The M.D. Courts His Nurse (7 page)

“We're not really operating, this is surgical intervention to control their bleeding,” John reminded her in a low tone. “They require complicated repairs and a team of surgeons. All we can do now, though, is just open them quick and place clips on any severed arteries, pack them with sponges and close them with wide stitches and pressure dressings. This isn't even E.R. stuff, it's basically battlefield first aid. You okay?”

She expected fear to show in her voice, but she spoke up firmly. “I'm fine.”

“Just hang in there and don't let anything get to you. Got your chloroform ready?”

Feeling like a beleaguered Civil War nurse, Rebecca soaked a gauze pad and carefully administered a general anesthetic to the first patient. She concentrated on counting out the seconds accurately, removing and then again applying the pad, while John worked.

She was not normally a surgical nurse, and the sights before her became even more stark in the glare of the flash-light being held by an ashen-faced trooper.

But the need to stay strong for these tragic victims kept her steady, focused and alert. So, too, did John Saville's steady hand and manner. She steeled her nerves, and after each patient's internal bleeding was controlled, Rebecca closed with deliberately wide stitches and dressed each wound, while John administered a local to the next patient.

“What's the word on that evacuation team?” John asked the cop as they were finishing the last patient. “I'm not too impressed by their response time.”

“Let me check,” the trooper holding their light offered. “Last I heard, they had some delay locating their chopper pilot.”

He spoke into his radio handset, then listened for a minute. “Choppers are just now passing over Disappearing Lake, Doc,” he reported. “Still another twenty-five minutes. Fort Mackenzie is practically on the Canadian border.”

Dan Woodyard had joined them again. “Think she'll make it?” he asked, meaning the elderly woman with the possibly ruptured spleen.

“Her pulse is fluttery and her breathing rapid and shallow,” Rebecca reported. “Systolic blood pressure is fluctuating between eighty and ninety.”

“My God,” Dan muttered, “she's barely pumping blood.”

“I think she may have a preexisting heart problem,” John added tersely. “Going into third-stage shock has taxed
it to the limit. We could lose her at any moment. There are ambulances topside—how quickly could they get her to Lutheran?”

“Less than ten minutes,” Dan replied. “And the E.R. is prepped and waiting. I even got their blood types called in.”

“That settles it, then. At best, it'll be well over a half hour before that rescue team can extract her and get her into surgery. If I take her up now, we can have her under the scalpel in maybe half that time.”

“Man, that's one rough climb going up,” Dan said, his voice heavy with doubt.

“Don't I know it? And it might well kill her. But do you agree she probably won't last a half hour?”

“I do,” Dan affirmed. “I haven't watched many people expire, but she sure seems close. She's practically without blood pressure.”

“How 'bout you, Becky?” John inquired, turning to her.

“Think we should move her now or wait?”

It startled her that he was actually turning to her for help in this decision.

“If you both believe she may well die, anyway, then isn't it better to take some action? Judging from her vital signs, I vote for taking her up.”

“That's the girl,” he approved. “No waffling.”

While the trooper notified the officers up above, Rebecca and Dan helped John into the harness rig. All three of them carefully lifted the unconscious woman until John had her in a fireman's carry.

“You two come up behind us as a safety net,” he instructed Rebecca and Dan. “One on each side of me. Be ready in case she starts to slip from my grasp.”

When the other two rescuers were buckled into safety harnesses, the trooper gave the signal and they started up the steep slope. Although the men above were doing most
of the pulling, John still had a grueling struggle supporting the injured woman. Rebecca saw him straining up ahead of her, his breathing growing deeper and more labored.

But his superb physical condition saw him through it. They got the injured woman above and into an ambulance in amazingly quick time. They returned below to help with the rest. By the time the rescue team from Fort Mackenzie arrived to medivac the rest, the elderly woman was already undergoing surgery.

“She's critical but stable,” reported a jubilant Dan, who was in touch with the hospital on his cell phone. “Looks like you didn't make that climb for nothing, John. Early word is she's going to make it.”

“Question is, will I?” John groused as he and Rebecca trudged toward her Bronco.

It was nearly 6:00 a.m. Rebecca felt weary and physically depleted and knew he must feel even worse.

But she also felt an inner swelling of new admiration for this man she
thought
she had already neatly pegged as conceited and coldhearted. Even half-dead with exhaustion, he rose to an incredible challenge. His quiet, calm, unassuming leadership had steadied the rest of them. He had been selfless to a fault, and suddenly she wanted very much to make sure
he
was fussed over a little, too. He certainly deserved it.

