Hot Single Docs: Giving In To Temptation: NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile / NYC Angels: An Explosive Reunion / St Piran's: The Wedding of The Year
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He ran down the list of antibiotics and pain-medication orders as Polly listened and adjusted the pillow under Annabelle’s head. Next she placed the amputated stump on a pillow, checked the dressing for signs of bleeding or drainage, circling a quarter-sized area with her marker and noting the time, then made sure the Jackson-Pratt drain was in place and with proper suction before pulling up the covers.
Dr. Griffin ran his hand lightly over his patient’s forehead, gently removing her OR cap and releasing a blanket of thick and shining brown hair. Such a tender gesture for an angry man.
“I’ll check back later,” he said, giving Annabelle one last, earnest glance before leaving the room. Polly almost expected him to kiss the girl’s forehead from that sincere, loving parent-type look in his eyes.
How could she stay mad at a man like that?
“I’ll take good care of her, Doctor,” she whispered.
He looked over his shoulder and gave an appreciative nod.
Seeing him in his scrubs, OR cap in place, untied mask hanging around his neck, she realized how fit he was, and that his shoulders and arms were thick with muscle. Where he might look stocky in his doctor’s coat, he really wasn’t. He was just big and solid. For a man she suspected to be pushing forty, he was in terrific shape, and she allowed herself a second glance as he walked away.
“Hey, Doc G., you haven’t signed my cast yet!” Charley called out from the next room.
“I’ll sign all three, Charley, my boy,” Dr. Griffin replied in a cheerful manner, changing his direction and somber attitude on a dime.
How could a man who was so great with kids be so lacking in people skills? It just didn’t make sense.
Soon lost in the care of her newly received patient, and also checking periodically on Charley, the afternoon flew by. Before Polly knew it she was giving report to the next shift and preparing to go home. But she couldn’t leave yet. Not before she apologized to Dr. Griffin. She’d promised herself she’d make amends today, and she always kept her promises.
Now that he was back from the OR, she knew where to find him and marched far down the hall toward his office as a new batch of butterflies lined up for duty in her stomach. Refusing to be timid this time, she tapped with firm knuckles on the glass of his office door.
“Come in.”
Mustering every last nerve she owned, she entered far more assuredly than she had the previous evening, noting the irony in seeing a huge jar of colorful balloons on the desk of a generally grumpy man.
“Is everything okay with Annabelle?”
“She’s doing very well, considering.” Polly scratched the nervous tickle above her lip. “I medicated her for pain just before I ended my shift.” She glanced around the room, with requisite diplomas and awards lining the gray-painted walls yet not revealing anything personal about the man, and took a long slow breath. “What I came for. Well, what I mean is I came here to, you know, after last night and how I upset you, I, uh, I just wanted to stop in and...well...”
“Apologize?” He’d changed back into his street clothes and white doctor’s coat. His eyes were tight and unforgiving as they stared at her impatiently. Had she expected anything less?
“Uh, yes.” Why did he make her so annoyingly tongue-tied? “As a matter of fact, I did want to apologize for whatever I did to make you angry last night.” Heat flared on her cheeks. Frustrated by how uncomfortable he made her feel and how he offered nothing to ease her distress by sitting there just staring, she bit back the rest of her thoughts—but you were a jerk about it, and anyone with half a brain could tell I didn’t mean any harm by asking about your family. It’s normal to want to know such things. Sheesh!
Adjusting the neck of her scrub top, along with her attitude, and desperate for him to like her, she continued. “I overstepped the mark, practically forcing you to go out with the rest of us, then I thoughtlessly insisted you open up and tell me about your family.” She held up her hand before he could growl or get angry with her all over again. “Which I understand, as the new girl on the ward, is none of my business. So, yes, I came to apologize. Profusely.”
She sat on the edge of the chair across from his desk before her knees could give out. “And I hope you’ll accept it, because I really want to be a part of this orthopedic team. I want to help you with special patients like Annabelle.” She stopped short of wringing her hands, choosing to lace her fingers and hold tight instead. “I want to help make your job easier by you not having to worry about the level of care your patients receive. I want to be a top-notch nurse, Dr. Griffin. I want to be that for you, sir.” Could she possibly grovel any more?
