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“Absolutely not.”
“You’re sadistic, you know that?”
“What’s sadistic mean?” Patrick asked as Beth made the first scratch on his back. He didn’t protest, but his face turned red from trying to hold still.
“It means she made my back itch a lot and won’t let me scratch it.”
“It’s one of the perks of the job,” she said, looking playfully at him for the first time that evening. He remembered that look.
Beth quickly finished testing Patrick without a peep coming from him. Gavin wondered why his back felt on fire but his son wasn’t complaining at all.
“OK, guys. Now you have to lie here for twenty minutes.”
“Hey, where are you going?” Gavin asked.
“To clean up the work station. It’s closing time. Talk amongst yourselves.”
He lay there like a good boy trying to be teacher’s pet but his skin flushed from warm to hot, beginning from the top of his head downward. His scalp felt tingly. “Does your head itch?”
“Nope,” Patrick said, looking very comfortable. “Hey, let’s arm-wrestle.”
Gavin cleared a tickle in his throat. His lungs twitched and itched inside. His beeper went off. He sat up. “Maybe later.”
Using the wall phone, he dialed in the familiar ER numbers. “Riordan.” He coughed while he listened, then glanced at his arms. They were covered with the beginnings of hives. Patrick’s back looked pale, other than a few red dots and lots of writing.
“I’ll be right down. Contact Orthopedics and the plastic surgeon on call.” He hung up.
Beth reappeared at the door. Her eyes flashed both a double-take and alarm when she saw Gavin. “Are you all right?” She glanced at Patrick to make sure he was OK.
“A four-year-old was just brought into the ER. I’ve got to go,” he said, as the intense itching from his back spread all over his body.
“You can’t leave. It looks like you’re having a systemic reaction. And you can’t leave a minor alone during skin testing. California law.” She reached into the cupboard for a syringe and a vial.
The soles of his feet and palms of his hands joined the tornado of itching traveling across his skin. “They’re waiting for me.”
She wiped his arm with an alcohol swab and popped him with a needle.
“Ouch! Hey, what was that?”
Patrick looked on in alarm. “Do I gotta have that, too?”
She shook her head. “No, you’re fine. But your dad is having a big reaction to the testing.”
Patrick coughed.
“That was epi. Here, take this.” She handed Gavin a small foil packet she’d torn open. “It’s an antihistamine. Dissolve it under your tongue.” She turned him round and assessed his back. “Good God, a whole section of the testing has run together into one huge welt. Let me check your blood pressure.”
“I told you I have to go.” He coughed and Patrick coughed along with him. Irritation accompanied his racing pulse and his lungs wheezed. Tight, resistant huffs replaced his normal breathing.
“Sit down.” She gave his chest a firm shove and angled him into a chair. “You won’t do anyone any good if you collapse in the elevator.” She fastened the blood-pressure cuff around his arm, pumped it up, and listened with her stethoscope. He flashed her an annoyed stare. Unfazed, she bent forward in silence, almost head to head with him as she listened to his blood pressure.
He started to stand up.
“Hold your horses. Good. Your pressure hasn’t dropped. Let me listen to your lungs.” She placed the cold stethoscope bell first on his chest then on his back and commanded him to breathe in and out for each. “I hear a little wheezing, but not bad. Let me roll you down to the ER in a wheelchair. You shouldn’t be running around like this. And you can’t leave Patrick alone here.” She glanced at his back. “Man, you should be a bubble boy.”
“Yeah, I’ve always been special. Look, this is ridiculous. I can walk.”
“Maybe you can, but we don’t want to spread this reaction any further by increasing your circulation with physical activity, so you’re going in a wheelchair.” She reached into the cupboard again and tossed him a small gray canister and then an aerochamber. “Take a couple of hits off that while I get the wheelchair.”
He felt like an insolent teenager screwing up his face at a teacher’s stupid idea, but did what he had been told for Patrick’s sake. The woman was as pushy as his ER nurses, but he trusted her knowledge.
Before Beth left, she’d obviously become aware of what Gavin had been noticing for the last few weeks—Patrick’s troublesome, persistent cough. He kept coughing as though he had a nervous tickle.
“Maybe you should take your asthma medicine, too,” she said.
“I don’t have it with me.”
