When her soft hands lifted his wrist to take his pulse, he held his breath, knowing that the other nurses counted his respirations while they thought he wasn’t looking. She dropped his wrist and pulled the stethoscope out of her ears.
Didn’t even notice, he thought, feeling childishly disappointed.
She pulled a pen and pad out of her pocket and made a few quick notes. “Let’s see, blood pressure normal, pulse strong, respirations—” Caitlin stopped and glanced sidelong at Simon “—normal, now.”
He grinned back at her. “I guess you know all the tricks,” he said.
“I’d say you need to get out more when someone your age needs to resort to tricks to get extra attention,” she said, her voice dry.
“I got yours, didn’t I?”
Caitlin looked up at him. “What you got was a nurse doing her job.”
“And being so aloof is also part of your job?” Simon groused. He didn’t like hearing that professional tone of voice. Not from a woman who looked like an angel with her wings clipped. “You weren’t like that before.”
“I wasn’t working before,” she said briskly. She picked up the machine that took his temperature and clipped a new earpiece on. “Turn your head to the side, please.”
“Whatever happened to good old thermometers?” he asked as she inserted it in his ear.
It beeped and she took it out. “Good old thermometers aren’t as quick or reliable.” She marked something down and slipped the notepad in her pocket. “Of course, it was a great way to keep the patient quiet,” she said with a quick lift of her eyebrows at him.
He smiled at that. She returned it with one of her own that made Simon catch his breath.
“How have you been feeling?” she said, her voice lowering, taking on a softer tone.
She had switched from efficient nurse to the caring woman who had stayed with him a whole night. He couldn’t stop his response to her warmth and concern. “It’s bad,” he said simply.
“I know,” she said softly. “But you fight the pain and the medication stops you from doing that. You may feel out of it, but you need to let your body rest so you can heal.”
“I can’t get out of here soon enough.”
Caitlin shook her head. “I wouldn’t rush it. You won’t be walking when you do and you’ll need therapy and home care. You’ll probably be walking with the help of a walker, then crutches, then a cane. A broken femur is a huge injury and takes a long time to heal.”
Simon nodded, not wanting to hear what she had to say or the vulnerability it represented.
“Where is home?” she asked suddenly.
“I’ve just got an apartment along the bay in Vancouver, on the mainland.” Hardly home. More like a home base.
“You’re going to need some help the first couple of weeks. Is there anyone who can come or will you have to hire a nurse?” She looked down at him, her one eyebrow lifted questioningly, but Simon didn’t want to bite. She didn’t need to know there was no one he could ask. He didn’t want to be reminded of his lack of family—reminded that he had lost touch with anyone who had ever meant anything to him. It made his life less complicated. He had never needed anyone. Oscar’s words came back to haunt him. They were frighteningly appropriate.
She waited a moment, then with a gentle sigh, turned his IV stand around and read some figures off it. He knew that once she was done recording all the numbers that nurses seemed so awfully fond of, she would be gone until later on this evening when she would check his dressings. Perversely, he didn’t want her to go.
“Why do I need help?” he asked, reluctantly acknowledging her previous comment.
“Because you’re not going to be able to move around very easily. You’ll need help with bathing and moving around. You’ll still be in pain....”
“I’ll figure something out.”
Caitlin looked down at him. “What about your work?”
“I work for myself. Have for years.”
“Is that why you are so tough and independent?”
Simon heard the slight note of censure in her voice and bristled. “I’ve had to learn from early on to take care of myself, find my own way.”
“Well, for now you’re in our capable hands.”
“And are you going to hold me in those capable hands?” he asked with a wink.
“See you later, Mr. Steele.” And with that she turned and left.
Chapter Five
Caitlin pushed her chair back from the computer and stretched. She had trouble falling asleep yesterday after working her first night shift. It always happened. So she was feeling a little woozy. All the patients were asleep.
Except one. Simon.
She had to check his dressings. Now was as good a time as any. She had put it off for a while, hoping one of the other nurses on the team would, but they all seemed to avoid him.
Caitlin had avoided him, too. She was uncomfortable around him.
She walked into the room. The patient just recently admitted was asleep. His name was Shane. Football injury. Same temperament as Simon, just a little younger.
“Hey, company. Sit down, talk to me,” Simon said as she walked around the curtain dividing him and Shane.
