Patient Nurse (10 page)

He turned on his heel and walked out. Noreen didn't know why he was so angry. Surely he didn't mind that her aunt and uncle were trying to build a relationship with her.

 

He left and didn't come back until almost bedtime. He'd been working, she could tell by the drawn look about him.

“Emergency surgery,” he explained, all but falling into the chair by the bed. “And not in time. He didn't make it. I had to tell his pregnant wife.” He hit the arm of the chair with the flat of his hand. “Damn it, why don't people think? He'd known for years that he had a bad heart, but he refused to go to the doctor, even when he started having shortness of breath and chest pain. He collapsed at the office and when they brought him in, the major part of his heart was already dead. Dead! You can't replace dead heart tissue and it doesn't regenerate. I couldn't do a thing for him. Damn the luck!”

He was furious, but underneath it was a black grief that he hadn't been able to save the man.

Noreen simply held out her arms.

At first he couldn't believe his own eyes. Then he drew in a ragged breath and went to her, careful not to put any pressure on her chest as he buried his face in
her long, soft hair and gripped the pillows beside her head. She felt a wetness on his cheek where she stroked it and smiled sadly. It was one of the many things she loved about Ramon, that he didn't stoically hide every emotion and pretend he felt nothing. He wasn't less a man for being able to feel compassion.

“It's all right,” she whispered, smoothing his thick black hair. “I know you did the very best you could do. But God decides in the end who lives and who dies. Not even the best surgeon can stand against God. It's not your fault, Ramon. It's not your fault.”

Her voice was comforting. He loved the softness of it. He drew in a steadying breath and seemed to relax in her arms. “You were raised Catholic, weren't you?” he asked suddenly, his voice deep and quiet.

Her hand stilled in his hair. “Yes. But later on, I went with my aunt and uncle to the Presbyterian church. I still go, when I'm not working.”

He lifted his head and searched her eyes. His were still damp, but he didn't seem to mind her seeing them. He brushed the disheveled hair away from her cheek. “I don't go to mass as often as I should, or to confession. But I feel my faith deeply. At times like these, it sustains me.”

Her fingertips traced his firm chin. He was so good to look at. “I know it hurts to lose a patient. You have to try to think about how many lives you've saved,” she said softly, “instead of dwelling on the ones that don't live.” She smiled gently. “It hurts me to lose a patient, too, even though I'm a nurse. Despite all they tell us about keeping an emotional distance, it's impossible not to get attached to some people.”

He drew in a long breath and toyed with her hair. “That's true.” He smiled.

She loved touching him. Her eyes betrayed the tenderness she couldn't hide. He saw it, and his chest rose and fell unsteadily.

“You love children, don't you?” he asked. “I remember seeing you on the pediatric cancer ward last Christmas, playing with the toddlers and then crying in the hall afterward.”

She remembered that Ramon had spotted her there, and despite the enmity between them, he'd stopped long enough to talk to her. In fact, he'd spent several minutes with her there in the corridor, talking softly about the new treatments, the experimental drugs. He'd talked until the tears stopped, and he'd been kind. It hadn't occurred to her at the time how odd it was to have her worst enemy offer kindness.

“They were so young,” she said. “So terribly young to have known that kind of pain and hopelessness.”

“One day research will catch up with cancer,” he promised her.

“Oh, I hope so.” She searched his eyes. “Feel better?” she asked softly.

He smiled and nodded. “Much.”

“Have you eaten?”

He shook his head. “I wasn't hungry. But I think I could eat now. Have you had anything?”

“I had some of the cook's potato and broccoli soup. It was delicious.”

“I think I'll go and have a bowl of it. Can I bring you anything?”

“No, thank you. Have you seen Mosquito?” she asked suddenly, having missed the kitten.

“She's in the kitchen having a snack,” he said. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Have you noticed how we nurture each other?” he asked softly.

She flushed. “I would have done the same thing for…”

“For anyone?” he asked. “Yes, I know. But perhaps not in the same way.” He bent and touched his cool lips gently to her mouth. “Do you want to hear Baroja, when I've eaten?”

