“Small world, isn’t it?” she said, shifting a quick glance at Cristofor.
“Smaller than we’d ever guess,” Dante responded, also shifting his glance to Cristofor. “My brother,” he said, nodding in Cristofor’s direction. “Cristofor, this is Catherine Brann—Wilder. Dr Catherine Wilder. We were…colleagues, back in Boston.”
Cristofor looked first at Dante, then at Catherine. Then smiled. “He never told us he had such a beautiful colleague,” he replied, turning on his typical ladies’-man charm, something that had never, until that very moment, bothered Dante.
“And he never told me he had such a handsome brother,” she answered, duplicating Cristofor’s charm with a warm smile. “Or, actually, any living brother at all.”
Dante cleared his throat. “I don’t recall you ever asking.”
The warm smile she had for Cristofor went stone cold as she turned to Dante. “Even if I had, would you have told me? You weren’t exactly open about things, were you? Open, or honest?”
“Why do I get the feeling there’s more going on here than meets the eye?” Cristofor asked.
“The only thing going on here,” Catherine stated, “is that, as director of this clinic, I’ve come to welcome your brother to our facility and to help him get settled in and acclimated. It’s what I would do for any patient.” She was avoiding looking at Dante now, instead fixing her stare on his brother.
“Except I’m not just any patient, Catherine,” Dante said, drawing in a tense breath. “No matter how you want to frame it, you know I’m not!”
Cristofor took a long, hard look at the both of them and started to edge his way to the hall leading to the door.
“No,” Catherine admitted. “I don’t suppose you are just any patient.”
Dante eased out the breath he’d been holding. “Good, because I don’t want our past—”
“Our past is just that. Our past.”
“But you admitted I’m not just any patient.”
“You’re not. You’re a celebrity. You can afford our best suite. We’ve had celebrities before, and we have to take special precautions to keep their fawning public at bay. I’m sure it will be no different with you.”
Cristofor finally made it to the door, and as he slipped into the hall, he paused briefly. “Nice to meet you, Dr Wilder. I think I’ll leave you and Dante alone to settle this…whatever it is going on between you, and go find myself a cup of coffee.”
Before either Dante or Catherine could say a word, Cristofor was beating a hasty retreat down the hall, not even looking back.
“Looks like we scared him off,” Dante commented casually.
“Speak for yourself, Dante. You can read anything you want into this situation, but to me it’s strictly professional. I’m the doctor, you’re the patient. That’s all there is. We’ll heal your broken ankle and you’ll be gone. End of story.”
“Then sleeping together the way we did for all those months, and getting engaged, didn’t mean anything to you?” he challenged, not intending to be contentious as much as wanting to evoke something more than ice from Catherine.
She cocked her head, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then finally, she said, “That’s right. We did sleep together, didn’t we? I guess I’d forgotten about that part of my life.”
He opened his mouth to reply, then shut it, and simply smiled. Sizzling, red-headed temper. Beautiful fire in those green eyes. He’d never seen that in her before, but he had to admit, he liked it in her now.
CHAPTER TWO
“HE’S w-what?” Catherine sputtered, not sure she’d heard that right.
“He’s requested you to be his physician here. I went in to explain his therapy schedule to him and he said he wanted Doctor Wilder to oversee his therapy.” Dr Friedrich Rilke shrugged casually. “Sorry, Catherine, but we do always bow to our patients’ requests if at all possible or reasonable. Dr Aeberhard insisted on that when he ran the clinic and I’m sure he wouldn’t have that changed now that he’s stepped down from admin duties. Dante Baldassare specifically said he wants you to be his doctor in charge so, unless there’s a good reason for you not to be, I’m literally handing his chart back to you.” Which was what he did.
A good reason? Did she ever have a good reason! “I admitted him, Friedrich. Went down to greet him, said hello, gave him a five-minute explanation of how we do things here at Aeberhard, then left. That’s all there was to it. And I don’t want to be Mr Baldassare’s doctor. I don’t like him, I have a full schedule of other patients, and you’re much better with ankles than I am. I specialize in knees, for heaven’s sake. Did you explain that to him, that you’re the ankle specialist?”
“Explained it, and he wasn’t interested.”
“Do you think you could you talk him into using one of the other staff members?”
Rilke gave his head an adamant shake. “The man was damned insistent about wanting you. He made that perfectly clear, and he threatened to call Dr Aeberhard personally if we don’t grant his request.” He paused for a moment, looked thoughtful, then finally said what he seemed almost reluctant to say. “Is there something personal between the two of you? He seems almost… proprietorial. Well, maybe that’s not the best word to describe it, but he does act like he has some connection to you. And you’re protesting this whole situation much more than you should be.”
Dante being proprietorial after all these years. Now, wasn’t that funny? Like he had the right to be anything where she was concerned! “Maybe it’s because I was the first doctor he met here. Patients do become attached, you know.”
“After five minutes?” Friedrich shook his head. “I shouldn’t think so, but if that’s what it is, I’d call it more a fixation. And that still doesn’t explain your reaction, Catherine.”
“Not a fixation. We worked together briefly back in Boston, years ago. Didn’t get along then. But I suppose he’s requested me because he knows my qualifications better than he knows yours.” It sounded logical, although Friedrich’s eyes were squinting, indicating he still wasn’t convinced. “He’s a very controlling man…” To say the least!
“So, you worked together? How’s that? He’s a race driver.”
Catherine nodded. “He used to be a surgeon.” Odd, to say that. Used to be a surgeon. On the occasions she’d listened to sports reporters mentioning his name, even then the image of Dr Baldassare had not dissipated. Simply a case of her own stubborn mind not moving forward.
“That’s awesome. I didn’t know any of the Baldassares had done anything other than auto racing.”
“You’re a fan of the sport?” she asked, a little surprised by that.
He nodded. “And of the whole Baldassare family. They’re legends. One of the best race teams in the world. Dante’s so close to the title, and after Dario was killed…”
“Dario,” Catherine stated. She knew the story. Painful. Sad. Not much was ever said about him, and she understood that. She’d suffered her own losses, which was why she’d never asked questions. Dario Baldassare had died in a race in Spain several months before she’d met Dante, and that’s all she knew. Naturally, when Dante’s father had suffered a heart attack, and Dante had assumed the grief over Dario’s death to be a good part of the reason for it, she’d encouraged him to stay close to his family in Italy for as long as he was needed. That was all part of the story she knew. But the part she hadn’t expected had been the announcement she’d seen on a television sports program that her future