A Hunka Hunka Nursing Love (Women's Fiction) (6 page)

Chapter 6

Valerie opened her eyes and blinked a few times. Everything appeared gauzy, as if she were looking through a veil.

The lower half of her left leg felt weird. She could see it was bandaged, covered with a bag of ice, and lying on a couple of pillows. She heard Pam talking to some guy who sounded authoritative.

Valerie’s throat felt as dry as one of her mother’s pork chops. “Thirsty.” No one responded. “Thirsty,” she said louder.

“She’s waking up.” Pam appeared on the right side of the bed, holding a Styrofoam cup with a straw sticking out of the lid like a periscope. Valerie closed her lips around the end of the straw and took a long sip.

“How are you feeling?” Pam asked.

“What happened?” Valerie noted how scratchy her voice sounded as she turned to the man on the other side of the bed. “Who . . .?”

“You fell off a ladder.” Pam’s voice had that serious tone that usually meant bad news. “This is Dr. Villanti.”

“You’re in the hospital, Ms. Palka.” Dr. Villanti was tall and thin with eyebrows that resembled fuzzy brown caterpillars. “You fractured your left distal tibia.”

Was he speaking Italian? “My what?”

“It’s the lower portion of the leg that extends into the ankle,” he said.

Ah, yes. She did have some pain down there. “I feel so spacey.”

“That’s because we have you on morphine. You had a unilateral Pilon fracture, which required surgery. Dr. Romack, who was the orthopaedic surgeon on call, had to insert a plate and screws to repair the fracture. Are you following me so far?”

“I think so.” Valerie lifted her head and surveyed the bandaged leg. “That doesn’t look like a cast.”

“It’s not,” the doctor said. “There’s a dressing over the incision, then you have fiberglass splints with a bandage wrapped around all that. In a couple of weeks they’ll remove your surgical staples, and then you’ll have a cast for about four weeks. So you’ll be on crutches for at least six weeks.”

Valerie didn’t like how this conversation was progressing. “What’s the good news?”

Dr. Villanti smiled. “You didn’t break your neck.”

“Great. Am I going to be billed for the standup routine, too?”

His smile got bigger. “That’s on the house. But seriously, you should be out of here in a couple of days. We’ll get you started on physical therapy tomorrow, and you’ll need to continue that at home.”

“When can I go back to work?”

“We recommend bed rest for two weeks, to give the bone a better chance to heal. You’ll also need to have a visiting nurse come in to monitor your progress, in addition to a physical therapist.”

Valerie snorted. “I certainly know where to find those.”

“She owns a home health care agency,” Pam explained.

“Is that so? Which one?”

“Home Health Hunks,” Valerie said.

Recognition spread across his face, and he exhaled a long, drawn-out, “Oh.” The corners of his mouth rose with amusement. “That certainly is a unique—” His pager buzzed. “Excuse me, ladies. They need me in the ER.” He scooted out the door.

“So what was I doing on a ladder?” Valerie asked.

“We were wondering the same thing. Cleaning out gutters maybe?”

Valerie shook her head. “No . . .” Gutters brought back some kind of memory, though. The roof . . . “Sylvester! He was stranded on the roof, and I was trying to get him down. Is he okay?”

Pam shrugged. “No one mentioned a cat. Your mom called me after the emergency people called her. I picked her up and brought her here, and she stayed until about an hour ago.”

“What time is it?”

Pam checked her watch. “Eight forty-five.”

“Is it still Saturday?”

“Yeah.”

“I kind of hate to ask you this, but could you go look for Sylvester? I accidentally left him out all night, and he’s probably really freaked out by now.”

“Sure. One of us should probably call your mom, too. She’s very worried about you.”

“I’ll call her.”

“Okay.” Pam grabbed her purse. “Oh, before I go, I wanted to tell you we just hired an RN who’s also a physical therapist, so he’ll be perfect for you.”

“Oh. Great. Is he . . .?”

