He tried to pull her close again, but she kept backing away, one step at a time.
“Mallory, please.”
The insecurity that drove her life flared inside her. She could no longer stand to be near JT. Feeling completely exposed and used, she moved up several more steps. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
“Calm down and come back here.” He used his cane to mount the stairs, and grasped her elbow. “Let me explain.”
She yanked her arm away and stumbled on a step. He tried to help her, but she backed up another step, and used the wall for balance. She’d willed herself to stay on her feet and pride kept her from falling.
He scratched his head, confusion in his eyes. He gave her a beseeching look. “What do you want me to do?”
“You told me you were crazy about me. If that’s how you feel, don’t hide it. I refuse to be your back-street girl. I deserve more than that.”
“Mallory, it’s just that I can’t…”
Tired of spending her life trying to please everyone, living on everyone else’s terms, she’d had enough. Finally she would put her foot down, even if it meant risking the best thing to ever enter her life. No. That wasn’t true. Morgan was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
JT was just a man. In Mallory’s life, men didn’t stick around.
Every one of her failures rolled through her mind. She’d gotten pregnant too early in life, and had never demanded that Morgan’s father marry her. She’d never even forced him to help support their child. She’d let other men walk out of her life because they didn’t want a ready-made family complete with some other man’s child. She’d refused welfare, no matter how hard it was to make ends meet. She’d been bullheaded all these years, insisting she could make everyone happy…except herself.
She hadn’t asked JT to force his way into her heart. But she deserved to not have to skulk around in the night to be his lover. Now all she wanted was a steady job and a relationship she didn’t have to hide. But as that wasn’t going to happen, she wanted to be left alone.
“Look, we have nothing else to say to each other.” She started back up the stairs.
The door on the floor below opened and footsteps steadily echoed off the walls. The nursing supervisor approached with an interested look in her eyes.
She nodded at JT. “Dr. Prescott.”
He nodded back. “Jeanne.”
She glanced at Mallory. “Nurse Glenn, on break?”
“I was just going back.”
Mallory’s eyes skittered away from his earnest stare. She followed the supervisor up the steps and left him on the landing.
“Goodbye,” she said over her shoulder.
And a few seconds later, just before she closed the stairwell door, the lonely sound of footsteps with the added touch of a cane proceeded down the stairs.
CHAPTER NINE
WHAT was he supposed to do now? For a guy who loved control, his life was anything but under his control. He loved Mallory, he had no doubt of this in his mind, yet the timing was horribly off. He wanted Corey to live with him more than life itself, but Samantha still resisted that idea. And until she agreed to the custody swap, he had to be careful. Blast it. He felt stuck.
Yet he could have at least smiled or winked at Mallory at work. She’d made it known how discarded she felt, in no uncertain terms. How could he fix that?
JT returned to his office to calm down and gather his thoughts, but instead, in complete frustration, he banged his cane against the wall. He pounded a fist on his desk and sat. He used the cane to tap on the black cross-training shoes he’d taken to wearing at work for his weak foot—the last reminder of his catastrophic illness—and thought that if it hadn’t been for Guillain-Barré syndrome, he’d never have gotten to know Mallory so intimately. He’d never have fallen in love again either.
Ironic. Near death had brought him new life. He scraped his fingers over his jaw. But he’d soundly botched everything up. Was there such a thing as second chances when it came to love?
A knock on his door drew him out of his frustrated thoughts.
“Come.”
Expecting his medical assistant, the door opened and Samantha appeared. A chill ran the length of his spine. What now? Her serious expression warned him that he’d yet more drama to deal with on this already emotionally charged day.
“James.” She nodded as he stood.
“Is anything wrong with Corey?”
“No. He’s fine.”
“What do you need?”
“A bit of your time.” In another one of her perfect-fitting suits, this one in some shade of pale green, she sat in the chair opposite his desk and crossed her ankles. “Before I make my final decision to give up custody of Corey, I need to know about this.” She removed a piece of paper from her matching purse. “Don’t blame Jake,” she said as she handed it to him. “I downloaded it from your computer myself. You never changed our password.”
He scowled about yet another invasion of his privacy by Samantha, and read the familiar words, starting with “Dear Jake” and ending with explicit instructions on how to shut off power to ensure ventilator failure. His stomach knotted. When he finished reading, he glanced expectantly in her direction.
“You wrote that before you ever became ill. How can I allow Corey to live with someone who doesn’t value life?”
“Oh, come on, Sam. You saw what my father went through. He wasn’t even able to breathe unaided. I don’t ever want to be like that.”
“You don’t have to remind me about your father. I was there. Remember? Or should I say I was left behind to care for Corey while you were so engrossed with his illness, you forgot we existed.”
“Let’s not rehash that whole nightmare. Wayne was happily waiting in the wings for you, as I recall. I guess things worked out for the best.”
“Perhaps.” She raised a brow, a thoughtful flicker in her gaze.
“When I wrote this…” he waved the paper at her “…I had no idea what was coming down the line for me. It was a precaution. Fortunately, Jake never needed to carry it out.”
