manager he commanded it.
“Leon Hyde, general manager of the Currents.” He offered his hand.
Dr. Reynolds gave her a questioning look, then accepted her father’s hand. The moment of awkwardness between the two men disappeared as the doctor met her usually intimidating father toe to toe.
She couldn’t remember another man who hadn’t at least been initially unsettled by her father. Dr. Reynolds’s gaze didn’t waver. Her appraisal of him rose.
“So, Dr. Reynolds, is Rocket going to be able to run for us Sunday?” her father asked with a note of expectancy in his voice.
“I need to look at the X-rays and MRI before I can let you know.”
“That’ll be in the morning,” Melanie said.
“Good.” Her father turned to her. “Mel, we need Rocket on the field.”
“I understand.” She did, but she wasn’t sure her father wasn’t more concerned about winning than he was Rocket’s health. She just hoped it didn’t come down to her having to choose between the team and her professional conscience. “But I must consider Rocket’s well-being. I won’t sign off until Dr. Reynolds has made his determination.”
Her father gave her a pointed look. The one she recognized that came before the team player speech.
Instead he continued, “You’ll see that Dr. Reynolds gets to the Lodge and is comfortable, won’t you?”
As always, it wasn’t a question but a directive. She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good.” He looked at Dr. Reynolds. “I anticipate a positive report in the morning.”
The doctor made no commitment.
Her father then gave Rocket a slight slap on the shoulder. “Go home and take care of that knee. We need you on the field Sunday.”
Melanie watched the doors swing closed as her father exited. She was impressed by Dr. Reynolds’s ability not to appear pushed into making a decision. Her father was known for being a persuasive man and getting what he wanted. He wanted Rocket to play Sunday. Dr. Reynolds didn’t act as if he would be a yes-man if he didn’t feel it was safe for Rocket to do so. On this she could agree with him.
Still, it hurt that her father didn’t trust her opinion.
* * *
Dalton pulled the collar of his coat farther up around his neck and hunched his shoulders. They were in her car, moving through what was now a steady snowfall. It was unbearably cold. Even the car heater didn’t seem to block the chill seeping into his bones.
Dr. Hyde leaned forward and adjusted the thermostat on the dashboard. “It should be warm in here soon.”
He wasn’t sure he’d ever be comfortable again. Thankfully, a few minutes later he began to thaw. She maneuvered along the road with the confidence of a person who had done this many times.
“We should be at the Lodge in about half an hour. Would you like to stop for something to eat? The Lodge does have an excellent restaurant if you’d rather wait.”
He looked out the windshield. “I don’t think I’m interested in being out in this weather any longer than necessary.”
“It does require getting used to.”
He couldn’t imagine that happening either. “Why is Mr. Overtree called The Rocket?”
She glanced at him and chuckled lightly. “You apparently have never seen him play. He’s fast. Very fast.”
“I’ve never seen a professional football game.”
Melanie looked at him. The car swerved for a second before she corrected it.
“You might want to watch the road.”
She focused on the road again. “You’ve never seen one in person? Or on TV?”
“Neither. No interest. I have a busy practice.”
“You have to be kidding! Football is America’s game.” She sounded as if she was going to get overly excited about the subject.
“I think it’s baseball that’s supposed to be the ‘all-American game.’”
“It might have been at one time but no longer.” The words were said as if she dared anyone to contradict her.
He couldn’t help but raise a brow. “I think there are a lot of people who love baseball that might disagree with you.”
“Maybe but I bet most of them watch the Super Bowl.”
Dr. Reynolds gave a loud humph. “I understand that most watch for the halftime show and the commercials.” He didn’t miss the death grip she had on the stirring wheel. She really took football seriously. It was time to move on to a new subject or ask to drive. “The general manager’s name is Hyde. Any relation?”
“My father.”
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
She glanced at him again. “Normally, no. We’re so close to going to the playoffs that everyone on the team, including my father, is wound up tight. Anyway, most of my work is directly with the coach.”
Based on the way her father spoke to her, she’d agree with him if Dalton declared Rocket shouldn’t play. His being asked to consult seemed necessary just to make the team look as if they were truly interested in the player’s health. So far, all he could tell they were concerned about was winning the next game.
“What made you decide to be a team doctor?”
“With brothers playing in the NFL and a father who coached, it’s the family business. I always wanted to be a doctor and being a team doctor gave me a chance to be a part of football,” she said in a flat tone.
Was there more going on behind that statement?
The concept of family, much less a family business, was foreign to him. His family’s occupation had been selling drugs and he’d wanted to get as far away from it as he could. He’d been a loner and alone for as long as he could remember.
Thankfully she turned into a curving road lined with large trees and had to concentrate on her driving. A few minutes later, they approached a three-story split-cedar building. She pulled under a portico with small lights hanging from it. Two large trees dressed in the same lights with red bows flanked the double wood-framed doors.
“This is Poospatuck Lodge. I think you’ll be comfortable here. The team keeps a suite.”
“Poospatuck?” When had he become such an inquisitive person? Usually on these trips he did what was required without any interest in the area he was visiting.
“It’s an Indian tribe native to New York.”
As she opened the door Dalton said, “It’s not necessary for you to get out.”
“I don’t mind. I need to speak to the management and I can show you up to your suite.”
Dalton grabbed his two bags from the backseat and followed her through the door into the welcome heat of the lobby. Large beams supported the two-story ceiling. Glass filled the wall above the door. The twinkle of lights from outside filtered in through the high windows. Flames burned bright in a gray rock fireplace taking up half of one wall. Above it was a large wreath. Along the mantel lay greenery interspersed with red candles. A grand stairway with an iron handrail led to the second floor.
Christmas had never been a big holiday for him. As a small child, it had just been another day for his parents to shoot up and pass out. In fact, the last time he was taken from his mother had been the day before Christmas. It hadn’t been much fun spending Christmas Day at a stranger’s house. Being a foster child on that day just sent the signal more strongly that he wasn’t a real member of the family. Some of his foster parents