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But somehow he couldn’t find his usual, comfortable emotional distance. His feelings were already involved.
With Emily.
And especially with Naomi.
CHAPTER THREE
NAOMI tried to sleep in the following morning, especially since she was off work until five o’clock when it would be time for her to take over her call shift.
But she woke up every hour, starting at seven in the morning, and finally gave up at ten. She dragged herself out of bed, knowing there was no way she’d manage to get any rest until she went back to the hospital to follow up on her trauma admissions from the night before.
Especially Emily. And Tristan. Had their parents survived the crash? She hoped there was someone close to them who could come and support them during this time of crisis.
After taking a quick shower, she dried her hair, appreciating the ease of her simple, chin-length bob. She didn’t use much make-up, especially when she was only going to be on call later anyway. She pulled on a pair of trim black trousers and an electric-blue blouse topped with her white lab coat. Outside, the sun was shining brightly, no sign of the heavy fog from the night before that had caused such devastation after the baseball game.
Her house wasn’t far from Children’s Memorial Hospital. For practical reasons she preferred to live close to the hospital. After Andrew had left, she’d kept the house as she’d paid most of the mortgage anyway. He hadn’t argued, happy to take the cash buyout, which hadn’t been a surprise considering how hard he’d tried to convince her they’d needed to move to a bigger and better place outside the city limits.
Reminders of her ex-husband made her frown. She’d been devastated at losing their baby, and when Andrew had moved out during one of her extended call shifts, she’d been shocked. How could he have been so cold? So callous?
When she’d tried to talk to him, he’d told her he’d been thinking of leaving her anyway, because of her erratic schedule and long hours. The discovery of her infertility had convinced him there was no hope for them. He hadn’t wanted to go through the stress and agony all over again.
As much as she’d tried to tell herself she was obviously better off without him, she had never felt so lonely.
Naomi pulled into the designated private parking garage reserved for physicians and shook off thoughts of Andrew as she strode into the hospital. She didn’t bother with the elevator but took the stairs to the third-floor pediatric intensive care unit.
Rick was standing at the main desk when she walked in and he glanced at the clock with a puzzled frown. “You’re a little early, aren’t you?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug, feeling self-conscious after the way she’d gotten so emotional on him last night. “How are things going?”
“So far, good.” Rick’s gaze slid from hers and her gut clenched, knowing he was holding something back. With unspoken agreement, they walked down the hall towards the physician conference room.
“Emily? How’s Emily doing?”
Rick didn’t say anything but steered her toward the conference room, which for once was empty of residents. He turned to face her, his expression grim. “She had a rough night, Naomi. They’ve decided to place her on the heart transplant list.”
“What?” Shocked, she could only stare at him. “She needs a new heart? How? Why?”
He nodded. “They took her back to surgery this morning, because she’d continued to bleed. During the surgery they decided they didn’t have any choice but to put her on a Heartmate.”
A Heartmate was an external device that took over the work of the heart. It was often used as a bridge to a transplant. But pediatric organs were rarely available. It was possible that Emily would be forced to live much of her life on the device. If she could manage to avoid a life-threatening infection, that was.
“Poor Emily.” She had to blink back tears. “Does her family know? Tristan?”
“Her parents are patients at Trinity Medical Center, but the nurses in the ICU over there brought Emily’s mother over during the night. Emily’s father was too sick to be moved.”
The poor family. How awful to be hospitalized in different places. Especially when Emily’s life hung in the balance. “If she dies, it’s my fault.”
Rick sighed and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Naomi, don’t do this to yourself. Emily was crushed by a car. If she dies, it’s not your fault.”
Yes, it would be her fault, but there was no point in arguing. The trauma department had a monthly morbidity and mortality review, and this case would certainly be discussed, along with her performance during surgery. The best thing a surgeon could do was to own up to their mistakes and learn from them. The fact that Emily would have died without the Heartmate was serious enough.
“Naomi?” She started, realizing Rick had been talking to her, his blue eyes bright with concern. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You saved the lives of five pediatric trauma patients last night. Don’t the others count at all?” his exasperated tone grated on her nerves. “Give yourself a break, would you? Or were you responsible for the DOA on the scene, too?”
