Her Texas Rescue Doctor (3 page)

Chapter Three

“D
r. Gregory, we have a problem.”

Alex kept writing his notes on the patient in room three, but he nodded to his nurse to continue. Loretta had worked in the ER for so long that nothing shook her up. If Loretta was concerned, then Alex was concerned.

“Go ahead,” he said, as he signed his name for the twentieth time today and tossed the paper into the in-box on the nurse's station.

“They just roomed another patient in the overflow area.”

“That makes two. The overflow area holds eight.”

“I know, but the beds are only separated by curtains in overflow.” Loretta lowered her voice as if she were about to tell a secret. “Sophia Jackson is in one of those beds. We'd better do some rearranging. Her assistant is asking about HIPAA.”

HIPAA, or
hippah
, as everyone called it, governed medical privacy. The harridan of a personal assistant had arrived, and now she wanted to threaten his ER with privacy regulations, did she?

“You know that the curtained area is considered HIPAA compliant.”

“Yes, but Sophia Jackson is
famous
.”

Surely his best nurse didn't expect him to move a patient just to pander to someone famous. For the second time this shift, he felt as he had when he'd first come to America. The culture shock had been extreme. To survive the jungle that was the American high school, he'd quickly dumped his cycling stars and learned who the heroes of American football were. He'd killed all trace of his Russian accent. He'd worn blue jeans and Dallas Cowboy T-shirts, but all of that had been camouflage. Surface-level changes.

Deep down, he'd never quite caught that American mindset. To this day, he didn't understand the fascination with the famous. Of all the traits a person might have, fame was one of the most useless. In his old life, rank in the political hierarchy mattered. Wealth mattered, for money bought power, and both could assure safety. Smarts mattered—a smart man could be valuable to those who held rank. But fame? Fame didn't put bread in your belly when you were hiding from corrupt government officials. Fame didn't pay for passage on a rickety ship to a country that didn't want you.

“You know people will overhear you,” Loretta said.

“Then I'll try not to call out her full name too loudly as I ask for her autograph.”

“Be serious, Dr. Gregory.”

He was always serious, even when the sarcasm slipped out. Sophia Jackson was famous and frivolous and nothing more. She'd be in no danger if her name slipped out, but she didn't need to worry: Alex was not a man who let names slip. He could remember a time when his mother's life had depended on his ability to keep her name a secret.

He paused, mentally closing the door on unwelcome memories. “Every room is full because you've got only one doctor on duty, so let me get back to work. Sophia Jackson will survive with curtains instead of walls. I've already examined her, so there's nothing medical for anyone to overhear, anyway. If she doesn't want anyone to overhear her other types of complaints, then she can stop complaining.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Loretta, one more thing. When the soccer kid in room three goes for his X-ray, make sure he doesn't cross paths with Sophia Jackson. He's a big fan of one of her movies, and I don't—”

“You wouldn't want him to bother Miss Jackson.”

“Actually, I wouldn't want Miss Jackson to ruin his image of her.”

“Understood. By the way, her personal assistant is going to want to know how we'll keep her identity a secret while we roll her gurney down to radiology.”

“If Miss Jackson doesn't want to be seen, then perhaps her personal assistant would care to throw a blanket over her head.”

“I don't get paid enough to deliver that message.”

Alex sighed. “I'll talk to her assistant myself.”

* * *

Grace was very aware that a new patient had been placed on the other side of the curtain, a woman who'd barely answered the nurse's questions with more than a syllable. There was a man with her, too, who'd loudly done most of the talking. Now that the nurse had left them alone, he was keeping his voice to a vicious whisper, but Grace could still hear him.

She wished she couldn't.

“You already know what I'll do to you, bitch. You want to see what I'll do to your kids?”

Grace looked at Sophia in a panic, but she was lying on her bed, twisted away from her, typing madly away on the precious phone Grace had retrieved.

The unseen man on the other side of the curtain was obviously trying to be quiet, but he wasn't quiet enough for Grace's ears. “You tell the doctor you fell down the stairs. Say it. Now.”

“I f-fell down the stairs,” the woman said. “But we don't have stairs.”

“The effing doctor doesn't know that, you dumb-ass.”

Grace was paralyzed in her vinyl chair. She'd be horrified if this were a movie scene, but this was even worse. This was real life, and she was no Sophia Jackson heroine. Grace didn't know what to do.

