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For a moment the image of Jake’s laughing face filled her mind. She ruthlessly shoved it aside.
She didn’t have time for men. Even one as sexy and charming as Jake. There was no point in wondering if Jake would be supportive of her chosen career. Or supportive of her messed-up family.
Jake would be nothing more than a distraction she couldn’t afford.
Hannah met up with Andrea in the female surgical-residency locker room on the third day, relieved to discover they had been assigned to the same rotation, trauma surgery, for the month of July. Today was their first day taking care of real, live patients.
Hannah proudly donned her knee-length lab coat over her scrubs. The medical students were forced to wear short lab coats so that it was clear to the hospital staff that they were only students.
Now it would be clear to the hospital staff that she was a doctor. A surgical resident responsible for treating patients. She tucked her stethoscope into her pocket and took a deep breath.
She could do this. She’d studied hard and trained for this.
“Are you nervous?” Hannah whispered to Andrea as they walked down to the busy arena, the heart of activity in any emergency department. There were patients everywhere. Patients that were counting on them as residents to have a clue as to what might be wrong with them.
She quickly squelched the sliver of self-doubt.
“No.” Andrea glanced at her for a long moment and then shrugged. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
They walked up and introduced themselves to the senior resident on Trauma, Dr. Richard Reynolds.
He didn’t look thrilled to be saddled with two new residents. Did he have a grudge against females being in the program? Hannah wasn’t sure, but remained determined to prove him wrong, no matter what his assumptions were.
“There are a couple of trauma patients on the way in from a motor-vehicle crash,” Richard said. “I want each of you to take one of the patients. The attending on call today is Dr. Holt and both of us will be here if you need help. Any questions?”
Traumas? On their first day caring for patients? The look on the senior resident’s face was almost sneering, as if he expected them to balk at the responsibility. So Hannah straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “No questions.”
His gaze narrowed a bit, but then he nodded. “Good.”
Just then the doors from the ambulance bay burst open and two gurneys were wheeled in. For a moment panic stole her breath, but then a sense of calm came over her, as she took control of the first patient.
“James Turkow is a twenty-five-year-old restrained driver T-boned by another vehicle,” the paramedic announced. “Vitals were stable, and he was alert and oriented on the scene, but during transport became less responsive.”
Probable head injury, Hannah decided. But the bluish tint to his lips was concerning, so she pulled her stethoscope from her pocket and quickly listened to his lungs. Definitely not good. From what she could tell, he wasn’t moving nearly enough air to sustain life.
“Get me the intubation tray,” she ordered, pulling the oxygen mask and ambu-bag off the regulator on the wall to begin bagging him. With a flick of her wrist she turned the oxygen up to one hundred percent. “This guy needs an airway.”
The nurse quickly pulled out the emergency airway kit, handing over a laryngoscope and blade. “What size tube?”
“Eight.” Hannah quickly pulled on gloves and then took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. While the nurse placed the stylet into the endotracheal tube, she gently inserted the blade into her patient’s mouth and pulled upward—the way she had been taught—to search for his vocal cords.
Except she didn’t see them.
For a moment panic surged, and she frantically glanced around for Richard, the senior resident. Where in the heck was he? Didn’t he know she might need help? But Richard wasn’t readily available, so she tried again, tipping the young man’s head back farther and looking once again, down the back of his throat. Her left hand wielded the laryngoscope and she pulled upward, keeping away from his teeth to avoid damaging them.
“Easy, now, you’re doing fine,” a deep male voice said near her ear. Just knowing she wasn’t alone was enough to calm her frayed nerves. “Pull up just a little more. There, see the cords?”
Amazingly, she did see them. Trying to hold her left hand steady, she used her right hand to thread the ETT down through the patient’s vocal cords.
“Excellent,” the voice murmured. “Now remove the stylet and begin bagging. I’ll take a listen to make sure you’re in the right spot.”
She nodded, taking care to keep the tube firmly in place as she did as he requested. She kept her gaze trained on the patient’s chest, noticing with satisfaction that the chest rose and fell with every breath she gave with the ambu-bag.
“Good job. Looks like the tube is in place.” His low voice was reassuring. Almost mesmerizing. Relief made her knees feel weak, but she stiffened them with an effort. Her job was only partially done. “You’ll need to get a chest X-ray to confirm placement.”
“Will do,” she said, as she handed over the task of securing the tube to the nurse standing beside her. Once she was free to move aside, she glanced up at her rescuer.
And froze, when his glittering green gaze slammed into hers.