“You need some sleep,” she told him. “Why don't I just take you straight to your place? Lois can call your morning appointments and cancel. Then one of us can come pick you up later.”

He mulled this over, then shook his head as Rebecca performed a U-turn, heading back toward Mystery. “Actually, I don't feel all that tired. Besides, I hate it to no end when doctors cancel out on patients. Anyway, as I recall, my last appointment is at noon. It's better if I just tough it
out and stay awake, then go to bed this afternoon. Assuming, that is, that my nurse can make it, too?”

She smiled at him. “I'm not really tired, either. Nothing a quick shower can't fix.”

He returned her smile with a grateful one of his own. “Two workaholics strike a bargain. Just take me back to my car, and I'll find someplace to have breakfast and coffee.”

“Nothing's open right now,” she reminded him. “This is Mystery, remember? If you insist on staying awake, why not come on back to my place? I'll fix us some breakfast, then give you a ride to your car so you can go home and shower and change.”

“Breakfast—and at least a gallon of black coffee?”

“Cowboy coffee,” she promised. “Strong enough to float a horseshoe.”

They both laughed, enjoying the feel of mirth after their ordeal on the mountain.

“Best offer I've had all night,” he assured her.

Rebecca watched the newly risen sun flame on the eastern horizon of Mystery Valley, a salmon-pink blush. Just a day ago she'd been trading insults with John Saville; now she was taking him home for breakfast.

Oh, what a difference a night can make.

T
he early-morning sun was bright but the air was still chilly when they arrived at Rebecca's efficiency apartment. She brewed a big pot of coffee. Then, feeling self-conscious in such close quarters, she selected a change of clothing and excused herself for a quick shower. She changed into a seawater-blue knit dress, then started working on a couple of western omelettes.

Although he had no clean change of clothing, John accepted her invitation to shower. He emerged, hair freshly slicked back, just in time to enjoy a well-earned hot breakfast.

“Pardon my 5:00 a.m. shadow,” he quipped, rubbing his scratchy, blue-black beard stubble.

“I like it,” Rebecca assured him sincerely. “Makes you look like a soap opera hunk.”

“Please, lady, no autographs until I've eaten.”

They both laughed.

She cast a rueful glance around her little cubbyhole of an apartment, sorry now that she had procrastinated in finding a bigger place. Partly it was a sort of spite that made her keep it, for she suspected the nothing apartment and the lack of good background were the reasons Brian had dumped her.

“You must be feeling claustrophobic,” she apologized. “I've been inside your house before you owned it. This entire apartment is about the size of your breakfast nook.”

“Yeah, but you know what?” he retorted between forkfuls of steaming omelette. “My place is about as homey as a post office lobby. Your place is cozy. And even two showers in a row didn't use up all the hot water. I'm lucky to finish one at my house. Seriously, it must have a one-gallon water heater.”

He didn't say all this to be patronizing or merely polite, she realized, but seemed sincere. Ever since her crushing experience with Brian, she had possessed an invisible antenna for detecting snobbery and rejection. But she spotted none in John's manner with her now.

As she topped up his coffee, he nodded toward a framed photo on the television set.

“Nice-looking couple. Especially the woman. From the way you favor her, I'm guessing it's your mom and dad?”

She nodded. “My mother died of a brain tumor when I was in junior high.”

“I'm sorry to hear it,” he told her with sincere feeling. “She was taken so young, it must've been tough on you.”

“I don't know what I would've done without Hazel. My dad's on the road a lot, especially since Mom passed away. Hazel practically adopted me after her death.”

Realization sparked in his eyes. “So that's why she takes such an interest in you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked cautiously.

He seemed to realize, however, that he'd misspoken. In
stead of answering, admitting that he and Hazel had been discussing her, he diplomatically changed topics. “You said your dad's on the road a lot. Is he in sales?”

“Uh-huh. That and consulting. He sells and installs security systems, mostly for small businesses. He works a three-state area.”

She didn't add, however, that he had often been unemployed when she was younger, or that his drinking and womanizing had started more than one rumor wave rolling through Mystery Valley.

“How 'bout your father?” she asked. “You already told me he retired from the military. Did he start a second career?”

“Not really,” was all he told her, his eyes suddenly grave and evasive.

