by Jo Leigh
Right now, though, she had patients to tend to.
“TWO STAB WOUNDS to the left flank. First one is L2, 4 centimeters off the midline. Second one is L5, in the midscapular line.”
Guy finished putting on his gloves as Brad Winslow, a fourth-year resident, gave him the vitals. He walked up to the patient, a young man, mid-twenties, pale and unconscious.
“Did it hit the spinal cord?” Theresa Finell, one of the best E.R. nurses asked, walking over to the patient. They were in trauma three, and since the only other patient in the hospital was a five-year-old who needed a couple of stitches, Guy had all the support he needed.
Winslow shook his head. “Depends on the angle.”
Theresa took her place next to Guy. “BP’s 70 over 50, pulse is 120.”
“Squeeze in two liters and prepare for a subclavian,” Guy said as he examined the man’s chest. “What’s his name?”
“John Gilliam. Stabbed in a bar fight.”
Guy frowned. “Way to spend your afternoons, John.”
“Good breath sounds bilaterally,” Theresa said.
Guy went through the drill. “Ten liters by mask. Send a trauma panel, type and cross for 4 and get X ray in here for chest. And a one-shot IVP.”
He moved down the table and flipped the white sheet from Gilliam’s feet. “Toes are down going, so no spinal injury. Hang the next two units on the infuser.”
For the next ten minutes, Guy barely looked up. The young man was in serious trouble. He needed surgery and he needed it now. “Book an O.R. Get ready to send him up. Where’s the Foley?”
Theresa darted out of the room, and Guy tried not to be impatient.
“The one here got ripped, Doctor,” Winslow said. “Theresa’s getting a replacement. And pressure’s up to 100 systolic.”
“Give him a gram of cotetan.”
The patient stirred, his eyes fluttering open.
Guy leaned over him. “John? Can you hear me? You’re in a hospital. You’ve been stabbed, but we’re taking care of you.”
The boy looked at him with wild eyes. “My back.”
“Hang in there. You’re going up to surgery now.”
Theresa ran in with a new Foley catheter and did a remarkably good job of getting it set up. But John didn’t seem impressed; he was too busy moaning in pain.
“Dr. Giroux?”
He looked at Theresa.
She held up the Foley bag, and he saw it was filling with blood.
“Let’s go. Make sure the O.R. is ready, Brad. Now.”
Guy unlatched the gurney and pushed it out of the trauma room, heading toward the elevator.
He couldn’t stop when he saw Rachel standing by the nurses’ station. He’d have to catch up with her later.
RACHEL FINISHED writing her report on her last patient at seven-fifteen. She was tired and achy and she still hadn’t heard from Lieutenant Montgomery. If she’d had her druthers, she would have gone straight home, crawled into a hot bubble bath and shut the world away.
But she still had to talk to Guy. The thought alone made her tense. Not just tense, truth be told. There was an element of excitement hidden in her jitters. Whether that was because she was going to try the Allie approach to listening, or because she just wanted to see him, she wasn’t sure. Either way, thinking about it ratcheted up her stress level.
She headed toward his office, taking her day’s reports with her. When she got to the reception area, Connie was on the phone. She held out a hand to stop Rachel, then pointed to a dish of butter cookies on the edge of her desk. Rachel couldn’t resist. Connie was the best cook she knew. Well, except for Guy.
Rachel wondered how many women at the hospital knew about his culinary skills. She felt quite sure it was one of the many weapons in his arsenal. His looks, his charm, his profession, his boat. Good Lord, no woman stood a chance against him. And yet in the last few days he’d seemed more concerned with past failures than new conquests.
She’d read that people who had faced death head-on sometimes made amazing transformations. Although no one in her own experience had ever gone through anything so dramatic, death seemed to be a major trigger, as was a religious experience. She’d also heard that love could do it, but Rachel didn’t believe that one.
