The Surgeon's One Night To Forever

Once he was through, he moved back to the head of the table and leaned over the patient. “Kaitlin, I’m going to have to operate. You have internal injuries that have to be repaired. We’ll take good care of you, okay?”

Kaitlin’s gaze flickered to Cort’s face, and stayed there for a moment. Then, surprisingly, she said, “Okay. Okay.”

“Good girl,” he replied, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.

The shock must be wearing off, thanks to the drip, Liz thought a little sourly. How else to explain his ability to get through to their patient when she hadn’t been able to at all?

With a little jerk of his head, Cort beckoned Liz to the far side of the room, out of Kaitlin’s earshot.

“I want her to have a CT scan before I go in. She seems stable enough to take the time, and I’ll have a better idea of what I’m facing before I open her up.”

“I’ll call up to Radiology right now,” Liz replied. “And I’ll go up with her.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a half smile. “I’ll keep an eye on her vitals while you’re gone.”

As she turned away to go to the phone, Liz was annoyed with herself all over again.

Why was it his smiles, even half ones, made her want to smile back? She wasn’t the smiling type at all, and yet something about him made her almost wish she were.

She’d been careful to keep him firmly at arm’s length and act with the utmost professionalism toward him, determined to eventually exorcise the hyperawareness she experienced around him. It was aggravating in the extreme that the rest of the Hepplewhite staff seemed equally determined to keep Cort in the center of the gossip mill, and she could hardly move without hearing someone say his name.

Just that morning, when she’d been in the line at the cafeteria, there had been a couple of nurses in front of her talking about him, as though there was nothing else of any interest to chat about.

“He’s been here for a while, what have you been able to find out about him?”

Liz knew who Marcie was talking about even before Trisha answered.

“Nothing but what I was able to find in the Cramer General website archives. Served in the army and got his training through it. Honorably discharged about five years ago and went straight to Cramer.”

“That’s it? Do we even know if he’s married or not?”

Trisha shook her head, disgruntlement clear in her tone when she replied, “He’s real nice, but a clam when it comes to talking about himself.”

“Even with you, Miss Southern Charm?” Marcie snickered. “I’m surprised you don’t have him spilling his guts over some sweet potato pie and a mint julep.”

“Ha-ha-ha,” Trisha replied, as she elbowed her friend and they both laughed.

Liz too was surprised that Trisha hadn’t had any luck. The nurse was petite, almost elfin, with the most beautiful dark mocha complexion and the face of an angel. Plus, she had the kind of voice Liz remembered, as a teen, wishing she had. It was as sweet and light as fresh whipped cream, not low and raspy, like its owner subsisted on a diet of rusty nails and rye whiskey. Mind you, a voice like Trisha’s would sound pretty stupid coming from her, who was almost a foot taller and nowhere near petite.

As she relayed Cort’s request to Radiology, she resolved once more do something about how often she thought about him, dreamed about being with him in Mexico. She was loath to admit it, even to herself, but he’d turned her inside out that night, given her an experience she’d never had before.

Maybe because of her forthright nature, men seemed to assume she’d be demanding in bed and, since it was the best way to get the satisfaction she deserved, she usually was. However, Cort Smith had taken masterful control of her body, coaxing her to new erotic heights and making her have to reevaluate what it was she truly desired. When she’d snuck out of his room in the early hours of the morning, it hadn’t just been because she’d had a flight to catch. She’d been awash in pleasure so intense as to be frightening.

There was no secret enjoyment in the fact she knew more about the sexy doctor than anyone else at the hospital. Intimate facts that still made her skin heat and her libido go through the roof. Instead, the knowledge she possessed just made working with him harder. Trying to view him just as a colleague was difficult in the extreme, but she was determined to do just that.

Hopefully, the more she had to interact with him, the more likely the annoying attraction she still felt would wither away.

“There.” Cort pointed to where the CT images of Kaitlin’s body were on the screen. “Definite laceration to the liver. And...” He was aware of Liz leaning closer, her attention focused on the movement of his finger, and for a split second lost his train of thought.

“Is that fluid around the stomach?” she asked.

“And air,” he replied, pulling himself together. He was about to operate to try to save a young woman’s life. There was no time for loss of concentration, no matter the source. What he was seeing on the CT scan indicated the internal injuries were probably quite extensive.

And they were. What he had estimated would be an hour-long operation stretched to two and a half hours, as he discovered Kaitlin’s diaphragm and stomach, as well as her liver, had been damaged. As he cauterized and stitched, he reflected on how lucky the young woman had been.

