Читать книгу A Time To Mend - Angela Hunt - Страница 7

“So what did you think of him, Jackie?” Stacy applied just enough lipstick to emphasize her perfect mouth, then studied her reflection in the mirror of the ladies’ room.

“Honestly?” Jacquelyn ripped a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, then dramatically scrunched it between her hands. “That’s what I wanted to do after my first meeting with him today. I think I really hate him.”

“You do?” Stacy lifted a brow. “I’ll admit he’s no Doctor Delight, but he’s been very professional with me.” She pouted prettily in the mirror. “Too professional, in fact. It’s a shame that someone so good-looking has to be so…distant. I’ve been using every fail-proof approach in my little black book, and I can’t even get a spark of interest from him.”

“Maybe he’s too busy for a social life.”

“He’s only been here two weeks, how busy could he be? I think he’s got a girlfriend somewhere else. Dr. Kastner said he comes from Virginia—”

“I’ve seen his history. He comes from about everywhere.” Jacquelyn cleared her throat, not wanting to appear too interested, but dying to know more. “Strange, isn’t it, that he’s moved around so much? Has Dr. Kastner said anything about this guy’s experience?”

“Not really.” Stacy lowered her voice and turned to face Jacquelyn. “But now that you mention it, I have noticed something strange about him. Lauren tried to draw him into our conversation the other day at lunch, and when she mentioned the names of people she knows at the University of Virginia Hospital, he got real quiet and changed the subject. And then Dr. Kastner was asking him about someone in Seattle, and again, he changed the subject. Not too subtly, either.”

“At least we know he didn’t amputate the wrong leg or something.” Jacquelyn folded her arms as she leaned against the sink. “He’s not a surgeon. But some strange things have happened in hospitals.”

“Dr. Kastner wouldn’t have recommended him if he weren’t a good doctor,” Stacy pointed out. “You know that. So if there is some deep and dark secret in his past, you can be sure it has nothing to do with medicine.”

“I hope not.” Jacquelyn threw the wadded up paper towel into the trash bin and studied her reflection in the mirror. The receptionist was right, not a single trace of her vacation lingered on her face. Not a freckle or even the flush of sunburn to indicate she’d spent two weeks moping on a Bahamas beach…

“So, what about tonight?” Stacy pulled on a stray strand of hair. “Are you coming with me? There are bound to be half a dozen doctors at this party, all available, all up-and-coming and all desperate for a little relaxation and companionship.”

“Thanks, but I’m not looking and I’m tired.” Jacquelyn lathered her hands carefully, then immersed them into a steady stream of warm water. Nursing school had brought her a healthy appreciation for the secret life of viruses and germs, and thorough hand washing had become somewhat of a ritual for her.

“I’m pretty sure Dr. Jonah Martin won’t be there,” Stacy added helpfully.

“Well, that’s something.” Jacquelyn lifted her hands out of the basin so that the water dripped down toward her elbows as she moved to the paper-towel dispenser. “But I didn’t bring a change of clothes, and I’m not going to a party in my uniform.” Stacy had already changed from her white pants and teal smock into a short, beaded cocktail dress. She looked every inch a sizzling girl of summer, and not a whit like a nurse.

“You’ll be sorry,” Stacy answered in a singsong voice. “Have you met Dr. Fenton, the new guy in the surgical unit? He was asking about you the other day.”

“Dr. Who?”

“See, you really do want to come! Dr. Fenton is the tall Adonis with the killer smile. Last week he stopped Lauren in the cafeteria and asked who the gorgeous red-haired oncology nurse was.”

“Maybe he wanted to report me for taking too many catsup packets in the lunch line.”

“Nope. He told Lauren he saw you observing one of Dr. Wilder’s mastectomies. Said he was impressed with your commitment to knowledge, or something like that.”

Jacquelyn snorted softly. “Yeah, right. They’re all looking for a woman who’s committed to them. If he wanted a good nurse, he wouldn’t care what I looked like, but he’s looking for a trophy wife just like the others. A little missus to sit in his elegant home and host his cocktail parties.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Stacy flashed her bright smile in the mirror. “I’d be thrilled to stay home and organize a doctor’s social life. Lunching with the ladies at the country club beats the hospital cafeteria any day.” She paused once again to check her reflection in the mirror, then picked up the shopping bag into which she’d tossed her uniform. “After that call about Alicia Hubbard, I need a little cheering up. An evening of inane flirtation and senseless conversation suits me just fine. So are you coming or not?”