Changing old habits was hard—one of the biggest challenges humans faced. Rachel doubted Guy was going to change permanently as a result of Heather’s death. Given the life he had—success on every level, the career of his dreams—why would he?
For that matter, why should she?
She sat down in the soft visitor’s chair and continued to nibble on her cookie. What Allie had asked her to do was change one of her own habits. To consciously let down the barriers and open herself up to Guy.
Sounded great on paper, but the barriers were there for a reason. She should know. She’d been in therapy, she’d examined her life, she’d faced the ugly truth. Her faults where cataloged and typed, cross-referenced and filed. Bottom line, they served her purposes, and she’d found no reason to rock the boat.
She realized the downside. People found her distant at times. She’d never win any popularity contests, and she’d felt the lack in her romantic life, but there were trade-offs in every endeavor. It was only lately that she’d started to wonder if this particular trade-off was worth it.
“Thanks for waiting,” Connie said, hanging up the phone. “He’s on the line with the lab in San Francisco. As soon as he’s off, you can go on in.”
“These cookies are fantastic,” Rachel said.
“Have another. You could use some meat on those bones.”
“If I was around your cooking, I’d be big as a horse.”
“No, you wouldn’t, you’d be just as disciplined as you are about every other thing in your life. As for him—” she looked at Guy’s closed door “—I hope you can take his mind off his troubles. I’ve never seen him so torn apart.”
“I’ll do what I can, Connie. But I’m not sure I’m the best person to help.”
Connie studied Rachel with her dark, expressive gaze. “You can be. You just need to loosen up a little bit. Show that big heart of yours.”
Rachel felt a twinge deep inside. Big heart? Where would Connie come up with that? When was the last time Rachel had done something that would be considered heartfelt?
She wasn’t cold, but she wasn’t like some of the other doctors here, who were so compassionate she’d worried they were crossing the line. Only, who was to say where that line should be drawn?
“Ah, he’s off the phone,” Connie told her. “You go on in. And take those cookies with you. I wish it was something healthier, but it’s all I’ve got. I don’t think he’s eaten a bite all day.”
“Thanks, Connie,” Rachel said, taking the plate with her. She knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for a reply before she entered the inner office.
“Hey,” Guy said, smiling up at her from his desk.
“Hey, yourself.” She put the cookies down. “Connie informs me you haven’t eaten. She also says you should have something better than cookies.”
He looked at the treats warily. “I’ll get a bite at the cafeteria. Later.”
She sat down, remembering Allie’s words. For once she would repress her natural instincts to hold back. “How are you doing?”
He sighed. “I heard from Walter. Heather’s father.”
“Oh?”
“Bastard can’t make it here until next week. Says he’s in the middle of a business deal. Wanted to know about the funeral.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’m waiting for Tammy. It’s her decision.”
“Is that all?”
Leaning back in his chair, he stared up at the wall behind her. He looked tired, defeated. And so sad. “I gave him a few choice thoughts. Useless, of course.”
“So forget about him. Tell me what’s going on with Heath.”
“He’s stabilized. But it’s not great. He’s probably going to
need an operation on his heart, but right now it’s his kidney function that’s paramount…You know the drill. I’m just grateful at this point that he’s hanging on.”
Rachel looked down at her hands, at the manicure she’d had yesterday. The blatant honesty coming from Guy made her think of five excuses to leave. She wasn’t used to this casual frankness from him. It disarmed her and made her feel vulnerable. But she’d keep going, testing this new ground. She raised her gaze and took a deep breath. “It has to be very hard for you.”
“It is. I never had a child of my own, but this…” He leaned forward, his eyes moist. “Nothing can happen to him, Rachel.”
“He’s getting the best care possible.”
“I know. But I can’t—” His voice broke.
She stood up, went to his side and crouched down next to him, touching his arm gently. “You can’t be the one. I know. You’re used to being the doctor. The one who pulls the rabbit out of the hat. The person who saves lives despite all the odds. The people looking after Heath are the very best in the field, Guy, and they’re going to move heaven and earth to save him. All you can do now is love him.”
