A Healing Love

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“No, my dear, you’re it. Dr. Merritt is on standby to assist you if needed.”

She shuddered and remembered Darlene. “Dad, do you think I should get in touch with Darlene?”

“Whatever for, Laura?”

“To tell her about Brad.”

“Brad? Brad who?”

“Brad Jeremiah. Your patient.”

“You know him?”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“Tell us? No! We’ve worked all night trying to find out this young man’s identity so we could contact his family—we needed permission to operate. Finally, we could safely wait no longer and went ahead. If he survives with a permanent disability, no telling what kind of liability that will incur. But I felt I had no other choice,” David McBride explained, the impatience with his daughter bordering on anger.

Laura dropped her head before her father could read the dismay in her eyes. “I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly last evening. We were so busy in the copter, and then later I went home. Until this moment I didn’t realize I had not told you who he is. I’m so sorry.”

David sighed. “What matters now is who this Brad Jeremiah is and if we can get in touch with the family.”

“His name is Dr. Michael Bradford Jeremiah, and he’s a physician in the same practice with Darlene. I met him briefly Sunday night at his apartment.”

Mark quirked an inquisitive brow in her direction.

Laura blushed and stammered, “I-it was a party with some of Darlene’s associates. She took me there.”

Mark drawled, trying to lighten the moment, “I didn’t know you went to Louisville to go a-partyin’ at some rich and handsome doctor’s digs. I’d have canceled your leave.”

“Did you meet his family or do you know where we can get in touch with them?” David bristled, his brows drawn together, the stress of the past two days showing.

“No, sir. Only Darlene. I’ll call her. She should know.” Laura’s answer was clipped.

“Then call her.”

“How much shall I tell her?”

“About the accident, of course.”

“How about his injuries?”

“Injured but stable, and we won’t know the extent until he regains consciousness. Ask how we can contact his family,” the older McBride snapped, then he wheeled on his heel and left the room.

Silence reigned for a few awkward moments, then Mark whistled. “Got his hackles up, I guess.”

“He was right. I did drop the ball,” Laura admitted, troubled.

“I don’t think that’s what’s wrong with him. I think he’s exhausted, and this beating the bushes for funds is not a role that suits him. As for yours truly, I kinda like it. It’s a challenge getting these folks to part with their money. In fact, the two committee men I met with yesterday are coming tonight to tour the hospital. That research grant will be ours if they give the go-ahead. Now how do you like that for my power of persuasion, my young Dr. Mac?” he teased, trying to take her mind off her confrontation with her father.

“I would never doubt your powers of persuasion, Dr. Harrod. Can anyone withstand your Irish charm?” Laura responded, looking up directly into his eyes, a ghost of a smile struggling to emerge.

Mark lifted his eyebrows, questioningly. “Hmm. How about you, Laura?” His voice teased, but his warm brown eyes grew serious.

Laura dropped her eyes, reluctant to go on to the next phase of their relationship. Her heart lurched at the thought of loosing her carefree give-and-take with Mark. It wasn’t that she couldn’t love Mark. He was everything she wanted in a man. He was sensitive and caring, a man of strong character and principle. He was handsome and fun to be with, and above all they enjoyed a shared faith and dedication to their work. Yet for some strange reason she wasn’t ready for that ultimate commitment.

Laura lifted her head, forcing her emotions under control, and winked at him. “I’ll never tell, for then you might have me in your power.”

Mark clicked his heels together and with a mock bow responded, “I shall live in anticipation of that day.”

“Now, if you two have finished clowning we’ll attend to the patient,” David McBride said as he strode through the door, charts in hand.

Laura turned toward him, to see his dear, one-sided grin aimed at her. The familiar twinkle in his eye told her that all was forgiven, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Darlene had taken the news of Brad’s accident in stride. Giving Laura the name of his mother, who was somewhere in Delaware, she promised to come as soon as possible. Two of the physicians on staff at Medical Surgeons were away, and with Brad’s absence, Darlene’s workload prevented her from leaving on a moment’s notice.

