The M.D. Courts His Nurse (13 page)

“Johnny, you wield a mean scalpel,” praised Dr. Bob Morningstar. “They've come up with some impressive techniques for correcting hiatal hernias since I interned. I paid close attention to the way you tightened up that muscle wall without an incision. He won't even need any major painkillers after the anesthetic wears off.”

“It's a piece of cake with a kid this young,” John agreed. “But it gets more complicated to do as the patient ages.”

The two men left surgery and peeled off their masks and scrubs, tossing them into a hamper.

“How 'bout a hot cuppa?” Bob suggested. The full-blooded Blackfoot Indian was about fifteen years older than his colleague, with thick salt-and-pepper hair, pronounced cheekbones and a strong, hawk nose. “Then you can come home with me, have a good dinner with the family. The kids have been asking about you.”

“Sounds great.”

Both doctors looked tired, for it was nearly 6:00 p.m., and they'd been performing surgeries at the Bitterroot Valley Indian Children's Hospital since 8:00 a.m.

“Another Saturday in the books,” Bob remarked. “And you're scheduled for another full day tomorrow. I can't tell you how much we appreciate what you're doing, Johnny. It's hard as hell to lure surgeons out here to the boonies at mediocre pay. We're always shorthanded.”

“Don't even bother to thank me,” John assured him as both men headed toward the cafeteria for coffee. “Do you know how nice it is to have a place where I'm still ‘Johnny?' Coming here is like coming home.”

John didn't bother, however, to tell Bob another reason why he appreciated coming here on weekends. The hard concentration and long hours temporarily took his mind off Rebecca.

Life under a father who ran his home like a military boot camp had taught John to discipline everything except his emotions, which refused to be curbed by reason or even fatigue. All the hard work not only helped to keep his mind off Rebecca, it also kept him from dwelling on a cold, hard fact—he was that saddest of modern creatures, infinitely successful, yet infinitely lonely.

Coming to the Indian hospital to volunteer his badly needed services was the balm for his soul. The children he worked on were often abused and neglected, just as he had been; many of them came from dysfunctional families, just as he had. In a way that was very personal and private to him, each time he helped one of these innocent children, it helped to blot out the troubling memories. Nobody had been kinder to him, growing up, than his Native American neighbors—who had become more like family than neighbors.

Good family, not the kind he had.

“Something bothering you, Johnny?” Bob's voice cut into his musings over coffee. “You seem a little down in the dumps.”

John mustered a weak smile. “Ahh—I've got a lady on my mind,” he admitted. “Or actually, I'm trying to get her off my mind.”

“That's paleface logic for you,” Bob teased him fondly. “A young stag like you should have women on his mind plenty.”

John laughed. But he couldn't hold the smile on his face—it slowly melted, replaced by a frown.

“Maybe some other woman,” he replied. “But not this one.”

“What, is she doing the hurt dance on you?”

“The thing is, I don't seem to have a snowball's chance in hell with her.”

Bob snorted. “I find that hard to believe. Melt her heart, that's all it takes.”

John set his cup down, startled. “What?”

“You heard me, melt her heart, man. Women can be very strong on the outside, even seem mean. But inside they are all soft places. Look at me—I'm homely as thirteen miles of bad road, and we both know it. But you've seen my wife. Is Sharon beautiful or not?”

“Absolutely beautiful,” John said truthfully.

“Yeah, boy, it's that mix of Indian and Anglo blood, best of both. And you know how I hooked such a looker?”

“Speak, oh, wise one, I'm all ears.”

“Not by sitting around glum-faced like you, that's for sure. I got to one of her soft places inside. See, three times I asked her out; three times she said no way. So then I sent her a little note: ‘I have placed a stone in front of my house. When that stone melts, so too will my love for you.'”

“Smooth, lover boy.”

“Well, anyhow it worked. That broke her inner resis
tance to me. Three days later she called me up and asked
me
out. The rest is matrimony, my friend. And that stone is still in front of our house.”

“Yeah, you're a natural-born poet. It's built into your language, but not in mine.”

“Into the heart, Johnny, the heart. Look, if this woman of yours is worth moping over, then go get her.”

John's pensive frown slowly transformed into a smile of admiration. Bob's advice echoed Hazel's, and maybe they were both right.

“Melt her heart, huh?” he said thoughtfully.

Bob winked at his friend. “You do that. The love of a good woman is priceless, my friend, the greatest treasure of them all.”

“I'll take your word for it,” John assured him. “But if it is a treasure, then so far I've misplaced the key.”

“D
r. Saville? Have you got a moment?”