The force of the collision made her heart plummet, the room whirled and there was a loud roaring in her ears.
No. It couldn’t be. But it was.
Jake. Her Jake. Her one-night-stand-Jake was here. At Chicago Care.
The flare of shock reflected in his gaze almost made her feel better. At least she wasn’t the only one knocked off balance. But then she noticed the name on his ID badge and the sick feeling in her gut returned.
Great. Just what she needed. Not only was Jake a doctor here at the hospital. He was Dr. Holt. The attending physician on duty. And Chief of Trauma Surgery!
The man she’d impulsively spent the night with was the man who could make or break her career.
CHAPTER TWO
JAKE could hardly believe his eyes when he saw Hannah wearing light blue scrubs and a long white lab coat, her long blonde hair pulled back in some sort of fancy braid. Dr. Stewart. The name on her ID tag mocked him.
Hannah—the girl he’d seen on the sailboat wearing the bright yellow bikini—was an intern? A first-year surgical resident? Here at Chicago Care?
A stab of betrayal hit hard.
She’d known all along exactly who he was.
Hard to believe he was stupid enough to have made the same mistake twice in one lifetime, but he had. Swallowing the lump of bitterness in the back of his throat, he forced himself to keep his attention on the task at hand. There was a seriously injured patient needing their assistance, so this was hardly the time, or the place, to call Hannah out on her behavior.
But she’d certainly played her role well, that’s for sure. He’d taken the bait, falling for the ploy without once considering he’d been set up.
Tearing his gaze away from hers, he glanced down at the patient. “Order a stat chest X-ray to verify this tube placement,” he said to the nurse. “And I also want a full set of labs.”
The nurse headed for the nearest phone.
When he turned back toward Hannah, he noticed she was continuing her trauma assessment as another nurse drew the blood. Clearly, Hannah wasn’t nearly as shocked to see him as he was to recognize her.
“His lung sounds are very diminished on the right side,” Hannah said, pulling the stethoscope from her ears. “And his belly is tense, no bowel sounds present. He probably has a head injury, seeing as he’s still unconscious. So far, though, his pupils are equal and reactive.”
Trying very hard not to remember what she’d looked like naked, he gave a curt nod. “Okay, so what’s your plan?”
“Get a CT of his head, chest and abdomen, continue to monitor his neuro status closely.”
“Fine. Let me know as soon as you have some diagnostic results.” He moved away, intending to check on the second patient in the motor-vehicle crash. Richard was assisting the other female intern, Dr. Barkley, with that one, and from what he could tell, they had the patient under control.
Hannah’s patient was by far the sicker of the two.
“Dr. Holt?” Hannah’s familiar husky voice caused a reaction deep down, making him grind his teeth in frustration. He refused to be made a fool of again.
“What?” he snapped.
“The chest X-ray has been completed, but his abdomen is growing more tense by the minute,” she said, pulling aside the hospital gown to show him. “I think he’s bleeding internally. Do you want me to perform a peritoneal lavage?”
He didn’t want to be impressed by her sharp assessment skills, or the way she managed to remain calm in the middle of a crisis. “Have you done one before?”
“Yes.” Even as she responded, Hannah pulled out the peritoneal-lavage tray and began prepping the patient. If she was nervous, she didn’t let on. Once the patient’s skin was prepped, she pulled on a pair of sterile gloves and then carefully measured two centimeters above the umbilicus. Using the scalpel, she made a quick incision.
“Nice job,” he said, before he could stop himself. Once she’d deftly inserted the catheter, she opened up the IV of fluid and then watched, as he did, for the results. He wasn’t surprised she’d been right, when bloody drainage came flowing out. “Guess this guy has earned a trip to the O.R.”
Hannah’s eyes widened a bit. “Right now?”
“As soon as possible. But we need to know the status of his labs before we go anywhere.”
“His hemoglobin is low at ten,” one of the nurses reported. “And he’s not oxygenating very well, either, with a PO two of seventy-eight.”
“Transfuse two units of blood now, and then make sure he has four units of blood on hand at all times.”
“I bet he’s bleeding from a liver laceration,” Hannah said.
“Why do you think that? Why not his spleen?” he challenged.
“His spleen could be the source of his bleeding, but he was on the driver’s side and wearing his seat belt, which means most of the pressure would have been on the right side, over his liver.” Hannah kept her gaze focused on the bloody drainage coming out of the peritoneal catheter as she spoke. “If the injury had been lower, his bowel might be affected, but in that case, we’d likely see intestinal contents mixed in with the blood.”