“Stop it already.” He brushed off her apology with a wave of his hand. “I was needlessly sharp with you last night. I should be the one apologizing.”
“But I started it, sir.”
He gave an exasperated sigh. “Okay. I accept your apology. But knock off the ‘sir’ baloney and call me what my friends calls me. Johnny.”
Stunned by his instruction, she could hardly get her lips to move. “Johnny?” For such a simple name it sounded breathy and foreign, the way she repeated it. How could she call the head of the orthopedic department Johnny? Wasn’t that the shortened form for young boys named John? It seemed only families would continue to call a grown man Johnny, yet he said his friends called him that. Was he implying she was now a friend?
“Right. Johnny. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.” The terse words fell far short of carrying a punch, in fact they rolled off her back. Maybe she’d really gotten through to him.
“Sweet.” She didn’t mean to say that out loud and couldn’t stop the smile stretching across her lips. “Thank you, Doctor. Uh, I mean, Johnny.” She emphasized his name. “Thanks so much.” She stood to go, relieved beyond her wildest dreams. How had this mattered so much to her in such a short period of time? She shrugged. All she knew was that her apology and his acceptance of it did matter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Johnny-boy.
“Good, because I want you assigned to Annabelle for the rest of the week.”
“You do?” He trusted her nursing skills enough to ask her to take care of an extra-special patient. This was definitely progress on their ultra-rocky-start.
“Yes. Now would you please leave, or I’ll never get out of here tonight.”
Still smiling, she looked him in the eyes. His had softened the tiniest bit, but she could also see a slight change in attitude. Yes, she could. “Yes, sir.” When she reached the door, calm washed over her and she turned round. “See you tomorrow, Johnny.”
Already back at work, he nodded while writing, rather than look up. “Let’s keep that name between you and me.”
She’d accept that, too. This desperate need for him to like her would have to stop, but for now she was pretty darned glad she’d fumbled her way through the apology, and wondered how many other employees got to call their boss by their first name, even if only in secret?
* * *
John had to admit the sputtering woman on the other side of his desk had been strangely captivating. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she was easy on the eye, energetic, full of life, and had a nice ass, too. When was the last time he’d noticed something like that? Her earnest and unrehearsed apology had done strange things to a few nerve endings in forgotten parts of his body. Not that he was into dominance and submission, but he really liked her baring it all, as it were, by nearly begging him to forgive her.
Hell, he should be the one apologizing to her. He’d treated her badly and had seen a flash of anger in her eyes, which she’d quickly covered up, and instead of calling him an ass, which he deserved, she’d taken the high road. She’d brushed off his remark with a mere flutter of her eyelashes and moved on.
That showed grit, and he liked grit in a woman.
He reached into a desk drawer, withdrew a bottle of water and took a long draw. Her Pollyanna attitude of be-nice-to-everyone was far from his own style, and probably a cover-up for her insecurities. A wry laugh escaped his lips. Who the hell was he to analyze anyone? His style was more make-nice-to-no-one because he didn’t give a damn. But he had to admit she had a special way with kids. And his staff.
Remembering how she’d given a horsey hip-ride to Karen in her clunky cast yesterday morning made John smile. She’d been in way over her head with that group of toddlers so how could he not have gone to save the day? He knew his kids. Knew pediatrics. That was his comfort zone.
Adults were the issue for him. He didn’t particularly like most adults, merely tolerated them. He had to get along with them if he wanted to continue to run the orthopedic department, and for the past twelve years his motto had been, Do what you have to do to survive, the kids need you.
How had he survived all these years without his Lisa? He pressed his lips together, allowing one little thought about Polly to slip inside his head. She oozed life, something he’d given up on, yet her vibrant approach to things really appealed to him. Maybe he wasn’t as far gone as he’d thought.
Looking around the ward that afternoon, when he’d returned from surgery, he’d seen a more cohesive staff. They had been talking to each other and helping each other, even joking. He’d never seen them so happy.
The question was, had his sour attitude spilled over to his staff, and had this Polly from Pennsylvania saved the day?
Her big blue eyes and trembling lips came to mind. Why had he had the urge to run his thumb over her lips to test how soft they were? More importantly, what was with the impulse he’d had to wrap his hand around the back of her neck and drag her to him to test those lips on his?
