A Beautiful Fire (Love at Lincolnfield Book 4)

by Colette Dixon

  Suspicious for MRSA all right. The man had a low fever, and a couple of his recent labs were off. Could be his kidney function was not optimal to begin with, and the fact he had pneumonia, but she couldn’t chance it. She’d have to rule out not only MRSA, but sepsis. “How are you feeling, sir?”

  The man lifted his head and stared at her but didn’t answer. Deep creases etched around his mouth and eyes.

  Harper asked the patient’s son, “Is he hard of hearing or has he been confused lately?”

  The man ran a hand through his hair. “He’s got hearing aids, but yeah, he’s been pretty out of it since this morning.”

  Harper said to the younger man who looked almost as ashen as his ill father, “Don’t worry. We’re going to find out what’s going on as soon as we can turn these tests around.”

  With the vulnerable, wary look so common to helpless family members, the man nodded at Harper.

  Back at the nurse’s station, she huddled with Trish and the resident. “You did the right thing, calling Infectious Disease so quickly. I suspect sepsis. I’m going to order the antibiotics now while we wait for the labs. Waiting would be more injurious than treating.”

  Trish smiled a victorious smile as the resident, with a slight nod, shuffled off to his next patient.

  “Let me guess,” Harper addressed Trish. “You talked the resident into paging me?”

  The woman leaned her back against the counter. “I may only be a nurse, but I’ve seen enough cases to know when to suspect the worst. We don’t need any repeats of that lawsuit.”

  At the word lawsuit, Harper snapped her head to the nurse. “What lawsuit?”

  “Don’t you remember? That woman who died of sepsis after gallbladder surgery. They waited too long to call ID. Such a shame. Pretty young thing too.”

  Harper squinted, trying to recall the case. She’d been named on many lawsuits over the years. It was common for every medical professional who appeared at some point in the patient’s room to be named in a suit no matter how tangential the connection to the person’s cause of death. Most of the time the doctors did their best with the information they had at the time, something that often got obscured when analyzing situations in hindsight.

  “I remember now.” Harper had been paged to consult on the case but the woman had died before she arrived so she’d never been named in the suit. She hadn’t spent much more time worrying about the case. She had a cutting-edge therapy center to create after all.

  But there had been one detail about the case that still haunted her at times. The woman had been near Harper’s age, married, but her spouse had not been present when she died. He’d had some kind of job where he worked overnight shifts like a paramedic or something.

  It wasn’t the husband’s job that had bothered her. The thought of dying alone in a hospital bed had woken Harper in the night more than a few times in the months following that case. The patient hadn’t even been seriously ill. She’d originally been admitted for a gallbladder attack. A simple, fairly common issue that could befall anyone.

  That woman could have been her.

  “Only the attending and the resident were blamed for that one. But I’d like to keep my name out of the lawyers’ offices, know what I mean?” Trish’s voice interrupted Harper’s thoughts.

  “Yes, I know what you mean.” She thanked the woman for her help.

  On her way back to her office, Harper continued to think about the case. During those moments she’d awoken in the middle of the night, Harper had asked herself whether she really wanted to end up alone. Her answer had been no. Reminded of that decision, she resolved to make more of an effort to find someone.

  To lose a spouse so soon after marriage like the woman in the lawsuit—Harper couldn’t fathom such a loss. What had her name been? Samantha something. The couple couldn’t have been married long; she was so young. Harper had never even been engaged. No man had yet racked up a majority stake in her criteria. The only person she’d ever lost was her father. Though, honestly, he’d been lost to her for years before he died.

  One New Year’s Eve, he’d ended his life and the life of an eighteen-year-old college student. Wasted with a blood alcohol level that should have killed him before he’d even sat behind the wheel, her father had driven onto the wrong ramp and crashed into the boy’s car head on. The other three teens in the car had survived, but not without significant wounds that would ensure they’d never forget that night.

  Memories of another car ride with her father raced through her mind. A mist of sweat broke out on her temples. While cursing her mother who had just asked for a divorce, her father had run red lights and swerved manically around corners. When her mother saw how he’d delivered her daughter, she made sure that was the last time Harper set foot in a car with him.

  Sherise appeared at her office doorway. “Dr. Dvorak is on the line. Are you available?”

  Harper straightened, combing her fingers through her bangs and pulling away the cobwebs of memories. “Yes, put him through.”

  A male voice with a familiar clinical edge greeted her. “Dr. Peters. Harper. Hi.”

  “Hi, Miles. Can I help you with something?”

  “The EIS is looking for docs. We could really use you. Come down to Atlanta for the training. I’ll make it worth your while.” The Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta trained physicians around the country to be a part of the Epidemic Intelligence Service, which deployed experts to areas of epidemic outbreaks. There were under a couple hundred of such trained doctors in the country at any given moment.

  “Can you convince the chancellor of U of C to grant me a few million dollars? Because that’s what I need right now more than anything.” She didn’t want him to expound on what he meant by “worth your while.” She was fairly sure he meant the invitation to dinner was still open. She’d once yearned to be on the front lines of epidemics, a more rewarding use of her skills compared to the drudgery putting out fires of hospital acquired infections. But the new phage treatment center would satisfy that urge for truly transformative work and keep her busy for the next several years.

