Читать книгу The Boss and Nurse Albright - Lynne Marshall - Страница 7

JASON looked up from his desk to find big blue eyes staring at him. He’d been sailing all weekend and by Sunday, with nothing else to do for the afternoon, he’d come into the clinic to catch up on patient labs and charts rather than face being alone at home. The pint-sized human stood in his office doorway, watching him, unblinking.

“Man,” she said. She wore a jacket which had slipped from her shoulders, held in place solely by her arms through the sleeves as she pointed at him. A simple pull-on shirt that didn’t quite cover her pudgy tummy, and patterned pants in varying shades matched the bright green jacket. Corkscrew light brown curls surrounded her chubby face.

“And who might you be?” he asked, fighting off a sinking feeling as the memory of his daughter flashed in his mind.

Long slender arms swooped in and scooped up the child, who looked to be no more than two or three. Hanna had been four.

“OK, pipsqueak, I told you to stay by Momma.” She didn’t talk to the child like some parents did with high whining sounds, as if they were the favorite family pet. Her voice had a mellow, husky tone, like an actress from a classic movie. “Oh! I didn’t know anyone else was here,” she said.

He shouldn’t be here, but the ocean had turned from glassy smooth to choppy and restless, and though the sun always soothed his emptiness by heating the cold blood pulsing through his veins, nothing seemed to help today. So he’d decided to work.

“Thought I’d come in to play catch up before another crazy week of overbooking.” He stood and held out his hand. “I’m Jason Rogers, the family practice GP of this group.”

The young woman accepted his greeting. Her hand was cool and slender like the rest of her. He liked how her height almost brought her eye-to-eye with him, and how she looked at him as steadily as her daughter had.

“And I’m Claire Albright, the new Nurse Practitioner,” she said with her child slung easily across her hip. “I think I’m supposed to remedy some, if not most, of that overbooking.” She smiled just enough to show bright straight teeth. “You weren’t at the meeting when they hired me.”

“No.” He dropped her hand and scratched the back of his neck. “I leave all that business up to the others.” Phil, Jon and René had kept him emotionally afloat the last four years. In return his ample wealth had supported the clinic through its growing pains. He didn’t know where or what he’d be without his medical partners.

The woman had ash-colored blond hair with streaks, like streams of light weaved through it. She had a high forehead and soft brown brows that showcased her hazel eyes. There was strength to her nose and chin, which he liked. He looked away.

Though definitely attractive, her appearance didn’t matter. Beyond his medical practice and patients, nothing much mattered. At all.

“I’m moving in down the hall.” She seemed at a loss for what else to say. He wasn’t helping a bit by standing like an idiot with his usual blank stare. “I love this building,” she said. Her eyes shone as she mentioned the three-story cream-colored Victorian house turned medical clinic. “I used to drive by, read the MidCoast Medical Group sign, and say, ‘one day I’m going to work there’, and now I do.”

Her enthusiasm pained him. It smacked of idealism and hope—things he couldn’t remember. Jason couldn’t think of an appropriate response, and stared blankly.

He’d purchased the mansion several years back for his partners’ business venture with his wife’s encouragement. She’d loved the building, too. Back then, the optimism now glimmering in Ms. Albright’s eyes had resided in his heart.

“And this is Gina.” With a mild blush across her peach and olive-tinged skin, her smile widened, pressing dimples into her cheeks, and it almost felt contagious. But he’d given up smiling a long time ago.

The little one ducked her head into her mother’s shoulder, no longer bold. She’d no doubt realized Jason was not someone she could trust with her clear eyes and easy smiles.

“Hello, Gina. And Ms. Albright, you should be a good fit for our practice.” He recited the hollow words to keep up the façade of being human—at least half human—for the child’s sake.

Having completed his duty with a begrudging greeting, Jason sat down, sending a direct message that their introductory chat had ended. There was nothing more he could say. Not looking the least bit flustered by his blunt move, Claire nodded. The child on her hip squirmed to get down. She obliged, but held the girl by her shoulders and marched her down the hall without another word.

So the medical group had finally hired a fifth practitioner. They didn’t want to bring in another full-time doctor, but had decided an RNP would be a big help. Besides seeing the routine overflow patients, she’d be counseling the diabetics and high cholesterol clients on diet and exercise. Or so René had promised. She could also perform physicals on both adults and children, and routine PAP smears on the female clients. The others would think of more to keep her busy as time went on.

René had mentioned something about the new employee taking a more holistic approach to patient care, whatever that meant. As long as her medical advice didn’t get too out there, what did it matter to him?

