Return of the Rebel Surgeon Read online

  “You’re not doing business at a track-and-field meet, are you?” Her question dripped of disbelief with a tinge of suspicion.

  Cole knew she had deliberately twisted his answer.

  He couldn’t have told her anything even if he’d wanted to. He’d done enough of these mergers to know how tenuous early negotiations could be. Confidentiality and secrecy played a big role in making these kinds of deals run smoothly.

  But, then, he had no desire to tell her anything about himself or his life. They had nothing in common anymore but a painful past.

  “As you can tell, I’m a volunteer for the special games’ medical staff. I’m a last-minute substitute.” Is that what he’d been to Bella? A substitute while David was away at college?

  None of this mattered anymore, he reminded himself as he swallowed down a bitterness he’d thought was long gone.

  At eighteen, he’d been sure he and Bella had a soul-deep connection, more than just teenage infatuation, but he’d been wrong.

  Apparently, he’d been wrong about more than one thing. Cole had expected David Beautemps to provide Bella with the high-society lifestyle she’d always had. But people changed. He certainly had.

  “What’s up with David?” he asked, to prove—to himself as much as to her—that he didn’t care.

  Two years older than him, and almost three years older than Bella, David had been kind, gentle and generous, as well as wealthy. When Bella had chosen David over him, Cole had understood, on a rational level.

  Still, he felt raw. He thought he’d extinguished that internal firestorm long ago, but seeing Bella seemed to have stirred up embers from the ashes.

  “Daddy,” Adrian said.

  Next to him, Bella sucked in her breath.

  Cole looked around for the man Bella had married, but didn’t see anyone approaching them. Was she wary of her ex?

  If so, David would have to come through him to get to Isabella or Adrian. Cole might not be a part of her life anymore, but he would never stand by and let a woman or innocent child be hurt. Especially not these two. Cole brushed that thought away. Any honorable man would do the same.

  Adrian started to flap his hand in impatience.

  “Adrian, the doctor is busy. He doesn’t have time for a break with us.” A breeze blew through, plastering Bella’s dress against her, outlining her petite figure.

  He couldn’t stop himself from wanting Bella now just as strongly as he had wanted her on their last night together. Though now he understood that desire was purely a sexual response. Then, he’d wanted her enough to consider giving up his lifelong dream of becoming a doctor.

  But dreams hadn’t been enough for Isabella Allante. Not his dreams, anyway. Her own dreams of marrying sugar-cane plantation heir David Beautemps and taking her privileged place in society had superseded his foolish plans for the two of them together, carving out their own unique niche in the world.

  “I can take a break.” Now he wanted to prove to her, and—he had to admit—to himself that she had absolutely no sway over him. “Lead on, Adrian. I’m with you all the way.”

  Maybe sitting across the table from her as if they were two old acquaintances with nothing more between them but a couple of sodas—and another man’s son—would close a chapter of his life that should have ended a long time ago.

  After this quick encounter, he would throw the book of his youth against the wall and get on with his life—as he’d thought he already had until their chance meeting today.

  * * *

  Isabella forced her shaky knees to carry her. She let her steps lag as she watched father and son walk in front of her. She needed time to think—time to breathe.

  How could this happen? She had spent so many nights, so many years trying to resign herself to the loss of the only man she had ever loved. And here he showed up, made an immediate connection with his son and stepped back into her heart as if he’d never been gone from it. She had thought she’d locked him out of that sacred place for ever.

  Pain radiated from her chest throughout her whole circulatory system. She felt as dizzy as if she had been whirled in a fast circle for the last fifteen years.

  Stop it, Isabella. You don’t have time for childish theatrics, she told herself. She used all her training as a cognitive behavior therapist to pull herself together. Taking note of her mental state and subsequent physical reactions, she exerted mind over matter to bring her heart rate under control.

  Only through sheer willpower did she force her world to stop spinning. Now to evaluate the situation. She looked at the pair in front of her.

  They both had that same easy, long-legged stride. Adrian’s hair was a shade lighter but in time it would darken to that deep cocoa brown like Cole’s.

  Side by side, there could be no denying that Adrian was Cole’s son. Adrian had that same olive complexion and would soon have the same heavy beard that Cole had at such an early age.

  Bella had taken full advantage of Adrian’s fascination with Cole in so many ways. Photos of him had convinced her son to swim, to eat his vegetables and, most recently, to shave.

  She had always had a worry in the back of her mind. What would Adrian do on the off chance he ever met his father? Now that worry was a reality. But there were no fireworks, no meltdowns, no drama of any kind.

  The only volatile reactions going on were inside her own heart.

  Unpredictably, her son took meeting his father in his stride, accepting Cole as someone he’d known for years. And, in a way, he had.

  Why was he here—and why now, fifteen years too late?

  Why the cat-and-mouse game, as if he didn’t know who Adrian was to him?

  Was he assessing the extent of Adrian’s autism before deciding on whether to claim him as his son or not? That seemed far too cold for the Cole she had once known. But, then, so had his abandonment of her all those years ago.