He wasn’t really surprised to come out of surgery and see Liz waiting to hear the outcome. Yet as he took a few moments to take off his surgical gear and wash up, his awareness of her just on the other side of the doors was disconcerting.

Settling in at Hepplewhite, in New York City itself, had been difficult enough, but every time he came into contact with Dr. Liz Prudhomme it intensified his sense of disorientation. Which was funny, in a weird rather than amusing sort of way, since it was something she’d said to him in Mexico that had prompted his move from Colorado.

Although they’d just met, he’d found himself telling her about being jilted only weeks before the wedding. What she’d said to him had lingered in his mind.

Sometimes, when life seems to be screwed up, you need to take a chance on the change that’s been forced on you, you know? Figure out what it would take to make the crappy stuff into an asset, or a benefit. Maybe you’ve had a lucky escape, being dumped. I don’t know, but now’s the time for you to make a new, better plan. That’s what I do when life tries to mess with me, anyway.

On reflection, her advice had made perfect sense. Wasn’t he the poster child for overcoming? For taking whatever effluvium life flung at him and making something worthwhile out of it? In comparison to all he’d been through, being jilted was, in the final analysis, insignificant. It was nothing when weighed against being abandoned as a baby, surviving the foster-care system, or losing his best friend. It was even small potatoes when compared to the depression that had blanketed him following Brody’s death. What it had done, though, was underscore how much he’d been drifting along through life.

The job at Cramer had been a sound choice, given his desire to be close to Jenna and the kids, and, although demanding, strangely easy after being deployed. He’d done well but after Mimi’s defection had decided to reactivate his childhood wish to travel the world, get to know new places intimately, before moving on to the next. And where better to start than in New York City?

It had seemed a perfect plan, until he’d found himself working with Liz Prudhomme and had realized he’d not just made a change but turned his entire life upside down.

He couldn’t make her out.

While he’d never heard her be rude, there was a distance between her and the world, a wall created of solemn, clear-eyed looks and cool professionalism. Although being the epitome of calm whenever they worked together, occasionally she’d glance at him, and all the arousal he tried to suppress rushed through him anew. For him, the spirit of the woman he’d had in his bed hovered in the back of his mind continually. A ghostly fantasy, flushed and excited, her body bowing and twisting with ecstasy yearned for and then achieved.

He’d give anything to be rid of those memories and the fantasies they inspired, but not even seeing her in her usual milieu, which was anything but sexy, helped.

If anything, it made her more fascinating. Every time he met those clear green eyes, or saw her striding purposefully through the hospital, it enticed him further.

Apparently, along with all his other issues, he was a masochist too. If that weren’t the case, surely it would be easy to push aside the attraction he still felt? And it wasn’t just the sexual appeal either. Something about that self-containment of hers interested him. Maybe in it he saw an echo of his own distance from others, and couldn’t help wondering where hers sprang from.

Whatever the reasons, it made dealing with her a constant strain, and now he wished she’d simply called up to the surgical floor to find out how the operation had gone, rather than waiting around. With a sigh of resignation he pushed through the doors into the corridor beyond.

She was in street clothes, a pair of jeans that fit her curves perfectly and a coral sweater that somehow made her skin glow. A handbag, the size of a small suitcase, was on her shoulder, and she carried her winter jacket over one arm. Apparently she was about to go home.

“How did it go?” she asked, with habitual directness.

“Pretty well,” he replied, before giving her a more detailed account of the injuries he’d found and repaired. “I think she’ll make a full recovery.”

Liz glanced down the hall, toward the waiting area. “The police are waiting to speak to her. Apparently, she did shoot her boyfriend. I didn’t realize he’d been brought in too, not long before she was.”

Cort nodded. “Initially I was treating him, and then Dr. Hammond told Dr. Yuen to take over and sent me down to attend on Kaitlin.”

Dr. Yuen was young, newly licensed and not as experienced as Cort with the types of multiple injuries Kaitlin had experienced. The younger doctor had seemed nonplussed to have been pulled away from such an interesting case, but what the chief of surgery decreed went.

Liz’s face tightened for an instant, then smoothed out again. “Well, the boyfriend survived, and is telling the cops she shot him, and he was just defending himself when he beat and stabbed her. It’ll be interesting to see how it all pans out.”

“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” he said. “It’ll probably take a while for the cops to figure it out.”

Liz nodded, turning on her heel. “Thanks. I’m on my way out, so I’ll see you.”

“See you,” he replied to her retreating back, leaving him watching the enticing sway of her hips for a few moments before he caught himself and went to talk to the police.