Jason did have one concern about adding a fifth group member, though—what was he supposed to do with his freed up time? The clinic was as much of an escape from life as it was a means to practice his profession. If he ever caught up with his backlog, he’d be faced with dealing with the world outside. He couldn’t afford to let that happen.

“Not exactly the friendliest guy on the planet,” Claire mumbled to Gina, closing the door to her new office two doors down from Dr. Rogers. Her daughter scampered across the room, not interested.

Though overall he was good-looking, with straight brown windswept hair and strong masculine features, there was a deadness in his steel-gray eyes as if he’d had the life sucked out of him. It unsettled her. His empty gaze had sent a chill down her spine.

Jason Rogers struck Claire as a wounded soul. A fit and sexy man wearing a drab gray polo shirt and windbreaker who looked very much alive, but in his core he seemed damaged and unable to connect.

“It takes one to know one, Dr. Rogers,” she whispered. The thought of reading his obviously broken aura both intrigued and frightened her.

Her snap assessment of her new employer didn’t matter. She’d joined this medical group for the opportunity to practice a more inclusive style of medicine, not to make friends. And after the doozy of a job her ex-husband had done on her, her lagging self-esteem needed a positive boost.

They’d married young, with plans to travel the world. Shortly after their first anniversary, she’d started experiencing strange symptoms, which interfered with their plans. He’d been unforgiving, and chastised her over the next couple of years for not being strong enough when she couldn’t finish a hike or a long bike ride. When she’d taken to bed with unexplained aches and pains, he’d accused her of faking it, as if she were nothing but a hypochondriac. A year later she’d become pregnant and things between them seemed to look up, but everything changed for the worse when she was finally diagnosed.

That was all water under the bridge, as the saying went. She’d learned so much in her quest to make her life better. She credited alternative medicine for giving her life back to her, and she wanted to extend her knowledge to her future patients here at MidCoast Medical.

She’d vowed that the new job was about what was best for the patient. The total patient. For all she cared, if Dr. Rogers wanted to weave a standoffish cocoon or hang upside down in his office and spit at people, it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t give him the power to matter to her—as long as he left her alone to do her job.

Gina ran to the window and pointed to the sparkling Pacific Ocean off in the distance. “Pwetty.”

“Yes, it is.” Claire studied the resplendent view as a warm rush of excitement rippled through her. The clinic was situated in the heart of downtown Santa Barbara, a few streets over from State Street, the main boulevard. She stepped closer to the window and saw the pier through the palm trees. She’d definitely moved up in the world since, as a Nurse Practitioner, she’d also completed a degree in holistic medicine.

This was her chance to prove that medicine was evolving away from the old cut and dried methods to a more symbiotic approach connecting traditional medicine with holistic and alternative care. She treated the whole person, not just the physical aspect, but also the emotional, social and spiritual being. She’d already gained the other doctors’ trust, when she’d introduced them to the world of homeopathy during her interview. They thought she’d be a good fit for their practice.

Claire was living proof that alternative and traditional methods worked best for chronic illness. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a relapse from her Lupus, and she’d managed to keep her daily aches and pains to a minimum. As long as she kept everything in balance. She glanced in the direction of her new colleague’s office; something about Jason Rogers knocked her off kilter.

Gina tugged on her pant leg. “Hungwee.”

Claire scanned the several boxes yet to be unpacked. She grinned at the greatest gift she’d ever known. “OK. Give me a second.” Her daughter smiled up with innocent, trusting eyes. It was almost two o’clock, long past lunch time. They needed to eat. Maybe after, Gina would take a nap while Claire finished setting up her new office and attached exam room.

The Victorian mansion, complete with wraparound porch, gorgeous bay window and princess tower was big enough to house a spacious waiting room in what used to be the sitting room, while the receptionist’s office would have been the dining room, and there was still room enough for three doctors’ offices plus exam rooms on the first floor. The kitchen, pantry and laundry rooms had been turned into the doctor and nurse lounge, and the nurses’ downstairs supply and procedure room.

The second floor, where Claire’s office was, had been left to Jason and his family practice until she’d barged in. One of the bedrooms had been turned into a small waiting room for his patients, and another had become the nurses’ upstairs station plus another procedure room. The high ceilings with crown molding throughout gave a spacious feel, and the wainscoting made each room special. The third floor had been left for storage, or so Rene Munroe had said when taking Claire on her initial tour a week and a half ago. Jason’s door had been closed that day, and René hadn’t made an effort to tap on it or to say hello.

