Читать книгу Luke - Jill Shalvis - Страница 7

THE TWO NEARLY NAKED WOMEN frolicked in the waves only yards away and Luke Walker yawned. Yawned.

Oh, definitely, he was on the edge of burnout. On the edge and skating on thin ground. Behind him stood his home on the Malibu bluffs. In front of him were the bikini babes.

And inside him…exhaustion. Actually, he was far beyond exhaustion and heading straight for brain dead, but who was keeping track?

Unfortunately, even sleep couldn’t help him, not today, not when every time he closed his eyes, he transported himself back.

Blood soaking his hands, splattering across his scrubs as he knelt on the moving gurney next to the far-too-still six-year-old boy. Orderlies racing them down the hallway towards surgery as Luke barked orders, held the boy’s wound shut and prayed to a God he wasn’t sure could hear him.

“So why aren’t you down there frolicking with the babes?”

At the heavily Spanish accented voice, Luke groaned and opened his eyes. Carmen DeCosta took great pleasure in thinking she knew him well enough to boss him around. She stood there with her hands on her ample hips, waiting for an answer.

Was everyone going to give him that bug-on-a-slide look today? “Don’t go there,” he warned. “I’m trying to take a breather here.”

“Good. You don’t do that enough.” With a spryness that belied her chunkiness, the dark-haired, dark-skinned—or should he say thick-skinned—woman dropped to the sand next to him, apparently taking a break from her duties cleaning his house to offer him her opinions on his life. Nothing new. She liked to boss him around. She liked to fuss over him as well, and he knew she thought of herself as a surrogate mother since his own was gone.

But he didn’t need one. Actually, he’d never needed one. And yet somehow he’d never managed to convince her of that.

He looked out at the pounding surf, at the ridiculous bikinied beach babes, and saw nothing but Dr. Leo Atkinson from South Village Medical Center frowning at him. Luke was head of the E.R., but Leo was head of surgery. He was also director of all the various department heads. So while technically they were peers, Leo, sitting on the hospital board and also town council, had far more power. Which was fine with Luke, who just wanted to be left alone to heal people, not navigate the bullshit, ass-kissing waters that was hospital politics.

You went too far, Luke, Leo had said. You’re a marketing nightmare, and now, unfortunately, something has to be done or you won’t be named E.R. Head again in this century.

He was referring, of course, to when Luke had let out a statement regarding the idiocracy of the bureaucrats running their hospital after he’d learned they’d helped fund Healing Waters Clinic, a place where conventional medicine wasn’t even practiced.

The comment had been leaked to the press, who’d gleefully reported it in the Los Angeles Times and The South Village Press, among others. The fallout had been immediate. The owner of the clinic had called the hospital board, who’d gone to Leo, who’d gone to Luke.

Fix it. Retract the statement.

Not that easy. To Luke things were black and white. Give him a medical emergency and he could either fix it or not. Mostly he could.

No gray areas, no middle ground.

But Healing Waters Clinic…They worked in that gray area with aromatherapy, massage therapy, acupressure…yoga.

That the board funded such a place when the hospital turned away patients who couldn’t pay, patients who legitimately needed their help, was asinine.

In his humble opinion.

Which wasn’t so humble, apparently. He was going to be punished for his outburst. In the worst way possible.

“It’s just the way it is,” Leo had said in only slight apology. “You’re amazing with your patients, but when it comes to everyone else—the board, your staff, everyone—they say you’re a nightmare, and even I have to agree. You’ve got to learn to soften your approach, Luke, or good as you are, you’re going to get your walking papers. In light of that, you’re going to volunteer your services at the Healing Waters Clinic every Saturday for three months.”

Luke had stared at him for one full moment. “Why don’t you just take away my license,” he’d finally said. “It would be less painful.”

Leo had laughed over that, then slapped him on the back. “Enjoy it, Luke. This is your last chance to prove you’re a team player.”

A team player. Woo hoo, his biggest goal. Not. He glowered at the ocean, brooding.

“Nice view.” Carmen nodded to the bikini crowd.

He shrugged. Damn it, he was a good doctor. A great doctor. That should be all that mattered, not how well he could spin a tale for the press, or appease the people around him.

“So…” Carmen leaned back on her elbows, looking as if she didn’t plan on more cleaning anytime soon. “How many patients did you see today?”

Luke sighed. “A lot.”

“Any interesting female patients? Say…someone interesting enough to date?”

Why was it a single man was always such an irresistible setup? “Why?”

