The Surgeon's One Night To Forever
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Suddenly realizing her face tingled from the cold, Liz took one last deep breath and twisted her head from side to side, trying to work out the stiffness in her muscles. It was time to get back to work, to lose herself in the job she loved more than anything else in the world, at the hospital that held a special place in her heart.
Liz’s great-grandfather had been one of the founding fathers of Hepplewhite General, which eventually had been named after him. When she’d completed her residency and applied there she hadn’t revealed her connection to the hospital, which had made winning the position that much more satisfying.
She was sure that somewhere, in the afterlife, her great-aunts had chuckled.
Her Great-Aunt Honoria had wanted to study medicine, but her father had refused to allow it. And when Liz’s father had expressed reservations about his daughter going into what he’d described as “a grueling, heartbreaking profession” Honoria and her sister, Eliza, had paid for her schooling.
“Do what you want in life,” Aunt Honoria had said. “Be useful, and don’t allow your father, or any man, to dictate to you. Eliza and I wish we’d had the courage to do that ourselves.”
The advice had been sound, and in line with what her nursemaid, Nanny Hardy, had taught her as a child. Heeding their collective guidance had led to her success, while the one time she’d not followed it had led to disaster and heartbreak.
No, she loved her work and Hepplewhite, with its associations with the past, and had made it the main focus of her life. Never had she been more grateful for how busy the ER kept her than now.
There was nothing like a full workload to keep the chaotic thoughts at bay. This winter had seen a particularly active flu season, still in full swing, and with the waves of snowstorms hitting New York City had come an uptick of heart attacks, slip-and-fall injuries and the like. The hospital staff wasn’t immune to the flu either, and there were a few out sick, which increased everyone’s workload.
As she swiped her badge to open the door, Liz’s stomach rumbled. She’d been heading for the cafeteria a couple hours ago when a commotion in the ER waiting area had caught her attention. Four clearly frightened young men had been at the intake desk, supporting a fifth who’d appeared to be unconscious and bleeding from a facial wound. They had all been talking at once.
“He fell—”
“Momma’s gonna kill us—”
“He won’t wake up—”
Lunch forgotten, Liz had grabbed a nearby gurney and hit the electronic door opener, not waiting for an orderly. Even from a distance she had been able to see the youngster had needed immediate treatment.
As it turned out, the teens had cut school and somehow found their way past the protective fencing surrounding the hospital’s ongoing construction project. Once there, her patient decided to use the equipment and building rubble to practice his parkour skills. Probably not the best of ideas, given the slick of ice that still covered some surfaces. It had cost him a broken jaw, a concussion and the kind of laceration that, without plastic surgery, would leave a disfiguring scar.
By the time she’d examined him, made sure he was stable and sent for the oral and plastic surgeons, she’d only had another two and a half hours before her twelve-hour shift would be finished. Rather than bother with a break, and cognizant of the full waiting room, she’d only taken enough time to call her mother.
Striding down the corridor toward the ER, Liz put her family drama, and its attendant pain, aside. There was no place for it here in the hospital, where all her attention had to be on her patients’ well-being.
That was what was truly important.
On the way home she’d stop at her favorite diner and treat herself to an everything omelet with home fries. Just the thought made her mouth water and her stomach rumble again.
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER TAKING OFF her coat and making her way back to the ER, Liz noticed a certain buzz in the air that hadn’t been there before she’d gone outside. Before she could ask one of the other doctors what was going on, she was called away to deal with a patient brought in by ambulance.
Paramedics had received a report of a man acting irrationally and, on arrival, had found Mr. Josiah Collins combative and uncooperative, with a severe laceration on his arm. Although they also said he’d calmed down quickly, and there’d been no problems with him since, there was something about the man’s watchful quiescence and refusal to give much information that had Liz on high alert.
She ordered blood tests, and stitched the laceration. Then, signaling to one of the nurses to join her, she stepped out and walked a few paces along the corridor leading to the ER nurses’ station.
