Hot Bodies Boxed Set: The Complete Vital Signs Erotic Romance Trilogy (14 page)

And now, it was time for her to turn her attentions on Dr. Harlan Wilkinson. She didn’t want Harlan out of any personal feelings for him—in fact, she detested the man—she wanted him on principle. He was the least attainable man in the vicinity, and that made him the most desirable.

Shirley was prepared to do whatever it took to steal him away from Joanna Watson so she could add his notch to her suddenly very busy bedpost. And if that meant stabbing one of her most respected colleag
ues in the back—well, so be it.

Joanna arrived back at Covington Community Hospital at a few minutes before five. She headed straight for the Surgery and Recovery locker room to change into fresh sterile scrubs and prepare for the high-risk hysterectomy procedure she was due to assist two senior surgical residents in performing. Normally, a hysterectomy was routine enough for even junior residents to perform alone, but in this case, the procedure was slated for Mrs. Lucinda Small, an eighty-year-old woman with a history of extreme hypertension. Mrs. Small’s age and condition raised the possibility for surgical complications tenfold.

Joanna had plenty of experience on high-risk surgeries, which made her well-qualified to assist even the most nervous and inexperienced of surgery residents. But something about this procedure brought her a sense of dread. Perhaps it was the fact that it would be the first procedure she would assist on without Harlan.

Joanna shook off her unexplained nervousness and headed for the locker room. Shirley Daniels emerged from the showers just as Joanna finished dressing for her shift.

“Fancy seeing you here, Joanna,” Shirley said, facetious. “I thought you’d left us for good.”

“I was just off for a few days,” Joanna retorted. “Administration put me on leave until they could finish their inquiry.”

“I don’t see why they needed to do an inquiry at all, frankly,” Shirley chirped. “It was obvious to everyone that Darth Vader cut his own damn hand.”

So Shirley had taken to calling Harlan “Darth Vader” behind his back, too. Joanna wondered if Maryam was responsible for that. “Darth Vader, huh? Well, it seems you don’t think he’s McDreamy anymore,” Joanna seethed.

Shirley blinked twice. “I shouldn’t have to justify anything to you when it comes to Darth Vader, Joanna. You know first-hand how awful he is to all the nurses. Unless, of course, there’s something between the two of you that you aren’t telling me.”

Joanna gave Shirley a blank stare. She wasn’t about to reveal the true goings-on between her and Harlan to anyone at work—least of all Shirley, who was so obviously jealous. Joanna put her personal belongings into her locker and prepared to head out to the post-op ward to get debriefed on the upcoming cases. Before she could get out the locker room door, however, Shirley stopped her.

“Joanna, I don’t mean to pry, but is there something going on between you and Darth—I mean, you and Dr. Wilkinson?”

Joanna spun around. She had to work hard not to show any distress in her face at Shirley’s question. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, just a hunch is all.” Shirley’s smirk was a mile wide.

“I don’t know what would give you that idea,” Joanna snapped, trying her best to sound indifferent.

Shirley just smiled as she toweled off and got dressed. “See you back in the OR, Joanna. I’ll be on anesthesia duty for Mrs. Small’s surgery, too. And it looks like we won’t have to deal with Darth Vader in there any more, at least. Word on the street is he’ll probably have to resign, and good riddance.” Then Shirley shot her a look that could cut glass, and said “Then you’ll never have to see him again. Won’t that be
wonderful
?”

Ouch.

Joanna headed out to the post-op ward, cheeks flaming. All the Recovery beds were empty, but the Intake bin was stuffed with patient files. Apparently there were a number of elective surgeries scheduled for the coming week. Most were routine, but like Mrs. Small’s high-risk hysterectomy scheduled for that evening, along with some complex joint-replacement surgeries, Joanna could see why even the senior residents were worried about the workload. Without an attending surgeon on duty for at least another ten days, Joanna shuddered at the thought of what might happen if Covington’s surgery department got saddled with any emergency situations like a serious car accident, severe burns from a house fire, or even bodies mangled by farm equipment. She’d seen all three possibilities happen during her ten years at Covington Community Hospital, and knew any one of these situations could strike at any time, without warning.