Claire needed to pinch herself to believe she’d been hired into such a prestigious and beautifully housed medical practice. But what would it be like working down the hall from the standoffish Jason Rogers?

“Hungwee!”

If only everyone on earth could communicate as directly as a two-and-a-half year old, life would be so much easier. “OK, pipsqueak, let’s go.”

Claire thought about Dr. Rogers, alone in his office, and how René hadn’t included him in the clinic tour. She wanted to make a good first impression, and decided to give him another chance. She popped her head around the corner of his door. “We’re going to the health food store up the street for some sandwiches. Can I bring you one?”

He barely glanced up. “Oh, I’m about done here. I’ll grab something on my way home. Thanks, anyway.”

OK, she got the point. Rogers wanted to be left alone, which was exactly what she’d do from here on out.

Monday morning was a blur. Claire had to get up extra early to get Gina to childcare in order to make it to the welcome breakfast René Munroe had planned at the clinic. Her muscles ached from all of the lifting, packing and unpacking she’d done yesterday, and she needed to add extra wild yam to her daily herbal cocktail to help ease the pain. So far, so good.

She rushed up the front steps of the clinic on stiff legs, across the potted plant-covered porch, through the entryway, past the reception office and into the kitchen at 7:45 a.m. Philip Hanson, the pulmonary doctor of the group, greeted her with a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a bowl of granola with blue-berries on top.

“Since you’re our homeopathy guru,” he said, “I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with sticky buns or anything overindulgent.” Though in his mid-thirties, he’d retained a youthful quality, and his broad, accepting smile helped ease her first day jitters.

Jon Becker, the cardiologist, called out a greeting from a table set with china, flatware and a peach-colored cover. “Join us,” he said, as if she’d been working with them for years.

She sat next to him and reached for the cinnamon, and sprinkled some over her bowl of granola. Besides stimulating her immune system, cinnamon helped maintain a healthy cholesterol level; she never went a day without some.

Dr Becker’s salt and pepper, close-cropped hair gave him a scholarly air. On the initial tour of the clinic, René had mentioned that Dr. Becker was a long distance runner, and his wiry build and angular features proved her point.

“Good morning, Claire. You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not exactly perky today,” said René Munroe, the OB/GYN element of the practice. She was already seated across the table from Claire, with a mug of coffee in her hands. “I delivered twins last night.”

“Oh, how wonderful. Everything go OK?” Claire asked, spooning her first bite.

“The mother had planned on a natural birth, but after the first baby was born, the twin slipped into breech and I didn’t want to risk it.” She swept a thick lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “She had to go through eight hours of labor and childbirth with the first baby, only to wind up having a C-section after all that.”

“Oh, the poor thing!” Claire assumed the babies were at the local hospital, since it was the only one in town.

Though she’d known they’d planned this first day meal together, she couldn’t take her a.m. meds at home on an empty stomach, so she ate her second breakfast, not wanting to insult her new partners. They all seemed so welcoming and friendly, and she had a great feeling she’d love working here.

Philip handed her a bran muffin, still warm from the oven. “I baked them myself,” he said with a proud smile. She noticed a deep and attractive cleft in his chin. René had also informed Claire that Phil had been an award-winning surfer in his youth, and his dark tan and blond-tipped hair suggested he still enjoyed the sport.

She broke apart the muffin and let the steam rise. It smelled like pure comfort, and her mouth watered in anticipation of the first bite. If she read her tea leaves, she suspected she’d see weight gain in her future.

After taking a bite and savoring the fresh-baked flavor, she brushed some crumbs from her skirt. Today she’d worn power purple. A simple patterned wraparound dress with matching necklace and shoes to make a good first impression. She’d also worn her hair down, had even curled it for the big day. She’d been caught by Jason Rogers in crop length workout pants and matching jacket yesterday, with her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and she’d been a bit embarrassed about her decision not to wear a stitch of make-up, when, by chance, she’d run into him. Today she’d outlined her eyes in liner and had even worn mascara and a touch of plum-colored eye-shadow.

She glanced around the room. The circa 1900-styled kitchen hadn’t changed much at all except for an updated stainless steel refrigerator, and microwave with stove combo. She smiled, thinking how the newer appliances matched the original tin ceiling. As evidenced by the dish drainer on the counter, they hadn’t installed an automatic dishwasher. She liked how they’d used a tablecloth and someone had put a small vase of fresh flowers at the center. Everything felt homey at the clinic and it seemed filled with goodwill.

