Читать книгу Hot Doc From Her Past - Tina Beckett, Tina Beckett - Страница 11

HE WAS WATCHING HER.

Tessa had caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye as she continued to section the diseased skin tissue, teasing it away from healthy cells. The Mohs surgery had been put off for three days due to a cold her patient had developed.

How had Clay found out when she would be operating? Maybe Brian Perry, her attending cutaneous oncologist, had clued him in. But why would he have done that? Clay was an orthopedic surgeon, a whole different realm than cutaneous surgery.

She had already marked the surgical site before proceeding and when she lifted the thin layer of tissue and placed it onto a glass slide, she made sure to match the marks so they would know where to continue cutting if the margins weren’t completely clear. Brian glanced down at the site and nodded to the lab assistant. “Once you’re ready, let us know.”

They would section the tissue sample and stain it, looking for areas that still contained cancer cells. Either Tessa or Brian would then remove more tissue just at the specific location. That way they conserved as much healthy tissue as possible.

“How are you doing, Mandy?” Her patient was lying on her stomach with her head to one side, but was wide-awake. Mohs surgery was generally done under a local anesthetic. The only hard part was that there was quite a bit of waiting involved if the tumor had roots that went deeper than expected.

“I’m okay. How’s it coming?”

“We’ll know in a few minutes.”

The buzzer at her waistband went off, as did Brian’s. The lab was ready for them to view the slide.

Tessa was glad to get out from beneath Clay’s stare. She still had no idea why he was there.

The results under the microscope showed that there was still one area that contained tumor cells. Brian marked the graph they’d been charting to match what they saw on the slide.

After shaving off two more layers of skin in that area, they finally got the results they were looking for: clear margins. This wasn’t melanoma but a squamous cell tumor on the patient’s lower left back. While not as dangerous as the type of cancer that had killed Tessa’s mom, it could still grow out of control, dividing and penetrating to other organ systems if not caught in time. Fortunately this patient had a known history of skin cancer and had screened herself on a regular basis.

Sucking down a breath, she peered again at her patient as they got ready to close the surgical site. In a calm voice she explained what they’d done and what to expect, thankful they wouldn’t need to do a skin graft. Even as she hoped Clay had gotten bored and left, he probably hadn’t. She was still stumped as to his presence. Didn’t he have his own patients to attend to?

Maybe he wanted to discuss something with her. Lord, she hoped not. The last thing she needed after the day she’d had was to do a dissection of a different kind. Especially if it involved their shared past. It had been over four years. There was nothing left to dissect.

“Looks good, Tessa. I think you got everything. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” The praise should have elated her but she was still on edge over Clay’s appearance.

As if hearing her thoughts, Brian glanced up at the window, evidently noticing what she had a half hour earlier. “Looks like you had an audience.”

What did she say to that? I know? Or act as if she had no idea who it was.

She chose a different route. “Wonder why.”

“Not sure. If you feel up to finishing on your own, I’ll go see if I can help him with something. Maybe he has a surgery in here afterward and is scoping out the room. He’s new.” He paused. “I think you’re well on your way to a fellowship in Mohs, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Just beneath the hum of excitement that went through her at the other man’s words lurked a trill of annoyance. This should have been a moment of triumph for her. She was so close to finishing up her residency. And now a dark specter of the past had to sweep in and ruin it.

Forget it. You did the surgery. Without any assistance or input, for the very first time. That should be all she was thinking about right now.

But it wasn’t. And as Brian headed out the door she bit her lip.

She wasn’t thrilled about her attending going up to chitchat with her ex, but it wasn’t as if she could say anything in a roomful of other medical staff. So she just gritted her teeth and hoped she’d be able to get through the final part of the surgery.

And she should be proud. Clay had seen she could do this on her own. Just as she’d promised herself. She refrained from glancing up and making sure he actually had seen her finish. But just barely.

