Читать книгу Her Texas Rescue Doctor - Caro Carson - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Alex headed straight for the staff’s kitchenette. There were patients to be seen, lab results to read, decisions to be made, but he was only one man. He needed a break—and coffee. Just three minutes, that was all he’d give himself. Three minutes for a little caffeine and a chance to regain his emotional equilibrium after dealing with Mr. Burns, the scum who’d beaten his wife.

Gut churning, Alex walked past the coffee to the cramped locker room that was attached to the kitchen. The room barely had enough space for a few metal lockers and a single cot, but the door had a small sign which euphemistically declared it to be the physician’s lounge. He pushed a gym bag out of the way with his foot on his way to the sink. The water ran hot almost instantly.

The patient had not fallen down a flight of stairs, that much was obvious from her bruising. Alex had needed to pretend he believed her story, though. Abusers wouldn’t stick around after an accusation, and they often convinced their victims to leave before they could be treated. Alex had started the hospital’s official process, and he hoped the victim was ready to take advantage of the assistance the hospital could provide.

The system worked. He’d seen it work. But to use an American phrase, that first step was a doozy. The first step required Alex to smile and be cordial and shake hands with a man he was certain had beaten his own wife.

Alex scrubbed his hands in the sink. He was no actor, but he deserved an Academy Award for keeping up that facade of friendliness. To test his patience further, a real actor, Sophia Jackson, had decided to waste his time by chewing him out for problems that weren’t even problems.

Alex scrubbed harder. Hot water, soap and vigorous friction could kill almost anything.

The woman on one side of the curtain had been a victim of a crime. Sophia Jackson, on the other side of the curtain, had been a victim of nothing more than her own stupidity and stubbornness. According to the Texas Rescue volunteers who’d brought her in, she’d decided to cut short a tour of the rebuilt clinic by storming off the path, stomping over the orange netting that marked off the rubble left behind by last year’s floods. They’d called after her and warned her to stop, but the paramedic said she’d ignored everyone.

Alex could believe it. It seemed the movie star was nothing more than a miserable person who made everyone around her miserable, too. Her personal assistant looked to be the most unhappy person of them all.

He stopped scrubbing and let the tap water flow over his hands. The personal assistant hadn’t been what he’d expected. Instead of a hard and edgy shark, she looked like an angel. The expression on her heart-shaped face was open and hopeful. Everything about her had seemed inviting. Her hair looked soft and touchable, a shade of gold so dark, it was nearly bronze. The overhead lighting had reflected off that gold, and Alex had been momentarily dazzled by her halo before he’d realized who she was. Only then had he noticed the subtle, anxious way she was twisting her fingers together.

Apparently, even an angel could be stressed out. It would take the patience of a saint to work for Sophia Jackson.

He used a paper towel to shut off the faucet. If the angelic woman was stressed out by the demands of Sophia Jackson, he couldn’t help her. Since she was with the movie star, he could only assume that she enjoyed her job. Fame was alluring to most people, perhaps even more so to personal assistants. After all, they made a living by helping someone famous keep their famous life running smoothly. Princess Picasso’s assistant was no exception.

He grabbed a coffee mug, feeling annoyed with himself for being annoyed at all. It shouldn’t matter to him one bit that an angelic-looking woman who happened to pass through his ER was letting a movie star run her ragged. It was no business of his whether or not she thrived by facilitating someone’s fame. Coffee was all he wanted.

The door opened after the most timid of knocks. “Excuse me, Dr. Gregory. I’m so sorry to bother you.” The assistant stuck her angel face in the crack and smiled at him hopefully.

Speak of the devil.

“This area is employees only.”

She bit her lower lip with perfect white teeth. “I know, I’m sorry.”

He set down the empty mug. So, she was appealing. They had nothing in common and would never see each other again after another sixty minutes, give or take, so he called upon his medical experience to act dispassionately and moved to the door.

“I really need to talk to you,” she said.

“There is nothing you can say that will change how this hospital operates.”

You stay in your world, I’ll stay in mine. He put his hand on the doorknob to shut it.

“Wait.” The angel had more determination than he’d expected. She thrust her whole arm and shoulder in the door. “There are no stairs in her house.”

He knew, instantly, that she was not telling him about Sophia Jackson’s house. Surprise kept him silent.

“I heard her say so. I’m talking about the woman next to us. The man that was with her hurt her.” She was breathless in her anxiety to tell him what she knew.