“Later, when we have time, I’ll teach you about keeping peak-flow records and carrying your inhaler wherever you go, but for now, use what I gave your dad. You guys both need a bronchodilator.”
She disappeared around the corner. Gavin heard her explain to Dr Mehta over the intercom what was going on, while they did what they were told.
Reappearing and rolling the wheelchair behind him, Beth caught the backs of his knees and pushed his shoulder down to force him to sit. She handed him his scrub top and lab coat and gave Patrick his basketball jersey.
“Would you like an ice pack or should I put some cortisone cream on your back before you get dressed?”
“Don’t have time now, but I’d definitely like to take a rain-check on the second part.” Though nervous about his reaction to the testing, he couldn’t resist horsing around to lighten her intense mood and help himself relax. He lowered his voice. “My choice of cream, though.”
She lightly cuffed his shoulder and rolled her eyes toward Patrick. Ignoring Gavin’s come-on, she spun the chair round and pushed it toward the door. “I’m missing dinner because of you, and I already skipped lunch today.” With the clinic normally closing at five o’clock and it now being almost six o’clock, the hall was empty.
“Nurses are tough. What about our dinner?” He gestured to his son. “You know, I think you owe us dinner for all this grief.”
“It was your idea,” she said.
“Are we asking her to take us out, Dad?”
He grinned. “Maybe.”
She ignored the implication and let Patrick push the elevator button on the fifth floor. Amazingly the door opened right away. She rolled him inside and stood across from both of them. Patrick punched number one.
“How am I supposed to figure out what you’re allergic to if you’re running around in the ER?” She fanned herself, looking suddenly flushed.
“You can’t.” Gavin studied his shaky hands. How was he supposed to examine a traumatized kid when he itched all over and his back burned hotter than Hades?
“Are you OK, Dad?” Patrick asked as he stood next to the wheelchair.
“I’m fine.”
“It’s just the medicine I gave him, Patrick. It will wear off. How about you? You seem to have stopped coughing.”
“I’m good.”
“The medicine helped?”
“Maybe.”
Now pale and looking droopier by the second, Bethany leaned against the adjacent wall. “And why is it no one else can take care of this emergency?”
“Because I’m the head of the ER and the kid had his hand practically torn off by the family dog.”
He glanced across the elevator just in time to see his new, and definitely favorite, allergy nurse fainting.
CHAPTER TWO
GAVIN punched in the code on the number pad of the emergency room door—it swung open to harsh fluorescent lights and a barrage of noise. Ah, home, sweet home.
“I need an ammonia ampoule,” he said, acting like carrying a woman over his shoulder was the most natural thing in the world. Patrick followed, pushing the empty wheelchair.
When Bethany had started to fall, he’d lunged across the elevator, catching her just above the knees, and hoisted her over his shoulder.
With her usual ER charm, Carmen nailed him over her half-rimmed glasses. “Where have you been, and who is she?” After twenty years in the ER, nothing fazed her.
“This my allergy nurse.” He made a circle, looking for a vacant exam room.
“Room three is open. Hi, Patrick, darlin’.” Her icy glare cracked into a smile just for him. “You can leave the wheelchair right there.”
Gavin headed across the ward with Patrick behind him, gently laid Bethany on the gurney in the vacant room, then adjusted the head of the bed so that her head was below her heart.
Carmen appeared at the doorway, arms folded, a curious look on her face. She handed him the smelling salts. He’d thought he’d save her the question.
“She passed out in the elevator when I mentioned the boy’s hand almost being ripped off by a dog.” Realizing his son had heard every word, he gave him a steady look and said, “I’ll make sure the boy is fine. These days surgeons can reattach just about everything.” Patrick nodded thoughtfully. Glancing back at Carmen, who was waiting for more explanation, Gavin said, “I caught her before she hit the floor.” He popped open and waved the smelling salts under Beth’s nose. A reflex made her shake her head side to side. “Keep an eye on her for me while I take a look at the boy, will you?”
“Sure. We’ve only got patients crawling out of the rafters and as usual I’m short-staffed, but I’ll take care of her.” Carmen approached the bedside and applied the blood-pressure cuff to Beth’s arm. “Is this some new dating strategy?”