  “I wish I had some pull with U of C. Sorry to disappoint. I’m willing to bet you don’t need my help in securing that grant, however. Will you come?”

  “Miles, I’m sorry. I’m way too deep into this new treatment center. Maybe someday.”

  He let out a sigh. “Can’t argue with the importance of that center. It’s good work you’re doing there.”

  She couldn’t help the smile that spread over her face. “Will be doing. If all goes as planned. And thank you.” She was also thankful he couldn’t see her face right now. But she couldn’t help being flattered by the clear appreciation of her endeavor. Unlike another man who seemed uninterested and unmoved by her work.

  Her chest panged at the thought of Jakub. After their last encounter, she had no intention of calling him. So why did she even care what he thought about her?

  Miles, on the other hand, was a man she should encourage. So what if he lived far away? Miles Dvorak ticked many boxes of her criteria. That kind of foundation was more important than proximity. And though he wasn’t exceptionally handsome, he wasn’t unattractive.

  “Let me know if you’re ever in Chicago,” she said.

  “If you’ll agree to dinner, I’ll make it my business to come to Chicago.”

  His boldness surprised her. She could be bold too. It was about time. “Well then, I agree.”

  The other end of the line was silent for a moment. “Really? Okay then. Let me consult my schedule, and I’ll get back to you with some possible dates.”

  After she hung up the phone, she swiveled 180 degrees to look out the window. Her gaze fell on the plush pathogen toys on the sill. For the first time in months she had agreed to a date with a truly eligible man.

  “I’ve got something you’re looking for.” A male voice said from behind her.

  She twirled in the chair to catch Gene Yamato striding toward her hol
ding out a piece of paper.

  “Sorry for the delay. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  Harper smiled as she took the paper. “Thank you. This, actually, is the last bit of information I need. Now I can get this application finalized and off to the chancellor.”

  “I’m rooting for you.” He gave her a little mock salute before turning to leave.

  “Thanks, Gene.”

  Harper smiled to herself as she entered the data into the grant application. The grant was now complete. Now all she needed was the blessing of the chancellor who’d already declared he was open to innovation. She’d soon be dating Miles Dvorak, head of Epidemic Intelligence Service for the CDC.

  Everything was falling into place.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dr. Martinez had produced a seamless X-ray of Harper’s patella the day before, and for the first time since she fell at the feet of Jakub Wojcik, Harper donned her long sleeve, running shirt from the Chicago half marathon, zipped up a down vest and set out to walk her former jogging route. Her leg was stiff and a little achy, but she had to start moving to increase the circulation and regain her range of motion.

  By the way her last encounter with Jakub had gone, she should probably find a new jogging route. But as her Pumas pushed off the pavement, she fell into her familiar course. Just because she’d had some botched run-in with a man along the route didn’t mean she had to change her habits. She knew the precise mileage of this route, and she liked the mature trees along the street. She also liked to keep tabs on that old house.

  The weather was too cold for him to be outside the firehouse even if he was on duty this morning. Her chest tugged at the thought she wouldn’t see him again.

  Oh, please. Whether or not she saw him, she would not be swayed. They were unsuitable. He was a bad communicator. He cursed liberally. He was overconfident. There was also his undetermined alcohol drinking status.

  Though he had offered to explain why he’d left abruptly that day. For the first time, she wondered what he had to say for himself.

  She had to stop thinking about Jakub. Miles was the type of man she wanted. She had agreed to a date with him. She should be thinking about Miles.

  The early December nip in the air filtered through her fleece hat and chilled her scalp. Her gait wasn’t entirely correct yet—she still favored the injured leg. The cold air kept down the pain, though the closer she came to the fire station, the more she chastised herself for taking such a long walk so soon after being freed of the crutches.

  The old farmhouse came into view. Large blotchy snowflakes began to drift down all around her. The memory of a Christmas tree lit up in a farmhouse window very much like this house’s flashed in her mind.

  The last Christmas her parents were still married, she’d helped her mother string the lights on the tree because her father had disappeared again. Her mother had made up some story that Daddy had gone on a trip to bring back a special gift, but Harper had seen the liquid in her mother’s red-rimmed eyes as she answered the question about his absence.

  Even at ten years old, Harper could see her mother was choosing not to believe the obvious and making excuses. It had been another, much darker day that finally switched her mother out of denial.

  Snow had begun to cling to the peeling clapboard siding of the old Victorian, lending the structure more charm. The For Sale sign creaked as the wind pushed the metal panel on its hinges. The infamous couch responsible for fracturing her knee and depositing her at Jakub’s feet was gone. That musty old thing couldn’t have been good for curb appeal. The house was listed As Is. The owners had likely given up on the idea of curb appeal.

  Harper stepped gingerly over the lip of concrete she’d tripped over the last time she’d traversed the sidewalk. Lights glowed through the fire station windows, but the expansive cement drive was deserted.

