Harlequin Medical Romance July 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Playboy's SecretTaming Her Navy DocHer Family for Keeps

by Tina Beckett

  “It’ll be okay. We’ll take care of him.” Somehow she wanted to reassure him.

  Duncan nodded and led the way inside. Lupe met them at the door. She clutched her hands in her apron. “Where is he?”

  “In the den. He can’t breathe, mijo, just like last time.”

  Without a word, Duncan strode to the den, with Rebel steps behind him. If his grandfather died it would be because of pure stubborn pride. Or Duncan would strangle him. One or the other. Rafael could inspire the most patient of men to murder.

  He sat on the couch, eyes closed, his color a waxy, greenish-yellow. That indicated a cardiac issue. “How long has this been going on?”

  “’Bout…half…hour.” His breathing came in short gasps, and Duncan could hear crackles in his lungs, even without a stethoscope.

  Rebel sat on the other side of Rafael, and she placed his hand in her lap, her fingers on his pulse. “He’s clammy, tachycardic, and I can hear fluid in his lungs.”

  Her demeanor snapped him out of grandson mode and into doctor mode. “Where’s Jake? I need that kit.”

  Lupe dashed to the door. “Here he comes now.” She pulled the door open as the young man ran through.

  “Here it is.” What he set down looked to Rebel like a giant black fishing-tackle box with a red cross painted on it.

  Duncan flipped the double clamps on it and opened it to reveal a stash of medications and equipment equal to any ER crash cart she’d ever seen.

  “I’m going to call my mother and let her know,” Jake said.

  “Dear God…not…your mother,” Rafael gasped.

  “Just go for now,” Duncan said, and Jake hurried from the room but lingered in the doorway, his eyes wide.

  Duncan extracted a stethoscope from the box, and Rebel fished out a pulse oximeter, a small monitor that fit on a finger to check the oxygen level and whether a patient’s condition required supplemental oxygen.

  “Sat’s seventy-two—way too low.” That meant his lungs were full of fluid and oxygen wasn’t getting into his bloodstream the way it was supposed to.

  “Get an IV in him. There’s a butterfly setup on the left side.” Quickly, Rebel got an IV access in the back of his right hand.

  “Got it.”

  As she dug into the kit for the proper equipment to administer the medication, she noted that the room had started to fill with people. Lots and lots of people. Migrant workers, whose lives and livelihoods depended on this man, showed up and stood at the threshold of the room. Others stood inside the door. All were grim-faced and staring.

  Rebel began to feel uncomfortable with so many strangers staring at her. Fumbling with the packing of the IV insertion supplies, she dropped it twice before being able to open it properly. What was wrong with her? She was a skilled nurse, and she could perform an IV setup in her sleep. So why now were her hands trembling like she was a new nurse fresh out of school?

  That little voice in a dark place in her heart told her she knew why. It told her she was beginning to get sick. Just like her family had. Just like she’d known she would.

  “Do you think someone could make coffee?” she asked Duncan.

  His gaze flashed to her, and he frowned. “Seriously? You need coffee now?”

  She wanted to whack him one for his lack of insight, but she refrained. Given the circumstances with his distress over this grandfather’s sudden illness, she had to cut him a break. He wasn’t thinking as clearly as he normally would if he were in the ER with control of the situation. “N-o-o-o. It will give them something to do and ease the tension in the room, which is about to strangle me. We also need oxygen. Is there any sort of oxygen machine we could hook him up to?” It would give her a little space to control her own racing thoughts and steady her hands again before she put in the IV.

  Duncan closed his eyes for a second as he realized her suggestion was brilliant. “Sorry. You’re right.” He’d been too focused to see a solution to the congestion in the house. Turning slightly, he spoke to Lupe in Spanish, and then to the people gathered in the room.

  Lupe clapped her hands like a drill sergeant and shooed everyone out. One man stepped forward. “I get the oxygen.” He raced from the room, plowing through the rest of the crowd now that he had a mission to accomplish.

  The atmosphere eased as people filed out, each offering a quick sign of the cross for Rafael’s recovery. Rebel could take a deep breath for the first time since she’d sat down.

