Page 55 of Consuming Logan

“Dr. Xavier,” Ava breathed in, and then took a step back, covering her mouth.

A deep side part separated his classically trimmed brown hair. He looked too put together in Logan’s opinion. What guy had every strand in place?

“Are you okay?” Franklin asked, his tone sedate, but concerned.

“Ava mine?” Logan leaped to his feet prepared to intervene, but she quickly recovered.

She swallowed, and then squared her shoulders. “I’m fine, morning nausea. It’s wonderful to see you again.”

“The pleasure is mine, Miss Walters,” he said, extending his hand in greeting. Over his wire-rimmed glasses, the slender man smiled at Ava, a telltale blush spreading beneath his white collared shirt. “No need for formality among former staff members. Call me Franklin.”

Logan had a few choice names in mind for Franklin. He would never get used to other men flirting with his Ava. She had the same effect on them as she did on him. Because of Ava, his life had sunshine on the cloudiest of days. But, after Brooke’s infidelity he’d readily mark his territory when necessary.

“Oh,” she giggled. “Call me Ava.”

“Lovely, Ava,” he repeated, with a boyish grin. “Will you be joining us for the entire visit?”

Ava angled away from him, facing the dopey sap. The guy even smelled like molasses. And, what did he mean for the entire visit? How long did his surgical team plan to hold him hostage?

“Actually,” Ava winced. “I received a text from my co-lead on a project. I may have to step out.”

Logan frowned, irritated that Ash couldn’t manage two weeks without Ava’s direction. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” he barked.

Ava cut him a sideways glance. “Not here,” she said in a singsong voice.

To the sweet-smelling Franklin with his fruity cologne, Logan asked. “Where’s Dr. Pierre? When can I take this splint off?”

Franklin’s smile fell away.

“Well?” Logan prompted his arms crossed over his chest.

The other man cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable with Logan’s posturing. Franklin glanced down at the chart he held.

“Unfortunately, Dr. Pierre has been called away on another high-profile case. I will discuss the follow-up plan with you. Please have a seat, Dr. Masters.”

Dr. Masters was it? Logan pushed the chair with one foot. “Maybe later. Get on with this.”

What he wanted to hear, that the injuries to his hand, though serious, had healed. By Franklin’s lengthy introduction, this visit would be another deviation from his plan.

“What Logan means is we’re eager to hear about his progress. I love having him at home, but I know he’s needed here.” Ava stammered.

Logan followed the curve of Ava’s belly. He thought about the added support they would need with two babies. When he returned to work, his operating room OR schedules would be demanding. A steady rotation of last night feedings and early morning cases. He and Ava already started their day at two hours before sunrise. Carting the babies off to daycare or her parents’ house would shave off another forty-minutes minutes of sleep. In four short weeks, he’d be in the office and Ava would enter six month’s gestation.

“I’ve reviewed your current and previous radiographs,” his colleague began, a nervous wobble in his voice. “In Doctor Pierre’s opinion, and I have to agree with her—”

Logan interrupted, “Stop stalling. Tell me what’s going on with my hand. How soon till I have run of my operating rooms again?”

His international platform was dependent on his surgical portfolio as well as his wound care research. He was more than an expert in pediatric medicine and surgery. Logan had successfully implemented and evaluated every component of his research on a patient. The combination of surgical skill and clinical research made him highly valuable to companies like Tyson Adventis. To surrender his life’s pursuit to his assistants was incomprehensible.

Ava gripped his forearm. “Franklin was just about to explain. Let’s listen, shall we.”

“He hasn’t said anything,” Logan snapped. He’d practiced enough years to recognize the signs that bad news hid around the bend.

Perspiration dampened Franklin’s forehead. He stood and ran a hand across his brow. He adjusted his glasses—more than once.

“Let’s review your radiographs,” he said, pointing to the blank box that would display the films.

Pivoting, he waited for the images to appear on the wall-mounted digital screen. Logan stood shoulder to shoulder with the doctor that he’d trained on wound care and tissue salvage.