“Because one of them left you some cookies. Must have made a huge impression on her, Dr. Luke.”

One big wave after another hit the shore, causing shrieks of joy from the bathing beauties. Luke inhaled the salt air, then slowly let it out.

“Don’t you want to know who left the cookies? Let me help you remember. Blond, tall, gorgeous. And…” Carmen cupped her hands out in front of her chest. “Stacked.”

Inhaling more salt air…

“Are you listening?”

“I’m trying not to.”

“Oh, you. Do you know who left the cookies or not?”

Lucy Cosine. He’d stitched her up earlier in the week when she’d neglected to stop at a red light and had plowed into a mail truck, putting her head through her windshield. She was late twenties, rich, husband-searching based on status (her words, not his) and apparently Luke fit the bill.

Too bad he wasn’t on the market. “Are the cookies any good?”

“Bah.” Carmen made a face. “Mine are better.” In front of them, one of the two women went down under a wave and came up laughing like an idiot. “Tough job you got there, doctor. Hard to believe you can’t manage to find yourself a woman.” She looked him over critically. “Maybe you have a problem with your attention span?”

Luke studied the sharp, blue sky, amazingly void of Southern California smog today. “Funny.”

“Love is a good stress reliever, you know.”

“We are absolutely not going to discuss sex.”

“I said love. Not sex.” Carmen’s voice was filled with mischief. “But sex works too.”

A rough laugh escaped Luke at that. Always, no matter how bad things got—and they’d been pretty bad here and there—Carmen could somehow provide the comic relief. “You’re ruining my bad mood for me.”

“Good.” Carmen beamed, and reaching over, she noisily kissed his cheek. “I just want you to be happy, Luke. Everyone deserves a little happiness.”

“I am.” Or he had been happy enough anyway, until Leo’s ultimatum today.

“Nah, you need a woman for that, one to share your heart, your home, your bed, and not necessarily in that order.”

Luke would take the woman in his bed part, just about any night of the week—if he had the time and wasn’t on call—but a woman in his heart? Not a chance in hell, not when he lived and breathed his work. What woman in her right mind would want a man who didn’t have anything left to give?

And what woman in her right mind would want a man, a doctor, who’d just been slapped with a disciplinary action that was likely going to kill him?

Working in a natural healing clinic for God’s sake. For three months. Unbelievable.

Truly, he couldn’t think of a worse fate.

WHEN HER HOROSCOPE SAID the stars weren’t aligned in her favor, Faith McDowell should have believed it and pulled the covers back over her head.

But lounging in bed had never been her style. As to what was her style, she hadn’t quite figured that out yet. She didn’t have much time for that.

On autopilot, she turned on the shower, cranked up the radio, and lit a jasmine candle guaranteed to uplift and stimulate.

Soaping up, she sang at the top of her lungs, because singing was an excellent energy releaser. It worked for all of sixty seconds, which was how long it took for her brain to refuse to be sidetracked by music and scents, and face reality.

Her reality wasn’t easy to face.

Just this week, she’d had to give herself a pay cut as Director of Healing Waters Clinic. That meant a lot of macaroni and cheese in her immediate future.

But at least she still had a clinic, and a lovely building in South Village to house it. She’d opened the place last year, right on North Union Street, the main drag of the town that rivaled Sunset Strip in pedestrian traffic. She’d opened it after four years of being a nurse practitioner.

Working in a San Diego E.R. she’d seen it all, every kind of suffering, and had always felt modern medicine wasn’t doing all it could. But no one had wanted to hear her ideas of natural healing, of homeopathic healing, of all the ancient and established methods that really worked, not when there were multiple gunshot wounds, motor vehicle accident injuries and other emergency traumas to deal with every day.

Here, in her healing clinic, she could concentrate on those ideas considered outside the lines of conventional medicine, she could finally concentrate on easing suffering in less invasive ways. Shockingly, the powers that be at the local hospital had been willing to refer people to her, and later had even helped fund her efforts, and she’d never been happier.

Until one of the local doctors, a Dr. Luke Walker, had publicly raised his nose at her work there. She’d faced such disdain before, only she’d underestimated Dr. Walker’s reputation and following. Once the public had heard his opinion, once they’d realized she didn’t have his support, she’d ended up spending a good part of her day answering questions and debating medical practices, which in turn meant more time with each patient, creating more backlog and long waits. As a result, people weren’t coming back.

