The Surgeon's Favourite Nurse. Teresa Southwick
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noticed the green scrubs and knew he’d come from the OR. She’d heard he was working on a young boy. The dashing hero. At the moment he didn’t look dashing, just dog-tired and she asked, “How are you?”
“Bushed,” he confirmed.
“How’s the kid?” Cal asked, worry sliding into his eyes.
Jake looked at his partner, then met her gaze. “Daredevil boy plus flashy bike equals belly trauma. He won’t be taking jumps off the curb at warp speed again anytime soon. But he’ll be fine. I just gave the good news to his parents.”
“Glad to hear it,” Cal said. “Speaking of parents … I have to go.”
“Me, too,” Mitch agreed.
“Thanks for your time.” Hope wanted to beg them to stay and not leave her alone with Jake, but she knew they were busy. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”
“Happy to help.” Cal disappeared through the double doors.
“Good luck with the new E.R.,” Mitch said, then followed his colleague to where the trauma bays held patients waiting for treatment.
She was about to excuse herself when Jake unexpectedly said, “I need caffeine. Stat.”
“Rough day?” The words just popped out.
He nodded and even that small movement seemed an effort. Normally he looked magazine-ad perfect, every hair in place. Not so much right now. Gray eyes were dull with fatigue and his cocky, confident attitude was missing in action.
“Want to join me?”
She found him dangerously endearing, which seemed an oxymoron, but definitely dangerous because she was unable to tell him no.
“Are you buying?”
He grinned. “I think I can handle a cup of coffee.”
She walked with him through the hospital lobby and its high dome that allowed lots of sunlight. They passed the information desk staffed with volunteers, then out-patient admitting and down a hall. Jake opened the door to the doctor’s dining room and let her precede him inside where she saw a scattering of tables covered with white cloths.
He took two mugs from a side table, then stuck each in turn beneath the spigot of a large silver coffee urn. After snagging a dessert plate, he filled it with several chocolate chip cookies and a couple of blueberry muffins. Then he sat at a table by a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out on the front parking lot and Mercy Medical Center Parkway. He leaned back and let out a long sigh.
Hope took the chair to his right. “Your partners were filling me in on what to expect when the new hospital opens.”
“Patient load is just a guess. Mercy West will be slow at first, just because it’s new. Although I understand people are coming in asking if it’s open because the outside looks ready. But the type of trauma will be different just because of the location in the southwest valley.”
“Oh?”
“Not as many MVAs or shootings.”
“I see.” She remembered something Mitch said. “Have you heard there’s going to be a sales nurse to channel patients to the new hospital?”
“It was my idea.” He blew on the wide opening of his steaming mug.
“Why?” she asked, surprised.
“It’s human nature to resist change.”
Not a news flash. She was a prime example. Her husband died and she’d had no choice but to accept the sudden traumatic differences of having the man she loved ripped away from her. Somehow she’d managed to move on with her life. Now she had a choice and alone was how she planned to stay. That would exclude the possibility of any unexpected and painful changes in her future. Pain was a warning system and she got the message. Alone equaled safe.
So that begged the question—why in the world was she sitting here with the guy whose kiss had reminded her how much she missed being with a man? But they’d agreed that their relationship would be professional only. Back to business.
“Mitch mentioned that there’s a real need to take some of the patient load to the new hospital. But a sales nurse?” she asked.
“Patients and family members used to coming here aren’t going to want to go somewhere else.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Like I said, people resist change. But the load here is becoming overwhelming.” Amusement chased some of the fatigue from his face. “Not long ago a former patient was here complaining about the bill he’d received from the hospital regarding his bed.”
“Why?”
“He was billed for an ICU bed. Then he was downgraded to IMC—intermediate medical care. And then lowered to floor status.”
“What was his problem?”
“He never left the E.R.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “It was explained to him that he still received the same care he would have in the unit, but there wasn’t a bed available upstairs for him.”
Hope couldn’t help smiling, too. “I know it’s not funny. That poor man.”
“When Mercy Medical West opens, someone in those circumstances here will be offered a bed there. A sales nurse will sweeten the deal with a promise of hot meals, privacy and a computer in every room. All the comforts available.”
“I see your point. Maybe it’s the ‘sales’ part that bothers me. Couldn’t they call the job Patient Placement coordinator?”
“PPC? Perfectly politically correct?”
“Why not?” she demanded, laughing in spite of herself.
“No reason I know of.” He took a cookie and chewed thoughtfully. “So you had a nice chat with Cal and Mitch?”
“Yes. They were very informative. And I’m wondering …”
She stopped herself just in time. Wondering about Jake was another dangerous activity.
“What?” As he blew on the steaming coffee, his gaze never left hers.
Damn. Even tired he didn’t miss anything. Ignoring his question would just get more attention. “It just occurred to me that both of them are married and have families. You don’t. Why is that?”
“I have different goals.”
“Oh?”
“I want other things from my career. Being chief trauma surgeon will get me where I want to be in terms of practicing medicine. After that the sky’s the limit. I’ve thought seriously about politics.”
“That seems self-indulgent. A power trip.”
“You don’t approve.” He wasn’t asking.
Without confirming, she said, “Medicine is community service in its purest, most basic form. It’s a higher calling than self-gratification.”
“Without politics, policies don’t change and people don’t get help.”
“But not just anyone can save a boy with belly trauma. You’re highly trained to save lives. Let someone else without those skills change policy.”
His expression turned stormy. “Someone with my particular skill set has a unique perspective in shaping the future of health care in this country.”
“Maybe. But I can’t help thinking that it isn’t people in general, but you in particular at the top of your priority list. It seems to me that you’re all about money and power.”
Fire turned his eyes to quicksilver. “Does taking shots at me make you feel better about kissing me back?”
“That’s not what this is about.” Although