When was the last time he’d given a woman permission to call him Johnny? What was up with that? What else might he get her to beg for so he could grant her permission? Most importantly, what in hell were these crazy sexy thoughts she’d planted in his head?
Maybe Pollyanna wasn’t nearly as innocent as she let on. Well, guess what, dumpling, neither am I.
He guzzled more water and scratched his chest, surprised by his thumping heart. Antsy to finish his work and get the hell out of there, he veered his surprisingly sexed-up thoughts away from Pretty Polly and back to dictating his surgery reports for the day. Before he left he’d check on his kids, each and every one—like he did every day before he went home.
Maybe that was the reason he had been out of sorts yesterday at the bar. Maybe it hadn’t been because she’d gotten too nosey, or had threatened his resolve never to feel again, or because he’d wanted to go home and brood, which he had to admit was beginning to get boring, even for him. He’d blame it on not saying goodnight to his kids, because he hadn’t been ready to admit he was a man clinging so tightly to his past he’d forgotten how to socialize with the living.
Polly had rushed him away from work and he hadn’t had a chance to tell all of his patients goodnight, and things just didn’t seem right when he missed saying goodnight to his kids.
Yeah, he’d use that as the excuse for his behavior last night, otherwise he’d seem far too pitiful the next time he looked in the mirror.
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEXT MORNING Polly rode the hospital elevator up to her floor. A vibration in her pocket alerted her that a text message had come through her cell phone: B in NY in 2 wks. Have dinner with me? Greg
Rankled, since Greg had dumped her for another girl over a year ago, and she’d been heartbroken as well as angry at the time, she wrinkled her nose and shut off her phone with a harrumph.
“Bad news?” A familiar voice came from over her shoulder.
“Oh.” She turned round. “Dr. Griffin, I didn’t see you there.” There were several people she didn’t know in the overcrowded elevator but she hadn’t noticed him mostly because she had been lost in her thoughts and hadn’t been looking at anyone. Aching from her lumpy bed, already dragging from the daily rush to the subway, getting pushed and bumped the entire commute, and now hearing from an unwelcome voice from her past, she couldn’t begin to paste on a cheery face today.
John edged closer to her. “You don’t look happy.”
She lifted a corner of her mouth. “I’m not. Old boyfriend just texted me.” What did she care if he discovered that little miss Pollyanna from Pennsylvania was a sham, that her carefree moods were manufactured from hard work and years of practice.
“Sorry to hear that,” he said, sounding curiously sincere.
“About the boyfriend or not being happy?”
“Both.”
“Really?”
“Don’t act so shocked.” He gave her a John Griffin style smile, which meant it was hard to differentiate the smile between a grimace and/or gas.
“Do you actually notice things like people’s moods?”
“No. Not usually.”
What the heck did that mean? Had her self-deprecating plea last night in his office put her on his pity list? Maybe she’d overdone it.
“Well, thanks anyway,” she said, lifting her brows and glancing toward the neon numbers indicating the floors, having run out of superficial things to talk about. The elevator stopped and several people got off.
He moved closer and whispered near her ear. “You know, you don’t have to put on your forever-cheerful act for me.”
Had he seen through her already? “Gee, thanks.” She didn’t mean to sound disrespectful, but he’d just given her permission to show her true feelings, hadn’t he? She glanced to where he stood. There was that gassy grimace-style smile again and a playful glint in his eyes. Why did she find it cute?
Cute? John Griffin?
Maybe it was his mouth, the way the marginally off-center bottom lip curled out ever so slightly, making her want to take it between her teeth and nibble...just a little.
Come on, Polly, the guy is way too old for you. Probably pushing forty. And gruff as a bulldog. Who needs the aggravation? Besides, there was no way he’d ever be interested in her. Yet...that goofy attempt at a smile could only be described as cute. Charming, even.
The elevator came to a stop on the fifth floor and everyone else exited. Once the doors closed, John leaned his shoulder on the elevator wall and looked directly at Polly.
“Let’s make a deal,” he continued to whisper. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
She lifted her head from staring at her scuffed white clogs with the image of nibbling his lower lip fresh in her mind. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“Our moods.” So he had seen through her carefully crafted façade.
