My Sister's Prayer by Mindy Starns Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

bag, he came striding in the door.
    â€œSorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he entered the room and crossed over to his desk. “I’m Austin Hill.” I had expected an older guy, but from the back at least he seemed young, not to mention tall and muscular.
    Then he turned around. My face immediately grew hot, startled as I was by this guy’s incredible good looks. He had to be one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen. It was almost laughable, the chiseled jaw straight from a cologne ad, the green eyes worthy of the silver screen. The thick blond mane, cut and styled as precisely as the hair in a salon poster.
    â€œMs. Talbot, is it?” he said, placing the file he was carrying onto his desk, flipping it open, and having a seat. “Let’s see what we have here.”
    He skimmed the pages in front of him for a moment and then glanced up at me, at my two good legs, a puzzled expression on his face. “You don’t look like the Nicole Talbot I operated on six weeks ago.”
    I blinked, trying to gather my wits about me. “Um…no.” I cleared my throat. “I’m Madeline Talbot, uh, Maddee. Nicole’s older sister.”
    He sat back, swiveling in his chair. “Oh, that’s right. I knew you were coming in. Your grandmother set this up. She said you needed to speak with me ASAP and faxed over a release from Nicole so I could freely discuss your sister’s condition with you.” He closed the file and crossed his arms over it, leaning slightly forward and fixing his gaze on me. “How can I help you exactly?”
    Added to my general speechlessness was a surge of confusion. How could he help me? I thought he was supposed to be leading this show. After hemming and hawing for a minute, I explained I wasn’t sure, but that I would be taking over my sister’s care on Saturday, and my grandmother had said I needed to be brought up to speed on her condition first.
    â€œHuh.” He, too, seemed perplexed. “Well, I’ll tell you what I can, but I’m a little confused. You really ought to be having this conversationwith her internist, or even just her regular doctor. I’m the one who did the surgery on her leg, and I’m in charge of the follow-up for that, but otherwise I’m not involved with her case. Your grandmother knows that. I wonder why she wanted you to see me specifically.”
    Before I could reply, we were interrupted by a light knock at the door and a nurse who needed him. Flashing me an apologetic smile, he excused himself, saying he would be right back. Then he walked out, leaving behind a faint scent of wood and citrus, probably one of those expensive colognes from the Nordstrom in Short Pump.
    While he was gone, I seized the opportunity to do what I could with my appearance, smoothing my clothes, running a quick brush through my hair, wiping a tissue under my eyes for mascara smears. I dabbed on some lip gloss but didn’t dare whip out the lint roller in case he returned midroll. I finished by checking my face in my pocket mirror and then tucked it away and folded my hands in my lap, trying to look relaxed.
    When he still wasn’t back, I let my eyes wander around the room, taking in all that I saw, starting with the multiple framed degrees hanging near the desk. University of Pennsylvania. Johns Hopkins. The guy was definitely credentialed.
    He was also quite neat, the ceiling-to-floor bookshelves along the back wall tidy and organized, with clusters of medical books—in alphabetical order—perfectly aligned and separated by tasteful ojets d’art , including what looked like a prehistoric bone of some kind mounted on a brass base. There were also several framed photos featuring three adorable little blond children ranging in age from two to six. In one they were jumping into a pile of leaves and laughing. In another, he was holding a boy under each of his arms while the girl sat