Mendoza's Miracle Read online

  He’d come pretty close to meeting his maker, and while he still had a long road ahead when it came to recovery, he’d taken a good hard look at his family. The fact that Rafe and Isabella had found love and were starting families reminded him of something he didn’t have. Something he hadn’t realized he wanted.

  “So you’d settle down if you met the right woman?” Leah asked.

  “Sure.” But even if he actually found that particular lady, he couldn’t very well settle down until he was back to his fighting weight.

  That same dark shadow that had plagued him since coming out of the coma settled over him again, reminding him that life as he’d known it was over.

  The two things he’d always counted on—his body and his brain—had failed him. And while he knew he’d see some improvement with time, he wasn’t sure how much. That in itself was hard enough to deal with, but how was he supposed to get by without his mojo?

  In the past, he’d been gifted with an inherent streak of luck, but it had run out on him the day that tornado struck Red Rock. And he feared he’d never get it back, that he’d never be back on top again.

  “What’s wrong?” Leah asked.

  What was he supposed to tell her? That he missed the old Javier? That he might even be feeling sorry for himself?

  Nope, he wasn’t going to do that. So he conjured a phony smile and gave a half-assed shrug. “I guess the therapy took more out of me than I thought.”

  Then he risked a glance at her face to see if she’d bought his excuse, only to recognize sympathy as well as skepticism in her eyes. Great. Just what he needed. The only woman he’d found the least bit appealing in the past two months saw him as a wimp.

  But maybe that was for the best. He wasn’t anywhere near ready for a relationship—and who knew when or if that would change.

  As Leah studied Javier at rest, his hair still damp from the physical workout he’d had earlier, her heart went out to him. She didn’t doubt that he’d just gone through a grueling therapy session, but the pain he’d suffered and the effort he’d gone through hadn’t put that shadow in his eyes. Something else was bothering him—that same something his family had noticed.

  Unable to help herself, she eased closer to the bed and placed her hand over his. It was just a sympathetic touch, a gentle reminder that he had people who cared about him and a boatload of support. But when her fingers grazed his skin, a zap of heat shot clear to her bone and kicked her heart rate into overdrive.

  As their eyes met and their gazes locked, something warm and charged with energy stirred between them. And for a moment, their brief connection melded into a solid and palpable bond.

  Afraid to acknowledge whatever was simmering between them, she addressed his mood instead.

  “What’s really bothering you?” she asked.

  He didn’t respond right away. About the time that she was giving up hope that he would, he chuffed. “I’m not used to being laid up, crippled or weak, so I’m struggling with it, okay?”

  His disclosure, his vulnerability, struck something deep inside her. The dedicated nurse within—or maybe it was the lonely woman—ran her fingers over his knuckles, along his wrist and settled on his muscular forearm. “There’s nothing weak about you, Javier. You’re recovering from life-threatening injuries that might have killed a man who wasn’t in top physical condition. But you survived. And not only did you pull through, that strength and drive that made you successful before is going to make you better than ever.”

  With that, she removed her hand altogether, releasing the patient who’d stirred her in ways no one else ever had, and took a step back. She knew what to expect from the professional side of her, but those womanly thoughts and urges left her a little unbalanced and seeking a quick escape.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he said. “I’ve always been an optimist, but after the injury…”

  Again, the nurse spoke up. “It’s only natural that you’d focus on your limitations, but instead, look at how far you’ve come. Two months ago, your family called in a priest to give you last rites. And you’ve continued to improve to the point you can now walk. It’s just a matter of time. You’ll be home before you know it, and you’ll hold the world by a string once again.”

  He didn’t argue, but she wasn’t sure that he was entirely convinced.

  Still, that was reason enough for her to leave, to let him get back to the life he had once led. Because she didn’t want to witness him morphing back into the successful real estate developer and entrepreneur who’d charmed attractive women right and left. Not that Leah had any real evidence that Javier was that kind of man—just a suspicion, a hunch.

  Of course, even if he was a player at heart, maybe the accident had brought about a change in him, a good one.

  Or was that merely wishful thinking on her part, brought about by transference?

  She hoped that’s all it was, since patients sometimes fell for their doctors—or their nurses, as the case may be—but that feeling was supposed to be fleeting. And the more time Leah spent with Javier Mendoza, the stronger her attraction grew.

  “You’re good at that,” he said.

  “At what?”

  “Putting things in perspective, forcing me to see the whole picture.”

  Maybe so, but she wished she could actually take her own advice. She needed to take a big step back and let the rehab nurses do their jobs. Still, she thanked him for the compliment.

  “So tell me,” Javier said as the shadow in his eyes faded, leaving the whiskey-brown as clear and intoxicating as a double shot of Scotch. “How did you manage to get by this long without someone slipping a diamond on your finger?”

  The crooked slant of his smile, the teasing tone of his voice, set off a buzz in her bloodstream and a sexual longing deep in her core. And by the intensity in his gaze, she suspected that she wasn’t the only one feeling a rush of desire.

