Patient Nurse (7 page)

“Yes, sir,” Brad said, casting an apologetic glance at Noreen, who looked as if she'd just been turned over to the headsman.

“It won't kill you to touch me,” Ramon said tersely, guiding her hand to his forearm. “Come on. Walk.”

She did, hating him, hating the curious glances of the other workers—it was unusual for a surgeon to take time to loiter with a patient while he was doing rounds.

“How's the pain?” he asked as they rounded the nurses' station.

“Better,” she said through her teeth.

He only nodded, drawing her along beside him slowly until they were back at her room. He helped her into bed, took off her slippers, unhooked her breathing tube from the oxygen cylinder and refitted it to the wall unit before the technician appeared to do it.

He took his stethoscope and listened to her chest
while she struggled with weakness and breathlessness and her own helpless reaction to his proximity.

His black eyes met her light ones at point-blank range. He didn't move at all.

“My chest hurts,” she said uneasily.

“I'll have them bring you something for it.” He pulled the sheet up to her waist. “Are you warm enough?”

“Yes. Of course.” She lowered her eyes to his tie.

She heard his slow, deep intake of breath. “You haven't asked about your kitten.”

She was trying desperately to control her breathing. “Is she all right?”

“She's fine. You'll be glad to have her back when you go home.”

“Yes.”

He smiled faintly. “I've gotten used to her.”

“There are plenty of homeless kittens in the world,” she said noncommittally.

“I was hoping I might be allowed visitation rights,” he replied.

She looked up, then, her eyes devoid of all feeling. “I don't think so,” she replied tautly.

His eyelids jerked, ever so slightly. He searched her eyes. “Is this how it's going to be from now on?” he asked quietly.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“You know,” he replied. “Good God, it must have occurred to you that I'd find out what happened eventually. I was shattered to know you'd had a heart attack and that was why you'd left Isadora alone.”

“It did occur to me,” she told him. “But perhaps it hasn't occurred to you that I tried to tell you and you wouldn't listen. None of you would let me tell you what
happened.” Her face closed up completely. “I've been treated like a murderess for two years. Do you think I can just forget all that?”

He stood up straight. “No,” he replied. “And I should have realized it.” He searched her eyes. “I would apologize,” he added quietly. “But too much has happened for a simple apology to wipe out the past two years. I am truly sorry, if it helps.”

She lowered her eyelids. She was tired, worn-out. “You didn't know,” she said dully. “They didn't know, either. Oh, what difference does it make now?” she added miserably, biting hard on her lower lip. “She's dead! And it was my fault! I should have tried harder to make the doctor understand why I had to go home!”

He felt the words as if they were the twist of a knife in his stomach. “Noreen!” he exclaimed softly.

The door opened and Brad came in, his gaze accusing on Ramon's swarthy face. He moved to her side and glared at the older man. “Can't you stop hurting her?” he asked quietly. “Good God, man, she's been through enough!”

“Yes, she has,” Ramon said in a subdued tone, watching the tears roll down Noreen's pale cheeks with pain in his eyes. “And I haven't helped matters.” He turned and went to the open doorway. “I'll have them bring her something for the pain. Try to get her to eat.”

Brad didn't answer him. He pulled a tissue from the box at the side table and handed it to Noreen to absorb the tears running down her cheeks. He'd never seen her look so totally defeated.

Ramon went down the hall in a fog. Tears on Noreen's face. He'd seen them before and turned a cold heart to them. Now, it hurt him to have made her cry.

He'd expected to wave his hand and undo years of indifference and hostility. For the first time, he saw what a long road it was going to be, to win back Noreen's trust. It left him numb.

 

Miss Plimm, the private duty nurse, stayed with Noreen at night for three days, but the following morning Noreen quietly and appreciatively sent her on her way. She wasn't going to be obliged to Ramon for any more expenses, if she could help it.