“Have fun without me.” Jacquelyn tossed the wet paper towels in the trash bin and leaned toward the mirror, pointing at nonexistent bags under her eyes. “See how tired I am? Dr. Blue Eyes kept slowing me down all day.”

Stacy grinned. “I didn’t think you’d notice what color his eyes were.”

“I didn’t—I mean, I don’t care what color they are.” Jacquelyn studied her mussed hair and abruptly pulled the hairpins out of what had once been a neat chignon. “He’s all wrong, and he’s too familiar with the patients. He’s like Baked Alaska—warm and crumbly on the outside, but cold as ice on the inside. With me he was cool and sarcastic, but he was practically flirting with the patients.”

“Jealous?” Stacy dimpled.

“Of course not. I just think he’s unprofessional and flippant.”

“But the patients think he’s cute and completely charming.” A thoughtful smile curved Stacy’s mouth. “I’ll admit he’s not exactly fun to work with, but patients seem to like him better than Dr. Winston. They often said he was too impatient.”

“What do patients know?” Jacquelyn shrugged, then fluffed her hair around her shoulders. “The best doctors have learned to keep a professional distance and stick to a schedule.”

“It all depends upon how you define ‘best.’” A devilish look filled Stacy’s eyes. “Well, you may not have noticed much about Dr. Martin, but he certainly noticed you.”

Jacquelyn froze, halted by the teasing tone of Stacy’s voice. “He did? How?”

Stacy’s brows lifted in accusation. “He asked why you brought Mrs. Baldovino in this morning when little Megan Johnson was the next appointment. He asked me if you had something against kids.”

Jacquelyn glared at Stacy’s reflection in the mirror. “I hope you set him straight. I like kids, and Megan’s one of my favorite patients!”

“That’s what I told him.” An indulgent glint appeared in Stacy’s eyes. “And I told him the truth—you haven’t the heart for working with the younger patients when things begin to go downhill. I told him that though you’re one of the best nurses in the hospital, that tough act of yours is just that—an act. You carry it off okay around adults, but around kids and animals you melt like a marshmallow on the grill.”

“Stacy—” Jacquelyn’s lips thinned with anger “—you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t forget, you dragged me off and made me go see the Lion King with you. You were bawling like a baby in the first five minutes of the movie.”

“It was the song. Music moves me.”

“Yeah, right.” Stacy smiled and shook her head. “‘The Circle of Life,’ remember? You couldn’t take it. Face it, Jacquelyn, you may have the patients fooled, but you can’t fool me and Lauren. We know you too well.”

“You didn’t have to say anything to Dr. Frigidaire. I hope you didn’t tell him that I cry in kids’ movies—”

“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.” Stacy grinned and moved toward the door. “Well, I’ll miss you at the party. And since you don’t want Dr. Fenton, I’ll consider him fair game.”

“Have at him,” Jacquelyn answered, turning to follow her. “I’m going home where my very considerate, always steady Craig has promised to meet me for dinner.”

“Craig Bishop?” Stacy made a face as she pulled the heavy restroom door open. “I thought you two broke up.”

“No.” Jacquelyn caught the door. “After six months, we’re as steady as ever—or as steady as a couple can be when one of them is the world’s most ambitious entrepreneur. Craig’s the one who put the word ‘rising’ in ‘enterprising.’”

“Yeah, he’s a regular Mr. Wall Street,” Stacy quipped, leading the way out of the ladies’ room. “And about as dull as a dog biscuit.”

“Hey!” Jacquelyn lifted a brow. “Don’t knock dog biscuits—they definitely have a place in the scheme of things.” She smiled, thinking of Bailey, her year-old mastiff pup.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about your drool hound.” Stacy’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Honestly, Jackie, if you spent as much time and attention on men as you do that mutt—”

“My mastiff is no mutt,” Jacquelyn answered, waving goodbye to Gaynel at the reception desk. “And he drools only a little more than a salivating young doctor. So good night, Stacy. Have fun keeping the wolves at bay.”

