The M.d. Courts His Nurse. Meagan McKinney
Читать онлайн книгу.
clogged her throat. She’d told herself for months that Brian was the past, and someone better was the future. But it still didn’t make the hurt go away. Brian had been her love, her light, her hope for more than two years. She’d met him at the beginning of his physician’s internship at Lutheran Hospital—a man who wanted to heal with her by his side. They’d talked of the future, of children and of building a practice together.
By the end, however, Dr. Brian Gage could only talk about what class of Mercedes he wanted to upgrade to, and what golf community he was going to build his mansion in when he got his chance to wave goodbye to hicksville Mystery, Montana.
He upgraded his fiancée too, exchanging good old small-town Becky for a much better class of trophy wife; one who hadn’t grown up poor; one who hadn’t grown up struggling. One who didn’t wear nurse’s scrubs and who had no more ambition to help her fellow human than Marie Antoinette.
Even now Rebecca cursed herself for the bitterness. It was still there, lurking in her heart when she thought she’d scoured it out for good. She was bound and determined that Brian wasn’t going to ruin her, and he hadn’t. His rejection still stung, but she’d gone on with her life. She even had some hope left for the future. Her only caveat was that her future would contain no more doctors. Not even handsome ones.
And Dr. John Saville was handsome enough to be a threat.
It was sure a good thing that he was such a pill. Otherwise, as she told herself in a fit of brutal honesty, she might find herself attracted once more to the flame that had almost killed her.
“Miss O’Reilly, may I see you in my office, please?”
She looked up. The doctor stood over her desk, those laser-blue eyes focused straight on her.
She nodded. Even now, after two weeks of working with him, his imperious, autocratic manner struck her as more appropriate to a dictator than a doctor. Especially since she’d already had plenty of experience with men who treated her like a lump of gravel on their launch pads.
My word, she thought, we’ve been working together day in and day out, and he’s still “Doctor,” his office nurse still “Miss O’Reilly.” All the stilted formality made him seem intent on reminding others of their subordinate place in life. And, oh how she hated it.
She stood, sorely missing retired Paul Winthrop’s old-world charm and easy smile. He never made her or anyone else feel as if they belonged to an inferior caste.
“Of course, Doctor,” she replied, knowing full well what was coming. She watched his ramrod-straight back retreat down the hall toward his private office at the rear.
“Sorry, Becky,” Lois told her, keeping her voice down. “I should’ve saved the joke for lunchtime.”
“Oh, baloney,” she assured the office manager. “We weren’t doing anything wrong. Laughter is good medicine, right? I’m sick of the way he acts as if this place is a funeral home. Cover my phone for me, Lo?”
Lois nodded. She was in her late thirties with stiffly sculpted blond hair and a pleasant face. “Now remember you’ve got that hair-trigger Irish temper,” she cautioned her younger co-worker. “He’s still new, we’ll have to break him in gradually.”
Rebecca stood up, smoothing her skirt with both hands.
John Saville had left the door open for her. He stood poker rigid in front of his neat desk, arms folded over his chest.
For an absurd moment she felt as if she was back in high school, reporting to the principal’s office. Except that Mr. McNulty wasn’t a bronzed hunk and a half who wore hand-sewn silk ties and Bond Street jackets.
“Yes, Doctor?” she said from the doorway.
His stern visage seemed to rearrange itself in surprise as his gaze took in this full-frontal view of her in the soft, indirect lighting. Unlike hospital nurses, she was not required to wear a uniform, and for a few moments he studied her plum-colored V-neck dress with its wide, flowing skirt. As usual, her long, chestnut hair was combed back and held in place with barrettes. The hairstyle only highlighted her brow, now furrowed in irritation, and eyes that were once called “snapping-blue.”
“You wanted to see me?” she prompted again.
“Yes, right—of course.” He seemed to collect himself, and the stiff formality was back. “Please come in.”
She did, but he remained standing so she did, too.
The window beside his double row of file cabinets was cracked open a few inches. It was early May, and though the nights still had a nip to them, the days were sunny and growing warmer. Outside, the box elders and dogwoods that grew throughout Mystery were budding into leaf.
“Miss O’Reilly,” he began again, gathering steam now, “would it be at all possible for you and Mrs. Brubaker to practice a bit more…professional decorum on the job?”
She remembered Lois’s warning—and even with her heart speeding up, she admitted she really did have a temper.
But beneath all the anger was a tightly coiled spring of hurt and rejection. It hadn’t been quite six months since Brian had finished his medical internship and dropped her like a bad habit.
It took conscious self-control when she replied, “I’m not sure what you mean, Dr. Saville, by professional decorum.”
“What I mean,” he said tightly, “is that you both need to be more professional about your work. Is that clear enough?”
His tone instantly made her combative. But she remembered to let the first flush of anger pass before she answered. “Is there some problem with my competence as a nurse? Or Lo’s as office manager?”
“Competence?” he repeated. That deep crease between his eyebrows was back as he frowned at her question.
“Yes. I mean, are there problems with medical mistakes? Or have any patients complained about my manner?”
“Well…no. It’s nothing like that. Just as Dr. Winthrop assured me, you are quite efficient and knowledgeable. You and Mrs. Brubaker both. It’s just…”
“Just what, Doctor?”
His glance touched her and quickly slid away. Now, as he finally remembered his specific grievance, a little irritation seeped into his tone.
“Frankly, the walls in this building are not all that thick. Even when you lower your voices,” he added significantly. “And tell…off-color jokes.”
Now it was her turn to flush, although she almost laughed outright at the same time. He must have heard the “plugged-in” joke Lois told her.
But so what, it was harmless. The effort to control her smile alerted him that she’d caught on to his reference.
He spoke up quickly. “It gets difficult at times to concentrate on my patients with—well, with all this loud laughter and chatter. You and Mrs. Brubaker seem to forget this is not a sorority house.”
“It’s Lois, not Mrs. Brubaker,” she retorted irritably. “And I was a full-time working student in nursing school, so I’d know nothing about sorority life.”
As I’m sure you do, golden boy, she almost added, barely catching herself in time.
Her comment, and tone of hurt dignity, forced him into momentary silence.
She felt anger hammer at her temples. Just like all the other male doctors she knew, he was a buttoned-down, wind-up medical doll who could shatter a person’s self-esteem just as effortlessly as tie up a suture. Was he up twenty minutes early this morning to pick those damned lilacs in the waiting room? But he acted as if such things just happened by magic, not even a polite thank-you. Humor was her only “perk” around here—and only a jerk would begrudge it to her.
But she cooled off a bit during his silence. “Lois and I like to have a little harmless fun,” she informed him with cold