She asked for the suture material, and the surgical nurse handed her the pre-threaded needle. Closing the deeper layers first, she worked her way back up to the surface tissue, stopping from time to time to make sure her patient was doing okay. Fifteen minutes later she was done. Brian hadn’t come back, and she couldn’t bring herself to sneak a peek at the observation room. Instead, she settled for putting the final piece of tape on the gauze and talking to her patient, giving her care instructions and telling her to come back and see Dr. Perry in a week to have her stitches removed. Then she squeezed her shoulder and said her goodbyes.

Pulling off her surgical loupes and then stripping off her gown and gloves, she dropped everything into the appropriate bins. As if pulled on a string, her head went up, eyes seeking the space above her. It was empty. Clay wasn’t there, and neither was Brian. Disappointment sloshed through her, followed by relief. The relief was what she chose to focus on. Maybe Clay really did need to see her attending for something. Which meant he hadn’t been there because of her. None of that mattered. What mattered was that she could relax.

She pushed through the door to leave the operating room and pulled the clip from her hair so she could redo it. Except the person who’d been in the suite above her was now just outside the door. Quickly finger-combing her hair and cramming the mass back into the clip, she tried to look nonchalant, although her heart was thumping out a nonsensical rhythm in her chest.

“Where’s Brian?”

Stupid question. But it was the only thing she could think of to say at the moment.

“He said he had another patient and left me here to wait for you.”

Why would he be waiting for her instead of her attending?

“Any specific reason?”

He turned to face her, propping his shoulder against the wall. His face bore no trace of the sardonic amusement she’d come to expect from him. Instead, it was deadly serious. “I talked to my mom last night.”

At that, Tessa tensed. She and Clay’s parents had maintained a cordial relationship over the years—and despite how uncomfortable it made her feel that they’d shelled out so much money for her education, she was grateful to them. Even after she and Clay had broken up, she’d still had some contact with them. That was until her mom died. She’d barely been able to hold herself together during that time, much less carry on a coherent conversation with anyone outside work. “Oh?”

His eyes searched her face. “I didn’t know your mother passed away, Tessa.”

Oh, no. Don’t do this. Not right now. Not here. Especially since the anniversary of her death had just barely passed.

A sudden rush of moisture coated her lower lids, forcing her to blink several times to hold the flow at bay. “Yes, she did.” Licking her lips, she tried to get away. “I have a couple more patients to see, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Before she could move past him, though, he reached out and encircled her wrist, his fingers warm and solid against her icy skin. “I’m sorry, Tess. I had no idea. Is that why you changed your specialty?” He nodded toward the double doors of the operating room.

She decided to cut past all the chatter. “Is it why I went into dermatologic surgery? Yes. I suppose your mom also told you what she died of.”

“She did.” He let go of her hand and cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb beneath her left eyelid. The compassion in his gaze was so different from the blasé attitude he’d shown in front of his poster in the lobby. Then he’d been all cocky with his confident swagger and veiled references to their past.

Tessa felt a telling hint of moisture beneath his fingertip and gave an inward curse. She hadn’t quite banished the tears after all.

Taking a step back, she attempted to break free of his touch. “I decided that the best way to serve her memory was to try to help others like her.” She stiffened her spine just a bit. “Is that why you were watching me? Because of your mom?”

“You noticed me.” One brow went up.

The swagger was back.

Her lips curved despite herself. There was something about this man that did a number on her even after all these years. Did he really think she would miss seeing him there? “It was kind of hard to avoid seeing you, since you were almost directly in front of me.”

Well, not quite. He’d been off to the side, but she’d gotten used to scanning that observation room, which was used quite a bit by both senior doctors and residents in different stages of their work. So, yeah. She’d spotted him almost right away.

“It seemed the best place to find you. You float around this hospital like a ghost.”

A ghost? That was one way of putting it. A ghost on a mission was more like it. She’d caught sight of Clay twice on her floor yesterday and had ducked into a patient’s room to avoid being seen by him.

Really mature, Tessa.

“Hospitals keep their residents pretty busy. I’m sure you know that from experience.” The doors opened and her patient was wheeled out by one of the male nurses. That old wheeling-patients-out-of-the-hospital-instead-of-letting-them-walk-out-on-their-own-two-feet rule was still alive and well. This was the perfect opportunity to escape. “I need to go.”