A warm wind whipped through Jacquelyn’s hair as she zigzagged through the parking lot toward her car. The wide highway outside the hospital hummed with six o’clock traffic, causing her to mutter, “Please, Craig, for once in your life, leave work on time!”

Craig Bishop was extremely devoted to his custom car business and, despite herself, Jacquelyn had to smile at the memory of Stacy’s dog biscuit remark. Craig was a bit like a lovable, cuddly golden retriever. Solid, strong and responsible. Good husband material.

A blur of movement caught her eye and she looked up to see Dr. Jonah Martin standing next to a red Mustang convertible parked near her own car. With one hand he carried a battered briefcase, with the other he dug uselessly in his pocket for his car keys. Jacquelyn felt her frown deepen. She should have known Dr. Baked Alaska would drive a modest sports car—it fit the casual, nice-guy image he tried to project for his patients.

She wanted to ignore him, but if she walked by without speaking he’d realize she’d deliberately been rude—and would probably say something about it tomorrow. “Having trouble?” she called, reluctantly pausing as she passed. “Did you lose your keys?”

“No,” he answered, looking over at her. Like Stacy, he’d changed clothes, too. His gold hair moved freely now in the wind, blowing over the collar of a casual knit shirt. In baggy pants and loafers, he looked more like a GQ model than a doctor. He was probably trying to look like a friendly, easygoing kind of guy for some party at the country club.

Nice try, Dr. Martin. But it won’t work.

“I know they’re here somewhere.” His gaze dropped quickly from her eyes to the pavement at his feet. “Unless I’ve grown a hole in my pocket. Ah—there.”

With a flourish he produced his keys and held them up for her to see. She nodded and began to move away. “Wait a moment, Nurse Wilkes,” he said, unlocking the car door. “I’d like a word with you.” His words sent alarm bells ringing within her. Was this about Megan? Mrs. Baldovino? Against her will, she stopped while he opened the door, tossed his briefcase into the backseat, then came around the car to stand beside her.

Instinctively, she turned to face him head-on, ready for whatever attack he might launch. This could not be good. In five years of nursing she had learned that doctors did not request “a word” unless they had a complaint.

Great job, Jacquelyn. First day back at work and the new guy already despises you.

“Yes, Doctor?” She folded her arms and tried to steady her voice. “Have I done something that doesn’t meet with your approval?”

He stepped closer, thrust his hands in his pockets, and for an instant a thoughtful smile ruffled his mouth. “That’s funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

His nearness was so male, so bracing, that for a moment her mind refused to function. She could only stare blankly at him, struggling with the sense of confusion his presence elicited. The other doctors never affected her like this—and neither did Craig. Why should this man?

He didn’t seem to notice that bewilderment had stolen her voice. “You see, Nurse Jacquelyn,” he went on, his eyes raking boldly over her, “though men are decidedly less intuitive and sometimes blind to the others around them, in the few hours of our acquaintance I have sensed that you harbor a profound dislike for me. And since we really have no choice but to continue working together, I need to know if this dislike will impede our working relationship. If you don’t like me personally, well, I suppose we can rise above our personality differences and concentrate on the work ahead. But if you have a problem with my professional conduct, my evaluations, or my practice, perhaps we should make arrangements for you to work solely with Dr. Kastner’s patients.”

All traces of amusement faded from his blue eyes as he regarded her. Jacquelyn had been ready to protest whatever he said, but his words were so unexpected she snapped her mouth shut, stunned by his insight and bluntness. He had just voiced her exact complaint about him.

She took a half step back, giving herself a stern mental shake. His complaint, if she could call it that, had nothing to do with her conduct, her evaluations, or her work. For an instant, relief flooded her heart, then her smoldering resentment flared. Why did he care what she thought of him? If this was just a ploy to help him appear generous and understanding, some trick to win friends and influence patients…

“If you’ve gathered the impression that I don’t like you, I must apologize,” she answered, calling on reserves of grace and tact she didn’t know she possessed. “I’m sure that you’re a wonderful doctor. The patients seem to adore you, and the other nurses respect your judgment. Dr. Kastner seems to think you’re the best oncologist in the country.”

“But not you.” His twisted smile sent her pulse racing.

“I don’t share your sense of humor, Doctor. Mrs. Baldovino was very ill this afternoon, yet you joked with her, making light of her condition.”