Feeling that way, it was a good thing she couldn't see ahead to the following Monday, when she was released from the hospital. She'd taken the obligatory nutrition class—the only surgical heart patient who attended it alone—and the nurses had filled out the necessary forms and given her prescriptions and appointment cards for follow-up visits to Ramon's surgical group and the cardiologist.

She waited for the porter to bring a wheelchair and the nurse to get a taxi for her. She hadn't counted on any complications. Well, possibly the kitten, but perhaps the owner of her apartment house would bend the rules for her. He and his wife were compassionate people and they liked her.

It was a shock to find the Kensingtons at the door of the ward when the porter came for her.

She gave them a wary glance, her face stone-cold, without welcome.

“Ramon said that you'd be leaving today,” her uncle Hal began.

“Yes, I'm going back to my apartment,” she replied. She didn't smile. “Why are you here?”

He looked surprised. “You had major surgery,” he said.

“We were on vacation,” her aunt added. “We only got back today. If we'd known, certainly we'd have been here…”

“Why bother pretending?” she asked them wearily. “You've made the obligatory visit. No one will gossip about you. Now, if you don't mind, I'm not feeling well. I'd just like to go home.”

“You can have your old room,” Aunt Mary said hesitantly. “We'll have a nurse stay with you…”

“I'm going to my apartment, Aunt Mary,” she replied, averting her eyes.

“But you live alone.” Her uncle interrupted. “You can't stay by yourself.”

“I've been by myself for years,” she said with indifference in her voice, in her eyes, noting their confused expressions. “I prefer it.” She nodded to the porter, who began pushing her toward the hall. “Thank you for stopping by,” she said, without looking at them as the porter guided her toward the elevator.

The Kensingtons stood side by side, perplexed and disturbed. They'd expected their concern to be welcomed, but this Noreen wasn't the quiet, undemanding, shy little girl they'd taken into their home so many years before.

“Ramon said that she wasn't the same,” Mary Kensington told her husband. “I guess we should have allowed for the pain and the distrust. We've treated her very badly.”

“All three of us,” her husband agreed quietly. “If only we'd listened when she tried to explain. I feel terrible. She had this condition that could have killed her, and we didn't even know.”

“We'll bring her around,” she said.

He laughed without humor. “Do you think so?” He stuck his hands deep into his pockets. “Let's get something to eat.”

She took his arm and they walked to the elevator. The doors were just closing on Noreen when they saw Ramon coming from the staff elevator bank, dressed in an expensive suit.

“Where is she?” he asked when he spotted the Kensingtons.

“Gone downstairs to get a cab,” Mr. Kensington said heavily. “She wouldn't even talk to us.”

“A cab?” He didn't stay to discuss anything. He sprinted into an elevator going down and made it just before the doors closed.

Down in the lobby, the porter had left Noreen sitting near the desk while he went outside to hail a cab.

Ramon got behind the chair and began to push it toward the entrance, where his car was temporarily parked.

“Wh…what?” Noreen gasped when she realized what he was doing.

“Jack, open this door for me,” he called to the porter. “Never mind the cab, I'm taking her home.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man helped him get a fuming, protesting Noreen into the passenger seat. Ramon took her single suitcase and slid it into the trunk.

“I want to take a cab,” she protested when he got in beside her and started the car.

“You'll go where you're told,” he said, his faint Spanish accent suddenly noticeable as he pulled the vehicle out of the hospital entrance and onto the small service road that led to the highway.

“Not with you!” she said angrily.

“Calmate,”
he said softly. “Be quiet. You won't do yourself any good by losing your temper.”

She did feel rough. She sat back against the seat with her eyes closed, fighting down nausea and pain. It had been a turbulent morning.

“Did you send them here?” she asked when they were on the expressway.

“The Kensingtons?” he asked. “No. I knew they'd be back today, so I called to ask if they knew you'd had surgery. They were pretty shocked.”

“Why?”

He glanced at her. “You appeared to be healthy when you lived at home.”

“It was never home,” she replied, staring out the window.