Mercifully, the hospital had stepped in, promising a quick fix. They were giving the clinic an extra hand, one that belonged to Dr. Walker himself, as a matter of fact, for three months of weekends. There, she thought, with her first smile of the day. A silver lining. So there fore, her horoscope had to be wrong.

She was so sure of it, that when she ran out of hot water with conditioner still in her hair, it was a shock. Then the bathroom scale decided not to be her friend, and to top it all off, she couldn’t find clean socks.

Already wary of the day and it wasn’t even seven o’clock. She went downstairs. There was one negative thing about living over the clinic on a major street in a major town filled with people who got up early. The street was already filled with joggers, bicyclists, early shoppers and workers; the majority of them young, hip, urban, and far better put together than she had ever been at seven in the morning.

She located her newspaper, which hadn’t made it to the stoop, but had instead landed in the small patch of wet grass. Picking it up with two fingers, the soggy, chewed mess fell apart like confetti. With a sigh, she looked up into the face of her neighbor’s eighty-pound Doberman. “Again, Tootsie?”

Tootsie lifted his chin and gave her a doggie smile before trotting off.

“That’s what you get for living at your work.” This from Shelby Anderson, her co-naturopathic practitioner at Healing Waters, and Faith’s best friend. She came up the walkway and followed Faith into the back door of the clinic, looking more like an actress in her flowered scrubs than the real thing.

Faith knew Shelby couldn’t help the fact that her blond hair was always just right, and that she needed hardly any makeup to glow, or that her long, willowy body was the only one on the planet that scrubs actually looked good on, but it was still a little irksome, especially so early in the morning.

“I live above my work, not at my work,” Faith corrected, tugging at her scrubs, which most definitely were not nearly as flattering on her as they were on Shelby.

“Above work, at work, same thing,” Shelby said. “Both suck.”

Faith looked down at her chewed newspaper. “Okay, sometimes, yes.”

Shelby set down her purse and leaned against the counter, sipping at the herbal tea she’d brought. “Would you like some? You look beat already.”

“Gee, and I thought I’d used my makeup concealer correctly.”

Shelby smiled. “You don’t wear any makeup, much less concealer, so stop it. Just remember, every time you let yourself run down, you get the flu.”

Complete with exhaustion, sweaty shakes and a killer headache. She’d been plagued by a pesky tropical virus for years, more so lately, since she’d opened the clinic, but she didn’t intend to let it get her again.

She’d caught the virus in Bora-Bora years ago while there as a child with her missionary parents, and ever since she’d been susceptible to it. She’d been extra careful, getting rest, eating right—not difficult since she loved food—and for the most part ate extremely healthy. If one didn’t count her secret and shameful chocolate addiction.

Oh, wait, she’d given up chocolate. Really. And not because her mother had a tendency to be chunky and Faith was afraid of getting the same way, but because she wanted to practice what she preached. She wanted to live a healthy life.

Her body just didn’t always agree with her. “I’m fine,” she told Shelby.

“Why don’t you do an herbal treatment today? Or better yet, let me do it for you?”

“Maybe.” She needed to get the clinic back on track first. It shouldn’t take too much. For the most part, the clinic itself was successful. People loved the services they offered. The problem was that most insurance plans didn’t cover those services, so she was forced to charge far less than she should. As a result, she was understaffed, and didn’t have the budget to hire more people.

The good news…Dr. Walker’s services were going to be free. For three months.

“Do you really think Dr. Walker is going to help us?”

“Yes, and before you ask…he’s late. I know.”

Shelby looked at her watch again. “Twenty bucks says he’s not going to show.”

He’d better—the hospital had promised he’d be here with bells on, and a smile to boot, doing his best to give support and reverse any publicity damage he’d caused.

Faith was counting on it. Dr. Luke Walker was extremely well respected in the community. People listened to him. With any luck, he’d be far kinder to the clinic once he’d seen them in action, and he’d spread the word. “He’ll show.”

“Okay, but only a few minutes until patients arrive, and if he’s not here…”

“I know, I know.” Back-Up City, with patients grumbling, complaining, leaving…something she couldn’t let happen.

Still, they waited fruitlessly for him for thirty minutes, and when they were indeed backing up, get ting behind schedule, Shelby and Faith again met in the hallway with twin worried expressions.

“It is his usual day off,” Faith said. “Maybe he’s sleeping in by accident.”

“Then we’re screwed.”

“No we’re not.” Nothing if not determined, she grabbed her keys. “Tell me we have his address.”

“It’s on your desk.” Shelby smiled. “Going to haul him out of bed?”