She also knew that if any of them happened in the next few days, the hospital would be seriously unprepared. Turning away patients and instead sending them “up the road” to Asheville or Raleigh could result in unnecessary complications, or even fatalities—that much she knew from experience as well. Was stodgy old Joe Middleton’s administration really making the right decision by suspending Harlan? Even before his hand injury healed, Harlan could still serve as an expert advisor in the OR to the younger, less-experienced surgeons. He could even do some limited scalpel and suture work with his left hand only, if Joanna assisted. She thought about mentioning this possibility to Administration in an anonymous memo, but ultimately decided against it. In her ten years at the hospital, Joanna had learned the hard way never to interfere with Administration’s decisions, no matter how unfair or irrational they might seem.

Joanna was flipping through a double-bypass patient’s chart when she heard a familiar masculine voice behind her.

“You didn’t waste any time getting back to work, did you?”

Harlan’s husky voice hit Joanna’s back like a thrown brick. She stiffened at the sound of it, but didn’t turn around to acknowledge him.

“I suppose you’ll be working here for the rest of your life, won’t you, Joanna? A shame, because you’re a much better nurse than a cheap community hospital like Covington deserves.”

Joanna turned around, slowly. Harlan was looking at her with a mix of anger and indifference. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper somehow, the set of his jaw much sharper and harder than before. The anger marring his face wasn’t due to his suspension from duty—it was clear from the look of anguish in his eyes that his fury was much more personal in nature. The incident with Bob at her condo three days before had obviously hurt the man deeply.

“I’m back because Maryam said she needed me,” Joanna replied, trying hard to keep her voice even. “The hospital is very short-staffed in Surgery since you got placed on leave. And by the way, Dr. Wilkinson, my future career plans are none of your business.”

“Nor mine yours,” Harlan seethed. Joanna noticed he was carrying a cardboard box full of office supplies, his many framed diplomas and certificates, and his gold engraved “Harlan J. Wilkinson, MD” nameplate.

“Does that mean you’re leaving Statesville?” Joanna asked, nodding at the overloaded box. She was surprised at her own curiosity. She knew she had to keep cool and nonchalant, to give no indication that she still wanted this man desperately. But the sight of Harlan’s face and body made that increasingly difficult. She lowered her gaze to the tile floor.

“Again, that’s none of your business,” Harlan answered curtly. But he didn’t leave, either. He stood in the center of the post-op ward, carrying his box of office supplies and medical journals like a lead weight. He looked anxiously back at Joanna, as if he expected her to stop him from leaving somehow. Joanna steeled herself against taking his bait, keeping her eyes down. No matter how much she might want to throw herself into Harlan’s arms that very moment, she could not risk the slightest possibility that someone—anyone—would speculate that their relationship was anything more than professional. Especially now that Shirley Daniels was snooping around, following her every move.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck in any case,” Joanna finally said. “I don’t suppose I’ll be seeing you around here much.”

“No, I don’t suppose you will,” Harlan answered.

The sexual tension in the air was so thick you could have cut it with a pair of pinking shears.

Joanna’s body cried out its need, its all-consuming desire to fall to her knees and give Harlan’s cock a nice good-old-fashioned deep-throat treatment right then and there. But she hardened her heart against the notion with all her might. “Well, I suppose this is goodbye, then,” Joanna heard herself say.

“I suppose so.” Harlan tightened his grip on the cardboard box and left the room. A lump formed in Joanna’s throat as she watched him go. She didn’t want to think about the fact it might be the last time she would ever see him.

****

“Pass me the number four scalpel.” Dr. Grenoway—the green surgery resident Shirley had seduced in the locker room—was fumbling his way through Mrs. Small’s hysterectomy procedure in the OR two hours later.

“I think you mean the number three, Doctor,” she said gently, handing it to him. “The number four is too large for the area you’re working on.”

“R-Right,” the young man mumbled, reaching for the correct scalpel. Then he and Shirley exchanged furtive glances. Joanna wondered why, but she understood soon enough. Despite his surgical mask and plastic faceguard, Joanna could see he was blushing to his hairline.
Those two have been up to something behind closed doors
, she thought.