As much as it annoyed him, he agreed with her. “Yes, we would.”
“So he might need a liver resection?” Hannah asked.
“Possibly, but that depends on the source of the bleeding. Could be a blood vessel and not the organ itself.” He glanced at the nurse. “Where’s the chest X-ray?”
“Right here, Dr. Holt.”
Jake glanced at the chest X-ray one of the nurses pulled up on the computer monitor at the bedside. He frowned and gestured to it. “And what do you see here?”
“A pneumothorax in the right lower lobe.” Hannah finally looked directly at him, her blue gaze seriously intent. “He needs a chest tube before he goes to the O.R.”
“Have you done one?”
There was the slightest hesitation. “I’ve assisted with one,” she murmured.
He was tempted to put the damn thing in himself, but this was a teaching institution and he was obligated to at least give her a chance. “I’ll talk you through it,” he said.
Hannah was already getting the supplies ready. Once the chest-tube insertion tray was open and ready to go, Hannah prepped the right side of their patient’s chest and then picked up the scalpel. She made a one-inch incision between the fourth and fifth ribs, but it was too shallow.
“You’ll need to go deeper in order to get through the cartilage,” he instructed, coming up behind her, to once again peer over her shoulder as she worked.
He hadn’t known who she was when he’d helped her intubate this very same patient, but now it seemed as if every one of his senses were on red alert. Being this close was difficult. The familiar vanilla scent of her skin tormented him.
He watched as she took a deep, bracing breath and then ran the blade through the incision again, going deeper this time. Then she used the tip of her finger to make sure the opening went all the way through. Using the trocar, she inserted the chest tube into the opening.
“Suture it in place,” he said, forcing himself to step back. Distance. He needed to keep as much distance as possible. “We don’t want that tube coming out on the trip to the O.R.”
“Will do.” The look of satisfaction on her face almost made him want to smile. Almost. “Will I get a chance to scrub in on this case with you?” she asked.
The softening he’d felt toward her quickly evaporated. This was exactly what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? This was why she’d set him up at the marina bar, Shipwrecked, and had flirted with him.
Because she’d wanted to advance her career. He could see the plan she’d formulated in her mind—get intimate with the attending and receive special treatment.
“Not this time, Dr. Stewart,” he said bluntly, even though in reality this was the best procedure for an intern to scrub in on. But too bad. He needed an assistant, but he’d get Richard to come into the O.R. with him.
The flash of surprised hurt in her gaze almost made him change his mind. But she forced a smile. “I understand.”
Did she? Because he sure as hell didn’t.
Images flashed through his mind, the way he’d taken her frantically up against the wall. And then again, when he’d gently tossed her onto his bed and she’d laughed.
Damn, but she was beautiful. So full of life. A breath of fresh air compared to the other women he’d tried to go out with since the fiasco with Allie. The moment he’d seen Hannah, the instant flare of attraction had stunned him speechless.
Discovering she’d played him for a fool was a cruel twist of fate.
“I’ll just observe, then,” she continued, as if he wasn’t in the middle of an internal war.
“Fine.” He turned to find Richard, knee deep in assisting the other intern, Andrea Barkley, with a full-blown trauma resuscitation on their second patient. He scowled. What in the hell had happened? The patient had been stable last time he’d checked. But as he watched for a few minutes, he knew that he couldn’t drag Richard away from this case. Not now.
Resigned, he turned back to Hannah. “Actually, I will need your help in the O.R. after all.”
“Really? Thank you!” she exclaimed earnestly, her eyes bright with excitement.
For a moment he railed at the unfairness of it all. She looked so enticing. So eager to learn. He tore his gaze away with an effort, and then turned his attention back to his patient. If he could get the internal bleeding under control, this guy would make it.
This should be his priority right now. Saving James Turkow’s young life. Not worrying about Hannah’s ulterior motives for sleeping with him.
One month, he thought grimly. He’d be forced to work with her for one month. Surely he could manage to keep his professional distance from her for a measly thirty days.
* * *
Hannah was proud at how well she managed to hide her internal emotional turmoil as she assisted Jake in doing the exploratory lap on their blunt-trauma patient.
Concentrating on the surgical technique he employed wasn’t easy, especially the way his sexy voice, as he gave instructions, filled her head.
Listening to him speak in a low tone reminded her of their night together. And she had to block her emotional reaction to him as she concentrated on what he was doing.
“See? Here’s the grade-four liver laceration,” Jake said, gently moving the intestines aside to show her the extent of the injury.