“I’ll walk with you. Wouldn’t want you disappearing on me again.”

What?

“Was there something else you wanted to discuss?” Other than her personal life, that was. She didn’t say it, though, since she wasn’t anxious for anyone to know that she and Clay knew each other in any way other than as a pair of colleagues… casual acquaintances. She let the wheelchair move a few more yards ahead before turning to follow it.

Clay fell into step beside her. “Yes. Actually, there is.”

Clay wasn’t sure why he’d gone to the observation room. Maybe out of a sense of nostalgia or morbid curiosity. Or it could be that after his mother told him about Gloria’s death from melanoma, something inside him had needed to tell her he was sorry. Despite all of the ugly stuff that had happened between them at the end of their relationship, he’d never wanted anything bad to happen to her or her family.

Why hadn’t his mom said anything earlier? Probably because he’d cut her off anytime she’d mentioned Tessa’s name. His parents had never known how angry he’d been that she’d thrown his graduation gift back in his face—because he’d never told them. Still, they’d quickly learned she was a touchy subject, one best avoided altogether. The only reason they’d found out that Tessa was at West Manhattan Saints was because of Molly—who’d mentioned the pretty lady that had sat with them at breakfast.

They’d been all ears, probably thinking he was dating again.

Hardly. He was done with marriage, with dating… with women in general.

Then Tessa’s name had come up. And the news of Gloria’s death had been the first thing out of his mother’s mouth.

Regret for all he’d said and done streamed through him. It had grown until the weight of needing to offer his condolences had gotten too heavy. Which was why he was here.

Except as soon as he’d gotten the words out of his mouth he’d felt the need to counter them with a flip comeback seconds later. Why? And why was it only Tessa who brought out that side of him? He didn’t do the back-and-forth banter stuff with Lizza—he never had. In fact, he avoided speaking with her as much as possible nowadays.

Tessa was waiting for him to tell her what that other subject he wanted to discuss was. “Remember I asked you about the studio?”

“Studio?” The way she said it, with studied indifference, told him she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Your capoeira studio. I’ve been thinking about it, and I think Molly might really like to watch one of the training sessions. And if they’re practicing for an exhibition, it’s the perfect opportunity.”

She turned to glance at him, her puzzlement obvious. “You know where it is. It hasn’t moved. So why ask me?”

“I wanted to see if you knew when they were practicing. Marcos—if he’s still there—probably wouldn’t even remember me.”

And that was the only reason you wanted to see her, right?

“He’ll remember you.”

Something about the way she said it made him slow down just a bit. Tessa, probably not even realizing she was doing it, slowed her pace, as well.

It had been over four years. Surely the studio had had lots of people come and go in that period of time.

“How do you know he will?”

Her glance skittered away. “He may have mentioned you once or twice.”

Ah, yes. Clay could see how that might have been awkward for her: explaining why they’d broken off their relationship and why he would no longer be training at the studio.

He could have kept going—he liked the sport. But he’d been so angry at Tessa back then, he hadn’t wanted any reminders. Besides, he’d been intent on making a clean break. Seeing her every week at the studio wasn’t exactly the best way to do that.

“And I’m sure you gave him nothing but glowing reports.”

This time, Tessa stopped completely, an odd look coming over her face. “I never said anything bad about you, Clay.” She seemed to hesitate, then continued. “Why don’t you let me call him, and I’ll get back in touch about a time.”

Okay, so she’d just gone from basically telling him to get in contact with them himself to offering to do it for him. What gives?

He decided to press a little harder. “Any particular reason you want to do it?”

She shrugged. “I speak the language. It might be easier for me to explain things.”

Somehow he doubted that was it at all. She just wanted to be in control of how much information the school’s owner had. It certainly wasn’t because of Marcos’s English skills, since he spoke it perfectly, although he still had a Brazilian accent. As did Tessa. Just a smidgen… when she got angry or emotional. Clay could still remember some pretty heady times as they’d made love. In the heat of the moment, when she’d been squirming with need, she’d gritted out something in Portuguese. And, man, had it done a number on his control, breaking it into tiny pieces.

