скачать книгу бесплатно
Something flickered in her eyes. Heat? Awareness? Regret? “I really have to go, Jake. You’re the one who ended the meeting because there was no other business.”
“It’s not about the hospital.”
She tucked a silky strand of honey blond hair behind her ear. “Then this must be about last night.”
She’d blamed herself, but he’d been a more-than-willing participant. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. He’d told her common sense was highly overrated, but that was lip service. No pun intended. Common sense had gotten him to where he was now. His career trajectory was right on target.
“Yeah. About last night—” He pushed his suit jacket aside as he rested his hands on his hips. Kissing Hope came under the heading “Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time.” They’d even agreed that kissing common sense goodbye was a very bad idea. Then they’d turned the bad idea on its ear and went for each other again.
It was time to clarify the mistake, clear the air and put the personal behind them. Get back on a professional footing because he had a lot at stake.
“Our priority needs to be getting the hospital open and running smoothly. At a profit,” he added, bracing for her reaction.
“You’re absolutely right,” she said.
“Anything of a personal nature between us would distract attention from that goal.”
“I agree completely.” She nodded so eagerly that it made his head hurt.
“This is important for the community.”
Not to mention himself. Success equaled power and security. Only someone who’d been powerless and insecure could understand how vital those intangibles could be.
“I’m really glad you brought this up,” she said seriously. “It’s like lifting a heavy load from my shoulders. What happened was a momentary, involuntary, reflexive, impulsive, spontaneous, inconsequential, insignificant—thing.”
“Agreed.” And yet her qualifying it to the size of something you could only see under a microscope was starting to tick him off. He’d spent a lot of time and energy worrying about how to handle this. “So we’ll just forget it ever happened.”
“Right. I so don’t need any problems in my life. Already forgotten. Thanks, Jake.”
Could she be any happier to be done with him?
He wanted to stop her when she walked to the door. He wanted to take back his words, but she might claim it was such a nonevent that all memory of their lips touching and sparks flying had been completely removed from her memory bank.
And how perverse that erasing it had been his goal in bringing up the subject. Talking about the elephant in the room was supposed to make it go away. He felt as if the effort had been a complete failure to meet the objective he’d had in mind.
Not only could he not forget about kissing her, but he was also annoyed that she could. Being frustrated at the success of his strategy was too stupid for words.
Chapter Three
“How many traumas would you guess come into this E.R. in a month?”
Hope put the question to Dr. Cal Westen, a pediatric trauma specialist, and Dr. Mitch Tenney, the E.R. doc on duty. They were Jake’s partners in the trauma practice. Both worked at Mercy Medical Center’s main campus and they stood with her in a hallway just outside the emergency room.
Mitch thought about the question for several moments. The dark-haired, blue-eyed hunk was dressed in green scrubs. He was on duty but had taken a few minutes to answer her questions after waiting patients had been triaged and sent to rooms where they’d be seen in the order of symptom severity.
Dr. Tenney had a reputation for passionate intensity, but had been eager to help when she’d explained she had staffing questions regarding the soon-to-open hospital.
“In a month we probably get ten to twelve level threes,” Mitch said. “Those are usually head trauma from MVA—motor vehicle accidents. Or GSW—gunshot wounds.”
“How many children?” she asked the pediatric specialist.
Cal Westen was no less super-hot than his partner, but his coloring was different. Dark blond hair and blue eyes made him look more relaxed, but his skill and rapport with kids was well-known.
“We probably get twenty-five kids a day,” he said, sliding his stethoscope over the back of his neck, letting the ear tips and circular chest piece dangle. “Fever is the most common complaint followed closely by wheezing—a level-one nebulizer.”
Hope jotted down a few things in a small notebook. “I’m guessing that those kinds of issues are seasonal?”
Cal nodded. “Spring and fall pick up because of allergies. And we get a surge when kids go back to school. In large groups the germs spread faster. They get colds and flu. Wheezing is a secondary complication.”
