“Shay! Princess!” Rory interrupted her mumblings. “Stop obsessing, you’re getting yourself into a state. You’re a gorgeous blonde ex-model and you still look like a million dollars. Dane married you and you promised to trust him.”
Shay sighed. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Look at your wedding photos. Look at how he’s looking at you...like you’re the moon and stars and everything that’s perfect.” In spite of her cynicism when it came to romance, Rory couldn’t help feeling a little jealous every time Dane looked at her sister, love blazing from his eyes. What must it feel like to have someone love you that much, someone so determined to make you happy? Logically, she knew the risk wasn’t worth it, but...damn, seeing that look punched her in the heart every time.
“Dane is in the middle of a big case—some gang shooting, remember? And he’s the homicide detective in charge—and sending you roses is his way of reminding you that he loves you.”
“So, no affair?”
“No affair, Shay.” And if there was—there wasn’t!—but if there was then Rory would take Dane’s own weapon and shoot him with it.
Rory said goodbye to her sister, shot off a text to Dane suggesting Shay might need a little extra attention—she and her brother-in-law worked as a team to keep Shay’s insecurities from driving them both nuts—and looked down at the folders. She needed to make notes and read over the files of the two patients she was about to see.
She so wanted her own practice. Craydon’s Physiotherapy patients were channeled through the system like cans on a conveyor line. There was little time for proper one-on-one care and she was providing patients with only enough treatment to see them through to the next session. Sometimes she wondered if she was doing any good at all.
If she had her own place, she’d slow it down, take more time, do some intensive therapy. But setting up a new practice required cash she didn’t have, premises she couldn’t afford. She’d just have to keep saving... Maybe one day.
She had barely looked over the first file when her cell rang again. This time it was a number she did not recognize. She answered the call with a cautious hello.
“Rory? Kade Webb, from the Vancouver Mavericks. We met a long time ago.”
Kade Webb? Why on earth would he be calling her? “I remember...hi. What can I do for you?”
Kade didn’t waste time beating around the bush. “I have a player in St. Catherine’s, in The Annex Clinic, and I’d like you to take a look at his chart, assess his injury and tell me what you think.”
Rory frowned, thinking fast. “Kade, the Mavericks have a resident physiotherapist. I know because my bosses would kill for the Mavericks’ contract. Why me?”
“Because you have an excellent track record in treating serious sports injuries,” Kade replied. “Will you do it? Take a look and let me know what you think?”
“I—”
“Thanks. I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”
Rory wanted to tell him that she had patients, that it was against company policy, but he was gone. Argh! She had questions, dammit! Who was the player? What room he was in? Did he know that she was coming? Had Kade spoken to her bosses about this?
Infuriating man, she thought as she stood up and gathered her possessions. It was said that Kade, like his two partners in crime, could charm the dew off roses and the panties off celibates. He hadn’t bothered to use any of that charm on her, Rory thought with an annoyed toss of her head.
Not that she would’ve responded to it, but it would’ve been nice for him to try.
* * *
Mac McCaskill, you stupid idiot, Rory thought.
She’d had many variations of the thought over the past decade, some expressed in language a lot more colorful, but the sentiment was the same. However, this was the first time in nearly a decade that she wasn’t mocking his tendency to jump from one gorgeous woman to another or shaking her head over the fact that he was, essentially, a man-slut.
As much as his social life irritated her, she felt sorry for him. He was an exceptionally talented player and as she looked at the notes on his chart, she realized his arm was, to use nontechnical terms, wrecked. For a player of his caliber that was a very scary situation.
“Rory, what are you doing in here?”
Rory, standing next to Mac’s bed, flipped a glance over her shoulder and smiled, relieved, when she saw her best friend stepping into Mac’s private room. If it had been someone other than Troy she would’ve had to explain herself.
This was all kinds of wrong, she thought. There were protocols around patient visits and she shouldn’t be in Mac’s room, looking at his chart, assessing his injury. She should’ve refused Kade’s request, but here she was again, flouting the rules. What was it about McCaskill that made her do that?
“I need to get the mat on him, need to get his circulation restored as soon as possible,” she said with urgency.
As a therapist, she wanted the best for him. Even if he was the man who’d hurt her sister. Even if her heart rate still kicked up from just looking at him.
“You’re not authorized to treat him and if you’re caught we’ll both be fired.” Troy closed the door behind him, his handsome face creased with worry.
“I’ll take full responsibility,” Rory retorted. “It’s his arm, Troy. The arm he needs to slap those pucks into the net at ninety miles an hour.”
“Mac usually reaches speeds of a hundred plus miles an hour,” Troy, the sports fanatic, corrected her, as she’d counted on him doing.
“Exactly and the mat will start helping immediately,” Rory retorted.
“Jobs, fired, on the streets,” Troy muttered. Yet he didn’t protest when she pulled a mat from her bag and placed the control box it was connected to on Mac’s bedside table. When the lights brightened, she very gently wrapped the mat around Mac’s injured arm. He didn’t stir and Rory relaxed; he was solidly asleep and would be for a while.
Troy was right to worry. Earlier, she’d hesitated and had stood outside of his room, debating whether to go in. Partly because of that almost-kiss years ago, partly because she knew she shouldn’t be there, despite Kade’s request.
The bottom line was that Mac was a sportsman who needed her expertise and her mat. It was crucial to get his blood flowing through the damaged capillaries to start the healing process. The longer she delayed, the longer he would take to recover. Healing, helping, was what she did, who she was, and she’d fight the devil himself to give a patient what he needed, when he needed it.
Besides, there was little chance of her being discovered in Mac’s room. The Annex Clinic was an expensive, private ward attached to St. Catherine’s, the hospital situated in the exclusive Vancouver suburb of West Point Gray. Every patient admitted into The Annex had two things in common: they were ridiculously wealthy and they wanted total privacy. Each patient had their own private nurse, and Rory had lucked out because Troy was assigned to room 22.
Not only would he keep her interference a secret, but because he was in the room with her, Rory resisted the urge to run her hand through Mac’s thick hair, over his strong jaw shaded with stubble.
He looked as good as he had years ago. Maybe better.
His beard was dark but when he grew it out, it glinted red in the sun. As did his dark brown hair. The corners of his eyes had creases that weren’t there a decade ago. He looked, if she ignored his bandaged arm, stronger, fitter and more ripped than he had at twenty-four.
She was a professional, she reminded herself, and she shouldn’t be mentally drooling over the man.
“How