  “I’ll take your blood pressure, too.” She applied the cuff to his left arm and performed the short procedure. “One-eighty over eighty-five.”

  “Give him a diuretic.”

  “How much?” Rebel was already reaching for the vial. The tremor in her hands was less visible, but she still felt it on the inside, down in her gut.

  “Twenty now, twenty more in thirty minutes if he doesn’t respond.”

  Rebel dropped the vial in her lap, cursed quietly as she wiped the perspiration from her palms and picked it up in a tight grip.

  “Don’t worry, Rebel. It’s an unexpected situation, but don’t worry. Take a breath, and we’ll get through this together.” Duncan gave a glance at his grandfather, who had not opened his eyes. “We’ll all get through it.”

  Finally, she drew up the prescribed dosage in a syringe and administered it through the IV, grateful Duncan was putting the shaking of her hands down to nerves. He couldn’t know what she knew. Someday, she knew she was going to get sick, but it was like a time bomb, waiting to go off. Distraction and focus on the task at hand was the way out of her mental chaos.

  “This will ease your breathing by pulling the fluid from your lungs, but it’s going to make you pee like a racehorse.” She gave him the information she’d give to any patient.

  “If you…say…so.”

  “I do.” She patted his knee, knowing he needed comfort, even if it was the last thing he’d ask for.

  She glanced at Duncan. His gaze was glued to Rafael’s chest. She wanted to comfort him, too. This was what she did, what she was good at, and she shoved aside her own tremors to give them her best.

  Leaning over, she placed a hand on Duncan’s arm until he looked at her. “He’s going to be okay.”

  After placing a hand over hers, he gave a terse nod. Not that he didn’t believe her, but as a physician he knew too much. People who knew too much worried even more. They knew what could happen, knew the worst-case scenario, and always went there mentally. Plan for the worst, hope for the best, was her motto. Personally and professionally. She’d had her will made out for ten years now and had purchased life insurance with a long-term care rider for when she became ill. She just hadn’t expected it to be now.

  A shiver made her twitch and their dash into the rain was starting to reveal its unforeseen consequences. Though the room should have been warm, she felt chilled. The effect of adrenaline only lasted so long and the kick she’d gotten was fading.

  Duncan’s phone rang. “It’s Juanita. One of my sisters,” he added for Rebel’s benefit.

  Rafael clucked his tongue, just as one of the men returned with a very dusty oxygen tank. If it worked, who cared what it looked like? Duncan stood and answered the phone, leaving them to the task of getting the oxygen hooked up.

  After pulling a tubing package from Duncan’s kit, Rebel placed it on Rafael’s nose and turned on the tank. “Now take some deep breaths. Slow and steady.”

  Amazingly, Rafael did what she said and slowed his breathing, though she knew it was very difficult. “Listen to the sound of my voice. I’ll tell you what to do.” She kept up the light chatter for Rafael, but watched as Duncan wandered away, listening to Juanita pontificate in his ear.

  Lupe entered the room with a tray of coffee and sat it on the table in front of them. “He trusts you, you know?”

  Rebel reached out for the warm cup Lupe handed her and added a few drips of creamer, not too picky about the flavor at the moment. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “
Duncan. He trusts you, or he wouldn’t have left you alone with him.” She nodded at Rafael.

  “I…can hear…you,” Rafael said, and opened his eyes to slits, glaring his displeasure.

  “Oh, you.” Lupe inhaled a tremulous breath and gave him a light rap on the wrist, then took his hand and held it. “Be quiet, you old goat.” The words she said were at odds with the concern and love in her eyes. Rebel was starting to get a clue there was more going on between them than a professional relationship.

  Who was she to pass judgment? Her family had been full of oddities. Rafael turned his hand over to clasp Lupe’s in his. What a sweet gesture, to see their aging hands intertwined. Something she had accepted would never happen to her. Especially not now, since she’d noticed a tremor. There was nothing to stop her illness now.

  Rebel cleared her throat and placed the oxygen monitor back on Rafael’s finger. “I’m sure Duncan just believes I’m a competent nurse.”