He was silent, his brooding gaze on traffic as he drove. “You always seemed to blend in with the woodwork.”

“Of course I did,” she sighed. “I was a stick of furniture. I've lived in the shadows for most of my adult life. That's going to change. When I'm back on my feet, I may go abroad to work. I'm going to leave everything behind and start over.”

His heart jumped. He hadn't thought she might leave town. He realized with a start that he didn't want her to go. It was a surprising sensation, like stepping out into space. He glanced at her with quizzical dark eyes.

“You won't do anything for three months,” he said flatly. “I've put a lot of work into getting you on your feet. I won't let you undo it.”

“For three months, I'll do what I'm told,” she agreed. “After that, I'm going to do what I please.”

“You'll need to have regular checkups,” he said pointedly. “You'll have to take blood thinners and a cardiac regulator. The medicine will have to be monitored closely.”

“I'll make sure I have a good doctor.”

He lapsed into silence. Minutes later, he pulled up at the entrance to his apartment building and signaled the doorman to get the suitcase out of the open trunk. He picked up Noreen, purse and papers and all, and strode into the building.

“What…are you…doing?” she exclaimed, struggling.

“Be still.”

He kept walking, aware of the doorman following with the suitcase.

“My cousin is just out of the hospital with open-heart surgery,” Ramon told the doorman. “I'm keeping her with me until she's able to stay alone.”

“A wise move, sir,” the younger man said, smiling as he pushed the button for Ramon's floor. The elevator arrived and the three of them got on.

Noreen was near tears, all over again. She lay helpless in Ramon's strong arms, inhaling the spicy scent of his expensive cologne, her arm stiff across his broad shoulders, as rigid as a board trying not to show how her body reacted to his touch.

It was impersonal, she told herself firmly as he shifted her closer to reinforce his grip. He was doing it because she was some sort of relation, even if distant, and he couldn't afford to have people gossip about her being left alone in her condition. That was why the Kensingtons had come to the hospital. Everybody was so afraid of what people would say.

She wasn't aware that she was crying until she felt
Ramon's dark eyes cut down to her face and heard his soft intake of breath.

When the elevator stopped, he strode to his door, letting her down briefly to search for the key and unlock the door. He handed the car keys to the doorman, so that he could park the car.

“Leave them at the desk for me, if you would,” he told the man, taking Noreen's bag from him and putting it in the foyer. “I'll be down shortly.”

“Of course, sir. Hope you do well, ma'am.” He smiled and nodded to Noreen as Ramon picked her up again, but she was beyond answering.

Ramon carried her into the guest bedroom and placed her gently on the bed. “Stay put.” He reached behind her and moved pillows into place to prop her up against.

He went into the next room. Minutes later, he fetched a pitcher of fruit juice, a glass, her medicines and, lastly, the kitten. It sat in her lap and purred loudly.

“Sweet girl,” she said through her tears, stroking the cat and smiling wearily.

“She'll keep you company until I get home. I have rounds to make, and patients to see. I'll get back as soon as I can. Meanwhile, the phone is here. If you need anything, call downstairs. I'll arrange to get Miss Plimm back,” he added, reminding her that she'd dismissed the poor woman without his approval.

“I can't stay here,” she began.

“You can't stay alone,” he returned. “I'd counted on you going home with the Kensingtons.”

“And I wouldn't, so now you're stuck with me, and you don't want to be.” The tears fell more hotly
than ever. She closed her eyes on a harsh sob. “God in heaven, why couldn't you just…let me go…home?”

Rounds, patients, work, all of it was dismissed in the blink of an eye. He sat down on the bed and pulled her very gently into his arms and held her as close as he dared while she cried.

“I
didn't mean to make it sound as if you were a burden,” he said at her temple. His dark, lean hand gently stroked her hair away from her pale face.

Her fist clenched against his chest. “I don't want to stay here,” she sobbed.

His eyes, unseen above her head, were tormented. “Yes. I know.”