“As far as staffing we need to take that into consideration.” She’d been an E.R. nurse, but every hospital had its way of doing things. It was her job to observe Mercy Medical’s procedures and improve on them with the new campus. If possible. “What’s the work flow like? What happens when patients hit the door? Where do they go?”
“Sometimes we sit around and twiddle our thumbs. Sometimes it’s saturated.” Mitch rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “We assess everyone right away. If we’re really busy, the least severe cases see a nurse. Next would be E.R. doc. Me. The level threes are evaluated by the trauma surgeon.”
“That would be Jake.” When both doctors looked at her she said, “We’ve met.”
Especially their lips and bodies from chest to thigh had met. The memory made her hot all over even though she’d enthusiastically agreed with his suggestion, just yesterday, that they forget all about that meeting.
“I understand Jake was with you the other night when he was appointed to chief trauma surgeon.” There was a gleam in Cal’s blue eyes.
“I did see him. Right after Congressman Havens made the public announcement.”
She remembered Jake’s gruff, curt responses when he’d answered his cell that night. Probably Cal had been on the other end of the call. He’d be curious because the appointment would impact their practice. Did he also know that he’d interrupted an intensely personal moment? If he didn’t, she certainly wasn’t going to confirm. All business. She and Jake had agreed.
“So,” she said, looking from one hot doc to the other. “You both put in a lot of hours here in the hospital?”
“Yeah.” Cal checked the pager at the waist of his scrubs. “We’re in the process of looking for another pediatric specialist and E.R. intensivist for the practice. Both of us are married and want to spend as much time as possible with our families.”
“You have children?” she asked.
“I have a little girl,” Cal said, a proud smile curving his mouth. “Almost two.”
“And I have a son.” Mitch’s smile was pleased. “Going on a year.”
So hospital gossip was right. Two of the trauma docs were no longer single. All evidence pointed to the fact that they couldn’t be happier about losing their playboy position to Jake.
“Is it hard,” she said, “seeing sick children when you have little ones of your own?”
“It was hard even before I became a father,” Mitch answered. “I went through a cynical phase and had to work through some issues. A lot of patients come in for things that could easily have been avoided. I had little tolerance for that. It was my wife who helped me mellow.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Cal said. “Jake and I are incredibly grateful to Sam for this kinder, gentler Mitch.”
“Bite me,” his partner said.
“Seriously,” Cal continued. “I don’t see my daughter in every child I treat. But I do understand now how parents feel and try to be more sensitive to that.”
“I see.” Hope saw a nurse in the E.R.’s doorway signaling to the doctors. “One last question. Stryker gurney or Hill-Rom? Hospital administration has a contract with the latter. We get a rebate after a certain number ordered. But I like Stryker.”
Mitch thought for a moment. “Hill Rom is fine.”
“The goal is to see patients as quickly as possible,” Cal interjected. “But when it’s nuts in the E.R. people have to wait and the Hill-Rom beds are more comfortable. We’re so ready for the new campus to open and take a little of the heat off us.”
“I bet.”
Mitch nodded. “In fact administration is training a sales nurse to channel people in your direction when the hospital’s up and running.”
“Really?” She hadn’t heard about that yet and wasn’t sure how she felt. Sales and patient care seemed mutually exclusive—or should be.
“Yeah—”
There were footsteps behind her and she saw recognition in both doctor’s expressions.
“Hi, partner,” Mitch said.
“Hi.” Jake was looking at her.
Hope noticed the green scrubs and knew he’d come from the OR. She’d heard he was working on a young boy. The dashing hero. At the moment he didn’t look dashing, just dog-tired and she asked, “How are you?”
“Bushed,” he confirmed.
“How’s the kid?” Cal asked, worry sliding into his eyes.
Jake looked at his partner, then met her gaze. “Daredevil boy plus flashy bike equals belly trauma. He won’t be taking jumps off the curb at warp speed again anytime soon. But he’ll be fine. I just gave the good news to his parents.”