  Lupe raised her brows and gave her a look that made Rebel reconsider. “I don’t think so, mija. I know him. He trusts no one to care for Rafael.”

  “I see.” Another shiver made Rebel twitch. This time Lupe saw it.

  “Oh, mija, look at you. Sitting here like a drowned rat!”

  Duncan wandered in, still listening to Juanita rant on the phone, but his gaze remained sharp and focused on the scene.

  “It’s okay.” She clutched the cup. “The coffee will warm me up.”

  “Nonsense. You’ll have a shower, and I’ll make you both some of my special hot chocolate.” She motioned for Duncan to come closer.

  “Juanita, get a hold of yourself and take a sedative or something. I gotta go.” He closed the phone, but Rebel could still hear the voice on the other end as he cut her off.

  “Everything okay?” Though he spoke to Rebel, he watched Rafael.

  “His color is better and his breathing is, too.”

  “And she’s soaked to the bone, mijo!” Lupe said with great concern.

  For the first time since they’d entered the house, Duncan grinned. “Well, so am I.”

  “Bah!” Lupe waved away his statement. “Rebel needs a shower and dry clothes before she gets a cold.” The housekeeper stood, once again in charge of herself and the situation. She took Rebel’s hand and led her away. “You take care of things for a while.”

  Rebel went with Lupe, but cast a look at Duncan, who could only stare as the most interesting woman he’d met in years was being held hostage by his grandfather’s girlfriend. They soon disappeared upstairs, and a door slammed.

  “Duncan! Get over here. She’s right. I have to pee like a racehorse!”

  A light-hearted sensation filled him. All was well in the world if his grandfather could yell again. He shivered, casting a longing glance upstairs. He was going to need a shower, too. Too bad it would have to be by himself.

  After helping Rafael to the bathroom then returning him to the couch and the oxygen, Duncan took a shower of his own. He dressed in clothing he’d left on a previous trip, but he wondered what Rebel would be wearing as she hadn’t brought anything with her. It was too much to hope that it would be skimpy.

  As he descended the stairs and scraped his hair back from his face, he expected to see Rebel sitting with Rafael, but she was nowhere in the vicinity. And neither was Rafael.

  “I put him to bed, and she’s out on the portál,” Lupe called from the kitchen. “I’m making my hot chocolate for you. I’ll bring it out in a few minutes.”

  He found Rebel ensconced on one of the settees, with her feet tucked beneath her and covered by a Pendleton blanket.

  What a picture she made. After the shower, her hair seemed curlier and luxurious. He wanted to sink his hands into it and pull her closer to him, pull her fragrance into his mind so he would never forget it. The firelight cast a golden glow over her and he paused, absorbing the image of her quiet beauty. He knew he didn’t make a noise or hardly breathed, but she turned. A few beats of his heart went missing.

  And then she smiled.

  And he knew he could never be her friend. He wanted way more than that. Especially after that kiss that afternoon had set his blood on fire.

  Without directing his feet, they moved him over to where Rebel sat, and he settled beside her. Placing a hand on the back of the settee, his hand tunneled beneath her hair so he could make contact with the skin on her neck. She was such a beauty. Vastly different from the women he’d known from society who’d only seen the prestige in his name and the dollars in his pocket, convinced their beauty alone would win him over.

  Rebel had none of those issues. She had others, but he was willing to work on them. She needed a friend, and he wanted to be that for her, as well as something else he wasn’t quite willing to name. Lover? Best friend? Partner? He didn’t know and didn’t want to think about it right now and pushed aside thoughts of his fiancée. Although it had been a long time ago, guilt from his inability to save her resurfaced. Right now, all he wanted to do was put his arms around Rebel and never let go.

  “This is lovely. Who knew there would be a need to have a fire on a summer night?”

  “Summer nights are the perfect time for a fire.” There was a fire in him that he wanted to explore. Leaning closer, he stopped just short of placing his lips against hers. “There’s been a fire between us since we met, whether you want to admit it or not.”