She smiled. “Yes.”

“I'll be back in a few minutes.”

He got up from the bed and gazed down at her hungrily. He'd never had such tender comfort in his life as she gave him. He'd lost a patient early in his marriage to Isadora, and his depression had only irritated her. She was getting ready for a dinner party and chided him for being so involved with his patients. She'd never understood, as Noreen did, his pain at being incapable of holding back the Grim Reaper.

“Are you all right now?” she asked.

He smiled at her. “Yes. I'm all right. I'll be back when I've eaten.”

 

And he was. He read her the first chapter of
Paradox, Rey
by Baroja, pausing as he went along to let her translate. She understood most of it, and he helped her when she had problems with some unfamiliar verbs.

“I especially like the part, later on, with the feminist who swears that Shakespeare was a woman.” She chuckled.

He laughed along with her. “Yes. It's a marvelous work, isn't it? He was brilliant, despite his idiosyncrasies.”

“You read Spanish so beautifully,” she remarked. “I could listen to you all night. But you need your rest.”

He closed the book. “So do you. Is it still sore?”

She grimaced. “Yes, but it's where the stitches were that bother me most. They're starting to itch, and they're uncomfortable.”

“I used staples,” he reminded her, “not stitches.”

“Whatever it is itches.”

He chuckled. “That means it's healing,” he reassured her. “Need something to help you sleep?”

“A couple of those pain tablets would be nice,” she admitted. “I won't get addicted or anything?”

“As if I'd be negligent enough to let you,” he chided. He shook out the tablets from the prescription bottle into her hand and helped her with the glass of juice to swallow them.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I know better.”

“Of course you do.” He put the glass away. “Sleep well.”

“When can I get outside again?” she asked.

“Perhaps next week, on a sunny day. We'll talk about it later.”

“I want to see the world outside.”

“I'll do my best to get you out there,” he promised. “But I can't let you catch cold. You'll have to dress warmly. Do you have a coat at your apartment?”

She grimaced. “A jacket.”

He didn't say anything. He only murmured, and shortly thereafter he left.

 

A week later, on a sunny day, he helped her into a new full-length velvet coat the color of sapphires. She started to protest, but he told her that it was one he'd
found on sale and it was only a trifle. She could even pay him back if she was determined to be independent. Thankfully she couldn't get to the exclusive boutique where he'd purchased it to see the price tag.

She gave in gracefully and clung to his arm as he escorted her into the elevator and then out the front door. The apartment manager and the clerk watched their slow progress with wide grins. Everyone who knew Ramon had learned about the care he was taking of his cousin-in-law. It was nice to see her up and around after so frightening a surgery. Ramon was well liked, and so was Miss Plimm, who could be encouraged to talk about her nice young patient.

Ramon helped her slowly through the revolving door and onto the street where she was almost knocked down by an irritated-looking businessman who glared at her.

“She's just had open-heart surgery,” Ramon told the man with a threat in his black eyes. “You might have enough consideration for other pedestrians to slow down!”

The man took a good look at Noreen and flushed a little as he saw the effort it was taking her just to walk.

“Sorry,” he murmured and with a quick glance at Ramon he darted inside.

“The eternal businessman,” Ramon muttered. “How little money compares to good health. I expect his blood pressure runs high and he fills his system with fried foods and takeout.”

“Boy, are you in a foul mood,” she chided breathlessly, clinging to him in the soft coat and fuzzy hat he'd bought her to go with it.

He held her more securely, his dark eyes still flash
ing with temper as he looked down at her. “He might have hurt you,” he said angrily.

She liked his protective attitude, because she was weak and fragile and vulnerable. Quick tears rose in her eyes.

“Stop that,” he said softly, wiping them away with a gloved hand. “A miss is as good as a mile.”

“That wasn't why,” she explained, searching his eyes. “I was thinking how sweet it was to have you concerned for me, that's all. It frightened me a little.”

His jaw went taut. “I should have knocked him down,” he gritted.