“Please,” she whispered. “Brad can…look in on me.”

“You can't be alone. Brad has to work,” he said tersely. “It wouldn't be proper for him to take care of you.”

“It isn't proper for me to stay here, either!”

“It will be, when the nurse arrives,” he said coolly. He eased her away from him and against the pillows. He took a tissue from the box at the bedside and softly dabbed it against her red eyes. She looked utterly defeated, worn to the bone. She was far too thin and pale and he didn't like her color.

“I'm going to bring supper home with me,” he said. “And you're going to eat it. You can't continue like this.”

“I don't want food,” she said.

“You'll eat, even if I have to feed you every bite,” he replied tersely.

She looked at him with red, tormented eyes. Every bit of her ordeal was in that drawn face, in those gray eyes.

His fingers spread against her cool, wet cheek in a caress. Her vulnerability made him feel protective. “I'll take care of you,” he said softly. “Try to sleep.” He bent and, to her astonishment, drew his lips tenderly over her mouth. “I'll be home as soon as I can.”

He stood up, searching her face for some reaction. She looked shocked.

“Do you need anything before I go?”

She shook her head, idly stroking the kitten while she tried to decide what his motive was for that unexpected caress.

“Stay in bed. I'll help you walk, or the nurse will.”

She nodded, averting her eyes.

His chin lifted and he stared down at her with faint arrogance. “Don't you want to ask why I kissed you?”

The color rushed into her cheeks. She couldn't bear to lift her eyes. Her fingers clenched in the coverlet.

He could almost feel her discomfort. It was too soon for this, he thought, surprised at his own behavior. He hadn't meant to upset her. God knew, she'd been through enough.

“Try to get some more sleep,” he said, his voice formal now, almost professional.

She managed a nod.

He paused to ruffle the kitten's soft fur. “I call her
Mosquito,” he said. “She's always buzzing around. You'd better think of a proper name.”

She didn't answer. His fingers slid from the kitten to her clenched hand. He pressed it gently.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I didn't mean to make you ill at ease. I'll see you later.”

He turned and went out, leaving the bedroom door open. She heard him on the telephone, but she was tired and sleepy. Before he left the apartment, she was already dozing.

 

Nurse Plimm came back that afternoon. More aware now than she'd been those first days out of surgery, Noreen realized that Polly Plimm was in her fifties, a cozy, kind woman with the comportment of a drill sergeant. She took over the apartment at once. When Ramon came in with a box of prepared food, she got out plates and made coffee and poured more fruit juice. She stood over Noreen until the younger woman gave in and lifted a forkful of grilled chicken to her reluctant mouth.

“There, isn't that delicious?” she asked. “Now you eat while I sort out your medicines.”

The minute she was gone, Noreen put the fork down, staring blankly at the delicate fruit compote and the braised asparagus and the delicious homemade roll on her plate. She wasn't hungry. How was she going to manage to eat all that? She felt as if she were an interloper in Ramon's apartment, even if it wasn't the one he'd shared with his beloved Isadora. Having Noreen here would surely be like a repeat of a nightmare to him. She wanted so badly to go back to her apartment, but he wouldn't let her.

“Not eating?” he chided softly from the doorway. He'd taken off his jacket and tie. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. Even disheveled, he looked elegant and far too sensuous.

“I'm trying,” she said defensively, her eyes on her plate.

He moved into the room, sitting down gently on the bed beside her. He took the fork from her listless fingers and speared a cube of fruit, taking it to her lips.

“Don't…” she protested.

He eased the fruit past her parted lips, moving it softly against the tender skin with a pressure that was frankly seductive. She must surely be imagining that, she told herself, as she glanced upward.

His eyes were dark, half-closed as he looked down at her. He was so handsome, she thought miserably. She'd never seen a man so sensuous and desirable in her life, and she had to look like a comedy hour reject.

He leaned closer, his eyes falling to her soft mouth. “Eat it,” he breathed, teasing her lips again.