  Slowly, she walked past the station through the delicate dusting of snow underfoot. No sign of Jakub. She looped across the street to the opposite sidewalk and headed back in the direction she’d come. Still no stirrings from inside the building. She gave one last glance over her shoulder to the quiescent station before focusing on the road ahead.

  One block before she reached her house, her phone rang.

  Miles.

  His voice was all business. “Hi, Harper. I have a proposal for you.”

  She didn’t need to be romanced, but somehow, she suspected he was not talking about a date. “Are we talking about something other than you coming to Chicago for dinner?”

  “I’m talking about something much better than dinner in Chicago. I’m talking about an Ebola case on American soil. The patient is being airlifted to Atlanta. I’d like to invite you to assist on the case this weekend.”

  “Oh.” Of course she’d heard of the case that had been all over the news. To be asked to assist was a rare privilege. There were plenty of doctors who’d kill to be invited.

  “What do you think?”

  Ebola. This weekend. She may never have another opportunity like this in her life. And she had just turned in the application to the Chancellor for the phage center. Now she had nothing to do but wait. “Of course, yes. This is a truly amazing honor. Yes, I’ll be there.”

  The night at the fire station had been slow. After a nap, Jakub walked down the stairs to the first floor. At the landing, he paused to take in the sight of the gentle snowfall through the large sheet glass window that flanked the stairwell. The cold weather meant less fires for a time until it meant more fires from improperly built fireplaces and holiday candles.

  Someone was out there taking a stroll through the cold morning. He squinted through the snow.

  A woman.

  He checked his watch. A little earlier than her usual time. Could it be her?

  He moved away from the window so as not to be caught leering if she peered upward. At the thought of seeing Harper again, his chest expanded, but then quickly tightened, making it difficult to breathe for a moment.

  The way he’d run off and ignored her, then the way she so harshly refused his offer to take her to dinner, she obviously didn’t want anything to do with him. Yet here she was walking her same jogging route.

  She hadn’t even agreed to let him explain. A week after hearing nothing but crickets from his phone—and not the ring tone, the kind of crickets that meant silence—he’d texted her. My dinner invitation still stands. Please, think about it.

  More crickets.

  So what was she doing taking her same route past the fire station? Did she want to run into him? Or was she just so much of a control freak she couldn’t let go of her habitual route?

  Yeah, he laughed. That was the more likely explanation.

  Once she crossed the street and turned to walk in the other direction, he leaned against the cool glass window and watched her go—the leg she’d injured when she’d fallen at his feet dragging slightly.

  Part of him wanted to go after her. Force her to hear his explanation. But she’d put the whole thing behind her. He’d been an idiot to wait for her call.

  Today, she must have left her house much earlier than usual. Especially given she was walking and not jogging. Apparently, she’d timed it before his shift ended so he wouldn’t be able to catch her on his way out.

  Ritchie pounded down the stairs behind him, the reverberations of the metal echoing in the cinderblock stairwell. A palm clapped hard on his shoulder then Ritchie joined him in gazing out into the falling snow.

  “It’s a friggin’ winter wonderland out there.”

  Jakub let out a quiet laugh.

  “Only two more weeks to shop for my Christmas gift before the party.”

  “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

  “That’s what all the ladies say.”

  “Don’t you wish.”

  “Okay, well at least Aurelia says—”

  Jakub held up a hand. “I’m stopping you right now before I hear too much.”

  “All right,
I’ll spare you the details of my baby’s adoration. Come on, I’m making breakfast before our shift ends.”

  “Be right there. I’m going to throw some salt on the driveway.”

  Jakub dragged the five-gallon tub of salt out the front door of the fire station. He scooped up a few cups with the metal scoop and broadcast the grains over the cement in front of the bay doors. Only light snow was forecasted. The snow probably wouldn’t even stick, but Jakub had come outside because he wanted to see something for himself.

  He strode to the end of the driveway to where the concrete apron met the city sidewalk. The impressions of Harper’s footprints, though softened a little by the snow that had fallen since her departure, were still visible. Her left foot had created a little trail.

  She’d taken this route past his workplace, knowing full well he might glimpse her. Here was the evidence she’d pushed through pain to do it.

  Longing swirled within him as he considered following the footsteps down the other side of the sidewalk to catch up to her. That leg of hers would be sore and fatigued. He could follow in his truck then give her a lift the rest of the way home.

  He grabbed the metal handle of the bucket and dragged it back inside.

  Her pain was not his problem to solve. Besides, she’d stubbornly declared she had no time for him. Ever.

  At the expansive kitchen island, Ritchie pushed a plate of eggs and sausage across the counter to where Jakub sat on a barstool.

  “So, you coming to the wedding?”

  “What wedding?” Jakub took a bite of savory meat spiced with sage, his gaze lingering out the window.

  “Aurelia’s cousin, remember?”

  Vaguely, Jakub recalled an invitation sitting in his mail basket next to his computer. Shit. He’d forgotten to send his regrets. “Oh. No. Sorry. Not coming.”

  Ritchie screwed up his face. “Too bad for me.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey, man, what’s up? Something wrong?” He looked out the window toward the street, following Jakub’s gaze.