Hot Bodies Boxed Set: The Complete Vital Signs Erotic Romance Trilogy (42 page)

Dana never saw Captain Masters again. He was convicted of attempted murder, along with a string of other charges, including grand larceny. It seemed he’d been fleecing Grandma Rose for money for years, taking advantage of the older woman’s failing memory whenever and however he could, even if it meant sleeping with a dried-up old woman every now and then. At some point he’d convinced Grandma Rose to name him sole beneficiary in her will, and when he saw her keel over on the verandah, he thought he’d try speeding up the inevitable just a bit so he could collect that much sooner. It didn’t work.

Captain Masters spent the rest of his life in prison, while Grandma Rose ended up in a rest home. She’d collapsed out on the verandah from a massive stroke, and never recovered. Her pink Charleston mansion was sold, along with all its pink contents, and Dana’s parents invested the money in the stock market. They lost most of it in the market crash of 2001, just before they were about to send Dana to college, and Dana ended up having to take out student loans. It was just the latest misfortune in a chain of misfortunes dating back almost twenty years to that fateful night when a dirty old man ruined Dana Johnson for life.

Dana Johnson really did believe she was ruined, at least as far as sex was concerned. Permanently. What had happened to her at fourteen—as innocent as one unwanted kiss and a grope might seem to some—still left her with permanent scars, scars she thought she had no hope of ever erasing. Still, something had happened in the past few days which gave her body and soul the first glimmer of hope it had had in years.

That something was Billy Hartzell.

Billy had caught Dana’s eye just the other day, when she saw him out on his bedpan rounds. Dana had stumbled across him—literally—when she was making a mad dash for the OR department by way of Geriatrics. She’d arrived for a late afternoon shift and found the regular parking garage full, forcing her to park in the overflow lot in the rear of the main hospital complex. She had to cut through three separate hospital wings before she even made it to Geriatrics, and by then she was sweaty and out of breath. She’d stopped short when Billy Hartzell’s overflowing bedpan cart came within inches of knocking her flat.

“Oh, pardon me, miss,” Billy had said in his sweet Georgia drawl. “You might wanna watch your step. Believe you me, I got some nasty stuff on this here cart that you don’t need a-spoilin’ your nice clean clothes.”

A startled Dana looked up, met Billy’s smooth blue-gray eyes, and instantly melted on the spot. The glacier-thick frigid walls she’d built up around herself for decades were gone in a split second, and heat began to rise in her body for probably the first time in her entire life. She’d never seen Billy Hartzell before, and wasn’t sure she ever would again, but one thing was clear—she would remember this exact moment in time for all eternity. This man, this
beautiful
man, might as well have dropped from the sky. But he had done so with a purpose.

It took a man as sexy and rare as Billy Hartzell to melt Dana Johnson’s frozen heart. And even if she never saw him again, Dana knew that he had changed her life forever.

A long-dormant part of Dana had finally awakened, and she was already feeling the changes in herself, however small. Even though Dana wasn’t fully aware of just how different things would become, she did know one thing for certain.

Dan knew that Billy Hartzell was her destiny. And she would stop at nothing to make him hers.

Seven

Joanna instructed her two techs to prep the patient for surgery. She watched as the two junior staffers doused the old woman’s misshapen foot with alcohol, then Betadine. Even this simple act was enough to send the patient into a panic.

“What’s that?” the old woman cried, her words mushy because she didn’t have her dentures in. “What are y’all doin’ to me?”

Joanna lightly touched the patient’s hand. “We’re just sterilizing the surgical area to prevent infection, Mrs. Jones. It’s standard procedure.”

Mrs. Jones jerked her head back and forth, sniffing the air. “What the hell’s that odor?”

“That’s the Betadine, Mrs. Jones,” Joanna said as gently as she could. “It’s a disinfectant that will kill any bacteria that might be on your skin.”

“Stop it!” Mrs. Jones cried. “Stop pourin’ all yer toxic chemicals all over me!
Get me out of here!”

Joanna glanced up at Dana, who immediately turned up the dosage on the old woman’s IV. “I’m just going to give you something to help you relax, Mrs. Jones,” Dana said. “You’ll start to feel a little warm.”

“No! No!” the old woman cried, thrashing back and forth on the operating table. Then the drugs hit her veins, and she relaxed a little. But not enough.

“I swear to Jesus, I don’t know how y’all talked me into this,” the old woman said, her words slurring from the heavy meds. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with my goddamn foot.”

“You have a severe bunion, Mrs. Jones,” Joanna said, willing herself to keep her voice calm. “And it’s abscessed. It needs to be repaired, or you might lose your ability to walk and be independent. You don’t want that, do you?”

“I don’t give a damn,” hissed Mrs. Jones. “Just get me the hell outa here before y’all kill me dead. Goddamn it, I hate hospitals.”

Joanna shot another look at Dana, who turned up the drugs even more. Mrs. Jones relaxed a bit more and settled back against the operating table, though she was still wide awake. Joanna really couldn’t stand patients like Mrs. Jones who complained about every little thing. Especially during an operation as minor as a bunion removal. In her long nursing career Joanna had seen patients with severed limbs or severe burns barely bat an eyelash, and yet Mrs. Jones was obviously the type who’d pass out when she got a hangnail. She was what people in the healthcare field liked to label a “problem” in the patient file.