“Hot?” Pam grinned. “With a capital H.”

Valerie had been home for less than twenty-four hours and already she felt like a lame tiger itching for a hunt. The thought of being stuck in bed for at least two more weeks made her want to gnaw on a bone, so she outfitted her sick room with every communication device she had: laptop, tablet, BlackBerry, personal cell phone—she even had her office snail mail forwarded to her home. The only thing she hated more than being out of commission was being out of the loop.

Also, as she’d discovered while in the hospital, too much idle time led to far too many thoughts about Greg. She needed to move on. But where was a forty-four-year-old workaholic who ran child-care centers and a home health business for old ladies going to meet eligible, age-appropriate bachelors? Her odds of success would make even a Vegas high roller pick up his dice and go home.

Sylvester sat at the opposite corner of the bed, leisurely bathing himself. He had survived the ladder accident with nary a chipped claw. The doorbell rang, stopping him in mid lick with his pink tongue sticking out and his ears perked up.

Who could
— Oh yeah, the visiting nurse. “Damn.” This whole healing business struck her as such a time waster. She grabbed her crutches and hobbled to the front door. What had Pam said about this guy? Absolutely nothing came to mind.

She opened the door, and for the first time since the accident, she got a jolt of optimism. He couldn’t have been more ideal, the epitome of masculine compassion, the very man who had inspired her to start Triple-H.

“Keith!”

“Ms. Palka?” He squinted as if trying to place her. “Have we met?”

“Yes, call me Valerie. Come on in.” Never in her life had she been sorrier she hadn’t put on some makeup. “You probably don’t remember me, but I met you at Mercy Hospital back in January. My mother was there with a sprained ankle.”

“Oh.” He nodded as he closed the door behind him. “I thought you looked familiar.”

And he looked scrumptious. His hazelnut hair was more sun-kissed than it had been in January. If only she could have washed her own hair! “So you’re my visiting nurse?”

“And your physical therapist.” He shifted a large canvas briefcase from his right shoulder to his left.

“Oh, yes, that’s right! We certainly were lucky to find you.”
And wouldn’t it be nice to
get
lucky with you?
Keep it professional, Valerie
.

“Actually, I just got my PT degree in May.”

“Ah, I see. Well, I’ve got all my office communications set up in my ‘sick room,’ so we should probably work in there.”

“Wherever you’re comfortable.”

She tottered back to her room, and he helped her get re-situated on the bed. As he placed his bag on the chair in the corner, she admired the way his white Triple-H polo shirt complemented his tan. But the cologne he wore was too heavy for her taste. Maybe she should tell him some of the clients were allergic.

He removed a laptop computer from the bag and asked if he could put it on the dresser.

“Sure.” Polite to a fault. She liked it, not to mention the way his khaki pants fit him.
Enough with the lewd thoughts!
On the other hand, after what she’d been through the past few days, didn’t she deserve a visual treat from her own candy jar? “How long have you been with Triple-H?”

“Today’s my first day.” He took a thermometer out of his bag.

“Seriously? Oh, wow. As if the stress of a new job wasn’t enough, you got stuck with the owner of the company as your first patient.”

A tranquil smile curved his lips as he put the thermometer in her mouth. “That thought did cross my mind.”

He took more equipment out of his bag until the thermometer beeped. He removed it from her mouth. “Looks like I haven’t killed you yet.” Another smile, broader. Charming! “Let’s check the circulation in your leg next.”

When was the last time she’d shaved? Oh, well. Too late now.

He bent over and inspected the front of her foot. “Can you wiggle your toes for me? Good. Everything feel normal?”

“Well, except for the two big splints on my leg, yes.”

“Focus on the bright side. If you were up shit crick without a paddle, those splints would come in quite handy.”

Did she hear him right?

He waited just long enough before grinning.

A puff of laughter escaped from her mouth. She took no offense. On the contrary, she admired the guts it took to make a sassy comment like that. But how would the elderly clients react?