“If need be. I know we’re already so backed up, but if I get another practitioner in the house, it’ll be worth me leaving for a little while.” Faith chewed her lip. “Better wish me luck.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll wish you luck. You’re going to need it.”

FAITH STOOD OUTSIDE Dr. Luke Walker’s house on the coast and knocked again. When no one answered, she checked the address against the piece of paper she held. It had to be right. The house was a block-and-glass palace fit for a prestigious doctor, as was the forest-green Jaguar in the driveway.

She glanced at her late-eighties Ford Escort and sighed. She wasn’t a confrontational person by nature despite her innate stubbornness and her fondness for being right. Truth was, in a fight she figured she’d roll over like a puppy and show her belly. But with her clinic’s destiny at stake, she felt like a protective momma bear.

Make that a mountain lioness, and her claws were out.

The curse of the redheaded temperament, she supposed, and self-consciously patted her long, red—and unruly—hair. Well, tough. He’d asked for her temper by being late. He had a duty, this Saturday and every Saturday for the next three months, to her and the clinic.

She knocked again, louder now. Waited with what she thought was admirable patience. And started tapping her foot when no one answered. She glanced back at the car that assured her someone was indeed home.

And knocked yet again, listening with some satisfaction to the echo of her pounding as it reverberated through the house.

Sleeping, was he? Damn the man, snoozing blissfully while her life went down the tubes—

Then the door whipped open, and suddenly she was staring right at a man’s bare chest. Tilting her head up, and up, she found her Dr. Luke Walker, and swallowed hard.

She’d heard about him, of course, in the occasional article in the newspaper, especially once he’d made his infamous comments about her clinic. But Dr. Luke Walker in the flesh was like nothing she’d ever experienced. He was leaner, harder than she’d expected, the lines of his face more stark, his nearly naked body far tougher than she would have imagined.

“Yes?” His vivid blue eyes had landed right on her, and for some odd reason she couldn’t find her tongue much less form a sentence.

His dark, slightly wavy hair was short and bed-ruffled, his mouth grim. At her silence, a muscle in his cheek ticked.

Oh, and he wore nothing but low-slung sweatpants that he hadn’t bothered to tie.

Bad attitude personified, all one hundred eighty pounds of him.

Clearly, she’d indeed gotten him out of bed, and yet there was nothing even halfway sleepy about his searing gaze as it swept over her. “Who are you and why are you trying to knock my door down?”

“Faith McDowell,” she said, trying really hard not to notice all his corded muscles and sinews, all his smooth, tanned skin. For some reason the sight of him, up close and personal and practically naked, made her feel a little insecure.

“Well, Faith McDowell, what do you want?”

“I…” What did she want? Oh, yes, her clinic, her life. Her lioness claws came back out. “I came to drive you to the clinic, because clearly, your car isn’t working, which would explain why you didn’t show up at the clinic an hour ago when you were supposed to.”

He just looked at her.

She tried valiantly not to look at her watch or rush him along. “We have patients scheduled for you, remember?” Tell me you remember.

“I remember.” He said this in a voice that assured her going to the clinic was the last thing he wanted to do, right after, say, having a fingernail slowly pulled out. “I just wish I didn’t.”

“So…your alarm neglected to go off?” This time she didn’t hold herself back and purposely glanced at her watch. And then nearly panicked at the time.

“It isn’t time for it to go off.”

“Right, because as a doctor, you can breeze into the clinic more than an hour after it’s opened, with no concern for how that would throw off our schedule.” How could she have forgotten the arrogant God complex of doctors? “Look, I’m sorry you don’t want to do this, but we have a full load of patients today. Thanks to your tardiness, we’re already far behind. The longer I stand here waiting for you, the worse it’s going to get.”

“My tardiness?”

“If we get much more behind before lunch, trust me, it’s not going to be pretty.”

He ran a hand over his jaw, and the dark shadow there rasped in the morning silence. “I was told 9:00 a.m.”

“Seven.”

“That’s not what I was told.”

A misunderstanding then. Fine. Annoying, but they could get past this. “I’m sorry, but you were told wrong.”

He scratched his chest, the one she was trying not to gape at. Obviously, he did something other than treat patients all day long because that body of his was well-kept, without a single, solitary inch of excess.

“I wouldn’t have agreed to seven,” he said. “Seven is too early.”