She grit her teeth, knowing he was right, even if she didn’t appreciate his sarcasm. “Yes, the other patients do count.” She pulled herself together, knowing Emily was still alive. Maybe a miracle would happen and the youngster would get a new heart, sooner rather than later. “How are the families dealing with everything?”
“As well as can be expected. As you know, both Brown parents are patients in the adult ICU at Trinity, and so is the father of the Dupont family. The Winthrop parents are here—their son was injured only because he’d gone along with the Dupont family for the ride.”
“Some ride.” She sighed. “Okay. Thanks for filling me in.”
Rick tucked his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “Are you heading back home or do you have an hour to spare?”
“I have time,” she said, wondering what he wanted to talk about. Maybe he wanted to give her some friendly advice on how to handle multiple trauma victims in a mini-disaster. Heaven knew, she could use the education.
“Great. I thought maybe we could talk about the goals for the community education committee.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “We could grab a quick lunch in the cafeteria.”
She wasn’t very hungry. Emily’s condition weighed heavily on her shoulders, but at the same time she didn’t want to keep Rick from eating, especially as he was post-call. He looked pretty good for a guy who’d no doubt been up most of the night. “Are you sure you want to do this now? You probably didn’t get much sleep last night. We can always talk about the community education plan later.”
“Believe it or not, I got about four hours of sleep between four and eight this morning.” He led the way out of the conference room, through the PICU and to the elevators. “At this point, I need to stay up or I won’t sleep tonight, when I’m supposed to.”
She knew what he meant. Being post-call wreaked havoc on a body’s sleep cycle. Stepping into the elevator beside him, she caught a whiff of his aftershave and the musky scent filled her head, teasing her pheromones. Her pulse kicked up and she took a subtle step back, hoping the distance would help. He wore a shirt, tie and smart trousers this morning, reminding
her of how great he’d looked the night before in a suit, when he’d come in to help her with the MVA victims.
She frowned, a kernel of resentment unfurling in her belly. Wait a minute. She’d given up her chance to become pregnant to help him out. How dared he use the time to go out on a date?
The elevator doors opened and she led the way into the cafeteria, telling herself to drop it. In truth, she was glad to have been there when so many trauma patients had needed her. Even if she had almost caused little Emily more harm than good. Besides, what Rick Weber did in his personal time was none of her business.
Except when he dragged her into it, by asking her to cover his call shift. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he hadn’t been on a date but at something more serious, like a funeral. She helped herself to a salad while Rick went for the barbequed spare ribs. She added a cup of soup to complement her salad, and then stood in line to pay.
“I’ll take care of it.” Rick spoke up from behind her.
She swallowed another flash of irritation. Would he offer to pay for Chuck’s lunch? Or Frank’s? Or Dirk’s? She highly doubted it.
He must have sensed her mood because he quickly handed a twenty-dollar note to the cashier. “Please. To help pay you back for covering me yesterday.”
She arched a brow as they walked to the nearest table. “Don’t think you’re going to get off that easily. I plan to make you cover one of my call nights in return. Maybe even on a holiday,” she threatened.
Rick’s laugh was a low, rusty sound and she couldn’t help but smile as she sat down opposite him.
“I’m not kidding,” she warned.
“I know.” He took a bite of his barbequed ribs, not looking too worried.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. When her curiosity got the better of her, she glanced at him. “Should I offer my condolences?”
Startled, he gaped at her. “Why?”
“I thought maybe you attended a funeral, the way you were dressed up when you came in last night.” She tried to sound casual, instead of intensely nosy.
“No funeral.” Rick stared at his plate for a long moment before meeting her questioning gaze. “I do appreciate you covering for me. I needed to spend time with a very special person.”
Her jaw dropped. What nerve! She had been right. He had used her so he could go out on a hot date.
Stabbing the lettuce and tomato in her salad with more force than was necessary, she offered a thin, brittle smile. “Glad you had fun. Who’s the lucky woman?”