  She had to face facts. A decade and a half ago she hadn’t known Cole as well as she’d thought. And she certainly didn’t know him now.

  For the first time since Adrian’s birth Isabella was glad he rarely talked. She felt bad about it, but she didn’t wish it only for her own selfish purposes. She needed to find out what Cole’s intentions were.

  Maybe Cole would satisfy his curiosity and simply go away, and she could get back to the steady, stable routine that served Adrian so well. What would she do if he wanted to become involved in Adrian’s life?

  She might not be able to predict Cole’s behavior, but she knew what she intended to do—what she had always done. She would protect her son at all costs.

  Resolution made, she glared at the back of the man who had left her and never looked back all those years ago.

  She’d tracked his meteoric rise in the medical community as a leading hand and wrist surgeon. How could she help it, being the daughter of a renowned surgeon herself? He now had institutes in major cities all over the U.S. to care for his high-profile clients.

  His latest patient had been a promising child gymnast with a wrist injury. Under his care she’d made a miraculous recovery. Rumors said the girl’s mother had received Cole’s personal attention as well—for a little while.

  And there was her answer. Cole would be in and out of their lives so fast they would barely notice the blip. She just had to keep everything as smooth as possible for Adrian—and for herself.

  Isabella caught up to them as Cole and Adrian stood before the counter. Quietly, she observed them, still not sure what she should do, what she should say in front of her son.

  “Want a drink?” Cole asked, intently watching Adrian’s face.

  As Adrian looked down and to the right, Cole tried again. “Ice cream?”

  Seeing a positive response, Cole narrowed the choices. “Vanilla? Chocolate? Whipped cream?”

  While it took Adrian’s new aides days to learn his subtle form of communication, it had taken Cole only minutes.

  Of course he could communicate with his son. They were so mu
ch alike in so many ways. Cole had always been a man of few words—the ultimate strong, silent type.

  And Adrian had spoken to him. Isabella waited weeks, sometimes months, for a single sound from her son. Cole had known him for only a few minutes and had already been gifted with one of

  Adrian’s few words. Daddy.

  Without turning around, Cole asked, “Bella, what would you like?”

  You, Isabella thought before she could stop herself. “A diet drink, please.”

  Cole ordered for her while Isabella deliberately amended her thoughts. What did she want?

  You, fifteen years ago.

  Answers.

  This day never to have happened.

  But Isabella had learned a long time ago about wanting something, wanting someone. She couldn’t always have her heart’s desire just because she asked nicely. Cole had taught her that lesson well.

  Isabella warred within herself. Her ingrained etiquette insisted she make small talk, but her protectiveness cautioned that an effort to communicate could be misconstrued as an effort to forge a bond.

  They ate in silence. In the past, Isabella had been comfortable with Cole’s contemplative moods. But today she knew he wasn’t thinking. He was seething. Fire was in his eyes as he stole glances at her between bites. But why?

  She was the one with the right to be angry. He had left her, accepting the scholarship for pre-med and, eventually, the residency at New York’s Hospital for Special Surgery when she’d thought he would come back to New Orleans for her.

  She’d been sold out for a ten-thousand-dollar grant. If Isabella had known that was how much money Cole could be bought for, she would have written the check from her own trust fund.

  But, then, she hadn’t known she’d needed to buy his love.

  Adrian looked up at Cole, happiness shining in his eyes as he sat with his real-life hero in the flesh.

  Cole returned the look, adding a smile and passing Adrian a napkin. Adrian took it from Cole’s hand instead of insisting Cole lay the napkin on the table. That kind of trust usually took a carer weeks to establish.

  The intercom blared, paging Dr. Lassiter to the first-aid tent. “I’ve got to go.”

  As he stood, a storm built in Adrian’s face.

  Please, not a meltdown. Not now. Isabella braced herself for the scene she would be dealing with the moment Cole walked away. At fourteen, Adrian’s pubescent temper tantrums were becoming more and more difficult to deal with. She began digging in her purse for Adrian’s scarf, hoping the scrap of fabric would have a calming effect should Adrian’s emotions overcome his learned behavior.

  Cole turned to face Adrian, without doubt noting the mottled red in his face.

  Would Cole judge her to be a bad mother? Many people would, if they had never had to cope with autism.

  He looked Adrian in the eye, not flinching away as his son’s whole body started to shake. While taking the scarf from Isabella and handing it to Adrian, he subtly put himself between her and her son. Did he realize his protective maneuver? Did he think she needed to be shielded from her own son?

  Isabella herself prayed that day would never come.

  Adrian twisted both hands in the scarf, his thumbs tracing the pile of the heavy cut velvet while he raised the satin side to his lips, taking deep breaths like they’d practiced.

  Isabella held her own breath as she watched Cole.

  If Cole showed any sign of belittlement or disdain for Adrian’s self-soothing, it could set off Adrian’s barely restrained emotions.

  Cole gave Adrian a respectful nod. “Good job, Adrian. A man controls his temper around a woman.”

  He took a card from his wallet, scribbling on the back. “Here’s my cellphone number, in case you ever need me.” His glance took in both of them.