She drew two long breaths. “I'm all right, as long as I've got you to hold on to.” She clung to his arm, smiling, radiant. “Oh, Ramon, it's so nice to be outside!”

The face she turned up to his was so beautiful that it hit him in the stomach like a fist. He actually caught his breath at its utter loveliness.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing at all,” he assured her. “I was thinking how lovely you look.”

She flushed. “The coat and hat are very nice.”

“The woman inside them is beautiful,” he replied. “And not only outwardly. I was also thinking,” he added, “how sweet it would be if we had a little girl with your big gray eyes and that soft, sweet smile.”

S
he felt the ground go out from under her, and his supporting arm was there, gently holding her up.

“It's too soon for this,” he said at once, worried. “I shouldn't have let you walk so far.”

“I'm all right,” she replied. She leaned against him. “It wasn't the walking. I thought I heard you say…” She laughed self-consciously. “Never mind. I expect I'm a little disoriented.”

“I said that I'd like to have a daughter with you,” he repeated it, bringing her startled gaze up to his. “I quite realize that it's much too soon to be speaking of such things. But we've spoken of rings, and babies seemed the natural end to the sequence.”

“Rings…you meant a…a wedding ring?” she exclaimed.

He scowled. “Of what were you thinking?”

“A Christmas present,” she faltered. “Perhaps a birth-stone ring.”

He sighed roughly. “I suppose I can't expect you to trust me so completely all at once, much less expect talk of marriage?” he asked with scarcely concealed impatience.

She shook her head. She was certain that she must be losing her mind. Her wide gray eyes were fixed, unblinking, on his lean, handsome face.

His gaze went from her face down her slender body in the long coat. “A surgeon's life is a hectic one,” he said, holding her gently just in front of him while pedestrians went around them. “But I have some time to myself, as you see, and I make more than enough to support you and a family.”

Her cheeks felt hot. “You only feel guilty and sorry for me…”

He smiled gently. “Two emotions that have no power to induce a proposal of marriage from me, Noreen,” he said. “We fit together so well, haven't you noticed? You're happy with me, aren't you?”

She was worried. Her hands pressed into the cashmere of his long coat. “Yes.” There was no denying that. “But it's too soon. I want to be back on my feet and completely well before we…” She looked up. “Can I have a baby?”

His cheeks actually flushed.

She glowered at him. “Not right now,” she muttered. “I mean, will I be able to, with an artificial valve?”

“Of course,” he said. He laughed unsteadily. “My God, what a knock you gave me.” He caught his breath. “Forgive me. I immediately thought of ways and means
around your condition. Which is an utter impossibility at the moment, anyway.”

Now she blushed and looked away, understanding him all too well.

“You could answer me, though,” he prompted.

She moved closer to him. “I love babies.”

“I know. So do I.”

“And I suppose it would be best if they came in wedlock instead of outside it. But my aunt and uncle…”

“Would be delighted,” he assured her. “They love children, too. It was their greatest hope to one day have grandchildren.” He drew in a short breath. “Something they would never have known with Isadora. She disliked children.”

Her eyes lifted to his hard face. It was hard to see Ramon as a serious suitor. She couldn't help but think that he was somewhat in the position of guardian and he liked taking care of someone. That was nice, and she enjoyed it, but it wasn't love. She couldn't marry without it, especially not in his faith, which didn't really consider divorce a legitimate means of resolving differences, however great.

He touched her face gently, sensing her indecision. “Give it time. All I ask is that you think about it.”

“I will,” she promised.

“And now,” he murmured with a wry glance around them, “I think it might be a good idea if we walk a little and stop blocking traffic.”

She laughed breathlessly, clinging to his arm. “Okay.”

He walked her slowly to the corner and let her rest before they went along. She was winded and flushed, but that was natural. Instinctively his hand dropped to her wrist, counting her pulse. It was strong, and the
rhythm was as regular as could be expected at this point of her recovery. He smiled. “The exercise will get easier,” he promised.