Samantha leaned forward in her chair, engaging his eyes intently. “Exactly. What if the GBS hadn’t turned around before your man-made time limit? What if you’d killed yourself, but had you just stuck it out another week your illness would have improved? What about Corey then? Would the rest of your life have been worth giving up rather than spending one more stinking week on a ventilator? One more day beyond what you felt was acceptable in the world according to J. T. Prescott?” She pushed back in the chair and ran her hand through her hair. “There are some things we just can’t control in our lives, James.”
Impressed by her impassioned outburst, he admitted she had a valid point. “I do know that, Sam. But I’m allowed to state the limits to which I’m willing to suffer, if and when it comes down to a life-threatening illness. It’s called an advanced directive. You should have one, too.”
“That…” she pointed at the paper “…is called a death wish.”
“OK, so it was a bit over the top. I see the error of my ways now.”
“Life is sacred. I need to know, for Corey’s sake, you’ll always want to live. That you won’t give up hope too easily.”
“I’ve done anything but given up. I’ve fought every day to grow stronger. You know I’m a driven man. I don’t need a lecture from you.” There, he’d done it again, turned Samantha into an adversary.
They sat in silence for a moment. Samantha sat straighter.
“I love him as much as you do, but I know that at a certain age a boy needs his father more than his mother.” Her face contorted but she fought off the emotion and forced a smooth visage. “He’ll be eleven next month.” She tossed her hand through the air. “As crazy as it seems, I love Wayne, but I don’t want him to be our son’s male role model.”
“Well, thank goodness for small favors.”
She rolled her eyes. “This is no time for sarcasm, James.”
“I know what you’re getting at, Sam. Let me add one thing to help you understand. When I wrote this note, I had nothing in particular to live for. You’d left me and taken my son. My father had died a horrible death. I held a desk job I never wanted in the first place. I’d taken it on only to please you. And pleasing you turned out to be impossible.”
She started to protest, but he didn’t give her a chance. “There was simply no reason left to embrace life and all it offered.” He looked soundly into his ex-wife’s eyes.
She cleared her throat. “That’s all behind us now. I need to know that you don’t think that way any more.”
It occurred to him that things had changed in his way of looking at life. As messed up as everything had been today with his love life, he felt optimistic for the first time in years.
“I don’t.”
She tilted her head, sending him a piercing look. “What’s changed?”
He sat back in his chair, his eyes drifting upward. What had changed was that he knew without a doubt that he’d want to fight for life, no matter what the circumstances. A lovely redhead came to mind.
“Mallory.”
And now that he’d finally realized the extent to which she’d affected him, all he needed to do was figure out a way to get her back.
*
At four a.m., though it was seven a.m. in Rhode Island, Mallory’s phone rang. It was Morgan in her university dorm, up and preparing for class, obviously having forgotten about the three-hour time difference.
“Hello?”
“Mom! I found out some more stuff about that scholarship!”
“What?” Mallory fought foggy thoughts to focus on what her daughter had said.
“Yeah. Between classes, I went back to school administration and found out from a friend of mine that next semester’s tuition has been paid, too! She said the scholarships came from the same California citizen as before. That’s all they’d tell me. Isn’t that torqued?”
“The same anonymous donor?”
“So they say.”
Hadn’t JT asked how Morgan’s studies were going? Why should he care? Well, if he were funding it, he’d certainly want to know. Finally adding everything up, and covering for the fury brewing in her mind, she fudged a congenial response. “Well, let’s count our blessings!”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking, too.”
“Do you have any idea what time it is here, Morgie?”
“Oh, shoot! Sorry, Mom. I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to worry about paying anything back.”
“OK. I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, right?”
“Definitely. I need a break from this campus!”
Mallory hung up the phone and cursed. “Why, that impossible man. Does he think I can be bought?”
*
Another day on the hospital ward and Mallory’s eyes burned from lack of sleep. She hid a cup of coffee at the nurses’ station and took a sip before starting patient assessment.
“Can I get a nurse in here?” The familiar baritone voice of JT came booming from Room 5003. She hadn’t seen him arrive.
What should she do? Let someone else respond, that’s what. She glanced around the ward. Not a soul in sight. She was mad as hell at him, yet they worked at the same hospital so she may as well get used to seeing him.
“You need some help?” she asked, entering the room.
His head sprang up from the patient he tended. Steel-blue eyes found hers and stared for several beats of her heart. His face revealed no emotion other than concern for his patient. Her chest tightened to near strangulation. She attempted to swallow her nervousness and anger, but found her throat uncooperative.
JT went back to auscultating the man’s lower abdomen. “Yes. Thank you, Mallory. I’ve just come from Radiology and Mr. Hartounian needs a nasogastric tube inserted.”
She remembered that Mr. Hartounian had had surgery three days before, and had been complaining of increasing abdominal pain. The night nurse said he’d vomited bile early that morning, and portable abdominal X-rays had been ordered.
“A blockage?”
“Yes, paralytic ileus.” He glanced at his patient. “Probably due to anesthesia and pain meds.”
“Size fourteen French OK?”