CHAPTER FOUR

CORT WAS JUST doing his job, Liz thought sourly a week later, but that didn’t stop her wishing he was doing it somewhere else. No matter his intent, his presence sure didn’t improve productivity in the ER department.

She was sitting at a computer, doing some research, when Cort came down to speak to one of the other physicians about a case. It was slower in the department. While the emergency room was being revamped and expanded, there was less traffic, with more serious cases being routed to other hospitals in the area. Cort had been asked to take on more general surgery cases until things picked up again, and had apparently agreed without demurring. Right now he was consulting with Dr. Durham and a steady stream of nurses was coming by, each one lingering for what Liz considered to be an unconscionable time within gawking range.

He was a menace!

And why was he hanging about so long too? Surely he had rounds to do up on the surgical floor?

Yet all the gossip she’d heard about him so far was still of the glowing variety, not even counting the comments about his looks. The nurses loved him, had no complaints about either the way he handled his patients or how he dealt with staff, and they were usually the first to grumble and moan about the surgeons. Her own co-workers in the ER department also seemed happy with how he interacted with them. Even Durham, the crankiest of them all, was right at this very minute grinning like a demented fool at Cort Smith.

Mind you, it was fairly rare to find a surgeon who was content to take a wait-and-see approach when the patient might, in the end, still need an op. From the conversation going on between Durham and Smith, that was exactly the situation they were discussing. Keeping her gaze on the screen in front of her didn’t stop her from listening in.

“I’ll be going off shift in about twenty minutes,” Cort said. “But if Mrs. McClacken’s obstruction doesn’t sort itself out, I’ve briefed Dr. Morrison, and he’s prepared to do the operation.”

Durham snorted, his version of a laugh. “She’ll be disappointed you’re not operating.”

Liz wanted to snort too, but not with laughter. She was too exhausted to find it funny, and blamed her sleepless nights squarely on Cort Smith. It was all too ridiculous, like working with a blasted rock star, having him around. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Not her, though, she reminded herself stoutly, despite the memories that had her tossing and turning at night, equal parts aroused and furious. It made having to see him every day a torment.

Worse, his easygoing manner and smiling demeanor reminded her of Andrew. Charming, lovable Andrew, who’d had everyone falling over themselves to please him, even Liz. But what he’d wanted from her had been so much more than she’d been able to give. He’d complained she wasn’t affectionate enough, and the memory of being told she was too cold and controlled for him still stung all these years later.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t loved him. She had, so much so that she had been tempted, when he’d asked, to give up her studies and travel with him in Europe. Yet, in the end, Andrew had broken her heart and gone off on his own, preferring adventure to a life with her, and leaving her to pick up the pieces of her life the best way she could. There had been a corner of her heart still hoping he would come back, say he’d been wrong and she was all he’d ever need, but it hadn’t happened. Would never happen as, before they’d been able to mend the rift, he’d been killed in a motorcycle accident in Germany.

Durham had gone but now one of the nurses was asking Cort something, gazing up at him as though she’d just discovered religion and it was the Church of Smith. It was the same way women of all ages had stared at Andrew, and the similarity made Liz’s stomach clench.

Forcing her gaze back down to the monitor, she tried to push aside the painful thoughts, but one thing remained clear. Staying away from Cort Smith as much as possible was the very best thing she could do, for her sanity, if nothing else.

“Excuse me, Dr. Prudhomme.”

Liz looked up on hearing her name, but didn’t recognize the young man standing beside her. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Lister, in HR, asked me to let you know that there are some changes being made to the credential verification process. She noticed it’s been over nine months since your trip to Mexico and, since you tend to go on a medical mission trip once a year, she wanted you to be aware of the changes.”

In her peripheral vision, she noticed Cort’s head turn, as though he were looking at her, and she knew the mention of Mexico had attracted his attention. Her toes curled in her sneakers, heat bloomed in her belly, and it took all her concentration not to glance his way. Just the mention of her trip threatened to overwhelm her with all the memories she was trying so hard to suppress.

“Oh, thanks.” She kept her voice level and her focus on the man in front of her. “Could you tell Mrs. Lister I don’t have a trip planned right now, but ask her to email me the new protocol so I have it on hand?”

“Sure, Dr. Prudhomme.”

As he walked away, she turned her attention back to the website on myasthenia gravis. Committing to memory the information she wanted, she signed out of the system, but before she could get up, her cell phone pinged with an incoming text message, and she took it out to look.

Robbie, reminding her about her promise to attend a fundraising luncheon in his place the following day, since he was in London with Giovanna.

It made her annoyance peak.