“Sorry. Can’t oblige.” She checked his IV while she spoke, adjusting the flow. She turned back to him and lifted his bedsheet, folding it back to check his incision. Caitlin frowned as she rolled back the wrap that held the dressings in place. She bent over to take a closer look at the incision. It was redder than it should be.
“Does this hurt?”
“C’mon, Caitlin, it always hurts.” He reached up and laid a warm hand on her arm, his finger moving up and down her arm in a caressing motion.
She felt her heart flutter at his touch and glanced sidelong at him. His eyes were crinkled up at the corners, and she didn’t like the way he was smiling at her. It looked polished, purposeful, fake.
She took his hand and laid it back on the bed, angry at her own reaction. Simon was an accomplished flirt. She would do well to remember that.
“Does it hurt more than usual?” she asked, touching the skin lightly, forcing her mind back to her job. She frowned. His skin felt unusually warm.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Like I said, it always hurts.” He placed his hand on his chest and sighed. “Just like my heart.”
“Give it a rest, Mr. Steele,” she said, now truly ticked with him. He was bored and she was overreacting.
She frowned and lowered the sheet, then walked around the bed to his other side. “Let me see your arm, please.”
“My goodness, aren’t you all efficiency tonight?” he said, his voice suddenly testy.
Caitlin glanced at him, then away. He had been alternately flirtatious and cranky ever since she had come on duty this evening. Guys usually were ornery after a few days of being confined to bed, but Simon had been getting worse each hour she worked. It didn’t help that his sleep had been interrupted when they brought the new admission into his room. Things were always busy the first hour after a patient came up from surgery, and Simon had been irritable at the constant comings and goings.
She carefully peeled back the tape, unable to avoid pulling the hairs sprinkled over his forearm.
He sucked in his breath at the pain. “That hurts, angel.”
“Sorry,” she murmured automatically, quickly pulling back the rest of the dressing.
He took a deep breath and then another, slowly relaxing. “That apology didn’t sound too sincere, Caitlin,” he said quietly.
“Probably not,” she said evenly, determined not to let him get under her skin.
Simon laughed at that. Their eyes met and held, and Caitlin again felt her heart give a little kick. And again, she berated herself for her reaction. He was demandi
ng and confusing, turning his charm on and off at will, yet she couldn’t seem to reason her way past her reaction to him.
Because each time she saw him, what she remembered most was the feel of his hand clutching hers, the entreaty in his eyes, his vulnerability.
She looked down at what she was doing, forcing her mind back to the task at hand. She frowned. “Is your arm feeling itchy yet?”
“Do I have that to look forward to, as well?”
Caitlin shrugged. “If it’s itchy, that’s a sign that it’s healing.”
“Well, it’s not.”
“I’ll change this for now.”
“Why are you frowning?” Simon caught her hand in his, tugging on it.
“I’m a little concerned about infection,” she said, pulling on her hand. But Simon was a lot stronger now than he was at first, and he wouldn’t let go.
“You’re a good nurse, Caitlin,” he said with a wry grin.
“It’s my job. Now let go of my hand so I can do it.”
“Nurse means ‘to take care of,’” he said, his voice lowering. He ran his thumb over the knuckles of her hand, his eyes on hers. “I want you to stay and talk to me, take care of me.”
Caitlin wanted to be angry with him, wanted to dislike what he was doing. She wanted to pull away, but his hand was warm, his gaze compelling.
“Just talk,” he said softly, tugging on her hand. “I’m lonely.”
Caitlin forced herself to look away, reluctantly pulling her hand free. What was wrong with her? She knew virtually nothing about this man and here she was, at his bedside, holding on to his hand. Again.
“I’ve got to get some clean dressings,” she said, turning away. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Caitlin grimaced at how that sounded. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she muttered to herself as she marched to the supply room. Once there she stopped a moment, frustrated. She, a professional nurse who prided herself on her objectivity, had let a patient get to her.
She shook her head as if to dispel the feelings she had experienced in the room a few moments ago. She straightened her shoulders, and wheeled the dressing cart back to his room.
He lay looking out the darkened window to the night outside. Most patients liked to have the curtains shut during the evening, but Simon always had his open. The light above his bed illuminated his reflection in the large sheet of glass.