“Put a rush on those samples. I need those results, stat, so I can know whether he’s on something or is just having a psychotic break. And have one of the security personnel keep an eye on him, please.”
“Yes Dr. Prudhomme.”
The nurse immediately started off, but paused as Liz said, “And, Stella? Nice job on that thoracotomy patient earlier. I appreciate it.”
With a smile and a nod of acknowledgement, Stella went on her way, and Liz walked toward the nurses’ station.
There was no need for her to elaborate. Stella knew to what she was referring. The patient had been awake, alert and in extreme pain. Taking advantage of the brief thaw, he’d been working on a roof and slipped, the fall causing chest trauma and fractures to both arms and one leg. Already distressed, he’d grown more distraught as a massive hemothorax had caused blood to fill his chest cavity, compressing his lungs and making breathing increasingly difficult.
Inserting a chest tube was a great deal easier to do when the patient was unconscious and Liz had been prepared to have a difficult time of it until Stella, with impeccable timing, had distracted the patient, held his attention and kept him calm through the painful procedure. Stella’s intuition and ability to connect quickly and effectively with the patient deserved acknowledgement.
Liz was more than aware of her own shortcomings in the human interaction arena. Her lack of affectionate gestures, her cool contemplation of, and reaction to, life had been pointed out repeatedly, and not as positive traits. She wasn’t into giving constant praise for every little thing. They all had their jobs to do, from the ER doctors and trauma surgeons to the orderlies. She didn’t expect congratulations for every correct diagnosis she made or course of treatment she set in motion, and neither should anyone else for doing their job.
However, she also knew her reputation was one of a hard-assed, unsmiling witch. It was true, and she had no complaints on that score. However, just because she didn’t make nice with everyone, it didn’t mean she didn’t care about the people she worked with.
It was just simpler not to care too much, not build friendships and relationships that could, potentially, interfere with her job. She already had close friends from her university days. Although they were now scattered across the globe, Liz really didn’t see any need to make new ones.
She was heading to the nurses’ station to get a jump on her charting when she was interrupted by a nurse informing her that her young parkour patient’s mother had arrived, and was in the waiting room.
Her stomach rumbled again, reminding her she’d been on duty for eleven and a half hours and hadn’t ingested anything more than a couple of energy bars and half a cup of coffee. It was just one of those days.
Micah Johnston’s mother was by turns livid at her son and scared about his prognosis, and it took some time to calm her down. As soon as she’d escorted the lady to her son’s cubicle to speak to the surgeons, Liz strode purposefully once more toward the nearest nurses’ station.
She really had to get her charting done ASAP, so maybe, just maybe, she could leave the hospital on time and stop her stomach from devouring itself.
“Ah, there she is. Liz, a moment please.”
Damn it!
She turned toward Gregory Hammond’s voice, biting back a growl of annoyance at being waylaid once more. Luckily she’d assumed a politely questioning expression because, as she looked at the man walking next to the chief of surgery, her face, along with the rest of her body, froze.
There was no mistaking his carriage, the set of his head, the clear-cut features of the man she’d had a glorious one-night stand with in Mexico. To suddenly see him again, when she’d thought she never would, made her head feel light and her legs weak.
How could she not recognize him? First off, he was tall. Tall enough that she, five-ten in her stockinged feet, had to look up at him, a rarity indeed, and he carried himself with easy assurance, his back militarily straight, his strides long and strong.
Second, although she wouldn’t classify him as handsome, there was something compelling about his face. It was wide, with a prominent nose and deep-set, hooded eyes. A firm chin and mouth rounded out the picture. From a distance she’d been attracted, but it was seeing him up close that had cemented her interest. His eyes were spectacular. Dark amber in the center, shading to brown around the edge of the iris, they were serious and hinted at the kind of intelligence Liz always found appealing.
Heat rushed from her toes to the top of her head as her gaze was captured and transfixed by those unforgettable eyes, partially masked behind lowered lids. They gleamed, and she wasn’t sure what the glint in them was. Anger? Annoyance? Amusement?
Her heart went into overdrive, a mixture of irritation and mortification rushing through her in an instant.