“Say it again, like you mean it.”

“I fell down the stairs.”

“Smile when you say it. You get me in trouble, I will hunt your kids. You send me to jail, and they're dead when I get out.”

Grace couldn't move. Couldn't make a noise. The man clearly didn't know someone was sitting inches behind him on the other side of a cloth curtain. If she made a sound, he would.

What would he do? Would he hurt those children that were apparently waiting somewhere in a one-story house?

Frantically, she reached forward to tap the mattress of her sister's gurney, but her sister only hunched her shoulders and kept tapping away on her screen.

“Don't worry,” the woman said, sounding so pitiful as she tried to soothe the man who had hurt her, who was threatening her still. “Everything will be okay. You can trust me, you know you can. I would never want you to get in trouble. I'll fix everything.”

On her gurney, Sophia coughed.

Grace froze.

There was utter silence on the other side of the curtain, and then the curtain was pushed aside. “Who the hell are you?”

She had to do something. Her sister's back was to the angry man, so before Sophia could roll over and reveal her famous face, Grace jumped to her feet and faced him. “We'd like some privacy.” She dared to grab the curtain and whisk it shut, right in the man's face.

The silence on the other side of the curtain was more frightening than the angry whispers had been. Her heart was already pounding out of her chest when she heard more curtains being pushed aside on their metal rings. Not hers—the ones next door.

“Good afternoon, I'm Dr. Gregory. What brings you in today?”

“I fell down the stairs.”

Her sister chose that moment to emerge from her absorption in the phone. “How slow is this place? Didn't you tell them to bring the X-ray machine up here?”

Frantically, Grace put her finger against her lips to silence Sophia.
Shh, shh, shh...

“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” Grace leaned in close to her sister's ear, so she could whisper. “I want to hear what they're saying next door.”

“What for?”

She cringed. Every normally spoken word sounded like a trumpet blast to Grace. She could hear the man doing most of the talking next door. The woman's voice sounded so timid. The third person, the one who'd said he was Dr. Gregory, had a better voice. Calm and confident. He spoke with the good cheer of someone who didn't know his patient was in danger.

“We'll need a few X-rays because you might have one or more fractures. There's a bit of a wait for radiology right now.”

Sophia spoke loudly. “This X-ray is taking forever.”

Grace whirled around and pleaded for silence with her finger on her lips. It figured that Sophia had just now started paying attention.

Dr. Gregory kept talking. “While you're waiting, Mr. Burns, you can get the paperwork taken care of. You'll be able to leave sooner that way.”

The curtain rings made their sliding sound again.

“Loretta, perfect timing. Could you show Mr. Burns to admin while we're waiting to take Mrs. Burns to X-ray? He needs to fill out the spousal consent forms.”

“The spousal consent forms? If you'll just follow me, Mr. Burns.”

After another swish of curtain rings, the violent Mr. Burns was gone with the nurse.

“We'll take care of you,” Dr. Gregory said to the woman. “It might have sounded like I was rushing you out of here, but you can stay as long as you need to.”

Grace held her breath, willing the woman to tell the doctor the truth while her attacker was gone. She heard only silence.

“I'll be back shortly.” The doctor was leaving.

Grace needed to be brave. She should do something. Say something.

But she didn't. She was no superhero. Maybe she could write a note and pass it to a nurse or something...

Behind her, Sophia called out. “Dr. Gregory.”

There was an audible sigh in the aisle. Then it was their curtain that was being pushed aside, and a man far younger than Grace had expected stepped into their little space. He was around thirty, bespectacled and bearded. Not the trendy kind of full beard that men in Hollywood were wearing this year, but the dark shadow of a man who'd perhaps worked a twenty-four-hour shift.

“Yes, Miss Jackson?” He sounded as tired as he looked.

Sophia began complaining. The doctor listened to her sister's demands without a flicker of emotion on his face, without so much as a blink of his eyes behind his brown plastic eyeglass frames. His white overcoat looked too big on him. He didn't look like a man, frankly, who could handle the vicious Mr. Burns, but—

But, actually, he did.

There was something very Clark Kent about him. Tall, dark and handsome could have described him if he were in Superman mode, but as Clark Kent, he was too unassuming to be eye-catching, not the way he stood with his hands stuffed in the square pockets of his lab coat. Still, although he might not have bothered to shave, his jawline was defined, and the blue of his eyes was only dimmed a little bit by the glare of the fluorescent lighting on his eyeglasses.

