The Patient Nurse. Diana Palmer
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he complains of discomfort. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Who had the catheter taken out?” he asked abruptly.
She only smiled at him.
“Never mind,” he said heavily, knowing that torture wouldn’t drag a name out of her. His eyes went over her oval face. Her cheeks were red but the rest of her face was pale and rather puffy. He scowled. He’d never noticed that before. It was the sort of look he often found in heart patients.
She put the chart back up. “The technicians are run off their feet on this shift. I wish we had someone staying with him who could give him cracked ice. That would stay down.”
“Hasn’t he any family?” he asked, touched by her concern.
“A son, in Utah,” she replied. “He’s on his way here, but he won’t arrive until tomorrow.”
“Tough.”
“Very.”
He glanced toward one of the patient’s wives who was trotting down the hall with a foam cup and a plastic pitcher. “Where’s she going?” he asked.
Noreen actually smiled, her eyes lighting up. “The Jamaican technician, Mrs. Hawk, told her where the ice machine and the coffee machine were. She’s been saving everyone steps ever since. She even gets towels and washcloths and blankets when she needs them, instead of asking anyone.”
“This is unusual?”
“Well, there are three other women who come to the door and ask us to give their husbands water when they’re thirsty—about every five minutes, after they’re brought in here after surgery.”
“Nurses used to do those things,” he reminded her.
“Nurses used to have more time, fewer patients, less paperwork and not as many lawsuits to worry about,” she returned, and sighed.
He searched her face and the frown came back. “Do you feel all right?” he asked with evident reluctance.
Her face closed up. “I’m a little tired, like everyone else on this shift. Thank you for seeing about Mr. Harris, sir.”
He shrugged. “Let me know if he has any further bouts of nausea.”
“Yes, sir.” She was polite, but cool, remote.
His dark eyes narrowed as they met her gray ones. “You don’t like me at all, do you?” he asked bluntly, as if he’d only just realized it.
She laughed without humor. “Isn’t that my line?”
She turned without meeting his gaze and went back to work, apparently dismissing him from her mind.
He left the ward, but something was nagging at the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was uneasy, and he didn’t know why. Vacations, he thought, were supposed to relax people. His seemed to have had an opposite effect.
Behind him, Noreen was trying to calm her renegade heartbeat, forcing herself not to look after the tall, dark man to whom she’d secretly given her heart so long ago. He’d never known, and he never would. Isadora had brought the tall man home and Noreen’s heart had broken in two. Not for her, the dark warm eyes, the sensuous smiles. Isadora, the pretty one, the flirting one, married the man Noreen would have died just to kiss. She’d kept her painful secret for six long years, through the four years of Ramon’s marriage, through the past two searing years of accusation and persecution. Her heart should have worn out by now, but it kept beating, despite its imperfection that grew worse daily.
The time would come when she might not have time to get to a doctor. Not that it mattered. Her life was one of sacrifice and duty. There had been no love in it since the death of her parents. She’d felt lost going to the big, lonely house that accepted her only reluctantly. She’d been Isadora’s private servant, her aunt’s social secretary, her uncle’s gofer. She’d been alone and lonely most of her adult life, hopelessly in love with her cousin’s husband and too proud to ever let it show.
He hated her now, blamed her for something that wasn’t really her fault. Even in death, he still belonged to beautiful Isadora. Noreen turned her mind back to her chores, shutting him out, shutting out the past and the pain. She accepted her lot, as she always had, and went about her work.
Chapter Two
Noreen went home to her lonely apartment and wished, not for the first time, that she had a cat or a dog or something to keep her company. But the apartment house had strict rules about pets. None were allowed, period. It was a lovely old Southern home, two story, with antiquated plumbing and peeling paint on the walls. But its four residents considered it home, and it boasted a small garage maintained just behind it for the residents who drove.
Fortunately Noreen and a medical student seemed to be the only people in residence who owned cars. There was a MARTA bus stop on the corner, and here in midtown, everything was accessible. Noreen, however, liked the freedom her car gave her. It was small and old, but it managed to keep going, thanks to the mechanic down the block who charged only a tiny fee to tinker with it when necessary. While she made a good salary at the hospital, Noreen still had to cut corners to make ends meet.
She’d never lacked for material things when she lived with her aunt and uncle and Isadora, but her life had been emotionally empty. Here, with her few possessions around her, she was at least independent. And if she lacked for love and companionship, that was nothing new. She wondered occasionally if her aunt had minded having to hire a housekeeper and social secretary after Noreen’s expulsion from the family home. She’d never had to pay her niece for these services. It would never have occurred to her.
Ramon had moved to a new apartment, she recalled, after Isadora’s tragic death. He hadn’t been able to face going home to the scene of his beloved wife’s last hours, for which he still blamed Noreen. She’d tried and tried to make him listen to the truth, just after it happened. But, maddened with grief and pain, he’d refused to let her speak. Perhaps he preferred the heartless image he’d endowed her with since their first meeting. God knew, he’d never really looked at her anyway.
She recalled with pain her first sight of him, getting out of a stately Jaguar in front of her aunt and uncle’s huge, sprawling mansion. His black hair had shone in the sun. His tall, athletic form in a staid gray suit had made him seem leaner, more imposing. As he entered the house, the impact of his liquid, coal black eyes in a handsome, blemishless dark face had caused Noreen’s heart to stop dead for an instant. She’d never known such sensations in her life. She’d flushed and stammered, and Ramon had smiled almost mockingly at her momentary weakness. It had been, she recalled painfully, as if he knew that her knees had gone weak in that instant. He was worldly, so perhaps her reaction was one to which he’d become accustomed. But God knew, amusement had been his only expression. He’d turned right away from Noreen after the quick, indifferent introduction, right back to his beautiful Isadora.
“Don’t think that he noticed you at all,” Isadora had said mockingly that evening, “despite the calf’s eyes you were making at him. Imagine a man like that looking twice at you!” she’d added, laughing.
Noreen hadn’t been able to meet those demeaning blue eyes. “I know he belongs to you, Isadora,” she’d said quietly, tidying up after her cousin.
“Just remember it,” came the curt reply. “I’m going to marry him.”
“Does he know?” Noreen couldn’t resist asking the dry question.
“Of course not,” her cousin murmured absently. “But I’m going to, just the same.”
And she had, only two months later, with her aunt as matron of honor and one of her set as bridesmaid.
Ramon, courteous to a fault even to strangers, had puzzled over the selection. Two days before the wedding, while Isadora enthused over her bridal gown with her mother, Ramon had paused in