  He put the card down within Adrian’s reach then once again walked out of her life, leaving his empty promise behind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  COLE walked away, feeling Bella’s eyes burn into his back.

  Maybe he had overstepped the mark, giving Adrian his card. But an inexplicable compulsion deep within him had prevented him from cutting off his connection with the boy.

  There was no connection—could never be a connection—between him and Isabella. She had severed that with a knife in the back.

  The rest of the morning dragged by with only one other patient, a mother with a minor ankle sprain. While he tried to explain that four-inch heels and bleachers didn’t mix, she attempted to seduce him with invitations for drinks on the veranda after her ex-husband picked up the children that evening.

  She was exactly the kind of Southern belle he always imagined Bella would have turned into. Not that he thought of Bella often. He’d had to train himself quickly to put her out of his mind or he would have never made it through medical school.

  But forgetting about her after seeing her today took all his mental prowess.

  While he’d rather head to the hotel to put a heat pack on his aching neck, he headed toward the classrooms instead. He’d promised his office manager he would pick up some information on early recognition of learning difficulties. Her daughter’s pediatrician was starting to suspect a problem. And heat packs wouldn’t cure his problem anyway. Only time would heal a neck and shoulder strain—just like only time would heal his heartache. But how much time? Fifteen years should have been long enough.

  He ducked into a full auditorium and leaned against the door frame. The man next to him handed over a sheaf of lecture notes that Cole took with a politely absent nod, intending to drop out as quickly as he dropped in.

  That was when he noticed the speaker, Isabella Allante, at the podium. A video on a giant screen behind her showed Adrian in his younger years, staring into the camera, while other children enjoyed a birthday party.

  “So you see, I understand. I’m one of you.” She met the eyes of parents scattered around the room. “My son has autism and I can’t cure him.”

  A frisson of emotion quivered through him, an emotion that was too big to name.

  He had to look away from Adrian’s stare.

  Cole frowned and glanced at the paper he held then glanced at his watch. Wrong time zone. He was late for the workshop on early detection by an hour.

  As unobtrusively as he could, he turned to leave. From the podium, Bella fell silent. Just a pause. Just a beat. Just enough to make everyone turn and look at him.

  He’d never been one to be swayed by general consensus—unlike Bella. How had sweet, pliable Bella managed with a son as challenging as Adrian? Still, he chose to stay to keep from disrupting Bella’s talk any further.

  “I’ve learned to deal with the ups and downs of life with honesty about my strengths and weaknesses.” She stumbled on her closing sentences before she found her rhythm again. “And honesty about my emotions.”

  If that was true, she’d certainly changed.

  The ring of sincerity in her message kept the crowd enthralled. “As many of you know, my background is in cognitive behavior therapy. But my specialty is in pain management, not autism. Like you, I can’t stay immersed in the study of my child’s disability to the exclusion of all else. Also, like you, I want to do everything within my power to help my child live a contented and worthwhile life. And that includes taking care of myself, mentally, physically and spiritually, and asking for help when I need it. I encourage you to do the same.”

  Was Bella staring straight at him? How could she even see him through the crowd? He must be imagining her focus on him, imagining her eyes accusing him of—of what?

  When Bella stepped down from the podium and a website address and phone number flashed on the video screen, replacing the birthday scene, Cole felt like he’d been given a reprieve.

  * * *

  Back when Cole had known her, Isabella had been the kind of girl who’d avoided confrontation at all costs. But she was no longer that insecure, unconfident girl she’d been. She rushed to catch Cole, almost running in her t
hree-inch wedges, hoping her favorite shoes would hold together long enough to overtake his long-legged strides.

  In the parking lot, he stopped next to a BMW with a rental sticker on the window and took a look behind him, pinning her with his stare. “You want to say something to me?”

  Isabella glared right back. “Why are you here?”

  She winced when her confrontational words came out soft and breathless. Her wispy tone had nothing to do with the flaring ferocity of emotion in Cole’s eyes but was completely due to her being out of shape. She needed to start running with her son—if she could find a free slot in her schedule.

  Cole gave her a once-over, a quick assessment from head to toe. She resisted the impulse to smooth her hair behind her ear or cross her arms over her chest.

  “I’m consulting on a few cases with the sports clinic.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you working with the SC.”

  Cole had always wanted to work for charity, not for big money. In fact, he had been a bit of a reverse snob about money. He’d definitely gotten over that hang-up.

  “It’s hard to imagine you as the mother of a teenage boy.”

  She smirked. “Time does have a way of changing us—some of us for the better.”

  “You, Bella?”

  “Definitely. And you?”

  He lifted an eyebrow then redirected the conversation. “Where’s Adrian?”

  She had the petulant instinct to answer, None of your business. But she was more mature than that. Besides, wasn’t it better to figure out his intentions instead of antagonizing him, so she could be prepared?

  “At a boy-girl mixer.”

  Getting back on track, she asked, “How long will you be in town?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” He said it defensively, tensing his shoulders with a grimace.

  His evasiveness set off warning signals. In her profession she had learned to trust her instincts and to read the unspoken message behind tone of voice and body language.