Cindy's Doctor Charming

Chapter Two

Tired and cranky the morning after her big night, Cindy and her “clean cart” rode the elevator to Mercy Medical Center’s second floor. If she’d known her raffle ticket to the ball included a sleepless night because of Dr. Charming, spending the evening at home in her slippers and sweats would have won out over borrowed finery and broken heels. She still couldn’t believe that Nathan Steele, the legendary NICU doc, had asked for her phone number. If he’d known she worked in housekeeping at the hospital, the fairy tale would certainly have ended differently.

The elevator arrived at her stop and the doors whispered open. She pushed the cart, holding a mop, trash receptacle and trigger bottles filled with antiseptic spray, down the hall. After rounding the corner, she came to a screeching halt. Nathan was standing right outside the neonatal intensive care unit.

He was looking at his phone, probably a BlackBerry or whatever was the latest expensive communication technology crammed into a square case barely visible to the naked eye. She wouldn’t know. Her cell phone was old, her calling plan the cheapest available on the market, only for emergencies. Which running into Dr. Steele definitely was, but nothing an old, cheap cell phone could handle.

The good news was that he hadn’t seen her yet. She could turn around and hide someplace until he was gone, but there was work to do. She was already gowned in the white, paper coverall with the snaps marching up the front that the unit required. Except for the disposable blue booties over her sneakers, she looked like a bunny. If only this uniform included a bag to put over her head, he wouldn’t know her because her ID badge was hidden beneath the protective clothing.

Then she got a grip and realized he overlooked her on a daily basis. There was no reason to believe that had changed because the night before he’d flirted with her outrageously and asked a woman he didn’t recognize for her number. The dancing had been really nice, too.

With head held high, she walked past him and stopped at the double-door entrance to the NICU. The cart wasn’t allowed inside. With all the sensitive equipment, electrical cords and highly skilled personnel hurrying between the isolettes, there wasn’t room to spare for the clunky cart. Housekeeping paraphernalia was necessary but not even in the same league with the pricey, sensitive and technical tools that saved the babies.

Cindy picked up one of the trigger bottles and was just about to approach the automatic opening door when she felt someone behind her. The hair at her nape prickled and her skin flushed with heat that had nothing to do with the hot suit. She could be wrong about the awareness, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t. The same thing had happened once before. Specifically, last night.

“Cindy?”

It was him. Not only that, he’d called her by name and as far as she knew he hadn’t looked at her. She turned, bracing for this unprecedented happening. And there was Dr. Charming with his meticulously mussed hair and swoon-worthy square jaw. He was dressed in scrubs, which weren’t particularly appealing, except that he was wearing them.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked.

“I recognized your perfume.”

Well, damn. Why did he have to be a smooth talker on top of everything else? “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Interesting development because last night you had all the answers.”

If he really believed that, she’d put on a pretty good performance. “About that—”

“So this is where I know you from.”

“Scene of the crime.” She’d let him connect whatever dots he saw fit to explain why she’d made him guess her identity.

“Crime being the pertinent word. It wasn’t my finest hour. I owe you an apology.”

At the speed of light he’d figured out that she was the housekeeper he’d chastised the day before. Pigs must be flying outside the window because this was an unexpected and unprecedented turn of events.

Doctors never apologized to housekeepers, partly because they were the ones who cleaned up after the high and mighty and just disappeared into the landscape.

“Excuse me, but I could have sworn you used the word apology.”

“I suppose your hostility is logical.”

“Really? You think?” She rested her free hand on her hip. “Maybe because I was found guilty without benefit of a fair trial? I didn’t touch that baby in the NICU.”

He nodded. “I saw movement. It was a peripheral vision thing—”

“NICU housekeeping 101—never touch the babies. Stifle any rogue maternal instincts and beat them into submission. It was the first thing I was taught and I learned my lesson well.”