 

It did. He walked with her every day, except when he had emergencies. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. She recovered her strength, her spirit and her chest stopped hurting. He still read to her at night, despite her improved condition, his voice soft and tender in the stillness of the apartment. He shared his worries with her. He cherished her. But he kept his distance, physically, and Noreen began to wonder if he was having second thoughts about his impulsive statement on the first day they'd walked, about wanting to marry her.

He'd had one bad marriage already. He wouldn't want to risk a second one. And Noreen was more or less thrust upon him as a patient. She couldn't shake the feeling, despite his protests, that he was trying to make amends for his bitter treatment of her. If that were the case, then his coolness might well be doubts seeping in about their future together.

All the same, he watched her like a hawk, making sure that she kept appointments with the cardiologist, had her blood-clotting time checked weekly, took her medicine. His partner, who saw Noreen for her office visit, and her cardiologist both agreed that she was well enough not only to drive, but to go back to work. But Ramon went through the ceiling the minute she mentioned that to him, after her preliminary checkups.

Miss Plimm had been dismissed, reluctantly, because Noreen was no longer in need of a nurse. And it was a good thing, because his angry voice carried all
over the apartment. Whatever reserve he'd been showing until now went into total eclipse. He was furious, Latin temper, cursing in two languages and demanding to know what idiocy she was contemplating.

She tried to reason with him. “It isn't that I'm not grateful for all you've done for me, but you're not responsible for my upkeep. I want to earn my own living. I have an apartment that they've been holding for me since the surgery…”

“You don't need to be living by yourself,” he argued. “It's too soon.”

“I've been here for three months!” she exclaimed. “Everyone says I'm more than able to go back to work. My pro-time checks out like clockwork, I'm walking every day, I eat like a horse…why are you being so difficult?”

He threw up his hands, muttering something in Spanish about trying to argue with walls.

“I am not a wall,” she snapped back, hands on her hips.

Despite his anger, his eyes twinkled at her spirit. She'd been like a shadow of herself when she was so ill, and he'd worried himself sick about leaving her there even with Miss Plimm. But now, she had good color, her heart was working almost as good as new—possibly better—and she was certainly able to work, at least part-time. He wished he had a better excuse to keep her here. He didn't know how he was going to bear living in the apartment alone.

“You can't take Mosquito with you,” he said finally, searching for an argument that would stop her from leaving. He faced her with his hands deep in his pockets. “She'll grieve.”

“Nonsense,” she said without any real conviction. She was going to grieve, too, for the cat but mostly for Ramon. But she had to be sure that what he felt for her wasn't pity. She couldn't ever know at this close range. She wanted them both to step back and be objective. The time they'd spent together might have blinded Ramon to his true feelings.

His lean face had an expression that was harder than she'd seen in years. “You aren't going to be happy alone,” he said angrily.

She didn't deny it. What would have been the point? She simply looked at him, with eyes that expected pain. “You've learned a lot of things about the past that you didn't know before,” she began hesitantly. “It was inevitable that you might feel some guilt. And as you said yourself, you've never really had anyone to take care of.”

His chin lifted. “In other words, you think that proximity has blinded me to my own feelings.”

She nodded.

He drew in a long, slow breath. “I see.”

“I'm more grateful than I can say that you've taken such wonderful care of me,” she told him. “But we both know that you'd have been just as kind to a total stranger. It's the way you are.”

“You flatter me. And you denigrate your own worth,” he added. “Perhaps I've caused you to expect so little from life. I've made you bitter.”

His accent was more noticeable, as if he found it difficult to say these things. He looked so utterly defeated that he made her feel guilty.

“I'm not bitter anymore,” she said quietly. “Aunt
Mary and Uncle Hal have been wonderful to me. I'll enjoy visiting them now.”

“Don't let them take you out of the country,” he said firmly. “It's too soon.”

“Your partner said it would be fine!” she said, exasperated.

“Why are you listening to him?” he demanded. “What does he know about your condition? I operated on you!”

His eyes were flashing like black lightning. He fascinated her in this mood.

“You'll be a case when your children are old enough to leave home,” she observed dryly.