His expression stilled and grew serious. “I assure you, I am never more serious than when I am with a patient. I don’t make jokes about cancer. What I did, if you had cared to see, was lift the cloud of gloom that surrounded that woman. She was worried sick that her husband no longer found her attractive. And she may have to undergo a mastectomy if this protocol fails to achieve remission—”

“We have a video to cover the self-esteem issue. We have videos to cover everything from hair loss to mastectomy scars. We’d have even more videos if I had my way, because it is inefficient for us to give the same speech twenty times a day—”

“A video.” Temper flared in his eyes. “I’m afraid a video would not help Mrs. Baldovino. She needed assurance—calm, competent, masculine assurance—”

“Which is not your place to give,” Jacquelyn interrupted, setting her chin in a stubborn line. “What gives you the right to interfere in your patients’ personal lives? You are a doctor, a professional. One thing I learned from Dr. Winston is that a physician shouldn’t worry about trying to make his patients like him. There’s something seriously wrong with the personality of a doctor who cares too much about seeking his patients’ approval. A good doctor should only care about doing the right thing for his patient. If you do the right thing, your patients will like you. And if they don’t, well, at least you’ve done what’s right.”

“Are you saying—” a silken thread of warning vibrated in his voice “—that my personality is seriously skewed?”

A pair of doctors walking through the parking lot glanced curiously in their direction. Jacquelyn closed her eyes, horrified to think she might be overheard arguing with a doctor.

Jonah Martin hadn’t finished. “You’ve worked eight hours with me—how can you know I’m only seeking my patients’ approval?” His voice was low, like velvet, but edged with biting steel. “It must be wonderful to have such insight into other people’s characters.”

“I only wish I had your flair for sarcasm.” Jacquelyn’s face burned with humiliation and she looked abruptly away, unable to face the blue flame of cynicism in his eyes. “I don’t know you well, but I know doctors.”

“You should spend more time learning to know patients.” His accusing gaze remained riveted on her. “You forget, Nurse Wilkes—” he stepped closer and lowered his voice “—that unlike any other medical condition, to patients like Mrs. Baldovino, breast cancer is an intensely personal affair.”

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“Apparently I do. A refresher course in basic patient relations is obviously in order. Let’s say, for the moment, that Mrs. Baldovino had come to me with appendicitis. That course of treatment would be pretty straightforward once she found a competent surgeon. She wouldn’t have to concern herself with her surgeon’s philosophy of appendectomy. She wouldn’t have to worry about which type of surgery he’ll perform. Her chances for survival after the operation would be excellent. And she would have little or no concern about the small scar on the side of her abdomen. The loss of her appendix would have virtually no impact on her physical or social well-being, nor would it pose much of a threat to her self-image.”

Jacquelyn bit down hard on her lower lip, recognizing the point of his illustration.

“But Mrs. Baldovino came to me because she has breast cancer,” Jonah Martin finished, his straight glance seeming to accuse her of unspeakable ignorance. “And if you have a brain in that pretty little head of yours, I should not have to say anything more.”

Choking on the words she wanted to fling at him, her lower lip trembled as she returned his glare. A black veil moved painfully at the back of her mind, stirring memories of herself as a sixteen-year-old girl who had just learned that her mother would never get well; that the surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy had failed….

She turned away, her thoughts racing. He didn’t know about her mother or about the careful camouflage she had placed over her own pain. For an instant she was tempted to fling the knowledge in his face—I know about cancer, you arrogant imbecile—but then he’d want to know how she could know about cancer and not be more sympathetic toward her own patients.

Calm down, Jacquelyn. It’s your first day to work with him. This is just a misunderstanding; he’s on some macho kick or trying to prove something. This showdown isn’t worth risking your job….

Like a drowning swimmer, she mentally kicked toward the surface dispute and took a deep breath of reality. “I suppose I’m just not used to your approach,” she finally said, sheathing her anger. She looked up to face his scrutiny. “I’ve been working in the oncology department for five years, and you’ve only just arrived. Dr. Kastner and Dr. Winston are objective professionals, more detached with the patients—”

“I know hundreds of doctors like Winston and Kastner, and I respect them,” Dr. Martin said, shifting his weight as he raised his hands in a gesture of assurance. “But their attitude is impartial. They are like judges. They see the patient and the cancer standing before them as equals. They are happy if the patient wins, but they are not particularly on one side or the other.