“Well, for three months’ worth of weekends, get used to it.” Surely, it had to be against the law to be so mouth-wateringly gorgeous and such an insensitive jerk at the same time. It was his fault he was in this spot. People were waiting for him right this very second, though she imagined that was the story of his life. Dr. Luke Walker had been born to heal, or so leg end claimed at South Village Medical Center, one of the busiest hospitals in all of Southern California. His hands held and delivered miracles every single day. His patients worshipped him because of it.

The people who worked with him; the other doctors, nurses, staff—everyone understood and respected that extraordinary gift, but according to gossip—and there was never a shortage of that in her field—there weren’t many who held a great love for him personally. Faith knew much of that was simple pettiness and jealousy. After all, he was only thirty-five, and the rumors predicted he’d be running the hospital by the time he hit forty.

If they could fix his habit of speaking his mind, that is.

Because while he was astonishingly compassionate and giving and tender with his patients, he did not generally extend those people skills to anyone else, such as the people he worked with. Faith had heard the stories and figured he didn’t mean to be so gruff and hurried and impatient, he just didn’t suffer fools well.

But now, she had to wonder if maybe he was just missing the be-nice-to-people gene. “I realize this isn’t important to you, working at the clinic, but you promised.”

He let out a rough sound that managed to perfectly convey his annoyance, and for Faith, it was the last straw.

“And really, this is your own fault anyway,” she pointed out. “If you hadn’t made that statement that got out to the press saying you thought our clinic was worthless, you wouldn’t be stuck paying penance for three months’ worth of Saturdays. You could be out golfing—”

“Golfing?” His eyes widened incredulously. “Golfing—”

“Or whatever it is you rich doctors do with all the money you make off your patients.”

“My God, you have a mouth on you.”

Yes. Yes, she did. It had gotten her into trouble plenty of times, but damn it, this was important to her.

Still, what was it her mother had said…You could catch more flies with honey? With a sigh, she swallowed her pride. “I’m…sorry.” Not words she used often. “It’s just that we really need you.”

With his arms crossed over that bare chest, and a frown still masking his chiseled-in-stone face, he looked far more like a thug than a doctor. A beautiful thug, but still a dangerous, edgy one. He let out a disparaging noise, shoved his fingers through his dark hair, making it stick up all the more. “I’d like to get one thing straight here. I never said the clinic was worthless. What I said was I didn’t understand why the hospital gave your clinic money when—” He took in her humor-the-jerk expression and broke off. “Okay, forget it. I’ll be there soon.”

“I’ll just wait and drive you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I think it is.”

“Why? Is there an emergency waiting for me right now?”

“Uh…”

“Are you in need of medical attention of any kind?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then I’ll be there. On my own. Soon.” He actually turned to go inside the house, dismissing her.

Without stopping to think—a personality disorder she’d been saddled with since childhood—Faith slapped a hand on his front door and held it open. “I’d really rather wait for you.”

Still turned away, Dr. Walker let out a long-suffering sigh, which brought her attention upward past the sleek, powerful flesh and sinew of his back to the widest, most tension-filled shoulders she’d ever seen.

Unfortunately, he turned then, and caught her in the act of ogling him. Not a word came out of his mouth, but no words were necessary, not when his highly vexed expression did all his talking for him.

She cleared her throat and tried to ignore the blush that crept over her face. Another redheaded curse. “You do understand the clinic’s already full—”

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, then lifted his hands to his temples. The untied sweatpants shifted down an inch or so on his hips, revealing more flat belly.

A hot flash raced through her body. That pesky tropical virus again. It had to be.

“I don’t get it.” He sounded baffled. “Why do you even want me there? You know I’m into conventional, modern medicine. The good, old-fashioned, scientific stuff. So—”

“Actually, the alternative means of medicine that we use is the good, old-fashioned way, thousands of years old in some cases. So really, your ‘conventional’ medicine, at only a couple hundred years old, is the baby.”

His jaw ticked again. “I still don’t see what massage therapy, aromatherapy, acupressure, yoga and herbs have to do with me.”

“The alternative practices can be blended in with the more conventional ones, and with that, we can offer people something more. Something better.”

“But I don’t know how to treat people that way.”

“It’s just a way of life,” she said. “You’ll have plenty to offer. Mostly credibility at first, but…” She broke off when he put his hands on his hips.

Her gaze glued itself to his loose sweat bottoms, her breath blocking in her throat. If they slipped just another fraction of an inch or so—

“Look, I had a really long night.” His weary tone drew her eyes back up to his exhausted ones. “And I thought I had an extra few hours. I’ll hurry, but I don’t need an audience, so if you don’t mind—”

“Well actually, I—”

The door shut in her face.