The Surgeon's One Night To Forever. Ann McIntosh
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reminded herself stoutly, despite the memories that had her tossing and turning at night, equal parts aroused and furious. It made having to see him every day a torment.
Worse, his easygoing manner and smiling demeanor reminded her of Andrew. Charming, lovable Andrew, who’d had everyone falling over themselves to please him, even Liz. But what he’d wanted from her had been so much more than she’d been able to give. He’d complained she wasn’t affectionate enough, and the memory of being told she was too cold and controlled for him still stung all these years later.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t loved him. She had, so much so that she had been tempted, when he’d asked, to give up her studies and travel with him in Europe. Yet, in the end, Andrew had broken her heart and gone off on his own, preferring adventure to a life with her, and leaving her to pick up the pieces of her life the best way she could. There had been a corner of her heart still hoping he would come back, say he’d been wrong and she was all he’d ever need, but it hadn’t happened. Would never happen as, before they’d been able to mend the rift, he’d been killed in a motorcycle accident in Germany.
Durham had gone but now one of the nurses was asking Cort something, gazing up at him as though she’d just discovered religion and it was the Church of Smith. It was the same way women of all ages had stared at Andrew, and the similarity made Liz’s stomach clench.
Forcing her gaze back down to the monitor, she tried to push aside the painful thoughts, but one thing remained clear. Staying away from Cort Smith as much as possible was the very best thing she could do, for her sanity, if nothing else.
“Excuse me, Dr. Prudhomme.”
Liz looked up on hearing her name, but didn’t recognize the young man standing beside her. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Lister, in HR, asked me to let you know that there are some changes being made to the credential verification process. She noticed it’s been over nine months since your trip to Mexico and, since you tend to go on a medical mission trip once a year, she wanted you to be aware of the changes.”
In her peripheral vision, she noticed Cort’s head turn, as though he were looking at her, and she knew the mention of Mexico had attracted his attention. Her toes curled in her sneakers, heat bloomed in her belly, and it took all her concentration not to glance his way. Just the mention of her trip threatened to overwhelm her with all the memories she was trying so hard to suppress.
“Oh, thanks.” She kept her voice level and her focus on the man in front of her. “Could you tell Mrs. Lister I don’t have a trip planned right now, but ask her to email me the new protocol so I have it on hand?”
“Sure, Dr. Prudhomme.”
As he walked away, she turned her attention back to the website on myasthenia gravis. Committing to memory the information she wanted, she signed out of the system, but before she could get up, her cell phone pinged with an incoming text message, and she took it out to look.
Robbie, reminding her about her promise to attend a fundraising luncheon in his place the following day, since he was in London with Giovanna.
It made her annoyance peak.
When her great-aunts had left the majority of their wealth in a philanthropic fund and had named Liz as the trustee, she’d balked at the responsibility. Yet she owed them a debt and had known she couldn’t refuse. Not only had they funded her schooling without hesitation, they’d also been a refuge for her, stalwart in their support of her ambitions when her parents had tried to talk her out of pursuing a medical career.
As a compromise, Robbie had agreed to sit on the board and become the face of the trust, which had made sense, since his financial contacts and experience would be invaluable. Not to mention how much more easily he mixed and mingled in the high social circles her family frequented.
But he was all caught up in the preparations for his wedding and, not unreasonably, wanted to spend as much time as possible with Giovanna. London Fashion Week was about to start, and he’d promised to be there while his fiancée modeled for a new, haute couture designer. Liz didn’t blame him, but having to dress up and press the flesh while talking about nonprofits, investments and the like wasn’t anywhere near the top of her favorite things list.
More like at the bottom.
Shoving her phone into her pocket, she tried not to look, but found her gaze drawn straight back to Cort. He was still listening to the nurse, but his attention was on Liz, and she couldn’t help wondering if he, like her, had been drawn back into thoughts of their night together.
Dragging her gaze away from his, she got up. There were patients waiting for her, and putting some distance between her and Cort would be a very good thing just then. Liz pushed in her chair and had only taken a couple of steps when a nurse called out.
“Incoming baby, found in a dumpster. Hypothermic, unresponsive. Cops aren’t waiting for the ambulance. They’re bringing it in themselves.”
Immediately Liz was moving, training taking over. With a glance at the board, she barked, “Room two. Sanjay, heat lamp and thermal blankets. Marion, warm saline and an oxygen hood. Jessica, call up to Pediatrics and have them on standby.”
Then, as she set off at a run for the ambulance bay, she realized Cort was ahead of her, rushing to meet the incoming police car as though he were wearing a cape and only he could save the patient.
Oh, hell, no.
This was the kind of usurpation that shouldn’t be allowed. There was absolutely no reason for him to be involved, and she didn’t care if it was an instinctive reaction to hearing it was a child coming in. He couldn’t be allowed to overreach his purview. Not on her watch.
He was sprinting toward the intake door and, with a burst of speed, she caught up to him just as he was going through it. The cold slapped her face, hard, stealing her breath for a moment, but then, with the sound of sirens screaming closer, she came up beside him. As she pulled on a pair of gloves, she said in her firmest voice, “Dr. Smith, you’re not—”
Cort Smith turned and glanced down at her, and whatever she was planning to say next caught in her suddenly bone-dry throat.
There was an expression on his face she’d never seen before, and yet instinctively recognized. The blank stare spoke of hyper-focus, the tightness of mouth and jaw heralded not an unwillingness to yield but an inability. Curling her fingers into fists so tight she could feel her short nails through her gloves, she realized the futility of trying to block him from treating the child.
He turned away as the police car fishtailed on the thin slick of snow at the entrance to the bay, dismissing her, and Liz took a calming breath.
Later. She’d take him to task later.
The police car’s front passenger door flew open even before the vehicle came to a complete stop, and a burly officer swung out. He looked to be hugging himself, holding his winter jacket closed as the wind caught the edge of the emergency blanket hanging down from below the edge of the coat, making it crackle and shimmer in the harsh lights.
Cort didn’t try to take the child out of its warm cocoon but rushed the officer into the hospital.
“Room two,” Liz called out, a step behind them.
“Homeless guy said he heard a noise from inside the dumpster, fished the baby out while someone called us.” Even though he was running, the officer’s voice was steady, factual. “Took us three minutes to get to the scene from the time the call came in. I thought I felt a pulse when we first got there, but there’s been no movement or sound since. I think it’s a newborn, but I’m not sure.”
Cort swung through the door, guiding the officer, and Liz made no attempt to take the child, knowing Cort would do it, compelled as he was by some unknown force to take the lead. Instead, she moved quickly to the far side of the examination table, looking for the position of the heat lamp, making sure everything she needed was in place.
Cort unwrapped the child from the emergency blanket