Page 23 of Doctor Clause

“You donated them?” Leeona shrieked. “Ahem.” She reeled in the shock. “Are Tommy’s latest results in? Has there been any change?”

Doctor exchanged glances with doctor.

“It’s okay,” Leeona blurted out. “I asked Dr. Clause to come. He’s a friend of mine and I want to cover all my bases.” She paused. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, of course. I do.”

Kent chuckled. “That’s all right. I fully understand. Tommy is your baby, after all. If it makes you feel better to have Stephen here, that’s fine by me.” He handed over the boy’s medical charts. “It’s your consent which is needed. If you want him here, he can stay.”

“What’s his current condition?” Stephen asked.

“Tommy is stable at the moment,” Kent replied. “The cancer hasn’t progressed, nor has it shown signs of shrinking. It is my opinion; he may benefit from the latest clinical trial.”

“Is it necessary?” she asked.

“No,” Kent replied, leaning back in his chair, hands folding together. “But given the current success rate for the new treatment, the fact Tommy’s condition is a match to all requirements, and there is no cost to you, I strongly recommend taking part.”

“Are there side effects?” Leeona asked

“There is always the possibility of side effects,” the doctor replied. “Even with the current treatment plan, there are. You know that. I can’t say what they might be. I can only tell you what is in the early reports. Here.” He used the edge of the desk to pull forward his rolling chair, placing a sheet of paper in front of her. “That’s a list of possible adverse reactions. It is pretty standard stuff.”

“I don’t know,” she said, squeezing her lover’s hand with all her might, looking for his support and input.

“Hmm,” he groaned, pulling away from her grip. Fingers flexed, relieving the stiffness caused by the earlier extreme pressure. “I can’t give professional advice, but I can say the treatment program looks good on paper. I would certainly suggest it to any of my patients, if they were given such an opportunity.”

“Really?” Her gaze fell to the floor, intently staring but seeing nothing.

“Look.” Kent inhaled deeply. “I can’t force you to accept this offer, but I can say it won’t come around again. This is a once-in-a-life-time deal, a true one and done. If you don’t take the spot, there are hundreds of others who will jump at the opportunity. Think about it, but don’t take too long. I can’t hold off giving an answer for more than forty-eight hours.”

Leeona gasped. “But Christmas is only a few days away. I need to discuss this with Tommy, and I don’t want to ruin the season for him.”

“He’s tougher than you give him credit for,” Kent suggested.

“I’ve only met him once, but I’ll agree with that diagnosis,” Stephen said. “He’s a fighter, who worries just as much about his mother as she does about him. I think you should have a talk with him. Bring Kent with you to explain the fine details. He may be young, but it is his body and he should at least have a chance to express his feelings.”

“Okay!” she agreed. “I’ll talk to Tommy and have an answer for you tomorrow.”

The truth was, as frightening as it was, she’d already decided to accept the offer. It was the season for miracles, after all. This was a present waiting to be opened. Maybe Santa crossed off both Tommy and her own wishes at the same time.

Until the ribbon was pulled, there was no telling what the box actually held. No one refused a gift left under the treebecause they were too scared it might not be exactly what they asked for.

Chapter Seventeen

Stephen

Time flew by. Things were busier than before. In his profession, work came before anything, and anyone else. Lives were held in the palms of his hands, after all. Dropping the ball had real life or death consequences. Fantasies, on the other hand, were still going to be there when all was said and done. Putting pleasure on hold was a necessity. It wasn’t going to boil away on the back burner, if he turned it off.

The recliner creaked, tilting to a fully laid-back position for a five-minute, well-deserved rest—just enough time for forty winks.

The images on the backs of shut lids were of her. That had been the total extent of their contact over the past few weeks. A situation which couldn’t be helped.

She was just as busy as he was, especially with calendar sales. Apparently, they were going like hotcakes.

Fingers rubbed weary eyes, bringing slightly blurred vision back into alignment. His gratuitous copy was lying in a pile to the right side of his desk; the plastic still intact. There was no desire to look at any of it. He certainly wasn’tinterested in seeing colleagues half-naked, and his own photo was his worst nightmare come true.

The whispering in the corridors.

The eyes, picturing him wearing little to nothing but that Santa hat.

The soft giggles.

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