It was the look in those blue eyes that gave Grace hope. He saw right through her sister. He wasn't flustered by her beauty and he didn't look awed to have a movie star in his presence. In fact, he was looking at her with quiet disapproval. If he could see through the celebrity aura that surrounded Sophia Jackson, maybe he could see through Mr. Burns. Grace just needed to be brave enough to tell him what she'd heard.

“So, um, you're her doctor?” she began, forcing herself to smile when it was the last thing on earth she wanted to do at the moment.

He turned that blue gaze directly on her. A small eternity of silence followed.

“Of course he is,” Sophia said, exasperated. “I told him you'd fix everything when you got here. I need a private room. These curtains are so ghetto.”

He didn't take his eyes off Grace, but he raised one dark brow behind the brown frames. “
You're
the personal assistant?”

Clearly, he wasn't impressed with her. She felt badly about that, another little dagger of hurt to push through. “Dr. Gregory, could I speak to you somewhere else? Somewhere private?”

“No.”

Grace blinked. “I really need to speak to you alone.”

“There are no other rooms available, and there is nothing you can say that will make radiology move more quickly. As soon as her X-rays are complete, you'll be discharged with treatment instructions, and you can seek out all the privacy you desire somewhere else.”

He left.

Sophia's outrage drowned out Grace's disappointment. She yelled “Doctor” once more, but the doctor wasn't coming back.

Grace sank back into her chair, a failure.

“What do you think you're doing, Grace? Go after him.” Sophia was loud for someone who prized her privacy. She gestured toward the ice packs on her leg. “I can't get up and walk out of here. You have to.”

“He already said no.”

“This whole trip was your idea. Go fix it. What's a personal assistant for, right?”

Chapter Four

A
lex headed straight for the staff's kitchenette. There were patients to be seen, lab results to read, decisions to be made, but he was only one man. He needed a break—and coffee. Just three minutes, that was all he'd give himself. Three minutes for a little caffeine and a chance to regain his emotional equilibrium after dealing with Mr. Burns, the scum who'd beaten his wife.

Gut churning, Alex walked past the coffee to the cramped locker room that was attached to the kitchen. The room barely had enough space for a few metal lockers and a single cot, but the door had a small sign which euphemistically declared it to be the physician's lounge. He pushed a gym bag out of the way with his foot on his way to the sink. The water ran hot almost instantly.

The patient had not fallen down a flight of stairs, that much was obvious from her bruising. Alex had needed to pretend he believed her story, though. Abusers wouldn't stick around after an accusation, and they often convinced their victims to leave before they could be treated. Alex had started the hospital's official process, and he hoped the victim was ready to take advantage of the assistance the hospital could provide.

The system worked. He'd seen it work. But to use an American phrase, that first step was a doozy. The first step required Alex to smile and be cordial and shake hands with a man he was certain had beaten his own wife.

Alex scrubbed his hands in the sink. He was no actor, but he deserved an Academy Award for keeping up that facade of friendliness. To test his patience further, a real actor, Sophia Jackson, had decided to waste his time by chewing him out for problems that weren't even problems.

Alex scrubbed harder. Hot water, soap and vigorous friction could kill almost anything.

The woman on one side of the curtain had been a victim of a crime. Sophia Jackson, on the other side of the curtain, had been a victim of nothing more than her own stupidity and stubbornness. According to the Texas Rescue volunteers who'd brought her in, she'd decided to cut short a tour of the rebuilt clinic by storming off the path, stomping over the orange netting that marked off the rubble left behind by last year's floods. They'd called after her and warned her to stop, but the paramedic said she'd ignored everyone.

Alex could believe it. It seemed the movie star was nothing more than a miserable person who made everyone around her miserable, too. Her personal assistant looked to be the most unhappy person of them all.

He stopped scrubbing and let the tap water flow over his hands. The personal assistant hadn't been what he'd expected. Instead of a hard and edgy shark, she looked like an angel. The expression on her heart-shaped face was open and hopeful. Everything about her had seemed inviting. Her hair looked soft and touchable, a shade of gold so dark, it was nearly bronze. The overhead lighting had reflected off that gold, and Alex had been momentarily dazzled by her halo before he'd realized who she was. Only then had he noticed the subtle, anxious way she was twisting her fingers together.

Apparently, even an angel could be stressed out. It would take the patience of a saint to work for Sophia Jackson.