As if reading her thoughts, he said, “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t use any profanity in front of the older ladies.”

“That’s probably wise. And thanks for not lumping me in with ‘the older ladies.’”

Now
he
laughed. “Why would I do that?”

He sounded so sincere, she wanted to give him a big fat bonus. “You’re definitely scoring points.”

He crossed his arms and his expression sobered. “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to suck up. That’s definitely not my style.”

Okay, it was high time this guy said something she
didn’t
like, not to mention the way his use of the word “suck” made her genitals pulsate. “Oh, I didn’t think that. It’s just that, well . . .” She chuckled self-consciously. “I’m only about five years from qualifying for AARP.”

“So you’re in your mid-forties? That hardly makes you elderly. One of the nurses at the hospital turned fifty this year, and she said fifty is the new thirty.”

“So I’ve heard. But how many thirty-year-old women would fall off a roof and break their leg?”

“How many forty-five-year-old women have the nerve to go up on a roof in the first place?”

“Forty-four,” she corrected him. “But see where it landed me?”

“That’s where I come in. I’ll have you dancing on roofs in no time.”

“I think you have me confused with a reindeer.”

He smiled. “Let’s get going with your exercises.” He walked over to his laptop and brought up a diagram. “I talked to the PT you had at the hospital, so we’ll continue with what you were doing there and then add some exercises as you gain strength.”

He started her off with some ankle pumps to prevent blood clots in the injured leg. Valerie didn’t mind the exercises, just the monotony of the repetitions.

“So why did you decide to go into nursing?” she asked.

His aquamarine eyes made contact with hers, and she suspected he was gauging whether she was actually interested or just making conversation. “I originally wanted to be a doctor.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. When I was growing up, my little sister, Kim, had brain cancer and I wanted to save her. So I decided to go into medicine.” He pointed at her leg. “Keep the foot just over the side of the bed.”

She moved as instructed. “So what made you decide against . . .?”

“Becoming a doctor?” He chortled. “I didn’t want to be a slave to my career.”

Uh-oh. Dangerous territory. “Whatever happened to Kim?”

His smile vanished. “She didn’t make it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking such personal questions.”

“No problem. She was a wonderful kid. I like remembering her. Okay, that’s enough of those.” He went back to consult his laptop, then started her on the next exercise.

Valerie couldn’t resist the urge to chat.
Just keep it professional
. “So why did you decide to get a physical therapy degree?”

“PTs generally earn more than RNs. And the working conditions are better.” He made an upward gesture with his hand. “Try to lift your leg a little higher.”

She wailed. “If I lift it any higher, I’ll be a freakin’ Rockette!”

“That’s the attitude! You’ll be the first-ever Rockette on crutches.”

“Crutches make good weapons, you know.”

He smirked. “Yes, boss.”

“All these repetitions must get awfully boring for you, too. Don’t you think you’ll miss the excitement of working in an ER?”

He shook his head. “It wears on you. I was in the ER for eleven years, and that’s long enough. It’s a younger person’s game.”

“And
you’re
not young?”

He seemed slightly offended. “I’m thirty-three.”

What a switch. How many women brag about getting older? Not that he was old. “Okay, so you’re officially
almost
middle-aged.”

He signaled for her to stop. “All right, that’s enough of those. Now we’ll work on tightening your quadriceps.”

She glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty in the morning and she already wanted a nap.

As he reminded her how to do the exercise, she noticed how long and slender his fingers were. He barely touched her leg, but each time he did, a tinge of excitement shot through her. How little it took for her these days.

“You’re doing great,” he said. “You’ve got good quads. Do you run?”

She thanked God her cellulite wasn’t so noticeable when she was lying down. “I try to. Couple times a week. Or at least I used to.”

“Well, your running days aren’t over. You’ll have to ease back into it, of course. But I can help you with that, if you want a coach.”