“There’s a good reason for the rule. The babies are incredibly fragile. It’s tempting to want to hold them because the heat shield on the Giraffe is up. For a good reason. The neonates need a lot of attention and we need fast and easy access to them.”

She knew the Giraffe was the commonly used nickname for the highly specialized isolette that could move up, down and other directions just by pushing a button.

“I know how frail they are,” she said. “I understand that the goal is to keep the environment like a mother’s womb, warm and quiet. And that begs the question—If calm is what you want, why did you yell at me?”

“Technically, I didn’t yell. My tone was moderated. At best, forceful.” Her exaggerated eye roll didn’t stop him. “And I pulled you aside to the nurse’s station, away from the baby.”

“And that makes it so much better,” she said, lifting the floodgates on her sarcasm. “That way the nurses could really hear you unreasonably humiliate me.”

“It was an overreaction.” His hazel eyes turned more gold than green and went all puppy dog. “Would it help to explain that the little guy was just born? He weighs a little more than three pounds and it’s touch and go. I was worried and took it out on you.”

“That’s something I never got from the job description or orientation. Nowhere in my employee handbook does it say that my function is to absorb a physician’s deflected tension or anger.” She could tell he was listening and letting her vent, but that didn’t sit well or turn off the mad. “Housekeepers aren’t here to be stress relievers for anyone higher up on the food chain.”

He really looked sorry. “That’s not fair.”

Probably not, but she was weakening and that couldn’t happen.

“No one ever said life would be fair, Dr. Steele—”

“Nathan. Remember?”

She was trying not to. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

“She wasn’t around much for heart-to-heart chats. I pretty much figured that one out on my own, though.” An edgy tone crept into his voice. “Look, Cindy, I said I was sorry—”

“No. You really didn’t. I heard the word apology and a detailed justification for why you went off on me for no good reason. Not once, though, did I hear you say the word sorry.”

“Well, I am.” He saw her look and added, “Sorry, that is. I was wrong.”

“Wow, the world has gone mad. The w word actually passed your lips. As I live and breathe.” Her skin started to tingle when she mentioned his lips and it didn’t help that he kept staring at her. “I’ll be sure not to spread that around. Who’d believe me anyway?”

“While we’re setting the record straight, I feel it’s only fair to point out that you were wrong, too.”

“About what?” Her whole life consisted of being wrong one too many times, so a clarification was necessary.

“Me,” he said. “I’ll admit sometimes I can be a jerk at work. After all we’ve established that I did chastise you unjustly. But I take exception to the reputation remark. Mine is impeccable. And I’m not inflexible.”

“Okay, then. Color me corrected.”

“I’m not finished.”

“Right. What else have you got?”

“People do like me.”

By people she was pretty sure he meant women. It would be far too easy to be one of them and that simply couldn’t happen. She was too close to getting what she’d worked so hard for. There was light at the end of a long, dark financial and educational tunnel and she couldn’t afford not to focus on either of those fronts now.

Eyes straight ahead. No distractions; no detours.

“There’s probably some truth to that,” she agreed. “Someone undoubtedly does like you. File it under ‘good to know.’ Now, I’ve got work to do—”

“As do I. It’s time to check on Rocky.”

“Who?”

“The little guy. From yesterday. How could you possibly forget when you took one for the team?”

“Is that what you call it?”

“My story and I’m sticking to it.” He smiled, and the power of it was awesome. “It’s what the nurses call him. Somehow the nicknames just seem to stick.”

“Rocky. A fighter.” That tugged at her heart big time and she needed her space, stat, before she bought into him being a bona fide hero even after yesterday when he’d made her feel like the lowest of the low. He fought for the most defenseless and delicate of God’s creatures. How long could she sustain this weak, borderline unjustifiable case of self-righteous indignation? How did she protect herself from him?

“Okay, then,” she said, starting to turn away. His hand on her arm froze the movement. She could feel the warmth of his fingers and it had nothing to do with the protective suit keeping in body heat.

“Wait. There’s one more thing.”