Guy opened his mouth, but nothing came out. No words at all, and yet she understood his anguish, his frustration. Perhaps it was only something doctors could feel when all their education, all their training meant nothing.
But there was something more, something that made her pulse quicken in fear. The way he looked at her wasn’t simply as a man in pain, but a man in need. A man who needed her. It was as if he was calling out to her, screaming to her to save him.
“Oh, God, Guy. I can’t—”
He leaned toward her and put his hand on hers. “Rachel.” His gaze raked her face, and the intensity of his expression took her breath. It was as if he could see inside her. Deep into her secrets.
And then he moved closer still, close enough that she felt his warm breath caress her cheek and she could see the flecks of gold in the depths of his eyes.
His lips touched hers, so gently, and she closed her eyes, trying not to bolt. She wanted to let herself feel—the texture of his lips, the tenderness, the way his hand squeezed hers so tightly. His need for her was in his touch, in his breath.
When he rose, he brought her up with him, his kiss deepening as his hand left hers and slipped to the back of her neck. He pulled her against him, and she was swamped by the physical sensations swirling inside her.
Her hands moved up his back, and for this moment, she was with him, trying to give him comfort. She’d never wanted to be so much to one person. Healing this way was completely foreign to her.
“Oh, that’s just great.”
Rachel jumped back at the intrusive voice, her face burning and every part of her shutting down. She didn’t recognize the woman standing just inside Guy’s office.
Guy sighed. “Tammy.”
“You can’t even wait till she’s buried?” His ex-wife walked inside, her fury making her seem much taller than her diminutive frame.
Blond, beautiful, dressed in tight black leather pants and a red, low-cut sweater, she looked like the perfect trophy wife. Her makeup was flawless and not a hair was out of place, but her anger was palpable as her gaze moved from Guy to Rachel and back. “You have to do your whore right here, in your office? In the same hospital where that little baby lies dying?”
CHAPTER TEN
“YOU LOOK GREAT, Tammy,” Guy said. “I hate that you had to come home to this.”
Tammy seemed taken aback at Guy’s calm. “This isn’t my home.”
Guy turned to Rachel, and with a sad smile said, “Would you excuse us, please?”
“Of course.” She walked around his desk. When she stood next to Tammy, she paused. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Tammy grunted, looking away from Rachel as quickly as possible. Taking the cue, Rachel left, alarmed that the door was open and the crude remarks would have been heard by Connie.
Rachel didn’t even glance at Guy’s secretary as she hurried out of the reception area. It wasn’t embarrassment at Tammy’s outburst that mortified her, but her own culpability.
She’d kissed Guy Giroux.
Allie would have been thrilled, no doubt, but Rachel was anything but. She’d kissed Guy, in his office. Kissed him and felt…
Felt too much.
She hurried to her office and got her purse and coat, then left the hospital as quickly as she could. Once in her car, she burned rubber heading out of the parking lot, determined to escape, but the lingering effects of what she’d done grew stronger the closer she got to home.
There was compassion and then there was stupidity, and she’d leaped over the boundary with both feet. Yes, the man needed a friend, but kissing?
Even when she pulled into her garage and the door closed behind her, she didn’t move, just sat with both hands on the wheel, staring at the speedometer.
She’d been knocked off balance, and she wasn’t sure how to regain her footing. This was someone else’s life, not her own. Connie had been right. Rachel was disciplined, especially when it came to work. She simply didn’t do foolish things, and there was no doubt in her mind that kissing Guy was foolish in the extreme.
The real kicker was that she’d liked it. What a stupid word that was: like. It didn’t come close to the feelings that had hit her the moment his lips touched hers.
Closing her eyes, she struggled to find the words to quantify the experience. But instead of an easy explanation, the quiver in her stomach came back, the tingles where he’d brushed the back of her neck, the breathlessness that had made her dizzy. It all came back, leaving her adrift, afloat on an unfamiliar sea.