She opened them involuntarily, accepting the bit of fruit, hardly tasting it as she chewed.

His gaze slid down to the scar that showed above the white cotton gown the nurse had helped her don. Her heartbeat was shaking her, but it was regular and quick, with the telltale mechanical chinking sound of the new valve as it opened and closed in her heart.

“Is the pain easier?” he asked. “You have capsules for that, if you need them.”

“It's only sore,” she began.

“Here?” His long finger traced the edge of the scar
down into the gown, and she gasped and caught his strong wrist.

He smiled, as if her sudden flush delighted him. He moved his hand to the pillow beside her head and busied himself with another forkful of food from her plate.

“You can't…” she protested in a whisper.

“Yes, I can.” He fed her, slowly, sensuously, watching her mouth as she accepted one bite after another and swallowed it. His level gaze made her heart race. He saw it, and heard it, and she hated her traitorous body for being so vulnerable.

Ramon was delighted. She wasn't indifferent to him, at least. That meant that he might be able to make amends for the pain he'd dealt her. He wasn't certain yet of his motives, but he liked the way she reacted to him. Her vulnerability fed his pride, made him arrogant with pleasure. It had been a long time since he'd felt so alive, so much a man.

The entrance of Miss Plimm interrupted his introspective thoughts. He smiled at her.

“Time for medicine,” the older woman said with a smile. She handed the paper cup to Ramon. “Nice to have your own doctor so close at hand, hmmm?” she teased as she went away.

Ramon tipped the pills into her mouth and handed her the fruit juice, his strong arm propping her up so that she could swallow. In the position, the gown was loose, all but baring her firm, pretty breasts. She saw Ramon's eyes drop to study them and she sat back quickly, blushing.

His eyes met hers. “I'm a doctor,” he reminded her.

She averted her gaze to her fruit juice and didn't answer.

She heard the soft sigh that passed his lips as he got up from the bed and stood beside it thoughtfully, with his hands in his pockets.

“Finish your supper,” he said quietly. “I'll be back in to check on you later. I have some paperwork to get through in the study.”

She nodded without looking at him. Her heart was all but beating her to death, and it wasn't because of the artificial valve. She hated being this way, and having him see it.

He read that resentment in her face, but he was at a loss for words. She'd seemed attracted to him before the surgery, but now her only thought seemed to be to keep him at arm's length.

He began to think back over the years. Flashes of memory imprinted in his mind. Noreen, much younger, blushing when he looked at her, hiding from him, watching him with eyes that fell the instant he saw her. Dressing in shapeless clothes. Backing away.

He scowled, puzzled. It had been like that since he'd first come home with Isadora. Isadora was beautiful, of course. Her very presence had kept his attention from wandering to the pale shadow that Noreen had been. But now the past seemed so vivid and real. Noreen had never visited her cousin after she married Ramon. She'd avoided him, even at work, arranging her shifts so that they rarely coincided with his.

He felt unsettled. He didn't like thinking back. It was disconcerting. He'd never permitted himself to really look at Noreen, or to wonder why he cut at her so often. He'd spent years deliberately antagonizing her.

He put the memories away and left Noreen to her supper. For the rest of the evening he was so quiet that
his return to check his patient at bedtime startled both women. He did a cursory examination, pronounced Noreen improving, asked Miss Plimm to fetch the pain capsules and went to bed, still remote and distracted.

 

It irritated him more than he liked to admit when Brad came to the door that Saturday with a bouquet of flowers for Noreen. He admitted the man to the apartment, letting Miss Plimm usher him into the bedroom.

He hadn't thought of flowers. It was obvious that Noreen was touched and surprised at Brad's gesture. Ramon hadn't given her so much as a dandelion, and he felt the omission keenly as he watched the younger man bend to kiss Noreen's pale cheek and saw the sudden warm smile on her lips for the man.