There always was. How many ways did she not need this in her life? She forced herself to meet his gaze and braced to repel the reaction. “What?”

“Your phone number.”

“What about it?” That was a stall. By definition one needed a number to dial to contact someone else on a telephone.

What she didn’t know was why he wanted hers. Surely he didn’t really want to call her. She’d admit to having the tiniest little crush on him after last night. Sleep had finally come when she’d realized that it wasn’t really something to worry about because they were on completely different rungs of the hospital social ladder. But now he knew exactly who she was and had brought up the subject again. What was up with that?

“I’m asking for your phone number,” he patiently explained.

“I don’t give out that information,” she said.

“Why?”

“Why do you want it?”

Now he rolled his eyes. “I’d like to call you sometime.”

“So you can yell at me after hours, too?”

“Of course not.” His gaze narrowed. “Has anyone ever talked to you about this acute flair you have for the dramatic? And holding a grudge?”

“Not recently.”

“Look, I’d like your number so I can ask—”

“Don’t say it.”

He moved in a completely different orbit and she existed in the real world. Under normal circumstances there wasn’t a chance in hell that their worlds would collide, but that changed last night and an alternate reality was initiated.

Now he was trying to change the order of the universe. When the last man in her life cleaned out her savings and maxed out her existing credit cards and ones he took out in her name, she learned the hard lesson that men have ulterior motives. The only unknown was how much it would cost her. She absolutely would not be a victim of whatever it was that Nathan Steele was planning.

“Why shouldn’t I say it?” There was a charming, confident look on his face.

“Because yesterday you only made me feel like an idiot. If I gave you my number now, that would make it true.”

She walked into the NICU before he could respond. There was nothing left to do except work through the bittersweet, wistful feeling inside that made her wish a man hadn’t screwed up her life. Then she might be tempted to take a chance that another man wasn’t going to do the same thing.

Nathan wasn’t sure why he cruised the cafeteria at lunchtime instead of going to the doctor’s dining room. Then he saw Cindy Elliott sitting by herself and the motivation for his detour became clear. It was an excuse to talk to her. Damage control for his unreasonable behavior, he told himself. But himself wasn’t quite buying into that story. After her over-the-top reaction to his apology for unreasonable behavior, he’d turned over the unreasonable behavior crown to her. Yet he couldn’t stop his own curiosity at her response.

He grabbed a tray and stepped into line, then picked up a ready-made turkey sandwich and a bottle of water. After paying for the items, he looked around, half-expecting her to be gone. She had a way of running out on him. This time she was still sitting alone at a table for two by the wall. Convenient.

“Here goes nothing,” he mumbled to himself.

Sunshine leaked through the windows from the hospital’s dome tower above this room, allowing the light in. The hum of voices buzzed around him. Balancing the rectangular green tray, he snaked his way through the Formica-topped tables and metal chairs with orange plastic seats.

He stopped beside her and did a replay of what he’d asked last night. “Is this seat taken?”

Her eyes narrowed on him when she looked up. “What if I said I was expecting someone?”

“Are you?”

“No.”

Without waiting for permission, he set down his tray and sat in the chair opposite her. He sort of missed the “bunny suit.” Now she was wearing the work uniform of cotton pants and dark-blue scrubs top with Environmental Services embroidered on the breast. In this light, her eyes were even more interesting—darker brown with flecks of gold. Definitely cinnamon. Spicy. Interesting. Not unlike the lady herself.

“So, how’s it going?” He unwrapped the plastic on his sandwich and took a bite.

“Until now there was only one black mark on the day. In the last five seconds that just doubled.” She set her spoon down. “Why are you here?”

“I’m hungry?”

“You know that’s not what I meant. You could be having lobster, caviar and truffles in the doctor’s dining room.”

“Actually I think it’s pheasant under glass and baked Alaska day. I’m not a big fan of either,” he said.

“Again, not my point. You’re here with the peasants. Why is that?”