Then all the years of training drummed into her by her mother and tutors arose to come to her rescue. Inner heat was replaced by cold tension, but she refused to allow it to show. Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she tore her gaze away from his companion and gratefully turned her attention to Gregory Hammond.
“Liz, I want you to meet our newest trauma surgeon, Dr. Cort Smith. Dr. Smith, this is Dr. Liz Prudhomme, one of our fine ER practitioners.”
Politeness dictated she look at Dr. Smith again, but it took considerable effort to make herself do it. Her brain was racing as fast as her heart, wondering if he was about to say they’d already met; if somehow he would make it clear their involvement had been of the intimate kind.
There were plenty of men who wouldn’t be able to resist doing so, just to up their reputations as ladies’ men.
But Cort Smith just stuck out his hand and said, politely, “How do you do, Dr. Prudhomme?”
Just the sound of that deep voice, so familiar and arousing, made her wish she were a hundred miles away. How could he be so cool, while she wanted to run for the hills? It was tempting to focus on his Adam’s apple or chin, rather than meet those compelling eyes again, but that would be the coward’s way out, so she met his gaze with what she hoped was a calm one of her own.
“Very well, thank you,” she replied, as she took his hand. A zing of electricity rushed up her arm, and she tugged her hand away as swiftly as she could without being rude.
The corners of Cort Smith’s mouth twitched, making Liz want to smack him.
“Dr. Smith starts his first full day tomorrow,” Gregory said. He seemed oblivious to the tension swirling between herself and Cort, which Liz swore was so thick she could taste it. “I hope you’ll take whatever time is necessary to point him in the right direction while he gets settled.”
She’d point him right out the door, if she had her way! But Liz only nodded, and decided the politic answer was best. “Of course.”
Thankfully, before the voluble Gregory could get chatting again, Stella interrupted.
“Dr. Prudhomme, I have the lab reports on Mr. Collins.”
“Thank you.” Her relief was almost strong enough to make her smile, but not quite. With a quick, “If you gentlemen will excuse me,” she hightailed it away as fast as she could without actually running.
Why did it feel as though the universe had decided her previously nice, orderly existence was too good to be true, and was throwing her curveballs left, right and center?
Cort watched Liz Prudhomme walk away, amazed at how unruffled she’d been by a meeting he’d found hard to face with aplomb. Besides a reddening of the tips of her ears when she’d turned and seen him, there had been no other discernible reaction to show she’d even recognized him.
After he’d caught sight of her at the door earlier, he’d tried to convince himself it wasn’t really the woman he’d spent the night with in Mexico. For the last seven months he’d been so hung up on the memory of that encounter he’d dreamt about her almost constantly, and had thought, erroneously, he’d glimpsed her in crowds at least a hundred times.
And she looked different, with her brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail instead of in a sleek bob to below her chin. The streak of aqua she’d had framing one side of her face was gone too, but they were definitely the same strong features he’d committed to memory. Those mesmerizing, mossy-green eyes, almond-shaped and thick-lashed, had the same steady, controlled gaze that had attracted him before.
She wouldn’t be classified as beautiful by most people’s standards. Tall, solidly built, with strong shoulders and wide hips, she was anything but model skinny. From a distance, she would seem the perfect fit for the girl next door, or the sidekick in a romantic movie. But once a person saw her up close, Cort knew they couldn’t see her in either role.
Her face was too strong, with high cheekbones, lips a trifle thinner than were fashionable, and a chin that hinted at a stubborn, willful nature. Here was a woman unused and unwilling to bend and, although he admired strength of character, he’d always been attracted to a softer type. Until the night they’d slept together, and she’d proved strength when yielded for desire brought more pleasure than he’d ever imagined.
Yet even if he’d still been unsure whether it was her or not, once he heard her speak there could be no question. Despite its careful control, her voice was still rich and decadent, like Cherries Jubilee without the brandy burnt off, and hearing it had made goose bumps race along his spine. Realizing it absolutely was her had filled him with a mixture of disbelief, horror and unwanted excitement. Life would be a lot simpler if she’d stayed just a memory and attendant fantasy, not a flesh-and-blood person he had to work with.