When her great-aunts had left the majority of their wealth in a philanthropic fund and had named Liz as the trustee, she’d balked at the responsibility. Yet she owed them a debt and had known she couldn’t refuse. Not only had they funded her schooling without hesitation, they’d also been a refuge for her, stalwart in their support of her ambitions when her parents had tried to talk her out of pursuing a medical career.

As a compromise, Robbie had agreed to sit on the board and become the face of the trust, which had made sense, since his financial contacts and experience would be invaluable. Not to mention how much more easily he mixed and mingled in the high social circles her family frequented.

But he was all caught up in the preparations for his wedding and, not unreasonably, wanted to spend as much time as possible with Giovanna. London Fashion Week was about to start, and he’d promised to be there while his fiancée modeled for a new, haute couture designer. Liz didn’t blame him, but having to dress up and press the flesh while talking about nonprofits, investments and the like wasn’t anywhere near the top of her favorite things list.

More like at the bottom.

Shoving her phone into her pocket, she tried not to look, but found her gaze drawn straight back to Cort. He was still listening to the nurse, but his attention was on Liz, and she couldn’t help wondering if he, like her, had been drawn back into thoughts of their night together.

Dragging her gaze away from his, she got up. There were patients waiting for her, and putting some distance between her and Cort would be a very good thing just then. Liz pushed in her chair and had only taken a couple of steps when a nurse called out.

“Incoming baby, found in a dumpster. Hypothermic, unresponsive. Cops aren’t waiting for the ambulance. They’re bringing it in themselves.”

Immediately Liz was moving, training taking over. With a glance at the board, she barked, “Room two. Sanjay, heat lamp and thermal blankets. Marion, warm saline and an oxygen hood. Jessica, call up to Pediatrics and have them on standby.”

Then, as she set off at a run for the ambulance bay, she realized Cort was ahead of her, rushing to meet the incoming police car as though he were wearing a cape and only he could save the patient.

Oh, hell, no.

This was the kind of usurpation that shouldn’t be allowed. There was absolutely no reason for him to be involved, and she didn’t care if it was an instinctive reaction to hearing it was a child coming in. He couldn’t be allowed to overreach his purview. Not on her watch.

He was sprinting toward the intake door and, with a burst of speed, she caught up to him just as he was going through it. The cold slapped her face, hard, stealing her breath for a moment, but then, with the sound of sirens screaming closer, she came up beside him. As she pulled on a pair of gloves, she said in her firmest voice, “Dr. Smith, you’re not—”

Cort Smith turned and glanced down at her, and whatever she was planning to say next caught in her suddenly bone-dry throat.

There was an expression on his face she’d never seen before, and yet instinctively recognized. The blank stare spoke of hyper-focus, the tightness of mouth and jaw heralded not an unwillingness to yield but an inability. Curling her fingers into fists so tight she could feel her short nails through her gloves, she realized the futility of trying to block him from treating the child.

He turned away as the police car fishtailed on the thin slick of snow at the entrance to the bay, dismissing her, and Liz took a calming breath.

Later. She’d take him to task later.

The police car’s front passenger door flew open even before the vehicle came to a complete stop, and a burly officer swung out. He looked to be hugging himself, holding his winter jacket closed as the wind caught the edge of the emergency blanket hanging down from below the edge of the coat, making it crackle and shimmer in the harsh lights.

Cort didn’t try to take the child out of its warm cocoon but rushed the officer into the hospital.

“Room two,” Liz called out, a step behind them.

“Homeless guy said he heard a noise from inside the dumpster, fished the baby out while someone called us.” Even though he was running, the officer’s voice was steady, factual. “Took us three minutes to get to the scene from the time the call came in. I thought I felt a pulse when we first got there, but there’s been no movement or sound since. I think it’s a newborn, but I’m not sure.”

Cort swung through the door, guiding the officer, and Liz made no attempt to take the child, knowing Cort would do it, compelled as he was by some unknown force to take the lead. Instead, she moved quickly to the far side of the examination table, looking for the position of the heat lamp, making sure everything she needed was in place.

Cort unwrapped the child from the emergency blanket and the smelly fleece one beneath. The baby was tiny, smaller than she’d expected, and Liz pushed aside the stab of grief and fear she felt on seeing the fragile, exposed skin red from hypothermia. As the nurse lifted the baby to whisk away the blankets, Liz cut away the footie pajamas and then pulled off the diaper, revealing the gender.

A little girl.

Gauging the heat from the lamp, she pulled it slightly closer, warming the air around the table a bit more.

With a glance at her watch, she called out, “Someone call for a neonate team to attend, stat.” In a quieter voice she continued, “Umbilical stump still attached, inexpertly tied off and cut. I estimate her to be about two days old.”

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