“How can I have children? You're leaving me!”

Her heart jumped, but she stood firm. “Just give it time,” she said soothingly. “You'll be fine.”

“Fine!” he scoffed. He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “Who'll be here when I need to talk? Who'll comfort me when I lose patients?”

It was hard to stand on her resolve, but she had to. She touched his arm gently. “I'm as close as the telephone,” she promised. “You can call whenever you like. You're my friend now,” she added without quite meeting his gaze. “Friends talk to each other.”

He didn't speak for a minute. His fingers touched her face lightly and he seemed not to breathe as he bent to brush his mouth tenderly over her own.

“You want to be my friend? Then shoot me,” he whispered against her lips. “It would be an act of kindness.”

“Don't be absurd. I could never hurt you.”

“What do you call walking out of my life?” he demanded.

“Self-preservation,” she murmured.

His arms slid around her and he drew her as close as he dared, mindful of the surgery and the soreness that remained despite the healing of her breastbone.

His cheek pressed against hers and he held her, bending over her in the silence of the apartment. She gave in to him, hungry for the contact even as she knew she was making the right decision by leaving the apartment.

Inevitably his mouth slid down to possess hers in a light, soft kiss that grew deeper and more insistent by the second. She heard his deep, harsh groan instants before his tongue thrust deep into her mouth and he lifted her completely off the floor in his arms.

She couldn't resist him. Her arms went around his neck and she gave back the kiss with the same intensity that his passion demanded.

When she felt the tremor work its way through him, she withdrew just a breath and felt his mouth cling before it was able to lift.

He was breathing heavily. The eyes that looked into hers from mere inches away were black and hungry.

“If I were less scrupulous,” he said huskily, “I would carry you to bed and love you until you begged to stay with me. But you are still
una virgen,
yes?”

“Yes,” she whispered brokenly.

The shudder grew worse. He rested his forehead against hers, holding her gently to his chest, completely off the floor. “And this sweet condition is because of me, also, yes?” he whispered.

She bit her lip. “You are conceited.”

“I'm starving,” he breathed into her mouth as he kissed it yet again. “Starving to be loved, to be wanted, to be needed, to be comforted…you show me heaven and then consign me to hell, for the sake of a job!”

“Oh, no, not for that,” she said quickly, touching his mouth, his cheek, his long, arrogant nose. “Not for a job. I love you!”

“¡Querida!”
he groaned, and kissed her with aching hunger, drowning in the soft, sweet words that he'd never dared hope to hear her say to him after all the pain he'd given her.

She dragged her mouth from under his and pressed it into his hot throat, clinging to him, unmindful of any discomfort where the incision was. “You have to let me go,” she whispered miserably.

“Why?”

She loved the deep, tender voice so close at her ear. “So that you'll know how you feel.”

There was a slight pause, a hesitation. He lifted his head and looked into her soft, sad eyes for a long time. “How
I
feel?” he asked.

She nodded.

His breath sighed out slowly. “How can you not know?” he asked heavily, searching her face. “Isadora knew. She taunted me with it. I told you this.”

“You told me that she accused you of being obsessed with me,” she agreed. “Physically.”

He laughed softly. “Physically?” His eyes slid over her face and down to her body in his arms and back up again. “There is a song, Noreen,” he said tenderly. “It was nominated for an Academy Award. I can't sing,
enamorada,
but the words say that when a man loves a woman, really loves her, he can see his unborn children in her eyes.”

“Yes,” she whispered, shaken not only by the poignant words, but by the way he said them.

“To my shame, I saw my sons in your eyes the day
I found you in the kitchen at your aunt's house,” he whispered, watching her face color. “And I was married. What a living hell it was, to know such a sin and be unable to repent it.” His eyes closed. “I paid for it and made you pay for it. And we are both still paying for it.”

She didn't think she could breathe ever again. She stared at him, her eyes like saucers.

His eyes opened, looking straight into hers. Nothing was hidden, nothing was concealed. His heart was in them.

“You wanted to marry me because you loved me?” she asked in a husky voice.