Читать книгу Daddy On Call - Judy Duarte, Judy Duarte - Страница 5

Dr. Luke Wynter had only started his shift an hour ago, but he’d already sent his third broken bone of the day up to radiology, stitched up a nasty wound on an elderly woman’s brow, admitted a five-year-old for dehydration and diagnosed three cases of the flu that had been plaguing the area.

“Doctor, we’ve got an ambulance coming in with a pregnant woman who’s been badly beaten by her boyfriend.”

Luke glanced up from the chart he’d been reading and addressed Marge Bagley, a fifty-something RN who could run circles around the first-year residents and mentor those who’d acquired their fair share of rotations. “What’s the estimated time of arrival?”

“Three minutes or less.”

He nodded, then quickly completed his task.

Marge was one of Luke’s favorite nurses. Together, she and he worked the night shift at Oceana General. He wouldn’t say they’d become friends, since they never associated outside the hospital, but they’d developed a healthy respect for one another and had shared plenty of overbrewed coffee.

Luke had a few friends, mostly the guys who’d become known as Logan’s Heroes, a group of men who’d once been delinquents but had turned their lives around thanks to the guidance of Detective Harry Logan. But for the most part, he didn’t socialize much. Hell, how could he when he worked nights and required a few z’s to function?

“Showtime,” Marge whispered, as she nodded toward the paramedics rushing through the door.

“Take her into room three,” Luke said as he walked alongside the stretcher, conducting a quick assessment of the victim’s injuries and taking note of the vitals being announced by Craig Elwood, one of the paramedics.

“Who did this to her?” Luke asked.

“Apparently, a jealous boyfriend. He held the cops at bay for a while, then slipped out the back.”

The bastard had done a real number on her, and Luke hoped the police caught the guy. He’d be facing assault charges if she lived, homicide if she didn’t.

Marge, who walked with them, asked, “Does she have any family members coming in?”

Luke knew the RN was asking about next of kin.

“She’s got a friend coming in behind us, driving her own vehicle. Her name’s Lonnie, I think. The patient’s name is Carrie Summers.”

Luke nodded, then ordered a battery of tests and scans. The patient—or rather the victim in this case—had suffered a dislocated jaw, a head injury and possible internal bleeding. Luke wasn’t sure whether he could save her life, let alone that of the baby she carried.

But he was up for a fight. In fact, he always had been, only now he battled death.

“Who’s the resident neurosurgeon?” Luke asked Marge.

“Dick Wofford. And I’ve already called him. I also paged Arlene Gray. She’s on duty in obstetrics tonight.”

Luke liked working with Marge. She seemed to know what he was thinking. During the downtime, when they were free to make light of things, he called her “Radar,” like the character on M.A.S.H.

Always one to dish it back, Marge referred to him as Hot Lips, although he suspected it had nothing to do with the classic television show and everything to do with a particular blonde lab technician who’d kissed and told.

As Luke worked on the patient and ordered more tests and scans, Dick Wofford arrived, followed by Arlene Gray. Together, they decided the best treatment for mother and child. Neither specialist was any more optimistic than Luke, and both commended him for his treatment thus far.

Marge, who’d slipped out of the room momentarily, returned. “The victim’s friend just arrived, and I sent her to the waiting room near the ICU.”

It was, Luke realized, the best place for the friend to wait. The neurosurgeon would be making the call on whether the critically injured woman needed surgery or not, but either way, she would be spending time in intensive care.

After passing the patient on to the specialists, Luke headed for the waiting room to find Carrie’s friend.

Talking to loved ones was his least favorite part of the job. His bedside manner had never won him any accolades, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t afford to let the patients or their families get to him. Keeping some emotional distance allowed him to do what he did best—save lives.

He paused in the doorway and scanned the handful of people waiting for word on friends and family members. An elderly couple rested on a sofa near the television, holding hands. A middle-aged man sat alone in the corner, reading a magazine, while a dark-haired woman wearing a silver clip in her hair stood at the window, looking into the dark of night.

“Who’s here with Carrie Summers?” he asked.

The woman peering out the window turned to face him. When her gaze met his, the past slammed into him, causing his mind to numb and his pulse to jam.

Recognition crossed her face. Shock, too.

He supposed he couldn’t blame her, since she’d pretty much considered him a juvenile delinquent the last time he’d seen her. And here he was now—the attending physician in the E.R. of one of the county’s busiest hospitals.

Of course, the fact that he’d turned his life around and had morphed into a doctor had surprised a lot of people.

She neither smiled nor frowned, which made it tough to regroup, to gather his wits. Or to rein in emotions that threatened to run amok.

Leilani Stephens had been his first love, and not many days went by that he didn’t think about her. Dream about her.

As a kid, he’d been in awe of her lovely hula-girl shape, year-round tropical tan and knockout smile. But it had been more than her physical attributes that had caught his eye and kicked up his hormones. Her innocence and sweet nature had slapped him with a full-blown case of puppy love.

Even so, it hadn’t been her memory that had haunted him for the past twelve years. It had been her parting words, the anger in her voice and the tears in her eyes that had burned into his soul.

