She folded her arms across her chest. ‘And how, exactly, are you going to win Marie around? Tell me. I’m fascinated.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘It’s simple really. She loves my accent. She’s told me more than once.’
‘But that still doesn’t mean she likes you.’ She ran her fingers up and down the stem of the wine glass.
He gave a conciliatory nod. ‘No, it doesn’t. But she will.’
Now she looked really intrigued. ‘How?’
‘I have a secret weapon.’
For a second she didn’t say anything but her eyes rested on Rory, who was busy almost examining the bottom of his ice-cream bowl to make sure he hadn’t missed any ice cream. ‘Is that fair?’ The tone of her voice was a little strange.
He didn’t push her on the tone. He just leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m bringing out my secret weapon. I’m going to go full cowboy on her.’
‘What?’ Several people in the restaurant turned around at the rise in her voice.
He laughed ‘Yip. I’m wearing my Stetson tomorrow. Probably the boots, maybe even the jeans. What do you think?’
‘You’re serious?’ She had the strangest expression on her face.
He leaned forward a little, catching a whiff of her orange-scented perfume. ‘Of course I’m serious. What did you think I meant?’
She gave a little shrug but she didn’t meet his gaze. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I thought you might have been using Rory.’ She pointed across the table. ‘I mean, one look at his gorgeous little face and...’
Gene followed her gaze across the table, where by this point Rory had ice cream on his face, his hands and his T-shirt. But you’d never know, because he was still concentrating so completely on the tiniest bit of ice cream at the bottom of the bowl.
‘Everyone’s a sucker,’ he finished for her.
His heart squeezed. Even though she wasn’t that easy around Rory it was clear she could see the appeal that made him thankful every single day that he’d found this little boy.
He turned to Rory and lifted the bowl away from him. ‘Give me that before you start licking the bowl.’ He wiped Rory’s face and hands with a napkin. ‘Time to go home, champ.’ He raised his fist and Rory bumped his against his dad’s.
‘What is that?’ asked Cordelia.
‘The fist bump? That’s just us. That’s our move.’
‘Your move?’
Rory wriggled out of his seat and Gene followed, picking up the bill from the table. ‘You know, everyone has a move, or a saying, something like that.’
She put her hands on her hips. ‘They do?’
He nodded. ‘Of course. Don’t you?’
She frowned for a second. ‘I don’t think so.’
He nodded as he settled the bill. ‘Leave it with me. I bet you’ve got one. I’ll figure it out.’
They walked out to the car and Gene strapped Rory in before making a grab for something in the back seat before Cordelia had even managed to climb in.
His Stetson. He plonked it on his head with a cheeky wink. ‘Is that fair? Going full cowboy on her? Like I said, I’ll even wear my boots and jeans if you think it will help.’
Cordelia laughed out loud. ‘You really are going to wear that to the institute tomorrow?’
He tipped his Stetson towards her. ‘I told you, it’s my lethal weapon.’
He watched her suck in a breath as his eyes connected with hers. He was joking. Of course he was joking. So why had his heart rate just quickened? Ridiculous. It was like being a teenager again.
He shook his head as he took off his Stetson and climbed back into the car. He was only here for a month. He had work to do. And a child to look after. He couldn’t afford any distractions.
But as Cordelia hitched up her dress to climb into the car, he had a distinct flash of toned, tanned leg.
And try as he may, he couldn’t get it out of his head on the drive home.
CORDELIA SIGHED AND leaned against the wall as she checked the chart again. One of her patients was failing. Truth was, most of the patients in the heart failure study were failing—that was why they were here.
But Jonas Delphine was one of her favourites. He was an old sea captain, eighty-six, and had smoked for forty years. His chest complaints, along with his cardiovascular disease and heart failure, made him a difficult candidate to manage.
Some trials only wanted ‘perfect’ candidates. Ones who had no other health complaints but who had unhealthy lifestyle issues that could be changed and monitored then assessed to within an inch of their lives. But the Reuben Institute didn’t work with unrealistic patients. What was the point of that? More complicated patients meant more bias for the trials. Some people didn’t like that. Some drug companies definitely didn’t like it. But Professor Helier had always been clear. The institute was here to help real patients. Not perfect ones who didn’t really exist.
Now, after listening to Jonas’s heart and lungs, she’d just ordered another chest X-ray and echo cardiogram.
‘Something wrong?’ Gene’s voice made her jump.
She couldn’t help but grin at the sight of him. He’d been a man of his word and had come to the institute this morning full cowboy.
The patients loved it. The staff loved it. The Stetson, cowboy boots and jeans had certainly made their mark. Even the normally frosty Marie had seemed to like his unusual appearance.
Gene was still wearing his Stetson and tipped it towards her. ‘Cordelia?’
She held up the electronic tablet. ‘Nothing that a new heart won’t cure.’ She straightened up. ‘Actually, now that you’re here, you can give me a second opinion on someone.’
He held up his electronic tablet. ‘Great minds think alike. I was just coming to get you to do the same.’
A tiny surge of pride welled in her stomach. She was pleased. Pleased that he’d came to her for a second opinion on one of his patients. Hopefully, that meant he thought she might be a good clinician.
They swapped tablets. ‘You tell me yours, and I’ll tell you mine.’
‘Aryssa Maia, forty-seven, hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. She’s had unsuccessful ablations for atrial fibrillation and she can’t tolerate the usual drugs. She also has a permanent pacemaker in place. I’ve checked her previous scans and just listened to her chest. I think her ventricle is getting to the stage it is barely functioning. She’s symptomatic, breathless and tired, with swollen extremities.’
She nodded. ‘I have a similar case. Jonas Delphine is eighty-six, with existing COPD and chronic heart failure. I think I’m going to have to take him off the study and put him on IV steroids and diuretics. In the space of one day he’s gone downhill fast.’
Gene nodded slowly. She knew he understood. The patient’s welfare was always their prime concern. But the regulations for any research study were strict. They didn’t want any findings skewed. If they used certain other drugs on patients then they were taken off the study programme. It was important that any improvement in a patient’s current condition was only attributed to the drug being studied—not to any other intervention made.