âElla, can I see you?â
She pretended to misunderstand. âI need to finish my rounds.â
âI meant after. Once Iâve left the hospital. Iâll be staying in Walnut River for a couple weeks.â
âOh? So you do have family here?â Would he admit it now?
âTrying to get me off track, Doc? Iâm asking if youâll have dinner with me once Iâm discharged.â
She shook her head. âItâs just that youâre very predictable. It makes me wonder how many other nurses and doctors youâve wooed.â
He didnât blink. âNot a one.â
She huffed a laugh. âIâll bet not for lack of trying.â
âDonât have to try, Doc.â
âAh. Women drop like flies at your feet, then?â
A wicked grin. âSomething like that.â
âGood to know.â She lifted her chin. âWell, Mr Sumner, donât let me get in their way.â
MARY J FORBES
grew up on a farm amid horses, cattle, crisp hay and broad blue skies. As a child, she drew and wrote of her surroundings and in primary school composed her first story about a little lame pony. Years later, she worked as an accountant, then as a reporter-photographer for a small-town newspaper, before attaining an honours degree in education to become a teacher. She has also written and published short fiction stories.
A romantic by nature, Mary loves walking along the ocean shoreline, sitting by the fire on snowy or rainy evenings and two-stepping around the dance floor to a good country song â all with her own real-life hero, of course. Mary would love to hear from her readers at www.maryjforbes.com.
Chapter One
J.D. opened his eyes to a murky dawn.
For a moment, he was at a loss with his surroundings. Oh, yeah. Back in Walnut River, Massachusetts, his hometownâand the hospital of his birth.
He groaned as memories of a long night of pain and fitful dreams rushed together. He lay in a hospital bed. IV attached to his vein. His right kneeâ¦
He did not want to consider the mess there.
Outside his room, the hospital woke. In his head, memories tumbled. The board meeting last night. The snowstorm. His knee popping like a firecracker as he slipped on those damned icy steps. And thenâ¦oh, manâ¦the killing pain.
Had he blacked out? He couldnât remember. Just the crazy pain.
He shouldâve had his knee fixed years ago. Hadnât he learned back in high school playing basketball? When the doctor told him about âjumperâs kneeâ? Had he taken the manâs advice? No. Instead, heâd ignored every recommendation and for years depended on over-the-counter painkillers. And then heâd defied fate seven years ago by joining the Northeastern HealthCare basketball team when the company hired his ambitious mind.
Arrogant jackass is what you were.
J.D. grunted. Damn this February weather. Damn the ice and snow, and why heâd returned yesterday to this armpit dot on the Massachusetts map. And damn the fact that he was now doomed to wait for surgery by the esteemed Dr. Ella Wilder, another one of the family of Wilders heâd come to lock horns withâwell, not lock horns, to wine and dine and sway to realize that NHCâs contemporary model of practicing medicine was the way of the future. A model second-to-none in efficiency. A model favoring corporate-run medicine, not the old-fashioned methods prevalent in this quaint little hospital.
If he did his job right, Walnut River General would be brought under NHCâs generous umbrella in a matter of months, a move that would benefit patients and doctors with some modernityâwith a capital M.
But first he needed to get out of here. Fast.
Six hours later and still waiting for his surgery, he realized fast was not a key part of this hospitalâs policy and his apprehension had mushroomed into full-blown anxiety. Okay, theyâd told him the E.R. was having a chaotic day. But he hadnât seen the doctorâany doctorâsince heâd been there.
Stop worrying, J.D. Your gurney is third in line for the O.R. Wonât be long now. Which did not calm him at all.
Goddammit. Didnât they know he hated Walnut River General? His motherâGrace Sumnerâhad died here. Died of a blood clot in her brainâas a result of the C-section at his birth, or so Pops maintained.
You go to the hospital to die. End of story. As far back as J.D. remembered the old manâs words had been a slogan in their house.
Yes, Grace was the reason J.D. had avoided getting his knee repaired years ago. Nobody was cutting into him, causing blood clots. Last night, however, he knew he could no longer dodge surgery. It was either that or end up walking with a cane for the rest of his life, plus attracting arthritis before he was forty.
So, where was the female Wilder? He hated to admit it, but the way she touched him, spoke, smiled last night in the E.R.â¦
âMr. Sumner,â she had said upon entering his curtained cubicle. âIâm Dr. Ella Wilder. I hear you fell on some steps and banged up your knee.â Against the collar of her white lab coat hung a hot-pink stethoscope.