Rebecca's voice seemed to startle him back to reality. Although a medical journal lay open before him on the desk, his attention had long since wandered outside to the tree-lined streets of Mystery. Not yet 9:00 a.m., but Monday was already shaping up as a beautiful, sun-drenched day. Outside, at least, he thought as he took in her stern, purposeful features.

He rose quickly, watching her. “Of course, Becky. Have a seat.”

Now I'm Becky again, she told herself. But on Friday I was Miss O'Reilly. Maybe his “therapeutic weekend” has left him in a laid-back mood. Obviously, judging from the shadows under his eyes, he didn't set any records for sleeping.

The chair in front of his desk seemed too close for comfort, so she perched on the edge of the sofa, and he sank back into his soft leather desk chair.

“What's on your mind?” he added.

Something's different about him, she thought with some confusion. Not just calling me Becky—the rigid, imperious manner of last Friday was gone.

But don't be distracted from your task. Don't start making excuses, she lectured herself.

“This isn't my two-week notice or anything,” she informed him, speaking a bit too quickly. “But I know it takes time to find nurses, so I wanted to let you know early that I'm looking for another job. That way you'll have time to replace me.”

“Replace you?” he repeated with some confusion, as if not quite understanding English. “You mean you're quitting?”

His attitude of confused betrayal irritated her. He of all people had no right to make her feel guilty.

“As I just said,” she repeated in an impatient tone, “I'm looking for another job. Obviously, that means I'd have to quit this job to take another.”

He frowned slightly.

“I'm interviewing next week at Lutheran Hospital. They need surgical-recovery nurses. I know the shift supervisor, Amy Jackman. She taught my anatomy class in nursing school, and…she's been…been encouraging me to apply.”

It became increasingly more difficult to organize and complete her thoughts. How could she when his eyes were so obviously pained.

“They'll snap you right up,” John said stiffly. “You easily have the skills and knowledge of a nurse with ten years' more experience.”

“Thank you.”

“Is it—I mean, is it money?” he demanded. “If the raise I gave you wasn't—”

“It's not the money,” she assured him. “I'll be making almost the same salary if I'm hired at Lutheran.”

Their eyes met, held, and Rebecca saw his conflicting emotions like miniature storms raging in his eyes.

“Then is it the situation between us?” he asked frankly.

“No.”

“Sure it is. What else could it be?”

“It's…it's
me.
Not you, not us, it's me.”

“How do you mean?” he demanded.

“What we did at my place. It was a mistake.”

“I thought you said you don't regret what we did.”

It took an effort to hold her own contradictory emotions in check. “I did say that, and I still mean it. What I really regret is all that has happened afterward.”

It was a lame, unclear remark, and she knew it. She had
meant
to bring up the subject of his “recreational weekends,” but she couldn't quite bring herself to be that specific—or presumptuous.

“Afterward?” he repeated, his tone mocking the word. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but nothing much at all has happened. Between us, I mean. I tried to ask you out, is all, and you shot me right down.” He boldly accused her with his eyes.

“You didn't exactly ask me out,” she said, soldiering on bravely. “You attempted to squeeze me in on a week-night schedule, remember? So you could leave your weekends free.”

“Oh, well, pardon me all to hell,” he flung at her in exasperation, “for not supplying you with my complete monthly itinerary before we made love. Maybe you should print up a questionnaire to make sure we men will be acceptable to your timetable.”

At these cutting words, her defiant frown became a mask of angry contempt. “
You
should talk about a questionnaire. Believe me, I've had my fingers crossed since having unprotected sex with
you.
And I don't mean pregnancy, either.”

Both of them had raised their voices as their altercation escalated. Now, at the worst possible moment, Lois poked her head into the office.

“Dr. Saville? Becky?” she reproved the two of them with her tone. “Wendy Johnson is here for her appointment.”

Rebecca flushed deeply, realizing Lois, at least, had heard that “fingers crossed” comment. Perhaps even Wendy had.

“Of course, Lois,” she managed calmly even though her pulse still throbbed hard in that temple vein of hers. “I'm on my way.”

She left the office without even looking at John again.

He called up the main menu on his computer screen and selected Wendy Johnson's patient file, beginning to review it. But angry frustration directed at Becky kept intruding into his thoughts.

He was trying, damn it all, to follow Bob Morningstar's and Hazel's advice. But it was virtually impossible to melt a woman's heart while she was insulting him—reminding him how much she regretted ever making love with him, at that.

If this woman is worth having,
Bob's voice echoed in memory,
then quit moping and go get her.

Open up a little,
Hazel's mellow, throaty voice goaded him.
Be patient with Becky.