Patrick laughed as if he understood what she was talking about. Carmen’s mock vitriol for Gavin disappeared when she smiled at the boy.
Choosing to ignore her smart-aleck question, Gavin said, “Patrick, you stay with Carmen and Bethany.”
“The boy’s in room six, we’ve got a GI bleed in room three, and there’s a possible kidney stone in eight.” Carmen’s expression changed from all business to concern when she had time to study him more closely. “What the heck happened to you?”
“She tried to kill me.” He nodded toward Beth before heading toward room six. Halfway there, he glanced over his shoulder. “Order an IVP for room eight, draw a stat CBC, ’lytes, PT and PTT for three.”
“Already have, but thanks for making it official,” Carmen spouted off confidently, making note of her newest patient’s BP. “Hey, Gav, what about something for pain for the possible kidney stone?” she called over her shoulder.
He slowed his pace. “Any drug allergies?”
“None.”
“Demerol 75 milligrams IM.” A deep appreciation for his skilled and competent nurse made him smile. He’d left Beth in good hands. “What would I do without you?”
“Crash and burn,” she said on a sigh as she headed for the tiny medicine alcove.
Beth lay perfectly still, woozy yet distracted by the noise and chaos. She opened her eyes and saw Patrick’s inquisitive gaze watching her as if she’d died and come back to life. He’d been raising and lowering the height of the bed by pushing the buttons on the side rails. For a while she’d dreamed she was on a Caribbean cruise, rocking and rolling at sea.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hi.” He quickly moved his hand. “Dad said you fainted.”
“How long was I out?”
“Not very long.”
She sat up, fighting an uphill battle with the gurney. “Can you push that and fix this?”
The boy eagerly complied, already a pro at the bedside controls. The blood-pressure cuff automatically pumped up again. Her BP was normal. She sat up, feeling fine now. She knew she shouldn’t have skipped lunch, but she’d still felt queasy and the thought of food had made her sick. And when dinner had been postponed, well, it must have caught up with her.
She glanced across the cavernous ER to another room. Behind the glass wall, Gavin was conversing with a doctor and a man and woman. A small boy lay behind him on the gurney. Her gaze came to rest on a teenage girl standing just outside the door. The girl chewed on her index finger and rubbed at red, swollen eyes; fear and concern furrowed her brow as she peered inside.
The timer on Beth’s wristwatch went off. She’d set it just before they’d left the allergy department. “Oh, Patrick, it’s time to check your back.” She fished around in her pocket for her calibrator to measure any redness or induration from the tests. “Take off your shirt.” She found her pen and a piece of scrap paper in her lab coat and, when Patrick backed up so she could see, began assessing the few small welts on his back. “Most everything is normal. You’ve got a mild reaction to grass and a couple of the trees. Oh, cat fur is borderline.”
“What does borderline mean?”
“It means you’re probably OK. Do you have a cat?”
“No. But I used to.” He got suddenly quiet.
“Well, other than the grass and trees, you’re OK. Can you get me a glass of water?”
He put his jersey back on and used the bedside sink to fill a small cup normally meant for pills. She smiled and took it gratefully, threw the contents back in one gulp and asked for another. “Do you have any candy on you? I’m starving.”
He shook his head but just as quickly his eyes brightened. “I know where the snack machines are.” Spoken like a kid who’d spent more than his share of hours hanging around the hospital because his dad was head of the ER.
Carmen appeared at the door with a lab tray.
“Oh, I’m fine now. I just need to get something to eat.”
“You know the drill,” Carmen said, setting her tray at the bedside and applying a tourniquet to Beth’s arm. “You show up in the ER and we’ve got to do blood tests. I had Rick, the supervising PA, order them.”
Knowing there was no getting around hospital protocol, Beth lay back and let Carmen do her job.
“Do I have to watch?” Patrick asked, his fine brows pinched together.
“If I give you a dollar, will you buy me a chocolate bar?” With her free hand Beth found a dollar and some change in the other pocket and gave him a handful. “Get yourself something, too.”
He shot out of the room as though on a world-saving mission before Carmen had a chance to expose a needle.
“So what did you do to Gavin? He looks like Lobster Man.”
“I know! And because he’s running around here, I can’t read his skin tests to find out what he’s allergic to.” She sighed. “What am I being tested for?”