Dr. Randall Grenoway wasn’t exactly the cream of the crop as far as surgical residents were concerned. He’d barely managed to graduate medical school at Eastern Carolina, which explained why he was doing his third year of surgical residency at a small rural community hospital like Covington instead of at Duke, Wake Forest, or Chapel Hill’s university hospitals. He was a kind, handsome, and earnest young man, but a barely competent surgeon. He would likely be relegated to doing nothing but the most routine appendectomies and bunion repairs when he finished his residency and entered private practice. Joanna’s heart went out to him as he and his second-year classmate, Hattie Brown, stumbled their way through their elderly patient’s surgery.

“Nurse Watson?” Dr. Brown asked timidly. “Should we complete the uterus removal before doing the ovaries, or after?” Hattie Brown was a stout, middle-aged African-American woman, who had put herself through medical school after single-handedly raising three children. “I was thinking we should complete the uterus removal first, then cauterize and tie off all those incisions before proceeding with the ovaries.”

Joanna smiled underneath her mask. Joanna could tell that despite her age and unconventional career path, the older woman already had the makings of a very good surgeon. “Yes, Dr. Brown, I think that’s exactly the thing to do here. Don’t you agree, Shirley?”

Shirley Daniels, perched at her usual spot next to the anesthesia machine, gave only a single nod in response. Shirley was still acting apprehensive around her. Joanna wondered exactly how much the younger nurse knew about her and Harlan.

“Thanks for the advice, Nurse Watson,” Dr. Brown said as she began to complete the uterus removal, taking over for the now-trembling Dr. Grenoway completely. He backed against the porcelain wall of the OR, holding his number three scalpel in midair. Dr. Brown took it from him and completed the last few cuts.

“You’re most welcome, Dr. Brown,” Joanna said, nodding her approval. “You’re doing a fine job, by the way. And please, call me Joanna.”

“Only if you call me Hattie,” Dr. Brown beamed, obviously thrilled at the complement.

Dr. Grenoway finally shook off his nervous funk and went to assist Dr. Brown in cauterizing their incisions when suddenly, one of Shirley Daniels’ many monitors began bleating an alarm.

“Her blood pressure’s dropping!” Shirley shouted. “She’s already at 72 over 40 and falling fast!”

Dr. Grenoway froze, the cauterizing tool in his hand still smoking and whirring. Joanna reached across Mrs. Small’s wide-open abdomen and shut it off. “What do we do, Nurse Watson?” he asked, terrified.

Joanna took over immediately. “Dr. Brown, get the patient two units of blood, stat. Shirley, decrease the amount of anesthesia a bit—that might bring her pressure up. Dr. Grenoway, treat Mrs. Small for systolic shock. Make sure she’s not bleeding internally from any unsutured incisions. I’ll finish the cauterization myself—“

“But nurses can’t do that by themselves—it’s against hospital regulations!” Dr. Grenoway protested, yanking the cauterizing tool out of Joanna’s reach.

“Screw regulations,” Joanna spat back. “I’ve cauterized plenty of times on plenty of procedures, and I can do it faster than either of you can. We’ve got to stop all the excess bleeding fast, or we’ll lose Mrs. Small for sure.”

Dr. Grenoway finally acquiesced and handed Joanna the cauterizing tool. He began the standard OR treatment for systolic shock while Joanna went to work cleaning up all of Mrs. Small’s open incisions. Just as she thought she had everything under control, she spotted the cause of Mrs. Small’s rapid drop in blood pressure. Someone——Dr. Grenoway, Joanna guessed—had nicked Mrs. Small’s aortic artery, and as a result the poor woman was gushing huge amounts of blood into the rear of her abdominal cavity. Joanna was stunned that neither she nor the other two doctors had noticed it before.

“Dr. Brown—Hattie—get Mrs. Small four units of blood.
Now
.”

The older woman stared back at her. “But she’s only lost one unit so far!”

“
Do it
,” Joanna barked, amazed at how authoritarian she sounded. “
Now.
Or Mrs. Small is as good as dead.” Dr. Brown obeyed. Joanna somehow managed to stop the artery bleeding with a mix of quick stitches and creative use of the cauterizing tool. Her fingers flew along the elderly woman’s abdominal cavity with a dexterity and skill Joanna hadn’t known she possessed. Shirley, Dr. Brown, and Dr. Grenoway all watched in awe.

When Joanna finally got the bleeding under control, Mrs. Small’s blood pressure began to rise to a more normal level.