“Well, no offense, Dr. Griffin, but I think I’ve already memorized your moods. Moody. Grumpy.” She used her fingers to tick off the list. “Gruff. Did I say moody?”
What do you know, she’d coaxed out a real smile. “Yes. Smartass.” He squinted graciously under fire, his dark eyes showing signs of renewed life. “Don’t forget Bashful and Sleepy, if you’re thinking of naming all of the seven dwarfs.”
“And Doc. You definitely qualify for that one.” She sighed, realizing that whatever this silly game was she was playing with Johnny, many of her cares had already evaporated in the stuffy elevator. By giving her the okay to be who she really was, warts and all, he’d liberated her from being Pollyanna. It felt pretty darned good. Hmm, had he said bashful? Him?
“Bashful? Not you,” she said.
“Oh, yes, I am.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The elevator door opened and they got out and headed their separate ways, she giving a genuinely bright smile, thanks to his lightening her mood, and he, well, still looking gassy but with an added spring to his step. That on-the-verge-of-flirting look he’d just sent her way was bound to stay in her mind and keep her smiling the rest of the day. The little fizzy feeling that look had given her hadn’t been half-bad either.
Dr. John Griffin. Bashful? As in let the woman make the advance? Just what else might she be surprised about with him?
As Polly walked to the nurses’ locker room, one more thought popped into her head. Johnny smelled good, too, like expensive aftershave and clean hair. Combine that with his rugged, all-man features and her new interest in the shape and angle of his mouth, thinking it looked all too kissable for a guy with salt-and-pepper hair, for a head of Pediatric Orthopedics, and she lost her step and tripped on the doorframe.
All things considered, Johnny Griffin had done a great job of lifting Polly’s spirits that morning.
* * *
“How’s my girl doing?” John asked Polly, entering the hospital room shortly after she’d taken Annabelle’s midday vital signs.
“Great! Thanks,” Polly said. “Annabelle’s doing really well, too.” She caught and enjoyed the quick confusion in his eyes before he got her joke.
“You’ve got a real smart aleck for a nurse, Annabelle.” He took his patient’s thin hand, and the gesture squeezed Polly’s heart.
Annabelle gave a wan smile, and John lingered over her bed like a fussing papa until she closed her eyes. Polly had given her pain medication through a shot into the hip a few short moments ago.
“The nurses told me she’d had a rough night, complaining about phantom pains, and when she started mentioning them again just now, well, I wanted to make sure she was extra-comfortable today.”
He folded his arms across his broad chest. “Good. We’ll give her some rest now, but by later this afternoon I want her out of bed and in a chair for at least an hour.”
“Got it.”
“Physical therapy will start tomorrow, and the wound-care specialist should pay a visit this evening when her parents are here to discuss dressing changes when she goes home.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can knock that stuff off, too.”
“You don’t want me to follow your orders, sir?” Why did teasing her superior feel so delicious?
He took a deep breath, as if trying to suck in patience from the room air. “Are you trying to bug me?”
“Am I doing a good job...sir?”
“Very.”
“Good,” she said, straightening out the bedspread and double-checking the IV rate. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder, but she sensed he was enjoying her feisty mood. Would any of his staff ever dare to give him a hard time?
“There’s no excess drainage from the surgical site, and I emptied thirty ccs from the drain at the beginning of my shift,” she said, all business.
He checked under the recently smoothed covers and found the Jackson-Pratt bulb was nearly empty. The quarter-sized marking on the post-op dressing hadn’t gotten much bigger either, as he soon noticed.
“Good.” He lingered at the bedside.
She’d decided, after her pitiful, stumbling apology, and especially their ride in the elevator, that he was a good guy, even if he didn’t know it. He’d had the patience of a saint while she’d fumbled her way through her monologue, and he’d rewarded her by telling her to call him Johnny. Who else on the staff got to call him Johnny? Not that she ever would, at least not in front of anyone else, especially as he’d asked her to keep it to herself.
“Hey, Johnny.” Another doctor entered the room.
So much for the short-lived “special person privilege” fantasy.
“Dave. Come to admire your work?”
“Sure did.”