Carmen was so skilled at drawing blood that Beth barely felt the needle pierce her skin. “The usual lab tests. Blood sugar. Electrolytes. When was your last period?”
Beth scratched her head and thought about it. Wait a second. Normally, she’d be having her period around this time, or maybe it was supposed to be last week?
Hesitating, she gave the information to her nurse.
Subtly lifting a brow, Carmen said, “Maybe I’ll throw in a pregnancy test.” She gathered her vials and left the room without giving Beth a hint about whether or not she knew what had gone on between her and Gavin a few weeks ago. Beth recognized her distinctive voice. But did Carmen know who Beth was?
The ripple effect of her poor judgement caused a second wave of lightheadedness, and forced Beth to lean back on the bed. Nah. No way. They’d used protection.
“Who’ll get the results?” she called out, without thinking things through.
“Rick will call you if anything’s abnormal.”
She’d been in this situation before, twice. Hell, that was the reason she’d gotten married, and her husband hadn’t been in the least bit happy about it. She hadn’t done it to trap him. It had just sort of happened. Back when she’d married Neal, she’d wanted nothing more than to have a family, but after they’d married, she’d miscarried within the first trimester. A year later, it had happened again; it wasn’t meant to be. Then he’d run off with that woman after maxing out Beth’s credit cards. Just thinking about her ex and the bosomy blonde he’d left her for sent her blood pressure into the stratosphere.
Oh, God, what if she was pregnant? She’d promised herself to only marry for love in the future, no matter what. Gavin was a total stranger.
To distract herself, Beth watched the girl standing outside the boy’s room across the ward. She’d been working at the teen clinic a couple nights a week for the last year and, with her own memories of teenage angst, she felt she’d finally cracked the code of what made them tick. Drawn by the girl’s silent scream and avoiding her own over a possible pregnancy, she decided to check things out.
“Hi,” Beth said, when she approached.
“I belong here. That’s my brother,” the girl answered, with both shoulders raised as if ready for a fight.
“You look pretty worried.” Beth edged closer.
“Well, wouldn’t you be?” she barked, and bit at the hangnail on her finger, avoiding Beth’s eyes.
“Oh, gosh, yes. But he’s in good hands now.” She was careful not to invade the teenager’s space and remained a couple of feet away while the girl leaned against the wall. “Mind if I keep you company?” Before the girl could answer, she went on, “What’s his name?”
“Andrew.” The petite girl shrugged.
“Well, Andrew will get the best of care. The surgeons will do everything they can to save his hand.”
“It’s my fault he’s here.” Frightened eyes peered above her knuckles, tears slipped over the red rims of her eyes and down her pale cheeks. Her composure completely gone, the girl’s shoulders jerked up and down with a new onslaught of sobs.
Beth reached out and wrapped the twig-thin teen under her arm. “It’s not your fault, you know.” She guided the girl toward a bench along the wall, away from her brother’s room. “You didn’t bite him.”
“I left him alone when I answered my cellphone.” Guilt wrenched through a squeaky, gasping voice.
Beth took a deep breath, unsure what tack to take. “Was he a vicious dog?”
“No!” the girl snapped, then backed off a bit. “That’s the thing—he’s been our family pet for ever.”
“So how were you supposed to know…? What’s your dog’s name?”
“Max.”
“How were you supposed to know Max would attack Andrew?” Beth gently prodded the girl to sit down and joined her.
She sobbed into her hands. “Now we’ve got to put Max down and my brother’s lost his hand, all because of my stupid cellphone.”
Beth placed her arm gently across the girl’s back. “Sometimes life just happens and we don’t have any control over it.” Beth sat in silence, giving the girl time to think while turning over and over her own thoughts about a possible pregnancy. “The doctors may be able to save your brother’s hand. Just have some faith. My name’s Beth—what’s yours?”
“Courtney.” She wiped her eyes and glanced at Beth.
“Courtney, it’s not your fault—have you got that?” Beth squeezed her bony shoulder. “Maybe Max was in pain or he was frightened or he’s started to get senile. Maybe a bee stung him. There could be several reasons why he’d attack your brother.”
The girl whimpered and nodded.