And always remember how she’d run out on him that night without a word.
“Liz is a fine practitioner. One of our best diagnosticians,” Gregory was saying. “And although some of the staff seem to find her rather standoffish, we’ve never had any complaints from patients about either her standard of care or bedside manner.”
Standoffish? He could only hope she would be standoffish with him too. Against his will and best intentions, already the memory of having her, flushed and damp with pleasure in his bed was threatening to push everything else out of his head.
“And I have to warn you she will not stand for any nonsense when it comes to proper protocol.” Gregory started walking again, and Cort fell in beside him. “Not that she should, you understand, but she’s particularly unforgiving when it comes to our surgeons overstepping their boundaries.”
Ah, so she was at least one of the sources of the “friction” Dr. Hammond had spoken of earlier. He was searching for the correct way to ask for more information when a howling cry arose from down the hall. It was followed swiftly by a metallic crash and a shout. Instinct had Cort running toward the noise, following Liz as she disappeared, also at a run, around a corner.
She was closer to the commotion, but he had the advantage of longer legs, so he was only two steps behind her when she dashed into one of the cubicles.
Everything seemed to slow down, allowing him to take in the large man thrashing about on the bed, a security guard struggling to restrain him. Liz sprang forward just as the patient’s arm swung back, and Cort bit back a curse, knowing he was too far away to stop her from getting hit...
Liz twisted away from the flailing fist, the move so graceful and efficient Cort could hardly believe it, then she grabbed the patient’s wrist.
The man went rigid, all the fight going out of him, as though Liz’s touch sucked it away. The guard quickly secured one wrist with a restraint cuff while Liz secured the other, and Cort got to work putting ankle belts in place, assisted by a nurse who’d come in behind him.
“I know you’re frightened.” Patient secured, Liz leaned over him, spoke to him with what Cort recognized from their time together in Mexico as habitual directness. There wasn’t a hint of stress in her voice, and Cort, whose system still hummed with adrenaline, mentally shook his head at her cool. “But we’re going to help you.”
Cort backed out of the room as Liz started giving orders to the nurses. He wasn’t even supposed to be there, and he wondered if he’d already earned a strike with her, given her strictness on protocol.
Dr. Hammond was down the hall, speaking into his phone again, so Cort waited outside the patient’s cubicle for Liz to come out. Might as well take whatever she had to say on the chin and apologize if necessary, rather than let it fester or have her formally complain.
When she stepped out of the room she paused, allowing the nurses to pass them before she spoke.
“It wasn’t necessary for you to jump in like that. We have exceptionally well-trained staff here, and rushing to the rescue every time there’s a hint of excitement isn’t within your purview.”
He shrugged, and stuck his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, annoyed once more at how unconcerned she was about seeing him again. He felt as though there was an eggbeater running amok in his stomach. “It was instinct. The sound of a fight and a kidney dish hitting the floor will always bring me running.” She’d warned him off clearly: the patient inside that room had nothing to do with him. So, just to needle her, he asked, “Do you have a diagnosis?”
The look she gave him was level, but he was sure there was a flash of annoyance behind her veiled glance. Which was why he was surprised when, after a moment, she actually replied.
“Just got the labs back. There are trace amounts of clozapine in his system. I think he stopped taking his medication and is having a schizophrenic episode. The psych team is on its way down.” Her gaze dared him to express an opinion, and he figured it was time to change the subject, even before she added, with a touch of ice in her tone, “Nothing more either of us can do right now.”
If he hadn’t figured it out before, now he knew for sure. Dr. Liz Prudhomme was as tough as rebar and cooler than a mountain spring. Yet under that realization was the still clear image of her in Mexico, vulnerable to his every touch. It took every ounce of willpower to lock the memory away again. He had to deal with her simply as a new colleague, a potentially difficult one at that, in the place he’d chosen to start over. Whatever had happened between them in the honeymoon suite in Mexico had no bearing on the here and now. Yet he felt he owed it to himself, and to her, to clear the air.