Meanwhile, Laura would contact Brad’s mother and hold the fort until Darlene could arrive. She fervently hoped that the patient would be much improved before that. But her father’s concern lay like a heavy weight on her shoulders. What would be the aftereffects of Brad Jeremiah’s accident? And if there were any, how would he adjust? She drew in a ragged breath and prayed that his consciousness would soon return. Only then would they know what he faced and their part in his recovery.

Now for the unpleasant task of phoning his mother.

Her call proved fruitless. She was an invalid in a rest home on the Chesapeake Bay. The officials there would not allow Laura to speak to her, and said they would relay the message. A sense of lonely frustration swept over her. Drawn like a magnet to his room, Laura returned time after time to stand by his side, willing him to open his eyes, but to no avail. His condition remained unchanged, his breathing steady but labored, his other vital signs stable.

Imagine being confined to a hospital, with serious injuries and no loving family huddled around. She suddenly felt a great empathy for this man she hardly knew. She shook her head, trying to regain a physician’s objectivity. But she couldn’t. Until Darlene arrived, she was the closest thing Dr. Brad Jeremiah had to family or friend. And so she waited as anxious as any loved one. Fearful he wouldn’t awake, and even more fearful of what faced them when he did.

Chapter Four (#ulink_80b1d55d-b9bb-5ecc-8dfe-8af456174f31)

Midafternoon Laura went to her office to take a shower, hoping it would revive her from what felt like a drowsy stupor that was no doubt a lingering effect of the powerful sedative Mark had administered the night before. She kept a change of clothes in her closet for just such emergencies. She put on a softly feminine blue blouse and navy skirt, this time opting to leave her hair down. It billowed like a soft blond cloud around her shoulders. The mirror reflected her pale face as she carefully applied blush to her cheeks. The long, luxurious lashes framing her vivid blue eyes needed little mascara, just as her near-perfect complexion needed no makeup. Finishing up with a little color on her lips, Laura remembered Mark’s appointment and was glad she had changed from her denim skirt. If the prospective donors toured the hospital she wanted to present a professional image.

For the moment Laura felt refreshed, but she dreaded the long hours of limited activity, fearing her lethargy would return. She returned to Brad Jeremiah’s room to begin the long vigil again.

Several hours elapsed before she left him to check on Tom Watson and grab a bite to eat in the staff dining hall, after instructing the nurses to page her the moment they detected any change in the patient. Just as she was finishing her coffee, the PA announced her number, directing her to the surgical floor.

Five minutes later Laura alighted from the elevator. “What’s up, Hilda? Dr. Jeremiah awake?”

The short, ample nurse in her late fifties raised one lightly penciled brow. “So that’s his name, eh? No, but Tom Watson was asking for you.”

Laura took the chart Hilda handed her and walked swiftly through the door next to the nurses’ station. Tom Watson lay in the bed nearest the door, his eyes wide and alert. When he saw the young doctor, he grinned broadly, softening his homely features into pleasant contours beneath his bandaged head.

“How are you feeling, Tom?”

“I’m hurtin’ some, Dr. Laura, but thanks be to the Good Lord and you I can feel something, even if it is a little pain. That was a close call and I just wanted to thank you.”

“You’re right Tom—it was the Good Lord. Physicians can operate and medicate, but the miracle of healing is still in His hands. You can thank Him that you’ll be almost as good as new in a few months if you’re faithful to your therapy.”

“Aye, that I’ll be. Jenny and the kids—they’ll be needing me. I don’t know what I’ll do until then.”

“We’ll figure out something, Tom. You just worry about getting well.”

“Anyhow, thanks, Doctor.”

Laura took Tom’s hand and squeezed it, smiling. “That was my pleasure. I’ll check in on you later. I have another patient in the next room, so I’ll be here all night if you need me.”