  A small gasp came from her mouth, but she didn’t pull away and she didn’t deny it. How could she when the proof was in front of her face? The proof was in that kiss and the way her body reacted to his.

  Slowly, she moved her hand up and she placed a palm on his cheek. “I’m not the one you want, Duncan.” Sadness crept into her eyes again and it maddened him when things were going so well between them. He didn’t want to stop, and he didn’t want anything to get in his way.

  “You are the one I want.” He hardly had to move and his lips would be against hers. Every breath she took tingled against his skin.

  A sudden interruption on the portál ended the conversation.

  “Here it is. I told you my special hot chocolate would be just the trick to warm you up from the inside out.” Lupe hustled across the patio stones and placed a serving tray in front of them. She handed each of them a huge, steaming mug.

  “Lupe, this smells incredible.”

  “It is!” She clapped her hands together once. “This recipe has been handed down for generations in my family. You will love it.”

  “Thank you, Lupe. How’s he doing?”

  “He’s asleep and looks peaceful for the first time in months.” She leaned over and kissed Duncan on the forehead. “Thanks to you, mijo.” She moved to Rebel and gave her a kiss as well. She smiled and for the first time tonight he saw the fatigue and the fear in her eyes. “Thank you, mijo. It’s time for bed for me. You two enjoy the evening.”

  “Goodnight,” Rebel said.

  Duncan watched her as she stared into the fireplace, cupping her hands around the mug of hot chocolate he already knew was a gift from the gods. “Somewhere along the way, Lupe’s family must have made a Mayan sacrifice to get that recipe.” He’d been drinking it since he was a child and it never ceased to impress him.

  “What?” She frowned. “What?”

  “Kidding.” He clinked his mug gently against hers. “It’s magical. The Mayans were the first to use chocolate and chili in their cooking.”

  “This whole place is magical, Duncan.” Hesitation in her eyes, the stiffness in her posture indicated a level of discomfort he wanted to put at ease.

  And he really wanted to kiss her.

  Clearly there were events in her past that continued to haunt her in the present. If they were going to be friends, or anything else, he needed to know some of them. Patience had never been his way, but right now he knew it was the only way. The way he tended to plow right through things worked in some ways, but not now. Not with Rebel.

  She blew on the steaming hot chocolate, and h
e noticed a tremor in her hands he’d not noticed before. Maybe he made her nervous or just talking about her past made her tense up.

  “Want to talk about what happened earlier?”

  Shy, she looked down at her mug and avoided the question for a few moments. Then she nodded, as if having come to a firm decision. The mug rattled against the table as she set it down and then turned to face him. “You deserve the truth. To know the truth about me and my family.”

  “What, are you descended from a line of circus performers, or bank robbers or something?”

  She gave a sad smile. “No. Much worse.”

  “You have the plague?” Seriously? What could it be?

  Tears sprang into her eyes, and he had to confront the fact there might be something seriously wrong he’d not been aware of. He dropped the attempt at humor. Obviously, now was not the right time for it. “Tell me what it is. Some things are best told straight out. Why don’t you try?”

  After a few breaths, she looked at him and held his gaze. “My family has Huntington’s disease.”

  Duncan closed his eyes, immediately feeling sadness for her and understanding her grief—her behavior now made perfect sense. Genetically, it was a death sentence. There was no getting around that. At least for some people.

  “I’m so sorry, Rebel. Truly.” He leaned closer to her, intending her to see how serious he was. “But you can’t give up your life because of an illness that may or may not strike. Have you been tested?”

  “No. I don’t need to, I know I have it.” She looked down, shamed. “I’ve begun to have symptoms.”

  “What? How long has this been going on?” That thought sickened him. She was in the prime of her life, and they’d just met.

  “It started in the last couple of days. Things like this have never happened to me before, so I’m certain it’s the Huntington’s.” She brushed away a tear that was making its way down her cheek.

  “Tell me what your symptoms are. I’m not a genetic expert, but I know a bit about the disease.”

  “Over the years, I’ve become one. I’ve got tremors in my hands, shortness of breath, headaches, and I’ve been losing control of my extremities.”