Yeah, right, he thought bitterly as he grabbed his stethoscope off the corner of the desk and rose to go see his patient. Any opening he gave Rebecca was just one more spot where she could stick the knife in.

 

“This is one marriage I just might not be able to pull off,” Hazel confided to Lois early on Tuesday evening. “The unstoppable force, I'm afraid, has met the immovable object. But I'm giving it one more try. Once those two
stubborn fools get their pride out of the way, they'll be able to see what a fine couple they make.”

The two women stood in the main room of the former quarters once occupied by the foreman of the Lazy M. A few years ago a brand-new bunkhouse had been built, complete with new quarters for the foreman. Since then the four-room apartment in the main barn had stood deserted.

“You're absolutely right that they'll be stuck with each other,” Lois conceded, glancing around the small quarters. “Once you manage to get them back here. No windows, and only the one door leading in off the tack room. But it's going to be a tricky piece of work getting them both back here at exactly the same time.”

A crafty glint sparkled in Hazel's eyes. “Oh, it's going to take some fine acting on my part,” she admitted. “Especially since I'll be faking illness to fool a sharp doctor and nurse. You're right about the timing, too. Fortunately, I can push both of those youngsters around a little. Age has its perks. Russ?”

A young cowboy, who was busy stocking a small refrigerator with food and beverages, glanced up from his task. He was the same lad who had put Rick Collins's truck out of commission by deflating one of its giant tires.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Remember, you'll need to be well hidden in the tack room. And you'll need to
stay
hidden until they both come inside.”

He grinned. Like Hazel, he was clearly enjoying all this hugger-mugger, which was why she always picked him for any task requiring trickery and deceptions. To him this was all like practical jokes, and she'd never met a cowboy yet who didn't relish a good practical joke.

“No sweat, boss woman,” he assured her. “You lure 'em out here, and I'll spring the chute on 'em.”

Even now two more hands were hard at work, sprucing
up the old quarters. The rooms had been thoroughly cleaned, the refrigerator and cupboards well stocked. Hazel's housekeeper had already stocked the bathroom linen closet and made up the bed.

“We'll be making our play on Thursday afternoon,” Hazel told Russ. “That's perfect because Lois tells me the medical suite will be closed all day Friday for painting. That means it'll be a three-day weekend.”

“You can't keep them prisoners for three days!” Lois exclaimed.

Hazel laughed. “Oh, I know that. We'll spring 'em sometime the next day.”

“Becky may be awfully mad,” Lois cautioned.

“I can wrangle Becky,” Hazel scoffed. She cast another glance around the rustic apartment. “Not exactly the Waldorf, is it? There's no whirlpool in the bathroom, that's for sure. Not even a tub, just a shower. But all the plumbing works.”

“Pretty basic,” Lois agreed. “But it's comfy and clean. Private, too.”

Hazel patted a solid old armchair in the living room. “Personally, I can't stand these sissy living rooms with swags of drapery everywhere and all those fussy little cushions every place you want to sit. And furniture that breaks at the first rough use it gets.
This
place is solid as bedrock.”

She paused, thinking about the news that had brought Lois by.

“So Becky wants a new job?” she mused aloud. “I knew she was looking to move, but this sounds like a complete makeover of her life. Listen—has she said anything to you about what happened between them after the bus accident? You know, on that day they both took off from work?”

Lois shook her head. “Not in so many words. Becky's
a pretty private person when it comes to stuff like that. But isn't it obvious what must have happened?”

Russ was out of hearing range now. “Part of it is,” Hazel replied. “Those two slept together, all right. And they both liked it just fine. Mutual attraction is not their problem.”

“No,” Lois agreed. “They're plenty hot for each other. Their main problem is John's lost weekends. I can tell you right now, Hazel—it won't matter how much Becky loves him. If John
is
having an affair, with Louise Wallant or any other woman, Becky will not forgive him.”

“Nor should she,” Hazel agreed. “The whole point of being in love is to feel special in the eyes of the person you love. Being a name on a list—even if it's a short list—is hardly special.”

“Do you think he's having an affair?”

Hazel shook her head. “I don't. I think Becky is the only filly he wants in his stable. That young man is a true-blue romantic, just like Becky.”

“Then why,” Lois asked, “is he being so secretive about where he goes on the weekends?”

“Dogged if I know, hon.”

Hazel took another look around the nearly ready apartment. “That's why we're pulling off this little deception. If we can just trap those two together long enough, they'll
have
to open up to each other.”

Russ, who overheard this last remark, looked up from his task to grin wickedly at his boss. He showed her the bottle of champagne he was about to put in the fridge.

“Either that,” he reminded her, “or they'll tear into each other like two badgers in a barrel.”