Gavin watched with an ache in his heart as the orderly wheeled the sedated child toward the door on his way to the operating room. Finally, the traumatized boy was calm and on his way to surgery.
Thick black lashes rested on the child’s blanched cheeks, reminding him of his own son. If the doctors did their jobs properly, Andrew would have no memory of what was to come, and his hand would be useful again. Gavin made a mental note to follow up on the boy’s progress later.
His gaze went to a scrawny teenager outside the room, wrapped in the comforting arm of his newest favorite nurse, Bethany Caldwell. She must be feeling better. Patrick was sitting beside her and they were all sharing a couple of candy bars.
Gavin liked seeing her in his department; he liked that she’d taken the initiative to support the forgotten family member. His own nurses rarely had time for such things. And she hadn’t stuck Carmen with watching his son, as he often was forced to do.
His son suddenly being left with him by his ex had clearly turned into a gift—the gift of a second chance. He smiled, thankful for odd favors.
“Hi, Dad!” Patrick waved from across the room, content to hang around until he could go home. His heart squeezed. What a trouper. The way things were going, he’d be stuck here several more hours, which wouldn’t be fair. As Carmen got off at seven, once again he’d have to ask her to watch Patrick. Theirs wasn’t a perfect situation, but they’d been working things out just fine and, more importantly, Patrick seemed to like living with him.
Gavin smiled and waved back, thankful for Carmen for the tenth time that day. If she had a clue he actually appreciated her, she’d never let him live it down.
He nodded at Bethany as he headed to room three, thinking how pretty she was, while he maintained his professional physician demeanor. After he’d passed, he smiled and recalled what they’d done together that first night. And even though the focus of his life had changed since Patrick had moved in, he couldn’t help but wonder if and how soon they could arrange to do it again. What would she think if she could read his mind?
Even an hour after the testing, a lingering itch drew his attention to his back. The meds had taken care of the worst of it, but a few areas still bothered him. He reached behind and, using his thumb, scratched the spot.
After examining the gastrointestinal bleeder and ordering a stat colonoscopy, opportunity knocked when the ER charge nurse walked by. But Bethany was nowhere in sight.
“Carmen? Can Patrick go home with you tonight? Looks like I’m needed around here.”
“I told you, any time. Patrick and I are good buddies.”
Maybe Patrick and Carmen were great friends, but it was obvious he missed his mother and was devastated by her sudden trip to England. And the big question was—could a man who’d been married to his job for the last three years be able to fill the gap?
He’d let both the boy and Maureen down during the marriage. Intent on establishing himself as a doctor, he’d left the majority of child-rearing on his wife’s shoulders, though he had managed to have quality time with the boy whenever he’d been able to. She’d wanted to give up her career and be a stay-at-home mother, and he’d done his best to provide for them while still overwhelmed with medical school debts. He’d worked like a lunatic. And after the divorce Maureen had still wanted to stay at home…on Gavin’s child support and alimony. He’d been accused of being a workaholic by more than a few people in his life, but he’d always felt it had been for a good cause.
For Patrick’s sake, Gavin had promised to do everything in his power to make things right this time around, which meant thinking of his son first and, as tempting as she was, putting Bethany Caldwell completely out of his mind. Like that was going to happen.
Once things had settled down in the ER, and Beth had been officially discharged, she retreated from the pandemonium into the quiet hallway. She was tired. And hungry.
She went back to the allergy department to gather her belongings and head out to her car.
Dr Mehta would have to order a special RAST—radioallergosorbent—blood test for Gavin as she hadn’t been able to finish reading the skin tests. And with his extreme reaction, it was important for him to know exactly what he was allergic to and what to avoid.
At least she now knew her mystery man’s name and where he worked. Gavin had stirred feelings she’d never felt before, and if she was honest, she wanted to find out what else might happen with a man like him. Was that playing with fire? Yes. Was it dangerous? For her, yes. Would she actually allow herself to find out? Absolutely not. Until she knew the results of the pregnancy test, she’d do everything in her power to avoid him.
Beth started her car. The men in her life, starting with her dad and ending with her ex-husband, had track records for being unreliable and undependable.
According to her best friend Jillian, who worked in the urgent care department, Gavin had more women throwing themselves at him than he could handle.