She’d held Luke responsible for her younger brother’s death. And she’d never forgiven him for it.

When push came to shove, he supposed he’d never forgiven himself, either. No matter how much time had passed. Or how big a change he’d made in his life.

But he wasn’t the only one who’d changed. Leilani was no longer the teenager he’d once loved, either. No longer the seventeen-year-old Polynesian beauty with silky, waist-length black hair who could turn a guy’s heart inside out. She’d grown older and undoubtedly wiser.

Yet her gaze still had the power to take his breath away.

“Luke,” she said simply, her voice a bit more mature, but still as soft and melodious as he remembered.

“It’s Dr. Wynter now.”

He regretted his response the moment it left his mouth. It probably sounded as though he was flaunting the medical degree he’d fought long and hard to earn. Instead he’d only meant to validate himself in her eyes. To let her know a lot had changed since her brother had died and she’d shut him out of her life.

That she could trust him now.

She cleared her throat as though still trying to take it all in and decide how she felt about it. “The nurse mentioned Carrie was being examined by Dr. Wynter. But I had no idea…”

“I can understand why.”

“How is she?”

“Stable,” he said. “For now. But she’s critical. Come with me. Let’s talk in private.”

He led her down the hall to the room set aside for giving a patient’s family bad news. Not that he would paint a dark picture. It was too early to tell for sure. But the guy who beat Carrie had nearly killed her, and she was a long way from being out of the woods.

It was a painful walk—more so than any other he’d had to make. His mind scurried to find the right words. But not so much about her friend.

All that had separated them before jumped to the forefront, just as real and heartbreaking as the day she left San Diego and never came back.

As they entered the small room, with its pale green walls and living room-style atmosphere, he asked Leilani to have a seat.

She chose the floral-print sofa, but sat on the edge as if wanting to bolt.

He could relate. He felt like hightailing it out of there, too.

For some reason, he would have preferred to be outdoors when he talked to her, away from the four walls that sometimes closed in on him when he was faced with grieving friends and family members who struggled with the shock of an accident, illness or death.

He might be a whiz when it came to treating bullet holes, knife wounds and broken bones, but he wasn’t good at handing out sympathy along with the tissues or saying the right thing. Hell, if he’d had any gifts in the emotional support department, maybe his mom wouldn’t have chosen to end it all a few years back.

Luke took a seat on a beige vinyl recliner. To say neither of them had expected to see the other, to be sitting across the table face-to-face, was an understatement of gigantic proportions.

“Leilani,” he said, realizing that her name, as Hawaiian as the island on which she’d grown up, slipped off his tongue as though the last twelve years hadn’t gone by. As though they were still kids tripping over their hormones.

Yet the past hovered over them like a vulture ready to swoop down and consume the remnants of innocence—her brother’s and hers. As much as he’d wanted to apologize years ago—to explain his version of the story—that wasn’t why she was sitting across from him. Nor was it what she wanted to hear right now.

Luke always remained detached from his patients—for their sake as well as his own. He merely assessed injuries and illnesses, then provided emergency treatment until the patients could be passed to the appropriate specialists or sent home to recover. He struggled to do the same this evening, but it wasn’t working very well.

He suspected it was because he’d let Leilani down before and was hoping to provide her with a better outcome this time.

“Is Carrie going to die?” Those pretty golden-brown eyes searched his for answers he didn’t have.

“It’s too early to know. I won’t beat around the bush. She’s hurt badly. And her pregnancy complicates things.”

“How’s the baby?”

“Alive. I’m afraid we don’t know much right now. But the neurosurgeon and obstetrician will determine the best treatment for her.”

Her gaze, wide-eyed and luminous, lanced his chest, making him feel like an awkward adolescent with a crush on the new girl at school—an exotic beauty who’d been blessed with the best genetics her Anglo father and Hawaiian mother could offer.

And in spite of the voice inside begging him to step back, to pass not only the patient on to other doctors, but to pass Leilani on, too, he found it tough to do so.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“Me?”

Leilani wasn’t sure what to tell him. Needless to say, she was deeply concerned about her friend and the baby. But running into Luke Wynter had never crossed her mind. And the fact that he’d turned his life around merely added more surprise to the mix.

“I’m okay,” she said, although that wasn’t entirely true. There was a lot of history between the two of them, and Luke didn’t know the half of it.

A wave of guilt rolled over her, as well as the ever-present resentment she felt whenever she’d thought of him over the past twelve years.

“I didn’t realize you were back in town,” he said. “I’d heard you relocated to Los Angeles.”

“I’m just visiting my aunt.” She glanced at the garnet ring on her right hand, an heirloom that once belonged to her mother, and fingered it. When she looked up, she added, “And I also came to see Carrie. She’s a friend I met in Los Angeles. She relocated a while back….”

He nodded as though that made sense and didn’t press for more information. She was glad; she wasn’t ready to renew their friendship.

Their friendship?

God. They’d become involved as teenagers on the cusp of adulthood.

Young lovers who’d been wrong for each other.