Alex opened the door and ushered her in with a gentle touch on her arm, a brief brush of her soft gray sweater under his hand. He shut the door in an automatic move to protect patient privacy. Still, it seemed intimate to be alone with this woman in this little bit of an inner sanctum. “I understand. That’s why I arranged to have him removed from her treatment area.”

She didn’t seem reassured. “He’s only filling out paperwork. Spousal consent forms.”

She really had heard every word, then—and remembered them. “Spousal consent forms are a code in this ER. It means the spouse has to leave the treatment area. I’ve seen enough patients who have fallen down stairs to recognize the hallmarks of that type of injury.”

“And she didn’t have them?”

He shook his head silently. He was bound legally and ethically not to describe a patient’s medical condition to a stranger. The assistant obviously knew some details already, but he couldn’t tell her more.

“How long does it take for him to fill out the forms? He’ll be back any minute.”

“Security will explain that he can’t reenter the treatment area. Doctor’s orders. When the next room with walls and a door opens up, the patient will be moved there. I can’t tell you more than that, but I assure you, she will have a chance to talk to me in private.”

“She won’t tell you anything.”

Sadly, the assistant was quite possibly right. Victims of domestic violence were often silent in the hope that the situation would improve if they helped their abuser. “I hope you’re wrong about that, but we’ll give her every chance, every safety net we have available. You and I need to end this conversation now, because—”

Because of patient confidentiality, of course. But he didn’t finish the sentence, because what had popped into his head was because you’re already too appealing. Her compassion toward a stranger only increased his regard for her.

It didn’t matter. He had no interest in pursuing a woman when no relationship was possible. Flirting was something else he’d never quite understood. It was a waste of time to indulge an attraction to a woman who lived in another state, let alone a woman who built her life on the shaky ground of fame.

The assistant furrowed her brow, determination stamped on her lovely face. “You can get her alone in a private room, but she won’t tell you anything. She has children. He told her he would kill them if she talks.”

The kitchenette door started to open beside them. He stopped it with the palm of his hand. “A moment, please.” Without looking to see who it was, he pushed the door shut. All his attention was for the assistant. “You heard this? He actually said he’d kill her children?”

“He was inches away from me on the other side of that curtain. I heard every word. He said if he goes to jail, he’ll kill the children as soon as he gets out.”

She looked up at him with fear and worry—and something else. Hope. She was looking at him as if she hoped he would be able to fix this terrible situation. The desire to touch her again, to physically soothe her, was completely inappropriate. That wasn’t how a doctor helped.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you willing to relay this to the police?”

“I hadn’t thought about police.”

This protective streak was strong. He didn’t want her involved in what could become a volatile situation. “The injuries are already enough to trigger social services, and that will include removing the children from his custody. I appreciate everything you’ve told me, but you don’t have to do anything else.”

“No, I’ll talk to the police. That poor woman. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to help.”

“Not everyone feels the same. You’re very brave.” He felt a little sloppy bit of tenderness toward her, despite the way he was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, scowling at her. He cleared his throat and tried for a more neutral expression. “What did you say your name was?”

“It’s Grace.”

“Grace.” Of course it was. Grace was a blessing one did nothing to deserve, milost’ in his mother’s language. He’d done nothing to merit its presence in his emergency department today, but Grace was here, being an ally for a stranger in a dangerous situation.

She tugged the hem of her soft sweater an inch lower. “Well, thanks for your time.”

A brave princess had shown up in his ER after all—just not the one he’d expected.

He liked this one much better. “Thank you for being so persistent. I apologize for being so curt. I can tell you’re worried, but you’ve done the right thing. I’ll take it from here.”

“What about the police?”

“If they need your statement, we’ll do that with as much privacy as possible, I promise. I don’t want you to risk anything if you don’t have to.”

“Thank you.”

Grace left, slipping easily around the nurse who was waiting outside the door.

“Loretta asked me to tell you that we’re taking Mrs. Burns down to X-ray now. Room three is ready to go, if you could discharge him. The social worker is on her way over.”

Alex would have to get his coffee later. As he headed down the hall toward room three, Grace was about twenty feet ahead of him on her way back to the curtained area. Her plain clothing allowed him to enjoy the feminine shape of her. He knew firsthand that her sweater felt very soft, and her slacks were tailored over the curve of her backside.

The voice of Princess Picasso came shrieking down the hall. “You have got to be kidding me! Why is that woman getting an X-ray before me?”

Grace broke into a jog.

Alex shook his head as he entered room three. How could an angel who was so brave subject herself to a celebrity who was so selfish?

