, it hadn’t sounded like the canned speech she guessed most doctors gave. But then, he wasn’t like any doctor she knew.
Grace stared at her stiff right hand. Noah maintained therapy would begin this week. Despite the Houston doctors’ diagnoses, Noah insisted she would regain its use. She couldn’t see how.
But then she couldn’t believe his other assurances, either, that she would recover, that her scars would most likely be minimal. Grace suspected it was Noah’s way of being kind. But all the kindness in the world wouldn’t make her whole again.
Still, she glanced down at his flowers, reaching out to touch the creamy texture of the charming vase. Grace wished she could take heart from his gesture, but sorrow had stolen her hope.
A week later, Noah felt he had given Grace enough time to ease back into life outside the hospital. Although it wasn’t his custom to make house calls, Ruth had asked him to check on Grace. She had repeated the therapist’s report that Grace was resisting therapy. Ruth hoped he could prod Grace into the treatment she needed.
Noah rang the doorbell and waited. It didn’t surprise him when Ruth opened the door, rather than Grace.
Her worried expression lightened a bit. “Evening, Noah. It’s good to see you.”
“You too, Ruth. How’s our patient?”
Ruth raised her eyebrows, then nodded her head toward the living room, indicating Grace’s presence. “Seems to be doing fine.”
Noah entered the living room, his gaze going to Grace. Although she had her legs stretched out on the couch, covered by an afghan, she wasn’t a picture of frailty.
Ruth followed him into the room. “Would you like some lemonade or iced tea, Noah?”
“No thanks, Ruth. Grace and I won’t need refreshments.”
Understanding laced with gratitude flooded the older woman’s eyes. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Noah walked closer to Grace. “Hello.”
“Hi.” Discouragement colored her voice.
“How are you today?”
She inclined her head. “Okay, I suppose.”
“And you’ve probably had all the fussing you can withstand.”
Grace smiled faintly. “Pretty much.”
“Then you should be pleased to know that I’m not here to fuss.”
“Good.”
“It’s time for some work.”
Grace looked surprised. “You might have to arm wrestle Aunt Ruth if you try to get me to do more than lie here.”
“She’s tough, but I’ll take my chances. I want to start therapy on your hand.”
Frowning, Grace held up her rigid hand. “It won’t do any good.”
Noah knew it was time to stop coddling her. “Let me rephrase that. It’s time for you to work.”
Even more surprise covered her face. “You say that as though I’ve been vacationing in the south of France.”
“No. But up until now you’ve let others do for you. It’s time you took an active part in your recovery.”
Grace was beginning to rethink her opinion of the kindly doctor. There was a force in his voice and words that was nowhere near benevolent. “Doing what?”
“Today we’re going to exercise your hand.”
She glanced down at her motionless limb. “The therapist tried. He couldn’t induce any movement.”
“I can.”
“How?”
He took her hand in his, gently but firmly grasping her fingers, stretching them.
The pain was excruciating and she immediately recoiled.
“Grace, this isn’t going to be easy.”
“You didn’t say it would be killing pain!”
“I told you this would be tough. You have two choices. Give up or find the strength.”
Grace fought the threat of tears. “From where?”
He met her gaze. “Everyone has a different source of strength.”
She knew he meant the Lord, but she hadn’t reconciled that yet.
“All right, let’s stretch again,” Noah instructed when she didn’t reply.
“Again?”
His expression became pointed. “For a total of two so far.”
“It’s not easy,” she protested, knowing she sounded wimpy, but not caring.
“If it were easy, it wouldn’t be called work,” he told her without apparent sympathy.
What had happened to the kind man who had helped her in the hospital? This tyrant had no pity.
She stared at him, frost coating her expression. “I can do it without your help.”
He released her fingers.
Still angered, she stretched her hand, determined not to give in despite the pain. However, her hand didn’t…couldn’t move on its own. And again the pain shot through her. This time she couldn’t repress the tears.
He didn’t berate her as she expected. Instead, Noah gently wiped away her tears. “I know it hurts, Grace. That’s why I called and asked Ruth to give you a pain pill an hour before I arrived. Is it helping at all?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. But I hate acting like a wimp.”
“You’re not. I think it’s time to strike another deal.”
She glanced at him suspiciously. “I don’t think even a milk shake’s going to do it.”
“Better than a milk shake,” he promised. “We’re finished for tonight on one condition.”
“Anything,” she agreed, knowing it was a bad bargaining strategy, not caring.
“That I come back day after tomorrow and we do at least two more stretches than today. And in the meantime, you try to stretch your hand once each morning and afternoon.”
She winced. “Isn’t there another option?”
“Nope.”
“Then I guess I have to agree.”
“I’ll ask Ruth to elevate your hand on a pillow. That will help.”
Grace tried not to think of the pain zinging through her hand. “Thanks.”
“You’ll get through this.”
“If it kills me?”
Noah smiled, picking up his bag. “Well, not purposely. Goes against the oath we doctors have to take.”
And despite the pain, she felt her lips twitch.