“Glad to hear it,” Cal said. “Speaking of parents … I have to go.”
“Me, too,” Mitch agreed.
“Thanks for your time.” Hope wanted to beg them to stay and not leave her alone with Jake, but she knew they were busy. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”
“Happy to help.” Cal disappeared through the double doors.
“Good luck with the new E.R.,” Mitch said, then followed his colleague to where the trauma bays held patients waiting for treatment.
She was about to excuse herself when Jake unexpectedly said, “I need caffeine. Stat.”
“Rough day?” The words just popped out.
He nodded and even that small movement seemed an effort. Normally he looked magazine-ad perfect, every hair in place. Not so much right now. Gray eyes were dull with fatigue and his cocky, confident attitude was missing in action.
“Want to join me?”
She found him dangerously endearing, which seemed an oxymoron, but definitely dangerous because she was unable to tell him no.
“Are you buying?”
He grinned. “I think I can handle a cup of coffee.”
She walked with him through the hospital lobby and its high dome that allowed lots of sunlight. They passed the information desk staffed with volunteers, then out-patient admitting and down a hall. Jake opened the door to the doctor’s dining room and let her precede him inside where she saw a scattering of tables covered with white cloths.
He took two mugs from a side table, then stuck each in turn beneath the spigot of a large silver coffee urn. After snagging a dessert plate, he filled it with several chocolate chip cookies and a couple of blueberry muffins. Then he sat at a table by a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out on the front parking lot and Mercy Medical Center Parkway. He leaned back and let out a long sigh.
Hope took the chair to his right. “Your partners were filling me in on what to expect when the new hospital opens.”
“Patient load is just a guess. Mercy West will be slow at first, just because it’s new. Although I understand people are coming in asking if it’s open because the outside looks ready. But the type of trauma will be different just because of the location in the southwest valley.”
“Oh?”
“Not as many MVAs or shootings.”
“I see.” She remembered something Mitch said. “Have you heard there’s going to be a sales nurse to channel patients to the new hospital?”
“It was my idea.” He blew on the wide opening of his steaming mug.
“Why?” she asked, surprised.
“It’s human nature to resist change.”
Not a news flash. She was a prime example. Her husband died and she’d had no choice but to accept the sudden traumatic differences of having the man she loved ripped away from her. Somehow she’d managed to move on with her life. Now she had a choice and alone was how she planned to stay. That would exclude the possibility of any unexpected and painful changes in her future. Pain was a warning system and she got the message. Alone equaled safe.
So that begged the question—why in the world was she sitting here with the guy whose kiss had reminded her how much she missed being with a man? But they’d agreed that their relationship would be professional only. Back to business.
“Mitch mentioned that there’s a real need to take some of the patient load to the new hospital. But a sales nurse?” she asked.
“Patients and family members used to coming here aren’t going to want to go somewhere else.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Like I said, people resist change. But the load here is becoming overwhelming.” Amusement chased some of the fatigue from his face. “Not long ago a former patient was here complaining about the bill he’d received from the hospital regarding his bed.”
“Why?”
“He was billed for an ICU bed. Then he was downgraded to IMC—intermediate medical care. And then lowered to floor status.”
“What was his problem?”
“He never left the E.R.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “It was explained to him that he still received the same care he would have in the unit, but there wasn’t a bed available upstairs for him.”
Hope couldn’t help smiling, too. “I know it’s not funny. That poor man.”
“When Mercy Medical West opens, someone in those circumstances here will be offered a bed there. A sales nurse will sweeten the deal with a promise of hot meals, privacy and a computer in every room. All the comforts available.”
“I see your point. Maybe it’s the ‘sales’ part that bothers me. Couldn’t they call the job Patient Placement coordinator?”
“PPC? Perfectly politically correct?”
“Why not?” she demanded, laughing in spite of herself.
