The Surgeon's One Night To Forever. Ann McIntosh
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been working on a roof and slipped, the fall causing chest trauma and fractures to both arms and one leg. Already distressed, he’d grown more distraught as a massive hemothorax had caused blood to fill his chest cavity, compressing his lungs and making breathing increasingly difficult.
Inserting a chest tube was a great deal easier to do when the patient was unconscious and Liz had been prepared to have a difficult time of it until Stella, with impeccable timing, had distracted the patient, held his attention and kept him calm through the painful procedure. Stella’s intuition and ability to connect quickly and effectively with the patient deserved acknowledgement.
Liz was more than aware of her own shortcomings in the human interaction arena. Her lack of affectionate gestures, her cool contemplation of, and reaction to, life had been pointed out repeatedly, and not as positive traits. She wasn’t into giving constant praise for every little thing. They all had their jobs to do, from the ER doctors and trauma surgeons to the orderlies. She didn’t expect congratulations for every correct diagnosis she made or course of treatment she set in motion, and neither should anyone else for doing their job.
However, she also knew her reputation was one of a hard-assed, unsmiling witch. It was true, and she had no complaints on that score. However, just because she didn’t make nice with everyone, it didn’t mean she didn’t care about the people she worked with.
It was just simpler not to care too much, not build friendships and relationships that could, potentially, interfere with her job. She already had close friends from her university days. Although they were now scattered across the globe, Liz really didn’t see any need to make new ones.
She was heading to the nurses’ station to get a jump on her charting when she was interrupted by a nurse informing her that her young parkour patient’s mother had arrived, and was in the waiting room.
Her stomach rumbled again, reminding her she’d been on duty for eleven and a half hours and hadn’t ingested anything more than a couple of energy bars and half a cup of coffee. It was just one of those days.
Micah Johnston’s mother was by turns livid at her son and scared about his prognosis, and it took some time to calm her down. As soon as she’d escorted the lady to her son’s cubicle to speak to the surgeons, Liz strode purposefully once more toward the nearest nurses’ station.
She really had to get her charting done ASAP, so maybe, just maybe, she could leave the hospital on time and stop her stomach from devouring itself.
“Ah, there she is. Liz, a moment please.”
Damn it!
She turned toward Gregory Hammond’s voice, biting back a growl of annoyance at being waylaid once more. Luckily she’d assumed a politely questioning expression because, as she looked at the man walking next to the chief of surgery, her face, along with the rest of her body, froze.
There was no mistaking his carriage, the set of his head, the clear-cut features of the man she’d had a glorious one-night stand with in Mexico. To suddenly see him again, when she’d thought she never would, made her head feel light and her legs weak.
How could she not recognize him? First off, he was tall. Tall enough that she, five-ten in her stockinged feet, had to look up at him, a rarity indeed, and he carried himself with easy assurance, his back militarily straight, his strides long and strong.
Second, although she wouldn’t classify him as handsome, there was something compelling about his face. It was wide, with a prominent nose and deep-set, hooded eyes. A firm chin and mouth rounded out the picture. From a distance she’d been attracted, but it was seeing him up close that had cemented her interest. His eyes were spectacular. Dark amber in the center, shading to brown around the edge of the iris, they were serious and hinted at the kind of intelligence Liz always found appealing.
Heat rushed from her toes to the top of her head as her gaze was captured and transfixed by those unforgettable eyes, partially masked behind lowered lids. They gleamed, and she wasn’t sure what the glint in them was. Anger? Annoyance? Amusement?
Her heart went into overdrive, a mixture of irritation and mortification rushing through her in an instant.
Then all the years of training drummed into her by her mother and tutors arose to come to her rescue. Inner heat was replaced by cold tension, but she refused to allow it to show. Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she tore her gaze away from his companion and gratefully turned her attention to Gregory Hammond.
“Liz, I want you to meet our newest trauma surgeon, Dr. Cort Smith. Dr. Smith, this is Dr. Liz Prudhomme, one of our fine ER practitioners.”
Politeness dictated she look at Dr. Smith again, but it took considerable effort to make herself do it. Her brain was racing as fast as her heart, wondering if he was about to say they’d already met; if somehow he would make it clear their involvement had been of the intimate kind.
There were plenty of men who wouldn’t be able to resist doing so, just to up their reputations as ladies’ men.
But Cort Smith just stuck out his hand and said, politely, “How do you do, Dr. Prudhomme?”
Just the sound of that deep voice, so familiar and arousing, made her wish she were a hundred miles away. How could he be so cool, while she wanted to run for the hills? It was tempting to focus on his Adam’s apple or chin, rather than meet those compelling eyes again, but that would be the coward’s way out, so she met his gaze with what she hoped was a calm one of her own.
“Very well, thank you,” she replied, as she took his hand. A zing of electricity rushed up her arm, and she tugged her hand away as swiftly as she could without being rude.
The corners of Cort Smith’s mouth twitched, making Liz want to smack him.
“Dr. Smith starts his first full day tomorrow,” Gregory said. He seemed oblivious to the tension swirling between herself and Cort, which Liz swore was so thick she could taste it. “I hope you’ll take whatever time is necessary to point him in the right direction while he gets settled.”
She’d point him right out the door, if she had her way! But Liz only nodded, and decided the politic answer was best. “Of course.”
Thankfully, before the voluble Gregory could get chatting again, Stella interrupted.
“Dr. Prudhomme, I have the lab reports on Mr. Collins.”
“Thank you.” Her relief was almost strong enough to make her smile, but not quite. With a quick, “If you gentlemen will excuse me,” she hightailed it away as fast as she could without actually running.
Why did it feel as though the universe had decided her previously nice, orderly existence was too good to be true, and was throwing her curveballs left, right and center?
Cort watched Liz Prudhomme walk away, amazed at how unruffled she’d been by a meeting he’d found hard to face with aplomb. Besides a reddening of the tips of her ears when she’d turned and seen him, there had been no other discernible reaction to show she’d even recognized him.
After he’d caught sight of her at the door earlier, he’d tried to convince himself it wasn’t really the woman he’d spent the night with in Mexico. For the last seven months he’d been so hung up on the memory of that encounter he’d dreamt about her almost constantly, and had thought, erroneously, he’d glimpsed her in crowds at least a hundred times.
And she looked different, with her brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail instead of in a sleek bob to below her chin. The streak of aqua she’d had framing one side of her face was gone too, but they were definitely the same strong features he’d committed to memory. Those mesmerizing, mossy-green eyes, almond-shaped and thick-lashed, had the same steady, controlled gaze that had attracted him before.
She wouldn’t be classified as beautiful by most people’s standards. Tall, solidly built, with strong shoulders and wide hips, she was anything but model skinny. From a distance, she would seem the perfect fit for the girl next door, or the sidekick in a romantic movie.