“Listen.” Cort lowered his voice. “I wasn’t sure you’d want anyone to know we’d met before. I was trying to be discreet.”
“That’s fine.” The steady gaze didn’t waver, but the ice in her voice was solid now. “I keep my private life private, so I... I actually appreciate it.”
That little hesitation tugged at his chest, although he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it had something to do with its incongruity, given her air of total confidence. Without thought, he said, “Well, I’d rather the staff here didn’t know I’d been dumped right before my wedding too, so being discreet is pretty easy for me.”
She didn’t reply, except with a lift of her eyebrows and a sideways tilt of her head, which he interpreted as a dismissive gesture, before she turned to walk away. He should leave it at that, yet the urge to keep hearing that Cherries Jubilee voice was hard to ignore, no matter how aggravating she was.
She was already a few strides down the hall when he called after her, “What was that wrist lock you used? Aikido?”
That brought her up short, and those telling eyebrows rose again as she paused and looked back at him. “Hapkido. You’re a martial artist?”
“Used to be, full on, until I got accepted into med school. Kept involved while I was in the army too.” He held out his hands and flexed his fingers. “But I’ve stopped sparring, since I don’t want to break anything, although that didn’t end my fascination.”
For a moment she didn’t reply, seemed to be staring at his hands, then she looked back up at him. “Huh. Wimp.”
Wow, she didn’t pull any punches, did she? But he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “Want to test that hypothesis sometime?”
Liz just shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I’d kick your butt.”
“No doubt,” he replied, making no attempt to stop her this time when she moved away. “I’ve no doubt at all.”
And it occurred to him, as he watched that delectable body disappear around the corner, she could do a great deal more than just kick his butt physically.
If he was stupid enough to let her.
CHAPTER THREE
“I SHOT HIM,” the patient moaned, her voice distorted not just by the oxygen mask but also her severe facial injuries. “I shot him.”
It was all she’d said since she’d been brought in, over and over again, no matter what Liz asked her. She’d barely reacted to any of the procedures they’d done to try to stabilize her condition, despite the additional pain they must have caused her.
“Kaitlin, where hurts the most?”
“I shot him. I shot him.”
“Any word from Trauma?” Liz asked the room at large.
“I’m here.”
Cort Smith dumped a bloody surgical gown into the bin by the door, and paused to drag on a fresh one. “What do we have?”
Even as focused as she was on her patient, Liz’s heart did a little dip when she heard his voice.
I’ll get used to having him around.
That was what Liz had been telling herself repeatedly since the day Cort strode back into her life but, a month on, she still had a visceral reaction every time she saw him. Having to work with him presented another layer to her problem, since she found herself sometimes having to fight to concentrate.
The movements of his hands, the calm, soothing quality of his deep voice when he spoke to patients, did things to her insides. They brought to mind the way he’d touched her so masterfully as he’d murmured in her ear that night so long ago, telling her to come.
It was extremely annoying and she once more resolved to ignore it. The badly beaten and stabbed woman in front of her deserved all her concentration.
“Twenty-four-year-old Kaitlin Hayle, facial trauma and multiple penetrating wounds to thorax and abdomen, both anterior and posterior. Limited lung sounds on the right when brought in; chest tube inserted.”
As she continued to bring him up to speed, she chafed at the delay having to do so caused. It was information she’d already transmitted to Dr. Yuen, and she was surprised that Cort had attended. Normally the doctor she’d spoken to initially would be the one to come down. Something had caused the change in procedure, and therefore the delay, and she wasn’t happy about it.
One thing Liz could readily admit to with Dr. Smith, though, was how thorough he was.
“Hey, Kaitlin,” he said, in that deep, calm voice, while checking her pupils. “My name is Dr. Smith. I’m going to be examining you, okay?”
“I shot him.”
Cort continued his methodical examination, working his way down to the two penetrating wounds on Kaitlin’s thorax.