“Fun might be stretching it a bit,” he said with a grimace, seemingly unaware of her ire. “But the lucky woman is Lizzy, my ten-year-old niece. Her father took off right after she was born and she needed a surrogate father to escort her to the father-daughter dance. I know a silly grade-school dance may not seem important to you, but Lizzy means the world to me and I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her to sit at home alone.”
His niece? She swallowed hard, ashamed to realize she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Not a hot date after all, but family. How could she argue with putting family first? She remembered the father-daughter dance at school. She would have loved to have gone, but her father had been too busy defending a big client at his law firm and hadn’t taken time off for such frivolities.
Her stab of resentment faded, replaced by a softening in the region of her heart as she imagined Rick at the dance with a ten-year-old. “I think it’s wonderful you cared enough to find cover so you could take your niece to the dance,” she said in a low voice. “Lizzy is very lucky to have you.”
Their gazes caught, held, and she’d swear every last bit of oxygen had been sucked from her lungs at the steamy intensity of his gaze.
His pager went off and he read the text message. “Ah, excuse me for a moment while I answer this.” He rose to his feet and headed for the nearest phone.
She stared at her food, realizing how close she was to making a fool of herself over a man. Again. So what if Rick was sweet, kind, and hotter than burning jet fuel? She’d always avoided dating doctors, her schedule was crazy enough the way it was, and juggling two call schedules was just asking for trouble.
Even her accountant husband hadn’t loved her enough to put up with her schedule. Or her infertility. And the few men she’d dated after her divorce hadn’t been much better. She’d actually confessed her problems to Denis, but he’d backed off so fast, she’d realized she’d made a huge mistake.
So she’d stopped looking for a relationship. Besides, even if she had been looking for a relationship, Rick was her boss, which meant he was completely off limits. She needed to concentrate on her plans for the future, which included hopefully becoming pregnant and having a baby. A child she’d love with her whole heart.
Not a man.
Rick listened as the resident explained how Tristan Brown, Emily’s brother, was insisting on being placed in the same room as his sister. The fact that ICUs didn’t have double rooms wasn’t a good enough reason. Tristan was insisting on spending the rest of his hospital stay in the parent bed provided in each of the PICU rooms, but there was no way to manage the external fixation device for his open femur fracture on a tiny pull-out bed.
He’d extubated Tristan that morning, and the boy had immediately demanded to know how his sister was doing. Tristan had gotten so agitated, Rick had feared he might need to intubate and sedate him again, in order to prevent more damage to his lower leg fractures. Despite the traction pinning him to the bed, Tristan had threatened to pull himself over to Emily’s room, on his elbows if need be.
Rick had believed him.
“I’ll be up to see Tristan as soon as I’m finished with lunch,” Rick replied. “Emily is still in surgery, getting her Heartmate anyway, so tell Tristan he needs to be patient. We’ll have to do some investigating to see if what he’s asking for is even possible.”
“Will do.” The resident hung up the phone.
He returned to the table, taking his seat again.
“So what goals do you envision for the community education committee?” she asked, pushing her half-eaten salad away.
He tried to bring his attention back to the point of their lunch. “I don’t know for sure, but I think we need a few different campaigns.”
“There’s been quite a bit of press already around drinking and driving, but as eighty percent of our teenage motor vehicle crash patients come in with alcohol in their systems, it’s worth repeating.”
“Yeah.” He knew exactly how Tristan felt. He figured he’d be just as protective with his younger sister, Jess. But at the same time, compromising Tristan’s care wasn’t an option either.
“Rick? Are you okay?” Naomi asked in concern.
He nodded, realizing he’d been staring down at his half-eaten food. “Yeah. Sorry. Ah, the other big problem we see is that people simply don’t pay attention while driving.” Gabrielle and Sarah had died in a car crash, they’d been wiped out by some guy who’d run a red light while talking on his cell phone. The guy who’d killed his wife and daughter had been convicted for vehicular homicide, but the knowledge hadn’t helped to ease the pain of his loss.
“Cell phones are a menace.” Naomi snapped her fingers. “I know we could run some sort of ‘Just Drive’ campaign. No eating, no make-up, no cell phones. ‘Stay Alive, Just Drive’ could be our slogan.”