She'd noticed how he seldom gave any information on his own background, but only elicited it from others. “This omelette,” he added quickly, “is the best I've ever had.”

“Thanks,” she replied, not fooled by his diversionary tactic. He didn't want to talk about himself, and she would respect that. It wasn't the kind of thing two professionals took to work, anyway, and she knew she'd do best to remember it.

She gathered up their plates from the L-shaped counter that served as a kitchen table, rinsed them and set them in the dishwasher. His intensely blue gaze followed her.

“That backless stool can't be too comfortable,” she said, mainly to break the awkward silence. “You're welcome to take your coffee into the living room.” She glanced apologetically at the fold-out couch that was still a knot of blankets and sheets from last night's frantic dash out the door. “But maybe I should pick up first—”

“Forget about it. Even a messy fold-out looks good after that mountain climb.” He paused. “I guess I'm more bushed than I thought. I hardly slept at all this weekend.”

He suddenly stopped, again seeming to realize he had inadvertently said too much. His gaze fled from hers, and she chastised herself for feeling another sting of jealousy. There it was again, obvious as an elephant in the living room: his secret weekends.

She reminded herself she had no proof he was trysting with Louise Wallant. Besides, even if he was, what business was it of hers if he kept a woman in every town in the West?

It was none of her business. None of her business at all. They were two professionals who had found camaraderie in a black moment. The breaking of the ice was going to help their office relationship by leaps and bounds, but it was not going to change the facts: he was all over Louise Wallant every other weekend, and Rebecca was not going to take the chance, however small it seemed this morning, that he was another Brian Gage.

Nope. She wasn't even going to take the chance.

 

John settled back on the couch, his legs stretched out across the mattress. He was less inclined to make conversation since his careless reference to the past weekend. What, he wondered idly, would she think if she knew his sordid background? If she ever got an inkling of where he was going, what he was doing during those regular road trips of his, he would have to explain where he came from. He'd have to explain the trailer by the dump, the awful beatings and the place he found sanctuary, the place he now went to every other weekend in a minuscule attempt to pay back those who'd helped him find his self-respect.

If he could just remember to remain quiet, he wouldn't have to face any questions. Nor have to confess the ugly answers.

He felt his muscles going slack with weariness. Rebecca continued to work in the small kitchenette, as if looking for
excuses not to be too close to him. Like right now—she was replacing an empty roll of paper towels.

What, that couldn't wait?

She was avoiding him. He released a dark, ironic smile. He wondered if it was because she sensed how much he'd ached to kiss her tempting, heart-shaped lips ever since they'd got in her car this morning. And that flawless ivory skin of hers, how he wanted to caress her nude body, how he burned at the thought of those slender, perfect legs of hers locked behind his back and her moaning…moaning…

But even as he felt those thoughts arousing him, he warned himself
not
to ruin this hard-won peace between them. Look how long they'd been at each other's throats. Now, as a result of their shared experience at the accident scene, a rare truce had been established.

Just because she's being good to you now, he cautioned himself, doesn't mean she feels what you feel.

How
could
she? They were as different as push and pull. He'd seen how she behaved at work with Lois and the patients: relaxed, fun loving, always kidding around with a smile in her eyes as well as on those eminently kissable, pouty lips of hers.

To her, in contrast, I must seem as interesting as a concrete piling.

Until this moment he hadn't fully realized how much last night's exertions had depleted him. Now the bill was coming due. He was having trouble keeping his thoughts focused and rational. The daydreams were running into the realities. Rebecca was here with him and they were professionals, cool and detached. But he still couldn't stop the pictures of her in his mind with her hair wild and her heart anything but cool and detached.

He set his cup and saucer down on the glass-top coffee table, his head nodding slowly forward as his thoughts be
gan to get all jumbled, like a bunch of radio stations drowning each other out….

 

“If I take you back to your car now,” Rebecca suggested above the quiet hum of the dishwasher, “you'll have time to drive home, change and still make your 9:00 a.m. appointment.”

She turned to look at him, expecting his reply. Instead she saw that John Saville had fallen sound asleep on the studio couch, half sitting, half lying down.

“John?” she called to him. His first name still felt odd on her lips, but she could hardly be formal under the circumstances.

“John?” she called again, a little louder, still with no results.

“We already know you're a sound sleeper,” she told him with a little twinge of regret as she moved closer to wake him.

