Brenda Harlen - From Neighbors...to Newlyweds?

“ You can make it better,” Quinn insisted. “Kiss it and make it better, Mommy.”

Georgia felt her throat tighten because her son trusted that it could be that simple, that she had the power to make it better because she’d always tried to do so. But they weren’t babies anymore and Shane’s injury wasn’t going to be healed by a brush of her lips and a Band-Aid.

Just like when their father had died, there was nothing she could do to ease their pain. Nothing she could do to give them back what they’d lost or fill the enormous void that had been left in all of their lives.

“Unfortunately, that’s not going to fix what’s wrong this time,” she told him.

“Does a X-ray … hurt?” Shane asked.

Brittney squatted down so that she was at eye level with the boy in the chair. “It might hurt a little when the tech positions your arm to take the picture,” she admitted. “But it’s the best way to figure out what to do next to make your arm stop hurting.”

After a brief hesitation, Shane nodded. “Okay.”

She smiled at him, then turned to Quinn and sized him up. “How old are you?”

“Four.” He held up the requisite number of fingers proudly.

“Hmm.” She paused, as if considering a matter of great importance. “I’m not sure if this will work.”

“If what will work?” he immediately demanded.

“Well, hospital policy states that no one under the age of five is allowed to drive a wheelchair without a special license,” she confided. “Do you have a license?”

Quinn shook his head.

Brittney rummaged in the pockets of her shirt and finally pulled out a small square of blue paper. “I have a temporary one here,” she told him, and Georgia saw that the words TEMPORARY WHEELCHAIR LICENSE were printed in bold letters across the top of the paper. “And I can give it to you if you think you can steer the chair slowly and carefully all the way down the corridor to X-ray.”

“I can do it,” he assured her.

She looked to Georgia, who nodded her permission.

“Okay, then. But first I have to put your name on here—”

“Quinn Reed.”

She uncapped a pen and carefully printed his name. “And the date?”

He looked to his mother for guidance on that one.

“May twenty-second,” she supplied.

Brittney filled in the date, then recapped the pen and handed the “license” to Quinn. He studied the paper reverently for a moment before tucking it carefully into the pocket of his jeans and reaching up to take the handles of the chair.

“Just one warning,” Brittney told him. “If you bump into anything or anybody, I’ll have to revoke that license.”

He nodded his understanding, and they set off toward the X-ray department.

Twenty minutes later, Brittney directed them into a vacant exam room with a promise that “Dr. Layton will be in shortly.”

But one minute turned into two, and then five turned into ten. And Pippa, already overdue for a feeding, made it clear—at the top of her lungs—that she would not be put off any longer.

Thankfully, Quinn seemed to have finally accepted that his brother wasn’t in any immediate danger of dying, and he crawled up onto the hospital cot and closed his eyes. Shane was still crying, though there was only an occasional sob to remind her of the tears that ran down his cheeks. So Georgia eased Pippa out of the carrier and settled in a hard plastic chair to nurse the baby.

She tried to drape a receiving blanket over her shoulder, to maintain some degree of modesty, but Pippa was having none of it. Every time she tried to cover herself, her daughter curled her little fingers around the edge of the fabric and tugged it away, until Georgia gave up. Besides, she didn’t imagine a nursing mother was either an unusual or scandalous sight in a hospital.

Of course, that was before Matt Garrett walked in.

In the few moments that Matt had taken to review the digital images before he tracked down the patient, he didn’t manage to figure out why the name Shane Reed seemed familiar. Then he walked into exam room four and saw one little boy on the bed and an almost mirror image in the wheelchair parked beside it, and he realized Shane Reed was one half of the adorable twin sons belonging to his gorgeous neighbor. And sure enough, Georgia was seated beside the bed, nursing her baby girl.

The baby’s tiny hand was curled into a fist and pressed against the creamy slope of her mother’s breast, and her big blue eyes were wide and intent while she suckled hungrily. It was one of the most beautiful sights Matt had ever witnessed. And incredibly arousing.

“Mommy.” It was Shane who saw him first, and he tapped his mother with his uninjured hand. “Mr. Matt’s here.”

Georgia’s gaze shifted, locked with his and her pale cheeks filled with color.

“You’re not Dr. Layton,” she said inanely.

“Things are a little chaotic in the E.R. right now, so Dr. Layton asked me to take a look at Shane’s X-ray.”

Quinn sat up. “Are you a doctor, too?”

Matt nodded.

“You don’t look like a doctor,” he said accusingly.

“Quinn,” his mother admonished.

But Matt was intrigued. “How does a doctor look?”

The little boy studied him for a minute. “Older,” he decided. “With gray hair and glasses.”

“I’m older than you,” Matt pointed out.

“You still don’t look like a doctor.”

“Actually, I’m an orthopedist,” he explained.

“See?” Quinn said triumphantly to his mother.

“An orthopedist is a doctor,” she told him.

The boy looked to Matt for confirmation.

He nodded. “An orthopedist is a doctor who specializes in fixing broken bones.”

“Is Shane—” Quinn swallowed “—broken?”

He managed to hold back a smile. “No, your brother isn’t broken, but a bone in his arm is.”

“I falled out of your tree house,” Shane said quietly.

Matt winced. “All the way from the top?”

The little boy shook his head. “I missed a step on the ladder.”

“And reached out with his arms to break his fall,” Georgia finished.

He noted that she’d shifted Pippa to nurse from her other breast, and he quickly refocused his gaze on his patient. “And broke your arm, too,” Matt told Shane. “Do you want to see the picture of your arm that shows the break?”

Shane sniffled, nodded.

Matt sat down in front of a laptop on the counter and tapped a few keys.

“This here is your radius—” he pointed with the tip of a pencil to the picture on the screen “—and this is your ulna.”

Though the occasional tear slid down the boy’s cheeks, his gaze tracked the movement of the pencil and he nodded his understanding.

“Do you see anything different about the two bones?”

“I do,” Quinn immediately replied, as Shane nodded again.

“Well, since it’s Shane’s arm, I think we should let Shane tell us what’s different,” Matt said.

Quinn pouted but remained silent.

“What do you see, Shane?”

“The ra-di—” he faltered.

“Radius?” Matt prompted.

“It has a line in it.”

“That line is the break, called a distal radius fracture.”

“It hurts,” Shane said, in a soft voice that was somehow both wounded and brave.

“I know it does,” Matt agreed.

“Can you fix it?” Quinn asked. “You said you can fix broken bones.”

He nodded. “Yes, I can, and I will.”

Georgia tried to concentrate on what Matt was saying, but her mind was still reeling from the realization that her new neighbor wasn’t just gorgeous and charming but a doctor, too. She couldn’t have said why the information surprised her so much or what she’d expected.