“Sounds good.” Stay alive, just drive. If only the guy who’d killed Gabrielle and Sarah had done that. His appetite vanished, so he gave up trying to finish his lunch. Just thinking about the accident that had cost his family’s lives made him feel ill. He’d thought he could do this, work on something productive to help get over his past, but he’d been wrong. There was no way he could work on this community education campaign after all. “Why don’t you see if you can get one of the ED doctors and nurses to help as I’m going to be pretty busy with the whole trauma re-verification process?”
Momentary confusion crossed her features, but she nodded. “Sure. No problem.”
“Are you finished?” He suddenly needed to get back to work, to stop fixating on the lingering, ache of his past. “I have to go upstairs to deal with a family issue.”
“Yes.” She stood when he did and carried her empty tray over to the sideboard. “Is the family issue one of the three from last night?”
“Tristan and Emily Brown.” Rick headed toward the elevator. “I extubated Tristan this morning, and now he’s insisting on staying in his sister’s room. Impossible, considering he has a grade-four liver laceration and a compound fractured femur.”
Naomi frowned. “Why is it impossible? Their parents are both patients in the adult unit at Trinity. I can understand why Tristan feels the need to be next to his sister.”
He stabbed the button to call the elevator. “I can understand how he feels, too, but that doesn’t mean he gets his way. How would we provide care for him? Especially when he’s still an ICU patient?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure we could figure out a way.” Naomi’s chin tilted at a stubborn angle. “Those two kids deserve to be together.”
When they entered the unit, there was a team of medical personnel in Emily’s room. The young girl had just come back from surgery.
He followed Naomi in. For several moments they watched from the doorway as the team reconnected her to the bedside heart monitor, the large bulky Heartmate sitting beside her, dwarfing her small, frail frame.
Soon the urgency abated and the number of people in the room dwindled to just the nurse assigned to Emily’s care. Rick was about to go and talk to Tristan when he noticed Naomi taking a seat next to Emily’s bed.
“Hi, Emily,” she whispered, smoothing the young girl’s blonde hair away from her face with a tender, caring touch. “Did you know your brother Tristan is here, too? He’s right down the hall. He’ll be in to visit you very soon. He told me to tell you he loves you. Tristan loves you, Emily.” Naomi’s voice broke and she blinked away tears. “You’re going to feel better soon, you’ll see.”
His heart lodged in his throat. The compassion on her face tugged at him. He wanted to go to her, to wrap her in his arms and hold her close. Naomi didn’t just care about a young patient, this was something more. The wistful expression full of love and caring in her eyes reminded him all too well of the way Gabrielle had looked when she’d held their daughter in her arms.
He shook his head. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be attracted to Naomi, especially not when in that fleeting moment the keen compassion in her eyes had reminded him of his wife.
Gabrielle and Sarah deserved better than to be shoved aside and forgotten.
He turned away, tearing his gaze from Naomi. Somehow, some way, he had to find a way to keep the pretty surgeon at a safe distance. So she didn’t threaten his sanity.
CHAPTER FOUR
NAOMI returned to the hospital at five o’clock that evening to start her overnight call shift. When she arrived in the PICU, Rick didn’t smile but gave her a reserved nod.
“Ready to make rounds?” he asked.
“Sure.” She frowned as they walked toward the first patient’s room, sending him a sidelong glance. Had she done something to make him angry?
“Justin Wright has a sixteen-year-old gunshot wound to the belly and was admitted the night before last, on Debra’s shift.” Rick’s voice was devoid of all emotion—he could have been reciting from an encyclopedia rather than describing a patient’s condition. “He’s running a fever so I switched his antibiotics this morning. If he doesn’t improve, he may need to go back to surgery to have his abdomen explored.”
“All right.” She made a notation on her sheet. They moved down to the next patient’s room. He continued talking in that same monotone voice, describing the current treatment regime for Jimmy and Chelsey Dupont, two of the patients she’d admitted the night before. As they made their way through the unit, Rick’s demeanor never changed. It was as if the moments they had spent together during last night’s crisis and their earlier lunch had never happened.
She reminded herself it was for the best. Rick was her boss. A professional relationship was the only thing they could ever share. Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Andrew?