Two of the nurses strolled in, followed by the receptionist, and Claire got introduced. She liked how there didn’t seem to be an invisible barrier between the doctors and nurses. They all seemed to greet each other and interact casually as they filled their coffee cups and nibbled on muffins, as though one big happy work family.

Claire was thrilled to be a part of it.

One person was conspicuously missing, though. Jason Rogers was nowhere in sight, and no one but her seemed to make note of it.

After breakfast, Claire went upstairs to prepare for her first patients. Gaby, the receptionist, had booked all the last minute add-ons who were willing to see the newest addition to the clinic, with her. Rather than make the patients wait for an appointment with their assigned doctor on another day, as they used to, this default system gave the clientele a sense of easy access to medical care. Down the hall, she noticed Jason’s door ajar, but didn’t dare walk over to say hi. He’d made it clear he wasn’t the sociable type, and being a quick study, Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to change him.

She sat behind her sturdy oak desk, adjusted her hips into the comfy leather-bound chair, and marveled at how her life had changed. A year ago her husband, Charles, had divorced her, and immediately had taken up with another woman who’d wanted little to do with children. Charles couldn’t accept that he’d married a woman with a chronic illness and after her diagnosis, as the months clicked by, he’d grown more and more distant. Other than occasional weekend visits, poor Gina had been left on the sidelines of her father’s new marriage.

Charles had let Claire know, in no uncertain terms, that he couldn’t put up with her having Lupus. She’d been the same woman he’d met, fell in love with, and married, with the addition of a new diagnosis, but he couldn’t understand that. She’d become imperfect to him, and he couldn’t accept it. He’d made her feel guilty for getting sick, and ugly, when he’d look at her with disdain when her Lupus rash flared.

He was a successful businessman who insisted on a healthy partner to join him on adventures and extensive travel, and the once-loving man had shut down and turned away. Just like that. As if it was all her fault.

The pre-nuptial agreement left Claire with nothing beyond modest alimony and monthly child support payments. She knew Charles would come through in an emergency, but refused to depend on him for anything else. His not accepting her chronic illness had shattered her trust in both love and men, and she’d vowed to move on with her life—alone.

She’d recently had a stretch of good health and, with the new job, good fortune. As far as she was concerned, her past was just that. Over. And, with time, she hoped to get over the emotional damage, too.

Claire stood and moved to the window. She lifted the sash to allow fresh air inside and, gazing across rooftops, trees, and eventually toward the huge blue sea, she couldn’t help thinking that her luck had finally turned.

By early afternoon, Claire had seen a dozen patients and was getting into the routine of the clinic’s patient flow. Twenty-minute appointments were generous compared with the hospital where she used to be affiliated, which allowed only half that.

She read her next patient’s records on her computer, and heard footsteps down the hall, then a looming shadow covered her desk and Jason appeared. His mouth was in a straight line, and his eyes squinted tensely. He looked perturbed, to put it mildly.

“A back rub? That’s what you recommended to Ruth Crandall to add to her medical regimen?” he asked.

Claire had seen so many patients already, she had to stop and think who he’d referred to. The woman battling depression.

“Well, I noticed she’d had her antidepressant increased at her last visit and her general complaints were unchanged. I thought we’d try something different.”

“A massage?” He lifted a brow and handed the phone message toward her.

Claire read. Mrs. Crandall had called to tell him, after her visit that morning, what a great idea it had been to add daily massages to her routine, and how much she’d enjoyed meeting the new Nurse Practitioner. Under usual circumstances, a message such as this would be considered high praise, worthy of a pat on the back or handshake for a job well done. Evidently Jason Rogers didn’t see it that way. His irritated attitude put her on defensive.

“Daily massages are invaluable for depression,” she said. “They help relieve the aches and pains, and increase the release of endorphins for a sense of heightened well-being. There is healing power with touch.”

“Is that so?”

Claire stood. “It’s a perfectly good alternative to increased drug therapy. Wouldn’t you agree that it isn’t all about ‘find and fix’ anymore in medicine?” She waited for a response, but he just stood there with a steely glare. “Sometimes medical professionals need to integrate all avenues of health care for best results.”

“You may have a point, but I’ve never once considered a massage as health care.” He paced toward her framed credentials hanging on the wall. “Next you’ll be prescribing aromatherapy, I presume.”

She made a sly smile, and he caught her. “Maybe I will.” Their eyes met for the briefest of moments, and paused. He’d obviously come to reprimand her, but nothing in this lingering gaze could prove it. He investigated her face and she felt suddenly self-conscious. She fought off the urge to pat her hair, wondered if her lipstick had smeared. “I’ve studied alternative medicine, and I believe there is much to be said for balancing the systems. After interviewing Mrs. Crandall, I identified her as a specific constitutional type who would benefit from massage.” And, speaking of constitutional types, you’d be classified as uptight!