The accent had also been there when she’d cut things off between them, the anger and pain in her eyes unmistakable, although he still had no idea what he’d done that had been so terrible. It had only been a bracelet. Lizza would have taken it and run. Except that had all changed after their divorce.

Women.

But now wasn’t the time to go into any of that. And going to the studio was probably a bad idea. A really bad idea judging from Tessa’s wary expression. But he admired the athleticism of capoeira and wanted Molly to experience what he had the first time he’d seen it. Especially since she was going through a phase where she was giving karate chops to everything in sight, including him. He wanted her to see what a real martial art looked like. And to understand that it wasn’t about “chopping” people or breaking boards, but about discipline and self-control.

Maybe his daughter could even take lessons, although he had no idea what ages they accepted.

And maybe Clay could even start training again himself. He could use something to help him stay in shape. He could go when Tessa wasn’t there. They could still keep their lives completely separate—he’d learned a thing or two from Lizza’s insistence on maintaining a his and hers division of households.

His and Tessa’s circles never needed to intersect.

Okay, then. He’d done what he’d come to do. Offer his condolences. Now it was time to get the hell out.

He took his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “Give me a call when you know something.”

Tessa hesitated, and for a moment Clay wondered if she was going to refuse to take it. Then she reached out and plucked it from his fingers, careful not to touch him. At least that’s the way Clay perceived it. So he did something about it. He caught her hand, the card trapped between them. He felt her muscles jerk and then relax. “Give my best to your dad, okay?”

“I will. Thanks.” Then she tugged free and spun away from him, striding after her patient, who was now long gone. Leaving Clay wondering what the hell he’d been thinking for going after her… for touching her. Because she wasn’t the only one who’d reacted. His hand had wanted to linger, his fingers itching to stroke over her palm the way he used to when they were together.

He knew far too well why he’d done it. It had irked him to see her attending standing so close to her while she’d been doing that surgery. And how, when the man had touched her sleeve, she hadn’t flinched away from him, as she did with him.

He hadn’t liked the way it made him feel. Had felt the need to see if she still responded to his touch the way he remembered. She’d responded, all right. He just couldn’t tell if she’d been repelled by the warm slide of flesh against flesh or if she’d been bothered in a completely different way.

He could only hope her reaction had been no less disturbing than his had been—a kind of knee-jerk muscle memory that happened without conscious thought. He’d been stunned the first time it happened. And the second.

He needed to somehow erase that memory and everything that went with it. Because if he couldn’t, he was in big, big trouble.

The first thing to do was make sure he didn’t touch her again.

No matter what.

Tessa plopped onto one of the dark dining room chairs in the brownstone house where she lived and put her head down on her arms. Caren Riggs was already home, standing in the kitchen rolling and cutting what looked to be square noodles on the marble island in the center of the space. Right now, though, Tessa was too wrung out to care, even though whatever Caren was cooking smelled divine.

Interacting with Clay was turning out to be even harder than she’d expected. Because when he touched her she quaked. And felt wistful about long-gone days.

She didn’t want to yearn for him. That was a million times worse, in her opinion, than simply lusting after that scrumptious bod. Because lust she could explain away—after all, Clay was a hunk of the first order, a vital man who dominated whatever space he happened to stroll past. Even Brian, who was a little older than Clay and just as attractive, with a touch of gray in his sandy-brown hair, didn’t make her insides squirm and twist the way her ex did.

And that was bad. Very bad. Because she didn’t want to have any kind of reaction at all to him. She was afraid she’d learn something she didn’t want to know. That she’d never quite gotten over him.

Sure you did. You broke up with him.

No. She’d broken it off because she’d known they weren’t going to be good for each other and had gotten out while the getting was good. That didn’t mean it hadn’t been painful or that it hadn’t ripped her heart from her chest to contemplate never seeing him again.