A nurse poked her head through the doorway. “Excuse me, Dr. Wynter. But there’s an important call for you from Dr. Kim. And those lab results for Mrs. Rosenberg are back. You told me to let you know the minute they were in.”

Luke nodded.

He’d grown up and filled out, Leilani realized, yet he still wore his hair the same—attractively unkempt. And apparently he didn’t shave every day, which left him with the rugged look that had always appealed to her.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, his voice settling over her like a sense of déjà vu.

“Of course.”

She was pleased to know Luke had made something of himself—something noble and respectful. Yet the fact that he had also made her feel guilty about the secret she’d kept.

A secret she’d decided to keep when Luke had been little more than a delinquent and she’d expected him to spend the bulk of his life behind bars—especially after her brother’s death.

When she left San Diego, she’d had every intention of forgetting Luke Wynter, but she hadn’t been able to.

Not when their eleven-year-old son reminded her of him daily.

Early the next morning, when his shift was over, Luke did something he rarely did; he went to check on a patient he’d handed over to specialists.

But it wasn’t just any patient.

It was Carrie Summers, who was in a coma.

He read her chart, then spoke to the nurse who’d been assigned to her. Carrie was, so far, holding her own.

On his way out of the ICU, he stopped by the waiting room where he spotted Leilani seated on a sofa. She was wearing the same white blouse and black slacks she’d had on last night, rumpled clothing that indicated she hadn’t gone home to sleep.

Somewhere along the way she’d unclipped the silver barrette she’d been wearing and let her hair down. It was shoulder length now, but just as glossy as it had been before. Just as tempting to touch.

She glanced up when he entered. “Is something wrong?”

Yeah, there was something wrong. He’d been getting by just fine until she snuck back into his life. And now she had him dancing around the past like a Mexican jumping bean. “No problem. So far, so good.”

She merely stared at him, as though wondering why he’d stopped by. And he was just as perplexed as she was. After all, twelve years ago she’d made no secret of the fact that she no longer considered him a friend, let alone a lover. And he’d never been one to plead or beg.

But there was something drawing him to her. Something that was unsettled, unfinished. Unsaid.

So he made an excuse for stopping by. “I just got off duty and wanted to check on her before heading home.”

That reason ought to fly, especially since Leilani had no way of knowing that wasn’t his usual style.

“You work nights?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Must be tough.”

Not for Luke. “I like the action. More gunshots, stabbings.”

“I suppose you’d find that exciting.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant. He hoped she wasn’t referring to his early years, when he’d gotten into his share of scuffles. Or that month he’d spent at juvenile hall. Actually, he was talking about having the opportunity to practice emergency medicine, to use the skills he’d perfected.

“I never expected you to become a doctor,” she added.

Neither had Luke. It had taken tragedy, heartbreak and a lucky draw like crossing paths with Harry Logan for him to make that kind of a turn. But he supposed she wouldn’t care to hear about it. “I’ve always had an aptitude for science.”

“I know. You tutored me in chemistry, remember?”

He remembered everything. The scent of her as she leaned over him in the library, the way her hair sluiced over his cheek. The difficulty he had focusing on the problem at hand, rather than his raging hormones. “Thanks to me, you got an A.”

“No. I believe it was a B-plus. But it would have been an F without your help.”

God, it was strange, skating around the past. But he wasn’t ready to jump head-first into it, either. So he decided to use a little humor to take the edge off the reality. “I had to knock several honor students on their butts in order to have a chance to tutor the pretty new girl.”

Actually, there was a lot of truth to that. The moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been swept off his feet and would have done anything just to be alone with her.

He wanted to ask if she’d ever gone on to college, like she’d planned. Whether she’d gotten a degree of any kind. But that would only lead them to the reason she’d left town.

And the reason she’d never talked to him again.

Instead, he nodded toward the sofa. “I see you spent the night here.”

“Carrie doesn’t have any family, so I felt as though I ought to stay.” Leilani combed her hand through her hair, her fingers snagging on a tangle before busting free. “And I agreed to be her baby’s godmother and promised to look after him if…anything happened to her.”

“Dr. Gray has managed to stave off contractions,” he said, figuring Arlene had already told her the baby’s chances of survival if it was born now.

“I know.” She bit down on her bottom lip, something she used to do when they were friends.

And lovers.

At the time, Leilani’s heart was as big as the Pacific, although little good that did him. Once her brother died, she’d refused to hear Luke’s side of the story, refused to let him apologize. Would she now? Had enough time passed?

Had anything changed?

Not on the part of his hormones. He couldn’t help being drawn to her.

It was amazing. Even after all she’d been through and then dozing all night in a chair on top of that, she looked damn good. Prettier than ever, he decided. And just as out of reach.

He wasn’t crazy enough to think that they could ever be lovers again, but he wanted her to know how sorry he was about her brother’s death, about his part in it.

“Leilani,” he said, hoping to get her away from a hospital setting. “Would it be all right if I bought you a cup of coffee?”

She didn’t respond right away, and he wasn’t sure what to expect when she did.

Was it too much to hope that she might find it in her heart to forgive him?

If so, he might be able to forgive himself.