“She lost her husband last year,” he said. “She’s grieving and depressed. My job is to get her through this rough patch with the medicine available and a grief support group, not to send her to a spa to waste her money for a superficial beauty treatment.” He leaned his knuckles on her desk and stared deeper into her eyes.

Claire refused to back away. “The power of touch is hugely beneficial for depression,” she said, staring back. “Have you ever tried it?” His left eye twitched. “I didn’t tell Mrs. Crandall to stop the medications you’ve prescribed.”

Jason eased back, no longer on the attack. “This isn’t how we practice medicine here, Ms. Albright.”

“You told her to get exercise. What’s the difference if I suggest massage? And the only complaint I see in this phone message—” she waved the message in the air “—is your interpretation of it. I’d say she was thoroughly happy about her visit today.”

“That’s not the point,” he said.

He seemed a bit unsure and she couldn’t help playing with him. “So one of our goals isn’t to make our patients happier?”

He tossed her an exasperated glance. “Just do me a favor and consult me first, Ms. Albright.”

She had the urge to say Aye-aye, Cap ‘n but noticed his glare had softened, and the tension around his eyes had disappeared. He really wasn’t comfortable interacting with people. Or was it just with her? Wanting desperately to make amends for any hard feelings, Claire smiled. “OK. But would you do me a favor and call me Claire?”

He glanced at her one last time, nodded in a stiff business fashion, and left the room.

Claire sat down and tossed her pen on the desk. She hadn’t given the woman a list of herbs to run out and buy, or asked her to ignore her medicine. She’d merely suggested that daily massage might help her through her depression. And the patient had been very receptive to the idea, enough to send a complimentary message about her add-on appointment to her regular doctor.

Why did Jason Rogers have to be such a wet rag about it?

She ran her hands through her hair and thought about the man who’d left her completely confused. She didn’t know his history, but would bet her first pay check that something awful had happened to him. Maybe he was one of those people who felt entitled to happiness and things hadn’t panned out, so he’d turned bitter. Whatever the reason, on a whim, she decided to go out of her way to be nice to him. Just to bug him.

When her first day at the clinic was over, Claire gathered her belongings, and prepared to leave. In the future, she’d be careful when counseling Dr. Rogers’s patients. One nasty run-in with him was enough.

Her eyes got big with the thought. She hoped Jenny Whatley, the university student, didn’t tell Dr. Rogers about what she’d suggested for her daily eyestrain headaches.

Not one second later, as she shut down her computer, Jason came barreling into her office.

Claire set her jaw and straightened her spine.

“What the hell is natrum muriaticum, and why did you suggest it to my patient?”

“You’ve been reading my patient progress notes, I see.” She tamped down her brewing anger over the fact he’d been checking up on her, and walked around her desk. She dared to look into his eyes and received a cold dull stare as her reward. This was nothing like the more reasonable man from earlier today. “It is commonly known as table salt and salt tablets are best used for chronic ailments.”

“Such as…”

“Such as daily headaches from eyestrain and tension. Jenny Whatley has been complaining to you about her headaches for over a year. She has all the classic traits of someone out of balance. Her complexion is pale and waxy. She looks emaciated and has cracks at the corners of her mouth. She’s anxious, irritable and stressed out. And she gets throbbing headaches everyday at the exact same time.”

“For which I have checked every possible condition and come up without a reason,” he said.

Oh, the old take two aspirin and call me in the morning approach, I see. She couldn’t help the snide thought. Jason Rogers seemed to draw the worst out of her. “But you haven’t solved her problem.”

“She has tension headaches. What does table salt have to do with any of that?” he said.

“It can regulate and balance the body fluids.”

He gave her an incredulous look.

In defense, she glared back. “I made sure she doesn’t have any counter indications for taking these tablets. Her labs checked out and so did the physical exam. We agreed she’d try them for a month. And she’ll call immediately if there are any adverse reactions, which I went over thoroughly with her, and which I predict won’t happen.”

“You don’t belong in this clinic. We are a reputable medical clinic, not some hocus-pocus guesswork group. If you want to prescribe table salt to patients, then set up a stand at your local health food store.”

Stung by his insult, she crossed her arms. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

René appeared at the doorway. “Is there a problem?”

“She’s a quack,” he said.

“And he’s a closed-minded medical robot!”