This was ridiculous. She got out of the car, slamming the door shut. She wasn’t a virgin. She’d been with men, had sex. Not often, and not in a long time, but she was hardly chaste and pure. The kiss was nothing, one tiny step above a peck on the cheek.
Once inside the house, she turned on the light in the kitchen. Everything was tidy, no dishes on the counter, the bouquet of roses still fresh in the crystal vase on the dining room table. The room was exactly how she’d left it this morning, yet somehow it now seemed sterile, cold.
That was also ridiculous.
She hung her coat up in the hall closet, then headed to her bedroom. Once there, she unpinned her hair and let it fall down her back. Then she went to the bathroom and prepared a bubble bath, using her favorite freesia oil. Next came music, and she chose Debussy, turning up the volume before she took off her clothes.
Naked, she lit the candles, all six of them, put her towels within reaching distance, and climbed into the almost too warm water.
It took her a minute to get settled, to adjust the bath pillow behind her head and stir the oils and the bubbles to perfection.
Then she turned off the tap, lay back, closed her eyes and listened to Clair de Lune, letting the exquisite music take her away. Away from her thoughts, away from the confusion of Guy Giroux.
But not for long. Not nearly long enough. She couldn’t block him out, nor could she erase the imprint of his kiss.
She was adrift, all right, and she had no idea how to get back to shore.
TAMMY SAT with her coffee, both of them still steaming. She looked good, better than she had the last time Guy had seen her. France agreed with her, or perhaps now she was finally free to be the woman she’d always wanted to be. An artist, she had actually completed and sold several works.
Guy was curious about it. He’d never been able to picture that. Her art had seemed an affectation when they were together, something she dreamed about but never actualized. Leaving him, it appeared, had been the key. He felt odd, sitting across from her now. It was as if he were looking at a stranger instead of a woman who had once shared his life.
He had never shared her life, though. Except for Heather. But that wasn’t the truth, either, was it? He had kept Heather, like Tammy, on the periphery. There hadn’t been room in his world for them.
“Did she ever mention names? Who those friends might be?”
Tammy shook her head. Her hair, blonder now than when he’d been with her, shimmered on her shoulders. It was a good look for her, softening her cheekbones and sharp jaw. Her makeup was more subdued, too. “Just friends,” she said. “Just stuff. The last couple of years she’d gotten vague, distant. I thought it was a phase. She was a teenager, for God’s sake. This was supposed to be her year of fun before college. We talked about that.” Tammy blinked tears from her eyes. “She wanted to go to UCLA. Her SATs were really good. She’d been accepted.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Of course not.” She put her cup on his desk and crossed her legs. “When was the last time you talked to her?”
“Too long ago,” he said. He wasn’t going to excuse himself. Not to Tammy and not to himself. “I didn’t think enough about her.”
“No, you didn’t. She loved you.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Did you know she used to ask me about you every time we talked? She told me one of the things she wanted to do while she was with Walter was to come stay with you for a while.”
“No. I had no idea. She never called.”
“Well, no, she wouldn’t. She was too busy getting pregnant.” Tammy lost the battle with her tears. She reached into her purse and brought out a crumpled tissue. “God, who was he? What did he do to her?”
“I’m doing my best to find out. I’ve made some calls.”
“To whom?”
“I don’t know if you remember him, but I used to sail with a policeman from the LAPD. Richie Montgomery.”
She shook her head. “I hated all those stupid sailing parties.”
She hadn’t, in fact. Not always. In the beginning, when they’d lived in L.A., Tammy had loved the parties, the regattas, the Sundays at the marina. She’d entertained like a true hostess. The champagne had been too expensive, the caviar imported, the caterers in their bright white jackets. She’d eaten it up. It was only when she had to live here, in the quiet of Courage Bay, that she’d learned to hate everything about him, including his boat.