He nodded.
If only she could read his mind, what would it tell her? Could he know from the angst in her eyes how she hadn’t slept more than an hour or two all night? That she’d tossed and turned and dreamed about being in his arms again? That she’d felt his flesh on hers, and had practically felt him inside her?
That she’d realized he’d paid off her daughter’s tuition for the semester, and was as mad as hell?
“I’ll order the suction machine while I’m at it,” she said, surprised that her voice came out controlled, efficient. Not sounding remotely as intense as she felt. She’d snapped into work mode without realizing it, knowing that while on the job the patient always came first.
Mallory left the room gasping for air. How could she work with him? She wanted to throttle him! But she’d have to toughen up and get used to it if she intended to keep her job.
After dialing central supply for the suction machine, gathering the nasogastric tube and a clamp, some lubricant, an emesis basin and some ice chips, she willed herself to stay calm. Several deep breaths later she returned to Room 5003 where JT remained, chatting with his patient. Any other doctor would have left after giving the order, but not JT. He’d always gone the extra mile for his patients.
With his impeccable bedside manner he explained the entire procedure to Mr. Hartounian, who had been placed in a high sitting position in his hospital bed. When Mallory had put every item on the bedside table, JT glanced up with a diffident smile. Her mouth twitched in response, holding back the furious tirade she wanted to spew at him. She quickly looked away, becoming distracted with setting everything up.
She spread a towel over the man’s chest and handed him a cup of ice. “It’s really important that you breathe through your mouth or swallow while I insert this tube. OK?”
The patient nodded dutifully, an unsure look in his eyes.
“If at any time you want me to stop for a moment, raise your index finger, OK?” The man nodded again. “And if you want me to stop altogether, you can raise this finger.” She tugged on his middle finger, lifted a brow and checked that he’d caught her drift.
Now was no time for sour humor, but Mr. Hartounian smiled for the first time that morning at the chance to give his nurse “the finger.” The bit of comic relief helped him relax. And, Lord knew, she needed to, too.
She glanced at JT, who suppressed a naughty approving smile. A quick flash of him naked and over her with an entirely different expression on his face made her lose control of her hands.
Damn. Get a hold of yourself. Stay focused and angry!
She measured the distance from the patient’s earlobe to the bridge of his nose, plus the distance from the bridge of his nose to the bottom of his sternum, using the tube as a measuring tape. She marked it with a piece of tape between the second and third circular markings on the nasogastric tube. Now she knew how far to advance it once inside his nostril and heading toward his stomach.
“OK, Mr. Hartounian, put a few ice chips in your mouth,” she said, while liberally lubricating the tube. He did as he was told. “Which side do you breathe best from?” He pointed to the right side of his nose. With expert care Mallory bent the tube and inserted it into his nostril, while he reflexively pulled back. “Bend your head forward, sir.”
His eyes grew as round as dark saucers while she advanced the tube toward the back of his throat. He gagged, and she allowed him to rest and catch his breath.
“OK. Are you ready? Take more ice chips. Now. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow,” she repeated, moving quickly before he had a chance to raise a middle finger or to knee her in the ribs. Soon the marking was at the entrance to his nose. “There! I think we’re in the right place.”
JT placed his stethoscope over the patient’s stomach and listened. If the tube was in the patient’s stomach, she knew he’d hear a whooshing sound when he injected a few milliliters of air. He nodded at her with a look of success.
For one second Mallory and JT latched onto each other’s gaze and held it. Nothing could ever take away what they’d shared in her bedroom. She knew it. From the smoky, hooded look in his eyes, it was apparent that he knew it, too. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she wished she could swallow a few ice chips of her own. If only he knew about the latest information she’d discovered, he’d be trying to hightail it out of the room before she could crown him.
Mallory used hypoallergenic tape to anchor the tube to the patient’s nose, careful not to disturb his vision. Shaken by the hot look from JT, she clamped the tube. And with clumsy fingers she attached the end of it to the patient’s hospital gown with tape and a safety pin, wishing JT would stop watching her so closely.
“There. We’ll hook you up to the suction machine as soon as it arrives.”
“You’ll get used to the tube, Mr. Hartounian, and it will keep you from having so much stomach distress,” JT said, patting the man’s arm. “Most likely in a few days the anesthesia-induced blockage will open back up and you’ll be back to your old self again. You did outstandingly well.”
The patient glanced at Mallory. JT’s gaze followed. He nodded. “Yes. She did, too.”
Little did either of them know how close she was to decking him. The emotional roller-coaster of having to work side by side with her former patient, ex-lover, and now benefactor was practically unbearable.
She forced a smile for the patient, and avoided JT’s eyes altogether. “I’ll check back on you later,” she said, before she left the room and headed straight for the nurses’ lounge to attempt to recover.
*
Mallory drove to JT’s house straight from work. She pounded on the heavy wooden door, alternating with the brass knocker and doorbell. She heard him abruptly stop playing the piano.
JT answered the door. A pleasantly surprised look crossed his face, until he noticed Mallory glowering at him.
In His Angel's Arms Page 13
