Nightwatch. Jo Leigh
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didn’t look like the Guy Giroux she was used to. His dark hair, thick and long enough to brush his collar, was mussed, and his strong jaw was darkened with a five o’clock shadow. His eyebrows, which would have been too bushy on a weaker face, made everything about his looks more interesting.
There was no disputing he was handsome. And tall. She guessed he was about six-three. At five-eight, she only reached his shoulders. And then there was his body. The man took care of himself, and didn’t all the nurses and female doctors notice. Guy was often the subject of break-room gossip and wishful thinking.
In all the time she’d worked at the hospital, she’d never heard of him dating anyone on staff. Considering how small-town the E.R. was, that was a good thing. Nothing escaped their co-workers, and this innocent dinner would be no exception. Rachel didn’t give a damn.
It was startling how affected Guy was by the loss of his stepdaughter. He had clearly loved Heather, and his concern for the baby was as deep as a parent’s.
It occurred to Rachel that she barely knew the man. She only knew the doctor. Which was exactly how it was supposed to be. Only, things had changed, and the man inside the black leather coat needed her. She couldn’t bring Heather back, and she wasn’t the best doctor for Heath. But she could be a friend.
They reached the door of the restaurant and Guy held it open for her. Inside, the cold of the January night disappeared. The familiar surroundings helped take the chill out of Rachel. Larry Goodman, the owner, was hosting this evening, and he greeted them both warmly, took their coats and led them to the dining room, to a back booth.
Like all the emergency personnel in town, Rachel came to the Bar and Grill more often than any other place. Aside from the convenient location, the restaurant had great food, the ambience was calming, and Larry and his wife, Louise, went to great lengths to take care of all the teams in the emergency-services district.
She scooted into the far seat of the booth, while Guy sat across from her. “Tea, please, Larry. Earl Grey.”
Larry, who looked younger than his sixty-plus years, nodded and turned to Guy.
“Coffee.”
“Be right back, folks. Tonight we have some great mesquite-smoked salmon, and the prime rib has been getting raves.”
The minute they were alone, Guy pulled the little notebook out of his pocket and put it on the table.
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