Tom’s lopsided grin peeped from beneath the heavy bandages. “That’s comforting to know, Doctor.”

Laura said a quick goodbye and rushed down the hall to the Jeremiah room. She pushed open the door, only to find the scene much as it was when she’d left it, except now only one nurse, lovely and young Gretchen Evans, sat at the temporary station, poring over charts.

The blond, green-eyed girl looked up when Laura entered and smiled. “Dr. Laura, I was just about to page you. His condition is stable, but he’s been stirring some and mumbling. Shall I take his blood pressure for you?”

Laura returned the young nurse’s smile, shaking her head. She liked Gretchen. The daughter of a miner, she had grown up in Wales and been educated in England, then continued her specialized training in America by taking some graduate courses in Kentucky. Her clipped British accent mingled with the slow Southern cadence spoken in the hospital, creating a strangely pleasing mixture of sounds.

“No, thank you. I will. Suppose you go on to supper. Stop on your way out and tell Hilda you’re leaving.”

Gretchen looked at her watch and nodded. “See you at half past the hour unless I hear from you before then.”

Laura picked up the patient’s chart and walked toward the bed, her crepe-soled shoes making whispering sounds on the hard shiny floor. When she reached the bedside, she unbuttoned her jacket and took a stethoscope and a small flashlight from her skirt pocket.

Pausing for a moment, she studied the patient. His color was good; his breathing appeared normal; but his creased brow and the hard set of his mouth indicated that either his dreams were unpleasant or he was experiencing some pain.

She leaned closer. He moaned slightly and the frown deepened as his dark-brown eyes opened to stare blankly into hers.

Laura drew back at the intensity in them, catching her breath in an inaudible gasp; yet she seemed powerless to take her eyes from his. In that unguarded moment before full consciousness arrived, his eyes revealed pure, agonizing heartbreak while at the same time blazing with a fire and vitality that sent shock waves to Laura’s innermost being.

She remained close to him, mesmerized by what she saw, yet feeling like an intruder as he grappled to return to consciousness. For a moment she had gazed into the very soul of this man and, unknown to him, witnessed some deep, unidentified longing that tormented him. It both awed and fascinated her.

So entranced by what she saw, she failed to notice one muscular arm move from beneath the sheet. Suddenly, with lightning speed and inconceivable strength, it encircled her neck while his other hand grasped a handful of her hair. He pulled her face to his.

“Mona, Mona. Why? Why?” he groaned as his lips claimed hers.

Too stunned to recoil and too afraid of injuring him by forceful resistance, Laura closed her eyes and waited, locked motionless in the man’s embrace, waiting for the inevitable. She knew that soon the adrenaline would expend itself and he would slip limply from his semiconscious state back into oblivion, where he would have no painful recall of the past few moments.

Not so for Laura. Her heart thumped wildly and her inner ears reverberated with the name Mona. Who was she? The source of his agony, perhaps. She knew the answer. His kiss had told her. It contained no tenderness, only a commanding possessiveness. But what about Darlene?

He released her lips and his eyes closed. When Laura turned her head slightly, his arm locked like a vice around her neck and his fingers pulled her long thick hair.

Pushing against the bed with her hands, she maneuvered her body gently, straining to take some of her weight off him, hoping the gentle resistance would free her without injury to him, but his grip only tightened.

She groped for the emergency light and it fell with a clatter to the hard floor. Rising anxiety pumped Laura’s heart even more wildly; she was trapped.

She considered her alternatives. She could ring for Hilda, but by the time help arrived Laura might be free. Anyway, she’d just as soon the affable but talkative nurse didn’t find her in this situation. It would be the sole topic of hospital conversation by morning and for weeks to come.

She muffled a gasp. Her momentary position was not only embarrassing but painful. If he didn’t relax his hold soon she would be forced to call for assistance. The door opened quietly behind her and she heard soft footsteps in the room. Laura whispered, “Hilda? I need some assistance.”