  But she had to cut it off before it got out of hand, so she said, “I haven’t met the right guy yet. And since I take my job seriously, I don’t get many chances to meet eligible bachelors.”

  For a moment, she thought Javier would jump on the “eligible bachelor” line, but he didn’t.

  “You don’t have to go out on the town to meet someone,” he said. “There’s got to be a doctor, lab technician or medical professional who’s caught your attention.”

  Yes, once upon a time there had been. But neither of those relationships had worked out. And something told her that flirting with Javier Mendoza wouldn’t work out so well either.

  “I make it a point not to fish off the hospital pier,” she said, even though her opportunity to “fish” anywhere else was limited due to her work schedule.

  “That’s too bad,” he said.

  Was it? The glimmer in his eye and his boyish grin suggested that he might be imagining himself as one of those fish; she certainly was. But Javier Mendoza was off-limits to her—no matter where or how she’d met him.

  “I’ll settle down someday,” she said. Then she added, “When the time is right.”

  And the timing couldn’t be any worse than it was right now, even if transference or hormones argued otherwise. So she’d have to get her head out of the clouds, since a down-to-earth woman like her wasn’t anywhere near ready to enter the high-speed dating world of an “eligible bachelor” like Javier Mendoza.

  In fact, there were probably a lot of reasons she ought to refuse to go out with him. And as she began to ponder the first of them so she’d be ready with a quick response if he came out and asked her, she realized that she shouldn’t have bothered.

  In the end, no matter what she’d read in his body language or heard in the flirtatious tone of his voice, Javier let the subject drop, as if he’d never planned to ask her out or to see her
again once he was discharged and went home.

  Chapter Five

  Five days had passed since Javier had entered the rehab unit and four since he’d last seen Leah. To say that he missed her visits was putting it lightly.

  Their paths had crossed daily while he’d been on the third floor, yet with his move to the east side of the hospital, he might as well be on a deserted island.

  He wasn’t sure what that meant, but the truth was, as nice as the other nursing staff had been to him, he hadn’t given anyone else a passing thought. The hospitalization and the long road back to recovery had taken an emotional toll on him, but Leah had managed to begin a healing process on the inside, on something he couldn’t see.

  So he would look her up as soon as he could walk across the room without the use of crutches or a cane—a decision that gave him another reason to push harder during his physical therapy sessions.

  Sure, she’d claimed that she didn’t “fish off the hospital pier,” but Javier wasn’t a coworker. And he wouldn’t be a patient at San Antonio General much longer if that bothered her.

  So where was she now? Was she working today? Or was she trying to avoid him?

  The thought that she might be distancing herself from him didn’t sit well, even it if was probably for the best at this point in time. After all, he still grimaced in pain when he walked, still had to steady himself with a cane or crutches, still required time to recover from the effort to move from his bed to the bathroom, which he needed to do now. So there was no way that he’d ask her out until he was back on top of his game.

  But when would he be fully mobile? What if by the time he did get back to fighting weight, she got involved with someone else?

  And why did it seem to matter so much if she did?

  Grumbling under his breath, he threw off the covers, rolled to the side and slowly swung his feet over the edge of the mattress. Then he reached for his cane and made his way to the bathroom.

  Thanks to Isabella, who’d brought sweat pants and T-shirts for him to wear while in rehab, he no longer needed to wear those blasted PJs. So, in a sense, he’d taken one more step toward his goal of getting out of here and going home, where he could recover on his own.

  After washing up at the sink, he splashed water on his face, then dried off with a towel before making the slow trek back to bed. Once he’d gotten settled on the mattress and the pain of walking had subsided, he tried to imagine himself at home, stretched out on the sofa, watching a ball game. But he’d been away so long. Two months seemed like an eon, and even now, when he was nearing the end of his hospitalization, the minutes ticked by at a snail’s pace.

  As he reached for the television remote, he heard footsteps moving down the hall and slowing at his doorway.

  He wished he could say that a pair of Crocs had made the sound, but whoever it was wore a pair of street shoes. Still, he turned to the door just as his father entered the room carrying a familiar guitar case.

  “What are you doing?” Javier asked, reaching for the remote to turn down the television volume. “Why’d you bring that here?”

  “I thought you might like having it around.” Luis carried the instrument to the window ledge and leaned it against the wall. Then he turned to Javier and smiled, looking for a moment like the man he’d once been before his wife’s unexpected death had knocked him to his knees.

  When Elena Mendoza died of pneumonia last year, the entire family had been heartbroken, but none as much as Luis. The couple had been exceptionally close and happy, so Luis now bore the ragged marks of grief that had deepened the fine lines on his face into wrinkles.

  Not that he was bent or stooped, but his dark hair had also begun to gray at the sideburns and he no longer wore an easy smile.