“Maybe I find the environment here more interesting.” He finished the first half of his sandwich and glanced at her empty bowl with wrappers piled up in it. “Soup and crackers isn’t much for lunch.”

“I’m on a diet.”

“Why?” Nathan twisted the top off his water bottle and took a drink.

“By definition diet implies trying to drop a few pounds.” Her tone was conversational, but mistrust lurked in her eyes.

“Again I ask—why?” He wagged a warning finger when she opened her mouth to answer. “Don’t give me the snarky, sarcastic response that I know is on the tip of your tongue. You’re not overweight.”

“Why else would I go on a diet?” She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. The classic stubborn, you’re-not-getting-anything-out-of-me pose.

“All well and good for someone who needs to shape up, but you don’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw you in that dress last night.”

The sexy, sensuous image would be imprinted on his mind forever. And he’d held her in his arms. She had curves in all the right places and not one of those places needed to slim down. The memory of her body pressed against his sent a flood of testosterone surging through him. And it wasn’t the first time he’d reacted to her that way.

“Why are you really eating this?” he asked.

“Why do you care?”

“Good question. Humor me.”

“Would you believe I have irritable bowel syndrome and this is a bland diet?”

“No.”

She was irritable, but that wasn’t a medical diagnosis. It had something to do with him personally. Just a feeling, but he was pretty sure this snappish attitude had a lot to do with him not recognizing her, especially after coming down on her for something she hadn’t done. And since his apology hadn’t produced any discernible softening in her, that cranked up his curiosity.

“Okay.” She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “What if I’m still full from last night?”

“Doubtful. You didn’t finish the rubber chicken or even touch the prefab cheesecake.” He would know. He’d noticed that, along with everything else about her. She was quick-witted, smart and sexy. A triple threat.

She sipped from the straw in her iced tea, then asked, “Are you going to let this go any time soon?”

“That’s not my current plan, no.”

She sighed. “If you must know, I’m always on a very tight budget the week before payday. Something you probably have no frame of reference for.”

“Budgets? Or payday?”

“Either. Both.”

“I get the concept, but you’re right. It’s not something I had to deal with.”

“Had?”

“I didn’t have a childhood, but not because money was a problem.”

He’d had his hands full coping with family issues. And thinking about that could put multiple black marks on his day. Cindy, however, could brighten up an entire room. He’d found that out last night. And she was much more interesting than memories of the clinically dysfunctional Steele family.

“So,” he said, rolling the empty plastic from his sandwich into a ball. “The south of France with Mumsy isn’t in the budget?”

Her mouth twitched. She wanted to laugh but was holding back. “About that—”

“No need to explain.”

“In my small way, I was getting even with you for yelling at me.”

“I get that. What’s your excuse for being crabby now?” he asked. “Lack of sleep? Staying out too late last night?”

“You got me. Hobnobbing with the rich and famous wore me out. I stayed up way past my bedtime.”

And speaking of beds, an image of her in his with twisted sheets tightened a knot of need inside him that had started fewer than twenty-four hours ago when he’d seen her walk like sex in motion across a crowded room. Talking with her, discovering her sharp mind and keen sense of humor had only intensified the feeling. Then she’d really piqued his curiosity by abruptly walking out after cutting short their dance.

“It seemed like you were having fun. Why did you leave the party?” he asked.

“It was time to go.” Something in her eyes said that wasn’t the whole truth. “Now I’ve got a question for you—why are you stalking me?”

“That’s harsh,” he teased. “Take last night—”

“You mean when you didn’t have a clue who I was?”

“No offense,” he said, “But last night you weren’t wearing the NICU jumpsuit.”

“It’s a legitimate question, Doctor—”

“Nathan, remember?”

The look on her face said she remembered it all and wasn’t happy that she did. “My point is that a physician rubbing elbows with the peons here at Mercy Medical Center just isn’t deliberately done. So the stalking remark is not out of line.”