He went back into his study and closed the door firmly. Noreen's love life was none of his business, he told himself. Her physical reaction to him was a fluke, only a cruel twist of fate. She didn't like him. She might be vulnerable physically, but she fought that with everything in her, now more than ever.

He'd made sure that he never gave her any reason to like him. He'd been sarcastic to her during his marriage and viciously hateful toward her after Isadora's untimely death. He'd been a stranger to her, deliberately.

He stared at the portrait of Isadora on the wall, the one she'd demanded to have done by a famous portrait artist just after their marriage. The eyes, china blue, were as empty of feeling as the wall. The artist had truly captured the essence of Isadora, beautiful and shallow. Ironically she'd loved the rendering.

He poured himself a drink, since he wasn't on call for once, and sat down in the chair to sip it. Seconds
later, the kitten scampered across the carpet and vaulted into his lap, to curl close and purr.

He petted it indulgently, watching the huge green eyes look up at him worshipfully. At least, he thought, the cat liked him.

Miss Plimm came into the room with a glance at the bedroom, from which pleasant laughter issued.

“Shall I ask the cook to put supper back half an hour, sir?” she asked softly.

He sighed. “You might as well. They sound as if they've got a lot to talk about.”

“You look so tired, sir,” she said. “Isn't there something I can bring you?”

He lifted his glass. “I have all I need, thanks.”

She glanced toward the bedroom. “Dozens of blooms,” she muttered, “and her just out of the hospital. Clog her lungs up, they will, but people never think, do they?”

She wandered back toward her own room and Ramon glanced back toward the bedroom. Strange that the thought of Isadora's lover hadn't bothered him half as much as Noreen's friend did. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.

 

It was an hour later that Miss Plimm gently shook him.

“A call?” he asked, blinking as he came immediately awake.

“No, sir, supper,” she said. “Mr. Donaldson's gone home.”

“Oh.”

She had the bouquet of flowers in her hand. “I'm just going to put these in the dining room,” she said.

“Doesn't she mind?” he asked coolly.

She frowned at him. “I didn't ask, sir.” She moved away with her burden.

He went to the bedroom and looked inside. She wasn't in the bed. He heard the bathroom door open and saw her come slowly out of it, breathless.

“Couldn't you call for help?” he muttered.

Before she could say a word, he scooped her up and carried her back to bed.

Her stiffness conducted itself right through his jacket. He looked down at her, poised beside the bed, and frowned at the expression in her eyes.

“You're frightened,” he said at once, and his eyes narrowed again. “Why?”

She swallowed. “Put me down…”

He ignored the nervous request. He was thinking, his gaze reflective and steady. “Shapeless clothes,” he murmured, “no makeup, always backing away. Why?”

“You have no right,” she began.

“But you'll tell me anyway.”

“I will not,” she asserted.

He sat down on the edge of the bed with Noreen across his lap. He shifted her against his shoulder and his free hand rested against the silky gown, just under her breast.

Her hand had gone to his strong wrist and caught there, pleading. But he didn't move. His fingers began to spread, very tenderly. And all the time, he watched her face with calculating eyes.

She gasped as his forefinger gently spread against the hard nipple, just enough to make her shiver. Her hand lost its will on his wrist and relaxed. She moaned.

“Querida,”
he breathed, and without thought for
where they were, for the open door, the past, he pulled the gown down away from her shoulder and his lips pressed tenderly on the soft, warm flesh of her breast that the action exposed.

“Ramon,” she whispered, sobbing as her hands tangled in his black hair, struggling for control that was utterly lost the moment he touched her skin. “Oh…dear Lord…don't!”

But while her hoarse voice pleaded, her traitorous body arched itself painfully, trying to get closer to his warm mouth and she shuddered with the pleasure his lips gave her body.

She felt his hands on her, gently moving, guiding her down to the bed, to the pillow, while his mouth fed on her. He could feel her breathing under his lips, hear the frantic rush of her heartbeat. His own body was taut, and so hungry that he ached from his head to his toes.