  At fifty-eight, he still had the physique of a younger man, but his shoulders didn’t seem nearly as broad as they’d once been.

  Had the fear of losing Javier so soon after his wife’s death created additional stress on him?

  Of course it had. And with that realization, a pang of guilt shot right through Javier, making him want to do whatever he could to ease his old man’s worry.

  “Thanks for thinking about me,” Javier said.

  “Yeah, well, music helps you relax. And you’ve been through a lot, first with your mom…and then the accident.”

  After his mother died, each of her sons had grieved in different ways. Javier had closed himself off to the world with only his guitar for company. And his music had helped a lot during those first few days after the funeral. But he’d soon found that focusing on his business deals had worked the best to ease the pain and to get him back into the swing of things.

  Thankfully, his family had managed to rally, supporting each other, just as they’d done during Javier’s recovery from near-fatal injuries.

  “I would have brought your guitar to you sooner,” Luis said, “but I didn’t think they’d let you play when you were on the third floor.”

  “That’s for sure. And the rehab nursing staff will have my hide if I create a racket.”

  Strumming the chords always took his mind off his troubles, but he wasn’t about to play the thing while he was in the hospital. While tempted to ask his dad to bring the case closer, to open it up, he didn’t.

  “No one’s going to complain if they hear you play, mijo, especially if the songs are soft and soothing. The other patients will probably enjoy hearing it.”

  Maybe so. He’d always found music to be therapeutic. Whenever business pressures built in the past, Javier would pick up his guitar and find a quiet place to play. Before long, a calming sense of peace would settle over him, leaving him relaxed and ready to face whatever challenges came his way.

  Everyone who knew him—his family, teachers and friends—claimed he had the talent to pursue a career on the stage, but music was more of a hobby to him.

  Instead, when given an opportunity to work with Roberto Mendoza, a distant cousin who had a thriving real estate business, Javier had jumped at the chance. And he’d never been sorry. His drive and ambition had served him well, leading to financial success and the purchase of quite a few properties he’d developed himself.

  “Have you heard from Roberto?” Javier asked his dad. “I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  “He’s in Austin, putting together another real estate venture, but he’ll be home soon.”

  “I’ll bet he’s missing Frannie and the kids.”

  “Without a doubt. He adores his family.”

  A couple of years back, Roberto had married Frannie Fortune, his old high school sweetheart. They were now raising their grandson Brandon, who was just a few months older than Maribel, their three-year-old daughter.

  “I’m sure you’re eager to get back to the office,” Luis said, although an arched brow suggested he wasn’t so sure about anything Javier was thinking or feeling. And he wasn’t.

  No one knew that he still struggled with being less than perfect, less than the best. As far as he’d been concerned, the guy who came in second was merely the first loser.

  But Javier’s father had suffered enough already, so he said, “You’re right, Dad. I’m ready.”

  Maybe instead of strumming the guitar strings he ought to call someone and have them bring his laptop so he could access the internet, check a zillion emails and ease himself back to work.

  Getting into the swing of things at the office might help him forget about Leah, too.

  After Leah’s last visit to the rehab unit, she’d forced herself to stay away from Javier for nearly a week, yet thoughts of him continued to plague her, especially when she knew he was only a five-minute walk down the hospital corridor. And as far as she knew, his time at San Antonio General was nearing an end.

  What was she going to do wh
en he was discharged and left the hospital for good?

  She had no idea. Even with him being out of sight, he’d been on her mind more than ever. So in spite of her better judgment, she took some time during her lunch hour to visit him one last time.

  With each stride she took toward the rehab unit, her steps grew peppier, her heart lighter—until she reached his room and found his door shut.

  She would have turned away, but the guitar music coming from inside caught her by surprise.

  Was he watching television?

  There was only one way to find out, so she knocked lightly.

  The strumming stopped, and the rich, baritone sound of Javier’s voice said, “Come on in. It’s open.”

  Leah reached for the knob, gave it a turn, then let herself inside his room. But the sight of Javier, sitting up in bed, with a guitar in his lap, stopped her in her tracks.

  The past few days in rehab had given him a casual, comfortable air. If he hadn’t been in a hospital room, she might have forgotten that he was still a patient.

  “Well, sing of the devil,” he said, his deep and sensual voice wrapping her in a velvet embrace. “I thought you’d left me for good, Florence.”

  For the first time since he’d been transferred to her care, she was struck speechless from… What? Longing? Attraction? Desire?

  His boyish grin and whiskey-colored gaze were almost mesmerizing, and it was easy to see how a woman could lose her head around him. In fact, Leah wondered just how many actually had.

  She certainly struggled to stay in control.

  In order to break the arousing eye contact and to end the awkward silence, she nodded toward the guitar he held. “I had no idea you were a musician.”

  “I’m not really. It’s just a hobby.”

  The chords she’d heard hadn’t sounded like those of a beginner or a hobbyist, but she let the comment go and made her way to his bedside, kicking herself as she did so.