“It is if I just want to get to know you. And I do. We work in the same place and it’s inevitable that our paths would cross. Which is the reason I’d like your phone number.”

“I don’t really get the connection.” She stood and picked up her tray. Over her shoulder as she was walking away, she said, “And you should just let it go, Doctor.”

Nathan knew she was right. He should let it go.

He honestly didn’t understand why he couldn’t. The average woman would be happy to go out with him. Clearly Cindy wasn’t average, which could explain part of her appeal. The other part was curiosity. She wouldn’t even give him a chance, and he was pretty sure that wasn’t about him chastising her.

Cindy Elliott was quite the mystery and he wasn’t finished trying to solve her. He’d see her stubborn and raise her a healthy dose of persistence.

Chapter Three

Cindy had clocked in from lunch after her unexpected encounter with Nathan and was now back to work. The afternoon stop in the NICU was next on her work sheet. Other than Dr. Charming going out of his way to talk to her in the cafeteria, it promised to be an ordinary afternoon. Then everything changed. And it all happened so fast.

One minute Cindy was running a long-handled dusting tool over the linoleum floor, the next Nathan was there with a tiny baby. He was calmly issuing orders like a general in the thick of battle.

The common sense move was to get out of the way even if directions to do just that in the event of a medical crisis hadn’t been drilled into her. Cindy had been employed at Mercy Medical Center for nearly two years and had seen her share of medical situations but never one involving Nathan Steele. She knew what he did, had seen his medical practice partner in action, but she had never actually witnessed him saving a little life. And she had a bad feeling that her life was about to change. She couldn’t help thinking that darn raffle ticket had somehow altered fate to put her in his orbit.

From her protected position against the wall she could hear the team talking and knew the baby boy was a twenty-five-weeker born just minutes ago by C-section. That made him about four months premature. He was already intubated, and they were using a bag to force air into his lungs. The person bagging the baby was her friend, Harlow Marcelli, who worked in the Respiratory Therapy department.

Cindy couldn’t really see what the staff was doing to the baby, but Nathan was taller than everyone and the strain and intensity on his face were clearly visible. When bodies parted, she noticed that he was using two fingers on the tiny chest, compressions for cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

After listening with the stethoscope, he said, “Let’s get him on a ventilator. IV line stat and electrodes for EKG. I need to surf him.”

She made a mental note to ask what that meant.

Meanwhile, the troops moved to follow his orders, and moments later there were tubes and machines in place. Tracings on the monitors were blue, green and pink—each to distinguish a different function to be watched.

“I need blood gases,” Nathan said.

Instantly Harlow moved, like a runner off the block at the sound of the starting pistol. In a few minutes, Nathan looked at the readings and nodded.

“He’s a fighter. I think the little gladiator is stable for the moment. Watch him. I want to know if anything changes. I’ll be right outside.” He looked at the staff who’d fought with him. “Great job, everyone. I’m going to talk to the dad. Mom’s still in recovery.”

Cindy moved slightly to her right, to see through the double glass doors and out into the hall. The father was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, blonde and blue eyed, with terror all over his face. She couldn’t hear what was said, but as Nathan talked some of the fear drained from the man’s expression, leaving your garden-variety worry in its wake. When the man glanced over, she could also see love for the tiny little life fighting to survive. The gladiator, Nathan had called him.

Just last night he’d told her that if he couldn’t see or touch something, he didn’t believe it existed. How could he not see the love in that father’s eyes?

“He’s pretty awesome, isn’t he?”

Cindy jumped at the sound of her friend’s voice, then turned. “You startled me. I didn’t know you were there.”

“Yeah. I can see you’re distracted.” Harlow Marcelli was a pretty, green-eyed brunette and the fairy godmother who’d loaned her the patched-up pumps for the fundraiser.

“Not preoccupied. Just doing my job,” she defended.

“Yeah.” Her friend glanced to where the two men were still talking. “If your job is to watch Dr. Hot Stuff.”