“Good night, Grace.” He raised his voice. “Night, Ruth. I’ll see myself out.”
She watched as Noah left, wondering what he would have done if he’d been in Patrick’s shoes. Throat tightening with an ache she doubted would ever heal, Grace guessed what the answer would be. After all, Noah was a man. Eyes closing, Grace acknowledged that Patrick had broken more than her heart. He’d destroyed her ability to trust.
In the following days Ruth’s home remained surprisingly quiet. Grace suspected that her aunt had put a permanent hold on visitors until she could adjust to strangers.
But the transition wasn’t going to be easy. The only people Grace saw were ones involved in her medical care.
Like Noah.
He had arrived a little later than she’d expected. But she could tell why. His pager hadn’t stopped beeping since he had entered the house.
Noah clicked off his cell phone. “Sorry about that. It’s been a crazy day.”
Belatedly Grace realized she was adding to his already overloaded schedule. “Do you normally go to a patient’s house?”
“Every case is different. Some need more specialized attention.”
She considered that. “Oh.”
“I see the wheels turning. No, that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to recover, just that your hand is a difficult injury. Only concentrated attention will restore your mobility.”
Although knowing she probably shouldn’t say it, Grace couldn’t hold the words in. “All of the doctors in Houston said it would never return. How…”
“How can I be so sure I’m right?” He met her gaze. “You can believe them, or you can do the therapy. It’s your choice.”
She stared at her damaged hand, her voice reluctant. “The therapy.”
“Have you been doing your stretches each day?”
Grace nodded. “It’s hard, but yes.”
He reached for her hand, carefully stretching her fingers, extending them farther than she did on her own.
Grace pulled back reflexively in pain.
Noah looked at her patiently. “We have to extend your fingers more. Holding back won’t cut it.”
It felt as though her hand might fall off from the pain if she did as he instructed. Grace started to protest, then saw his determined expression. So she complied.
After a few more horrendous stretches, Grace wanted to kill the once kindly doctor.
But he saved himself the gruesome fate by deciding she had done enough for the day.
Noah rummaged in his coat pocket. “Has the pain medication been adequate since you came home?”
“Until today,” she admitted.
Noah handed her a few packets. “Take one of these. It’s stronger and it will let you sleep tonight.”
“You knew it was going to hurt worse today!” she said, suddenly realizing.
“This isn’t my first time at the dance,” he reminded her. “And don’t think I’m going to be the amiable country doctor who will allow you to atrophy.”
Ruth pushed open the swinging door from the kitchen. “Noah, dinner’s ready and I insist you stay.”
“Still afraid I’m not getting enough vegetables?” he teased.
“I know how you bachelors live.” Ruth all but tuttutted.
The smell of her fried chicken wafted toward them. Grace wondered if her aunt’s exceptional cooking was going to be a deal maker.
Noah groaned. “Ruth, how can I say no to your fried chicken?”
“You can’t,” she replied, clearly having decided the doctor had little say in whether he stayed for dinner. Then she glanced at Grace. “You look pale, dear. Would you like a tray?”
Grace could see that Noah was awaiting her reply. Determination fused her spine. “No, you’ve been waiting on me enough as it is.”
Ruth looked at her in concern. “Do you want a pain pill?”
“Luckily the doctor brought some with him,” Grace replied, beset by a new round of stabbing pain in her hand. “They’re more potent in proportion to the therapy.”
Her aunt looked puzzled, then glanced at Noah.
“Therapy’s rarely comfortable,” he explained. “The new medication should help Grace sleep after a session.”
“Ah.” Ruth nodded in understanding. “I remember therapy after my back surgery.” She glanced again at Grace, but spoke to Noah. “But she’s doing well otherwise?”
“Yes. I’m going to have the nurse change her bandages tomorrow. They have to be done more often now—every two days.”
Grace began to feel like an inanimate object. “She’s right here.”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Ruth replied, obviously contrite.
Grace immediately felt ungracious. “No, I am. I didn’t mean to sound like a spoiled brat.”
“As though you could,” Ruth told her, a note of worry still remaining in her voice.
“Yes, I can,” Grace insisted, wishing she could recall the words. Instead she smiled at her aunt. “Your fried chicken smells delicious.”
Ruth relaxed a fraction. “I know you like it. And I’ve cut up some white meat for you so it’s easy to manage.”
Grace withheld a grimace, hating that she had to be treated like a toddler to get by. But she couldn’t say that to Ruth. “Thank you.”
Ruth led the way to the dining room.
Noah hung back for a moment, his voice low, reaching only Grace’s ears. “This won’t last forever.”
Grace wasn’t so sure, but she was surprised that Noah had instantly read her feelings.
“And you’re being a real trouper,” Noah continued. “I know it’s not easy to accept so much help. But you didn’t let Ruth know it bothers you.”
Embarrassed, she turned her eyes away. “I’m used to being an independent career woman. I’ve had to learn to hide a lot of my true feelings.”
As Grace walked into the dining room, she missed the look of surprise on Noah’s face and the reflection that replaced it.
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