Page 3 of Lush Curves

“Hey.” Mac put his arm around her shoulders, and when she subsided against his strong, solid body, Sam felt the wild urge to growl and beat the livingcrapout of the man.

Hands off, MacIntyre… I swear to Christ, if there are any professional lines to be crossed and any hugging to be done with a patient’s mother,I’llbe doing it. I don’t care if you’re built like a brick shit-house, I’ll take you down.

“Look, we’ll go get you something hot to drink, and I’ll sit with you and explain it all again.” Mac was holding Annie closer and tighter now, the bastard. “You’ll ask me whatever you want, and I’ll answer what I can. OK?”

She stared up at him. “You’re the one who’s a doctor, right?”

“Yep.” Mac grinned, all gorgeous charm and blue eyes and long blond hair, damn him. “Doctor Shane MacIntyre, at your service.”

She looked him up and down, clearly stunned. “What kind of doctor are you?”

“Oh, Doctor MacIntyre is one of the best consulting neurologists in the state,” Sam said, giving credit where it was due, mostly to set Annie’s mind at ease. “Believe me, ma’am, if you have any questions about how the brain works,thisis the man to ask.”

Annie’s jaw dropped. “Aneurologist?”

“I know, right?” Jax finally producing a grin. “He’s as brainy as hell – and yes, that was an intentional pun.”

Annie gave a small, shocked laugh. “Good Lord, boys… you’re all just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“We try to be,” Mac said jovially. “Now, let’s get you sitting down and we can talk. Yeah?”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Thank you, Doctor MacIntyre.”

“Mac.”

“Mac.” She gave him a grateful, astonishingly beautiful smile, and Sam wished that she’d smile like that athim, just once. Maybe twice.

“Mac!” Noah echoed.

“Yeah, man,” Mac said, turning to face Noah again. “How you doing?”

“King’s smart,” Noah said, and despite the flat monotone typical of a person with advanced autism, Sam did discern a clear tone of admiration present in his words. King grinned at Noah with real affection, gave Mac and Jax a wink.

“Is he?” Annie said, walking back over to her son. Sam watched her go, knowing that she had to –of course she does, she’s got people to take care of now and she’s not going to shirk that responsibility, not for ten seconds– knowing that her mind was already on Noah, on Sarah, on all the ways that she had to cope with this new, terrifying reality.

And Samalsoknew in that moment that he was going to do anything and everything to help Annie through this. Anything she needed, he was going to be there.

Whether she knew it or not.

**

Three days later, Sam walked over to Sarah’s room, carrying a cup of coffee. He knew that Annie was there, since he’d seen her arrive at the hospital around six that morning. He assumed that she’d come straight from her job –I wonder where she waitresses, anyway? And really, how to ask without sounding like a creepy stalker?– since she’d been wearing her uniform and sensible shoes, and she’d been a harried, hurrying mess. He was sure that she hated being away from Sarah for hours and hours on end; he was also sure that if shewasaway, then it was because she had no choice whatsoever in the matter.

Sam approached Sarah’s room quietly, wondering if maybe Annie was asleep. But he should have known better: she barely slept, he knew that. Mac had told him so, but Sam would have figured it out on his own – her beautiful eyes had purplish-blue circles under them, and the fine lines around her mouth and eyes had seemed to deepen and double in number over the past three days.

Idly, he wondered how old Annie was. He’d seen Sarah’s medical records of course, and so he knew that she was twenty-six and that Noah was her twin. Beyond that, he had no real idea about Annie… though he knew that she was a single mother. He’d found that out when he’d gently asked if he should get a nurse to call Sarah’s Dad.

“He’s out of our lives,” Annie had responded, showing a flash of anger. “Been out since my kids were eighteen.”

“No contact then?” Sam had said. “No reason at all to have him here?”

“None.” The word had a finality to it. “Thank you for asking though, doctor.”

So… she’d taken care of two young adults, which, in itself probably wouldn’t be all that challenging, really. After all, an eighteen year old wasn’t like an eighteen month old, or a child who needed to be shuttled to and from school, or who needed to be taken care of at home when sick. Eighteen was a functional, independent, young adult.

Except when that young adult was severely autistic.

Sam had talked to Jax a bit, since the man was practically camped out next to Sarah’s bed, day in and day out. Annie had to come and go, but Jax owned his own business –which turned out to be Dangerous Curves, that horrific dive bar frequented by criminal-types that sent so many patients Sam’s way – and he seemed to have pretty much thrown it at his staff and told them to deal with whatever.

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