A few minutes passed as she sat there, and then the table beneath her cheek shifted a bit. Caren had evidently come over and set something down.

“Hey,” the other woman said. “You look tired.”

“Am.” The mumbled word was all she could manage.

“Then eat something. I made chicken and dumplings—classic comfort food. Besides, I have something I need to talk to you about.”

Oh, no. This was the second time today someone had used those words.

Tessa looked up to find her friend sitting across from her, and, yes, there was now a shallow, wide-rimmed bowl sitting in front of her. A second bowl sat in front of Caren. The concoction smelled even more heavenly this close to her nose. “What’s the occasion?”

“Not really an occasion. I may just not get any Southern cooking for a while, so I thought I’d make some now while I still can.”

Caren wasn’t from New York, and Tessa found her slow drawl soothing somehow. Even now it seemed to drift through her soul, pushing back the tide of confusion and grief that had gripped her ever since her surprise encounter with Clay in the hospital lobby.

She tilted her head, accepting the spoon the other woman handed across to her. The brownstone, owned by Holly and her family, was decorated in classic dark woods and rich upholstery. It reminded her of what she might find in Clay’s parents’ home. Wealthy, understated. But for some reason this place didn’t make her cringe the way it might have had she not been paying her own way.

“Why wouldn’t you get Southern cooking for a while?” She stirred the mixture in her bowl to help cool it.

“That’s the thing. I was going to talk to you, Holly and Sam after you all got home. But when you came in first, I thought I’d sound you out about it.” Caren paused and eyed her for a second. “Is everything okay?”

“Peachy.” She cut into one of the dumplings and blew on it for a second before sliding it into her mouth. Her tastebuds perked right up, a low groan sounding from her throat. She’d never tried honest-to-goodness Southern cuisine before meeting Caren, but she was rapidly becoming addicted. Swallowing it, she smiled. “This stuff is awesome.”

“Told you you’d like it. Aren’t you glad I forced you to try homemade dumplings after you moved in?”

“I hate to admit it but yes. I’ve only had the fluffy biscuit kind. These are so good.” She waited until Caren had eaten a couple of bites before continuing. “So what’s going on?”

Setting her spoon down in her bowl, her friend propped her elbows on the table. “I’m thinking of going on a medical mission.”

“What?” Caren had never mentioned leaving the hospital or the brownstone. “Where to?”

“Africa. Cameroon, actually. I just got the go-ahead to start packing.”

“Wow, that was fast. What about your fellowship, are you just going to let it go? And what about your unit?”

The house had been divided into four separate units with a shared kitchen, living room and dining room. Over the course of their residency the four roomies had become fast friends. Maybe because they were all young and single, but it was probably also because they shared a common goal of becoming doctors.

She’d just assumed things would stay the way they were for a while. To think of Caren no longer being here…

“That’s the thing. I have a cousin who is thinking of coming to West Manhattan Saints and applying for a fellowship.” Caren scooped up another bite of dumpling and waved it around for a minute. “She could sublet my unit. All my furniture would stay put. There would just be a new face to go along with it.”

A key scraped in the lock just before the front door was pushed open. Sam Napier appeared, carrying a couple of bags, which he switched to the other hand before closing the door again. He glanced at them. “Hi. Am I interrupting something?”

With his longish hair, lean build and the slightest hint of a Scottish accent, Sam could only be described as superhot, but he was also something of an enigma, quiet and intense, rarely sharing anything personal about himself. Maybe it was just a guy trait, but Tessa had a feeling there was more to it than that. Whatever it was, he was definitely the quietest of the housemates.

She shrugged. “You’re not. Caren was just… She glanced at the other woman, wondering if she wanted the medical mission thing kept a secret.

“I was just telling Tessa that I might be leaving for a while. My cousin Kimberlyn—who’s also on her way to becoming a doctor—would be able to move in and take over my share of the expenses, if that’s okay. I wanted to check with everyone first before giving her a definite answer.”

Sam came over to stand by the table. “I don’t have a problem with it. I guess it’s really up to Holly, though, since she and her folks own the place.”