“On the other hand, Nurse Wilkes—” his eyes darkened with emotion “—I am a defense attorney. The tougher the case, the bigger my challenge. I will fight for my client. I will not be intimidated by an aggressive cancer, but will fight it with all the vigor, skills and techniques that I can muster. A happy, confident patient is a stronger client, and a strong client increases our chances of winning the case.” The eyes he turned toward her smoldered now. Taking a step forward, he rested his hands on his hips and inclined his head toward her. “Can you understand that?”

Jacquelyn had to resist the urge to step away, so unnerved was she by the staggering challenge of his nearness. His burning eyes held her motionless, and she felt herself slowly nodding. “I can try,” she answered, suddenly anxious to be away. The pull of those blue eyes was hard to resist when he chose to be sincere—no wonder his desperate patients adored him!

“Good.” He hesitated for a moment, then quirked his eyebrow in a question. “I’m assuming you’ll want to continue working for me? I haven’t proven myself too much of an ogre?”

“Not too much,” she answered, amused by the almost vulnerable look on his face. For the briefest instant she thought she had somehow disarmed him, but then the chilly mask of professionalism fell over his features again.

“Good. I want you to know I was joking about the Baldovinos and the victory dinner. I fully expect to attend, but I wouldn’t think of pressuring you to join us. I’m sure you have a full and satisfying personal life of your own.”

The chilly nature of the man reveals itself again.

“Now that I understand you,” she said, deliberately injecting a light note into her voice, “please be assured that I wouldn’t think of accepting any invitation you might ever extend.” She moved toward her car door, calling to him over her shoulder. “I realize now that your theatrics are performed solely for the sake of your patients.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he answered, his face as implacable as stone as he watched her open the door. “You’re a good nurse. Today I saw you pull organization out of turmoil and instill calm in chaos. You might even manage to keep me on schedule. Nurses with that kind of ability are hard to find.”

“Thanks.” She rested her arms on the open car door, then gave him a tight smile. “And I wish you the best with Mrs. Baldovino. I hope you are able to have that lasagna dinner.”

He nodded formally, then turned and moved toward his car.

Jacquelyn felt her smile fade as she slid into the driver’s seat. Given Mrs. Baldovino’s current condition, she wasn’t likely to be making those dinner reservations any time soon.

If Jonah Martin could overturn the death sentence looming over Mrs. Baldovino’s chart, perhaps he was a miracle worker.

“Of course, I understand, Craig,” Jacquelyn mumbled. With one hand she held the phone to her ear, the other hand lay imprisoned beneath Bailey’s massive head. “State legislators don’t come around every day.”

Craig droned on about the lucrative deal he was about to sign, and Jacquelyn yawned. Stretching out on her wide antique bed for a nap had seemed like a good alternative to wasting the evening in front of the television, so she and Bailey had fallen asleep waiting for Craig to come by. Her day with Dr. Baked Alaska had totally worn her out.

“Call me tomorrow and let me know how things turned out,” she murmured, slowly sliding her hand from under Bailey’s velvety jowls. “Yeah, I know you’re sorry. But you can make it up to me Friday night. Dinner out or something.”

“Where do you want to go?” Craig seemed sincerely apologetic.

“I don’t know.” Jacquelyn tried to smother another yawn. “Italian maybe. I’ve got a sudden yen for lasagna.”

Craig laughed and said goodbye, and Jacquelyn rolled onto her stomach to replace the telephone receiver. As she reached for the bedside table, she felt an unexpected twinge in her chest.

“Oh, brother,” she groaned, flipping onto her back. Bailey’s eyes opened and blinked, then the dog lifted his huge head and looked at Jacquelyn with a curious expression. “No big deal, sweetie,” she said, pillowing her head on her left hand. She slipped her right hand beneath the T-shirt she wore and slowly probed her left breast. There. On the side, at about two o’clock. A small lump, probably a cyst, nothing serious. The twinge was pain, and that usually meant there was nothing to worry about.

“Nurse, heal thyself,” she murmured, rolling onto her side. “No caffeine for a long time, and vitamin E at breakfast. The doctor’s recipe to counter fibrocystic disease.”

As her drowsiness thickened, she curled around a pillow and fell asleep to the sound of Bailey’s gentle snoring.