As if to prove the point, Mrs. Jones sat straight up and pointed at the large clock on the wall. “Does that big evil clock really need to be starin’ at me like that?”

Joanna grabbed Mrs. Jones by the shoulders and pressed her back down onto the operating table. “Dana, go ahead and give Mrs. Jones the maximum dose of sodium pentothal,” she ordered. “And add in some Demerol and Percocet. too, if you can.”

Dana blinked. “But Mrs. Wilkinson, the doctor isn’t here yet. I can’t change the ordered drug cocktail without his permission—“

“Just do it,” Joanna said through clenched teeth. “I’ll take full responsibility.”

Dana obeyed. As the mega-dose of drugs hit Mrs. Jones veins, she sighed, then smiled. After a moment or two, she began to sing the theme to
Gilligan’s Island
off-key.

Dana snickered. “Well, that’s a new one,” she said. “Usually they just start talking about their grandchildren when they get the Demerol mix.”

“Or their ex-husbands,” Joanna countered. She couldn’t help but laugh herself as Mrs. Jones switched from
Gilligan’s Island
to the theme from
Mary Tyler Moore.
Then the old woman stopped singing altogether and began muttering softly to herself.

“Well, I don’t think we’ll be having any more problems with the patient,” Joanna remarked, though she silently wished that Mrs. Jones’ crummy Medicare HMO would have agreed to pay for general anesthesia. Some patients just didn’t need to be awake in the OR, even if they were only having a pimple popped.

And of course, there was the little matter of Joanna and Harlan’s marital tension. It was far easier for Harlan to lash out at her—and everyone else in the OR—when the patient was out cold. Even if Mrs. Jones was drug-addled to the point of singing old TV themes, she was still awake. And drugged silly or not, no patient deserved to listen to another one of Dr. Harlan Wilkinson’s OR tirades up-close and personal. Everyone would have to be on their best behavior on this operation—Harlan included.

Joanna sighed and bit her lip underneath her sterile mask. She wasn’t counting on Harlan being on his best behavior today. If anything, he’d be on his
worst
behavior. And that just complicated an already difficult situation even further.

The OR doors swung open, and Harlan swept into the room. Following close on his heels was a nurse that Joanna didn’t recognize at first. But after carefully studying the sparkling blue eyes that floated above the woman’s paper surgical mask, Joanna deduced that it was Starla Berring.

“Starla, what are you doing in here?” Joanna asked. “You aren’t assigned to this operation.”

Starla’s blonde eyebrows pursed above her mask. “Um, yes I am. Maryam Malone just told me I was.”

Joanna sighed. “Maryam doesn’t have final say on the OR schedule anymore.
I
do.”

“But Maryam said—“

Joanna sighed again. “Maryam doesn’t seem to remember that I got promoted into her old job,” she snapped. “That old busybody really needs to learn to leave well enough alone.”

“It’s all right, Joanna,” Harlan said gruffly. “I actually told Maryam that we could use an extra pair of hands on this one.”

Joanna stomped her foot. “What? For a
bunion
operation you can do in your sleep? How dare you undermine my authority like that! How dare you—“

Dana cleared her throat loudly and pointed down at the groggy-but-still-awake Mrs. Jones. The old woman had stopped muttering to herself and was now staring straight at Harlan and Joanna.

“Hey, can’tsh y’all justsh put me to sshhhhleeep?” the old woman slurred.

Harlan shot Joanna a stern warning look, and she took a moment to regain her composure. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Jones, but Medicare won’t pay for general anesthesia on a simple bunion operation,” she said. “But your foot is completely numb. I guarantee you won’t feel a thing.”

“Well, thennn y’allll ssshould shhhhuuuut up yer arguin’,” Mrs. Jones replied, then slumped back onto the table and resumed muttering.

Joanna clamped her mouth shut and stewed in her own juices. Why on earth would Harlan need an extra set of hands on a routine bunion operation? It was practically the easiest surgery in the book. So easy, in fact, that bunion removals could legally be done by podiatrists, who weren’t even MDs. Something funny was going on, that was for sure.

“Well, Joanna?” Starla chirped in her usual fake, overly-bubbly way. “What would you like me to do?”

Joanna took a moment before responding. She didn’t want to bite the poor girl’s head off, even if she did believe Starla had no business being there in the first place. “Why don’t you just stand beside me and observe?” she finally offered. “That way if I need you to step in, you’ll be right there.”

Starla gave a little scoff. Clearly she was put off by that remark. “Well, if you aren’t going to have me do anything, I don’t know what I’m doing here in the first place,” she snapped. “I’m out of here.” But Harlan stopped her.

“Actually, Starla, I’d really appreciate it if you stayed,” he said. “In fact, why don’t you take over the rest of the prep work from the techs? I think they could use a break anyway. God knows Joanna works them to death. Don’t you, Joanna?”

Joanna let out a little gasp. She couldn’t believe her ears. Her husband wasn’t just undermining her authority in the OR—now he was making her out to be a bad boss. As if he had any room to talk.