* * *

“Here’s your macchiato.” Grace hiked her tote bag a little higher on her shoulder and held up the cup of coffee she’d spent fifteen minutes locating, ordering, paying for and bringing to her sister.

Sophia was talking on her phone, and waved her into silence. The part-skim half-caff macchiato with the shot of regular caramel syrup and sugar-free vanilla syrup which she’d just had to have was not quite as important as her phone call, apparently.

Grace was tempted to place it on the bedside table and leave the table where it was, at the foot of the bed. Sophia would need her then. She’d have to interrupt her phone call with Deezee to ask Grace to roll the table closer.

Immediately, Grace admonished herself for being such a baby. What kind of sister would even think of placing something where a person with a broken leg couldn’t reach it?

“You asked to see me?” Dr. Gregory entered their little curtained cubicle and stood at the foot of Sophia’s gurney, next to Grace.

Grace put the coffee down. She wasn’t normally klutzy, but she felt a little flutter now that Dr. Gregory was here, so it was better not to be holding a scalding-hot beverage.

Really, she needed to squelch this little Clark Kent crush. The man was on the job, caring for a battered woman somewhere else. Caring for her own injured sister, too, and who knew how many other people who were sick and in pain. Yet she felt a little buzz of excitement that he was here, despite knowing that her sister shouldn’t have demanded to see him.

“The doctor decided to finally show up,” Sophia said into her phone. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Grace stole a glance at Dr. Gregory. He pushed his glasses up with one knuckle. He had a perfectly neutral poker face in place, but Grace had the fanciful thought that the move meant he was ready for battle.

Sophia took the phone away from her ear and pointed it at the doctor accusingly. “I heard them talking next door. You know what they said?”

Grace held her breath. What had she missed while she’d been looking for gourmet coffee? The horrible Mr. Burns must have returned. Or perhaps Mrs. Burns had decided to unburden herself to a nurse, and Sophia had overheard everything.

“Your janitor told another janitor to take the patient’s belongings to room three. That patient is getting a room? Seriously? When I’ve been waiting here with nothing but curtains all this time?”

Grace interceded before Sophia could make a fool of herself. “Sophia, it’s okay.”

“No, it is not. I was here first. She got taken for an X-ray before me, and now she gets a goddamned room before me.”

“Sophie,” Grace begged quietly. “The cursing.”

“Goddamn won’t even get you a PG-13 rating.” Sophie pinned the doctor with her glare. Really, it was a sneer. Grace hated to see Sophie sneering like that. If she could take a photo, make Sophie see...

“I demand a private room, for obvious reasons.”

“There are none available.” Dr. Gregory didn’t sound upset or intimidated by Sophia’s behavior at all, not like Grace was.

Sophia must have heard that almost bored note in his voice, too, because she hesitated, just for a second, in the middle of ramping herself up for a good old-fashioned hissy fit. She gave it a go, anyway. “Even if I didn’t need extra privacy, which you know I do, I should have been next. I’ve been waiting longer.”

“That’s not the way it works in a hospital. She needs the room more than you do, and there are patients who require my presence right now more than you do.” He stepped back and grabbed the curtain, ready to leave. “Was there anything else?”

“More than I do?” Sophia’s voice was getting high-pitched in her outrage. “I suppose you decide that?”

“I do.”

Grace felt a little chill go down her spine at the quiet confidence in those words. She looked at Dr. Gregory again, at his calm profile, his unwavering gaze.

He can handle anything. He can handle Mr. Burns. He can handle my sister.

Then she realized he’d turned to her, locking gazes with her for the briefest of moments, just long enough for her to imagine he was silently asking her to keep Sophia under control.

I wish I could.

“You’re just leaving?” Sophia sounded incredulous.

Grace wished she had as much control over her sister as Dr. Gregory seemed to think she had. She put a hand on her sister’s good ankle and patted her reassuringly. “Thank you, Dr. Gregory. We’ll stay right here, then, until a room opens up.”

He nodded at her. “I’ll be back.”

Grace hoped he’d be quick. His hair was shaggy and he needed to shave—yesterday—and his glasses weren’t chic geek, just geek. His white coat was two sizes too big, and yet he looked like a hero to her. Somehow, when Grace stood next to Dr. Gregory, Sophia seemed less intimidating, but he was gone with a slide of metal curtain rings, and Grace was left to manage her own personal movie star.

“Where the hell is that macchiato?”

Hurry back, Doctor. I need you.