Her hand inches from his shoulder, she paused, reluctant to wake the poor guy. His breathing was slow and even, his face relaxed and handsome in sleep although his head was crooked awkwardly to one side.

Feeling the guilty pleasure of a voyeur, she studied his face, the fine, straight, patrician nose, the well-defined cheekbones, the strong, broad brow and firm but expressive mouth.

Yes, he was a specimen, all right, no kidding there. But she had never placed all that much importance on looks in a man.

So why, she demanded of herself, are you so in danger of falling in love with him?

At best, he was an enigma to her, keeping to himself, seldom mingling with Mystery's natives except when one of them needed a hernia fixed or their gall bladder out, as
Hazel had. His stiff, unyielding manner was difficult for the more earthy, convivial folks of Mystery to warm up to.

Except now, another part of her pointed out, you've seen past that screen of formality and found a warm, relaxed, humorous person behind it.

Again she thought about their descent together on Copper Mountain, how it had secretly thrilled her to feel his arousal, the physical power and proof of his desire. It was only sexual desire, of course, and she knew men well enough to know that was no rare compliment from a man.

Yet she had no willpower to prevent her from wondering what it would be like to have him as a lover. Nor could she censor the torrid images that made her pulse race.

On top of all that, she did not have the heart to wake him up.

Exhaustion was starting to claim her, too, and he'd done far more physical exertion carrying that injured woman up to the road.

Deciding to take the responsibility on herself, she left a message for Lois on the office machine. She told her they had both put in a long night and the day's appointments would have to be rescheduled. She was careful to say nothing that hinted they were together.

Gently, so as not to wake him, Rebecca removed his shoes. Then she settled him more comfortably on the fold-out couch with a pillow under his head.

For a few moments she wondered where she should sleep—in the nearby overstuffed chair or on the floor.

This is silly, she decided. We're both fully dressed and exhausted. We aren't really going to bed together, it's a question of simple necessity.

She kicked off her shoes and carefully settled in beside him, making sure to maintain some distance.

But despite her exhaustion, it was hard for her to fall asleep. The deep rhythm of his breathing, the unavoidable
warmth of his nearness, wouldn't let her mind rest. She lay for a long time reveling in the scent of him that clung to his clothes. Finally sleep came over her like a deep, long shadow.

And she dreamed only of him.

 

Despite Rebecca's good intentions, when John's eyes eased open several hours later she lay curled tightly against him, her face only inches from his and beautiful in repose, as sensuous as a subtle painting.

His first concern should have been the time and his professional obligations. But even though a quick glance at his watch told him it was well past noon, he couldn't pry himself away from the sleeping beauty beside him.

Her chestnut hair, unrestrained, formed a silken mane against the pillow.

He breathed deeply of it, reveling in the clean, feminine fragrance. Her mouth formed a natural pout in her sleep, and he lightly brushed her lips with his, tasting her in a stolen kiss.

He didn't expect her lips to part readily for him—or the electric response in his loins as she pressed her body warmth even closer.

Their kiss deepened, and a low moan of pent-up desire rose in both of them as his hands caressed her, igniting fires wherever they touched.

“Is it safe to say you're awake?” he managed to say between quickening breaths. “Or am I taking advantage of a sleeping woman?”

“I'm not asleep,” she whispered, her tone imploring him to go further. To give more.

“The office,” he managed before he greedily tasted her kiss again.

“Taken care of,” she assured him, enthralled by her own welling passions. “I called Lois.”

Again a low, encouraging moan arose from her as his hands unbuttoned her dress, his mouth kissing her and tasting the exposed skin. One hand caressed the sweeping dip of her hip, the gently rounded stomach, then moved around behind her to join the other hand in unfastening her bra. She felt a luscious, hot pleasure stiffen her nipples as he took each into his mouth, firing her to a dizzy, pulsing ecstasy.

By now her need matched his. The caution that normally controlled her seemed melted like the liquid between her thighs. Instinct and pure rich desire took control now.

Her fingers trembling with desire, she unbuttoned his shirt. She pulled it off, running her hands over his tautly muscled chest. He groaned with the pleasure of contact when he dragged her naked, aroused breasts against him, merging their flesh.

One hand slid under the elastic waistband of her panties to feel the wet warmth of her.

He groaned, as if her arousal was almost painful to him. “It's been too long,” he whispered, sliding the panties right off her. He stroked her high on the inside of her thighs, and she opened them wider for him, guiding his fingers with every stroke.