He used a paper towel to shut off the faucet. If the angelic woman was stressed out by the demands of Sophia Jackson, he couldn't help her. Since she was with the movie star, he could only assume that she enjoyed her job. Fame was alluring to most people, perhaps even more so to personal assistants. After all, they made a living by helping someone famous keep their famous life running smoothly. Princess Picasso's assistant was no exception.

He grabbed a coffee mug, feeling annoyed with himself for being annoyed at all. It shouldn't matter to him one bit that an angelic-looking woman who happened to pass through his ER was letting a movie star run her ragged. It was no business of his whether or not she thrived by facilitating someone's fame. Coffee was all he wanted.

The door opened after the most timid of knocks. “Excuse me, Dr. Gregory. I'm so sorry to bother you.” The assistant stuck her angel face in the crack and smiled at him hopefully.

Speak of the devil.

“This area is employees only.”

She bit her lower lip with perfect white teeth. “I know, I'm sorry.”

He set down the empty mug. So, she was appealing. They had nothing in common and would never see each other again after another sixty minutes, give or take, so he called upon his medical experience to act dispassionately and moved to the door.

“I really need to talk to you,” she said.

“There is nothing you can say that will change how this hospital operates.”

You stay in your world, I'll stay in mine.
He put his hand on the doorknob to shut it.

“Wait.” The angel had more determination than he'd expected. She thrust her whole arm and shoulder in the door. “There are no stairs in her house.”

He knew, instantly, that she was not telling him about Sophia Jackson's house. Surprise kept him silent.

“I heard her say so. I'm talking about the woman next to us. The man that was with her hurt her.” She was breathless in her anxiety to tell him what she knew.

Alex opened the door and ushered her in with a gentle touch on her arm, a brief brush of her soft gray sweater under his hand. He shut the door in an automatic move to protect patient privacy. Still, it seemed intimate to be alone with this woman in this little bit of an inner sanctum. “I understand. That's why I arranged to have him removed from her treatment area.”

She didn't seem reassured. “He's only filling out paperwork. Spousal consent forms.”

She really had heard every word, then—and remembered them. “Spousal consent forms are a code in this ER. It means the spouse has to leave the treatment area. I've seen enough patients who have fallen down stairs to recognize the hallmarks of that type of injury.”

“And she didn't have them?”

He shook his head silently. He was bound legally and ethically not to describe a patient's medical condition to a stranger. The assistant obviously knew some details already, but he couldn't tell her more.

“How long does it take for him to fill out the forms? He'll be back any minute.”

“Security will explain that he can't reenter the treatment area. Doctor's orders. When the next room with walls and a door opens up, the patient will be moved there. I can't tell you more than that, but I assure you, she will have a chance to talk to me in private.”

“She won't tell you anything.”

Sadly, the assistant was quite possibly right. Victims of domestic violence were often silent in the hope that the situation would improve if they helped their abuser. “I hope you're wrong about that, but we'll give her every chance, every safety net we have available. You and I need to end this conversation now, because—”

Because of patient confidentiality, of course. But he didn't finish the sentence, because what had popped into his head was
because you're already too appealing.
Her compassion toward a stranger only increased his regard for her.

It didn't matter. He had no interest in pursuing a woman when no relationship was possible. Flirting was something else he'd never quite understood. It was a waste of time to indulge an attraction to a woman who lived in another state, let alone a woman who built her life on the shaky ground of fame.

The assistant furrowed her brow, determination stamped on her lovely face. “You can get her alone in a private room, but she won't tell you anything. She has children. He told her he would kill them if she talks.”

The kitchenette door started to open beside them. He stopped it with the palm of his hand. “A moment, please.” Without looking to see who it was, he pushed the door shut. All his attention was for the assistant. “You heard this? He actually said he'd kill her children?”

“He was inches away from me on the other side of that curtain. I heard every word. He said if he goes to jail, he'll kill the children as soon as he gets out.”

She looked up at him with fear and worry—and something else. Hope. She was looking at him as if she hoped he would be able to fix this terrible situation. The desire to touch her again, to physically soothe her, was completely inappropriate. That wasn't how a doctor helped.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you willing to relay this to the police?”

“I hadn't thought about police.”

This protective streak was strong. He didn't want her involved in what could become a volatile situation. “The injuries are already enough to trigger social services, and that will include removing the children from his custody. I appreciate everything you've told me, but you don't have to do anything else.”