Starla snickered under her breath and took over for the two techs, who bolted out of the OR lickety-split. Joanna just stood there and fumed.

Once Starla finished the rest of the prep work, Harlan took his place across from Joanna and held out his hand, palm-up. “Scalpel, please,” he said, taking care to make eye contact with her. But this time, it was Joanna who looked away. She knew that if she locked eyes with her husband for more than a nanosecond, she might end up punching him in the face.

“Scalpel please,” Harlan said again, raising his voice a little this time.

Joanna blew out a breath of air and again struggled to contain herself. Didn’t this man ever stop? Maybe he wasn’t yelling and swearing in the OR this time around, but now he was being passive-aggressive, which was even worse. “Scalpel,” she finally growled at her husband, and placed it properly in his hand.

“Thank you,” Harlan said through clenched teeth. He might be feigning politeness on the outside, but on the inside it was killing him. “Commencing first incision,” he said as quietly as possible. “Dana, please keep the patient as sedated as possible.”

Dana nodded and gave Mrs. Jones some more Demerol, while Harlan began making the first incision into Mrs. Jones’ lumpy, troublesome bunion. Within less than ten minutes, the operation was complete.

Harlan stood back and dusted off his hands. “Well, they don’t come much easier than that, do they?” he said. “Starla, why don’t you close for me?”

Starla giggled and actually jumped up and down. “Really, Dr. Wilkinson? You want
me
to close for you?”

“Sure, why not?” he replied, cutting a glance in Joanna’s direction, who seethed. “Joanna’s not exactly at her best today, anyway. Dana, go ahead and bring the patient back up from the meds once Starla’s done closing. I’ll just go scrub out now.”

Dana glanced from Harlan to Joanna, and tittered. It was all Joanna could do to keep from socking her husband in the gut.

“Joanna, I think Starla can take things from here. Why don’t you join me in the scrub room?”

Joanna didn’t respond. She just stood rooted to the floor, her blood boiling.

“Well, Joanna?” Harlan asked as he headed for the swinging metal doors. “Are you coming or not?”

Oh, she was coming all right. Coming to kick his ass straight into next week.

She shoved her way past him into the post-op room, making sure to beat him to everything he needed in there. She wasn’t going to make things easy for Harlan. Not now. Not ever.

She tossed her soiled latex gloves in the trash, wadded up her dirty gown, bonnet and mask and tossed them in the hamper. Then she planted herself in front of both receptacles, blocking Harlan’s path. He stopped short, then pulled his own mask down around his chin. “Joanna, what gives? I need to derobe. Get out of my way.”

“Are you sleeping with her?” she blurted.

“Am I
what?”

“It’s a simple question, Harlan. Are. You. Sleeping. With. Her. Just answer yes or no.”

“With who? Starla Berring?”

Joanna rolled her eyes. “Of
course
, Starla Berring. Who the hell did you think I was referring to? That woman has slept with half the men in this state.”

“Not with me, she hasn’t,” Harlan retorted, his voice clipped. “And for your information, I wouldn’t touch that chick with a forty-nine-foot pole—even if I wasn’t already married to you. God only knows where that woman’s genitals have been.”

Joanna scoffed. “Yeah, likely story. I’m sure that’s why you dragged her into an operation where she didn’t belong and then made a point to use her to humiliate me.”

“Joanna—“

“Don’t you
Joanna
me, Harlan. I am sick and tired of this bullshit. It has to stop.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’m leaving you.”

Harlan blinked. “You’re overreacting a bit, aren’t you?” But she wasn’t. He knew it, she knew it, everyone knew it. The Wilkinson marriage was on the rocks, no matter how you sliced it. “Look Joanna, I know things haven’t exactly been wine and roses between us lately, but maybe we should find a way to work things out.”

“Ha. And when exactly do you propose to do that? During the ten minutes a day where we actually have some private time? Or maybe over the speakerphone when you’re working the day shift in the OR and I’m at home trying to sleep? You tell me.”

Harlan just sighed and looked at the floor.

Joanna was losing her patience. “Well?”

Harlan shifted uncomfortably back and forth on his feet. Then he did something totally unexpected. He grabbed Joanna, pulled her close, and kissed her hard and deep.

Joanna froze for a moment, then relaxed. Then she started kissing her husband back. And all at once, all the pent-up conflict and tension between them melted away. They kissed like it was the first time their lips had ever touched, and their bodies both caught fire.

When they finally came back up for air, Harlan stroked Joanna’s cheekbone tenderly with his index finger. “We really should do that more often,” he said.

Joanna giggled despite herself. “Yeah, we should. You know, you’re a lot nicer to be around when you’re kissing me.”

Harlan laughed softly back. “I know. I might be a raging SOB surgeon most of the time, but even I have a softer side.”

They stood in each others’ arms for a moment or two, basking in the glow of their rediscovered intimacy. But then all their old problems just began to resurface. One passionate kiss wasn’t going to fix everything that had gone wrong between them, no matter how much they might want it to. The Watson-Wilkinson marriage was probably doomed, and they both knew it.