Polly surreptitiously read the other doctor’s badge. David Winters. Vascular Surgery. Of course, with the amputation they’d have to make sure the stump had proper circulation, and who better to assist the orthopedic surgeon than a vascular surgeon?
“I was going to wait until later to change the dressing, but there’s no time like the present. Polly, can you bring some gauze, dressings, four by fours and paper tape?”
“Sure. Would you like me to bring the Doppler too?”
“Great idea,” Dave said.
She knew it was never too early to make sure there was proper circulation to the wound, and the Doppler would let them hear the blood flowing through Annabelle’s vessels. A lot rested on every step of the recovery. In order to have Annabelle fit for a prosthetic device she’d need to have a strong and healthy stump. The post op-team, including Polly, would do everything in their power to make sure of Annabelle’s success.
After dropping off the supplies, Polly took a quick look at Annabelle’s surgical wound as John had already removed the dressing, and was surprised how clean and healthy the skin flap already looked. Cancer of the bone was a curse, but at least Annabelle would be able to wear one of the state-of-the-art prostheses being created these days. One day, when she was back on her feet and used to everything, wearing slacks or jeans, secure in her gait, no one would ever know that part of her leg was missing.
Later that day Polly took Charley his pills. She noticed the three signatures John Griffin had left on the teenager’s casts, which made her grin. They were big, just like him, and colorful, hmm, and he had much nicer handwriting than she’d ever imagined any doctor could.
“What’s so funny?” Charley asked.
“Nothing. I was just admiring your autographs from Dr. Griffin.”
“He’s cool.”
“Really? He seems so stern all the time.”
“Nah, he’s funny. And he’s the only person who hasn’t given me a lecture about my skateboarding.”
“Well, I guess accidents do happen, but maybe you should be more careful so as not to tempt the fates.”
“Yeah, I get it. And I’ve heard that before, but yolo, you know?”
“Yolo?”
“You only live once.”
So said a sixteen-year-old. “True, but preferably longer than shorter. Right?”
Charley blew her off with a toss of his long-hair. She needed to change the subject back to something lighter, something more interesting for both of them.
“I never would have pegged Dr. Griffin as funny.”
“No? You should see him do his Aquaman drowning imitation. And he can sing like that weird guy who got kicked off that TV talent show last season, too.”
“Are we talking about the same doctor?”
“Definitely. He’s a laugh all right.”
“Never in a million years would I have thought Dr. Griffin was funny or talented. I mean, the man seems to take himself far too seriously, in my opinion.” A second too late, she saw Charley’s eyes go wide.
“Is that so?” Johnny Griffin’s familiar voice flowed over her shoulder.
“Oh! Hey. We were just talking about you.” Heat rushed to her cheeks.
“So I heard.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to do your Aquaman impersonation for me before I believe Charley here.”
Charley smiled and, amazingly, so did Johnny-boy. A look passed between them like a secret handshake.
“Stop by my office after work and I’ll be glad to give you the whole routine,” he said, sounding as though he might be flirting. Really? In front of a patient?
She pointed at him. “I’m tempted to call your bluff on that, Doctor.”
“I dare you,” he said, a playful, sparkly glint in his otherwise dead-serious eyes. Eyes that were becoming more and more intriguing each time she dared to look into them.
The rock-steady gaze caused a response that zipped down her spine with a surprise destination. What was going on here?
She wasn’t sure, but one thing she was positive about, she needed to leave the patient’s room before Dr. Griffin got an inkling of how much he’d just excited her.
* * *
Polly’s cell phone rang during lunch the next day and she was surprised to see who was calling. It was Greg. She hadn’t responded to his text from yesterday. Why the persistence all of a sudden?
“What’s up, Greg?” She tried to sound nonchalant.
“Did you get my text?”
“Oh, uh, I’ve been working a lot. I guess I missed it.” She wasn’t above lying to someone who’d lied to her. Repeatedly.
He went into his spiel about coming to New York in two weeks and how he hoped to take her out to dinner and maybe even to see a Broadway play. This couldn’t be the Greg she’d once known. Would he actually want to take her to an expensive play on Broadway? Not likely. Unless he’d finally come to his senses about what a prize she was. Again, not likely. Maybe he thought he could come to New York on business and cheat on his girlfriend with her while he was here? As in letting history repeat itself.