“No, I'll talk to the police. That poor woman. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try to help.”

“Not everyone feels the same. You're very brave.” He felt a little sloppy bit of tenderness toward her, despite the way he was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, scowling at her. He cleared his throat and tried for a more neutral expression. “What did you say your name was?”

“It's Grace.”

“Grace.” Of course it was. Grace was a blessing one did nothing to deserve,
milost'
in his mother's language. He'd done nothing to merit its presence in his emergency department today, but Grace was here, being an ally for a stranger in a dangerous situation.

She tugged the hem of her soft sweater an inch lower. “Well, thanks for your time.”

A brave princess had shown up in his ER after all—just not the one he'd expected.

He liked this one much better. “Thank you for being so persistent. I apologize for being so curt. I can tell you're worried, but you've done the right thing. I'll take it from here.”

“What about the police?”

“If they need your statement, we'll do that with as much privacy as possible, I promise. I don't want you to risk anything if you don't have to.”

“Thank you.”

Grace left, slipping easily around the nurse who was waiting outside the door.

“Loretta asked me to tell you that we're taking Mrs. Burns down to X-ray now. Room three is ready to go, if you could discharge him. The social worker is on her way over.”

Alex would have to get his coffee later. As he headed down the hall toward room three, Grace was about twenty feet ahead of him on her way back to the curtained area. Her plain clothing allowed him to enjoy the feminine shape of her. He knew firsthand that her sweater felt very soft, and her slacks were tailored over the curve of her backside.

The voice of Princess Picasso came shrieking down the hall. “You have got to be kidding me! Why is that woman getting an X-ray before me?”

Grace broke into a jog.

Alex shook his head as he entered room three. How could an angel who was so brave subject herself to a celebrity who was so selfish?

* * *

“Here's your macchiato.” Grace hiked her tote bag a little higher on her shoulder and held up the cup of coffee she'd spent fifteen minutes locating, ordering, paying for and bringing to her sister.

Sophia was talking on her phone, and waved her into silence. The part-skim half-caff macchiato with the shot of regular caramel syrup and sugar-free vanilla syrup which she'd just
had
to have was not quite as important as her phone call, apparently.

Grace was tempted to place it on the bedside table and leave the table where it was, at the foot of the bed. Sophia would need her then. She'd have to interrupt her phone call with Deezee to ask Grace to roll the table closer.

Immediately, Grace admonished herself for being such a baby. What kind of sister would even think of placing something where a person with a broken leg couldn't reach it?

“You asked to see me?” Dr. Gregory entered their little curtained cubicle and stood at the foot of Sophia's gurney, next to Grace.

Grace put the coffee down. She wasn't normally klutzy, but she felt a little flutter now that Dr. Gregory was here, so it was better not to be holding a scalding-hot beverage.

Really, she needed to squelch this little Clark Kent crush. The man was on the job, caring for a battered woman somewhere else. Caring for her own injured sister, too, and who knew how many other people who were sick and in pain. Yet she felt a little buzz of excitement that he was here, despite knowing that her sister shouldn't have demanded to see him.

“The doctor decided to finally show up,” Sophia said into her phone. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Grace stole a glance at Dr. Gregory. He pushed his glasses up with one knuckle. He had a perfectly neutral poker face in place, but Grace had the fanciful thought that the move meant he was ready for battle.

Sophia took the phone away from her ear and pointed it at the doctor accusingly. “I heard them talking next door. You know what they said?”

Grace held her breath. What had she missed while she'd been looking for gourmet coffee? The horrible Mr. Burns must have returned. Or perhaps Mrs. Burns had decided to unburden herself to a nurse, and Sophia had overheard everything.

“Your janitor told another janitor to take the patient's belongings to room three. That patient is getting a room? Seriously? When I've been waiting here with nothing but curtains all this time?”

Grace interceded before Sophia could make a fool of herself. “Sophia, it's okay.”

“No, it is not. I was here first. She got taken for an X-ray before me, and now she gets a goddamned room before me.”

“Sophie,” Grace begged quietly. “The cursing.”

“
Goddamn
won't even get you a PG-13 rating.” Sophie pinned the doctor with her glare. Really, it was a sneer. Grace hated to see Sophie sneering like that. If she could take a photo, make Sophie see...

“I demand a private room, for obvious reasons.”