But as Caitlin paused at the foot of his bed, she seemed to sense that he was looking beyond his reflection in the window, beyond the lights of Nanaimo that spread out below him. He seemed to be in another place and for a moment, she wanted to know where.
She sighed, exasperated with herself. Wasn’t it just twenty seconds ago that she prayed for detachment?
She walked between him and the window, pushing the cart to the side of his bed.
Caitlin usually liked to explain what she was doing to patients, just in case they had any concerns. This time, however, she worked in silence, careful not to hurt Simon any more than she had to.
When she was done, she tidied up and turned to leave.
“Do you have family, Caitlin?” Simon asked suddenly.
Caitlin paused, curious as to why he would ask. “Yes. I have two sisters and one brother.”
“Do they live around here?”
“No. My brother lives in Toronto, my older sister in Portland, Oregon, and my younger sister and her husband live in Vancouver.”
“They’re all married and you’re not?”
It was more of a statement than a question, but it still sounded mocking to her. And it sounded exactly like her mother.
“That happens sometimes,” she said dryly.
Fortunately even he sensed that he had gone too far.
“What about parents?”
Caitlin smiled, wondering if he was joking. “Parents usually come with the package.”
“No, they don’t.” His voice was quiet and when Simon turned to look at her, his eyes were devoid of expression.
“I remember you said something about a foster home the first time I talked to you. Were you there all your life?”
Simon laughed shortly, then turned his head again, not answering her question. Caitlin waited a moment wondering if he would say anything more. When he didn’t, she left, puzzled as to why he had even asked her the questions.
* * *
You’re a fool, Simon Steele, or whoever you are. Don’t get to know her, don’t ask her questions. She’s just a nurse, not an angel. When she stopped to help you she was just doing what she was trained to.
Including staying the whole night with you?
Simon closed his eyes, willing away the picture of Caitlin, her mouth relaxed, her hair spread out on her arms that night she slept at the foot of the hospital bed. So beautiful, so peaceful. He didn’t want to wonder why she had stayed the night, why she wasn’t married. He had almost asked her if she had a boyfriend. As if that should matter to him.
Forget her, Simon, he reminded himself, she’s not your type.
Of course, he didn’t know anymore what his type was. He used to be attracted to more obvious women—the ones who knew how to play the game. The ones he could date a few times then forget to call. The ones who didn’t require commitment. The ones who didn’t get close.
But the past few years he’d grown weary of the games, the empty talk. He was tired of the emptiness of the relationships in his life.
When the nurses asked about next of kin, he almost mentioned his older brother, Jake. Then he stopped himself. The last time he’d spoken with Jake was from a pay phone. Simon had run away from his last foster home and wanted Jake to join him in his search for their biological mother. Jake had refused. When Simon had told him that he had to choose between Jake’s current foster parents or him, Jake had chosen the Prins family.
Simon told Jake that he’d never hear from him again. He didn’t need Jake. He didn’t need anybody. He would make it on his own.
And he had.
His fortunes went up and down, but he never cared. It was a game and one he was good at because it only required luck, some intuition and a lot of nerve.
And he’d done well. But as his bank account grew, his own dissatisfaction increased proportionately. He had indulged in the toys—a few fancy cars, a sailboat, his motorbike. He lived out of hotels, indulging and pampering himself. He bought what he wanted when he wanted, but as soon as he owned what he wanted he lost interest.
So he’d finally bought a condo in Vancouver, hoping that establishing some kind of home base would give him whatever it was that eluded him. Happiness, contentment. He wasn’t sure. He only knew that the old restlessness that sent him out on the road as a young man had captured him again. He had promised himself once he’d settled down, once he’d made it, he’d contact Jake. But as each year passed it got harder. His pride kept him back. And his shame. For he knew that his life was still not what it should be and he didn’t need to be reminded.
Now he lay in a hospital bed in a city that was supposed to be only a quick side trip, wishing he could get on with his life.
Tired of his own thoughts, he blew out his breath and pushed the Call button again. He didn’t care if Caitlin got angry with him, he was hurting and bored. Not a good combination.
She came after a few minutes, appearing at his bedside to turn off his pager. She turned to him, her arms crossed over her stomach. “What can I do for you?”
Simon had to give her a lot of credit. He knew she was ticked but you couldn’t tell from her voice. He didn’t know exactly how he knew. He just did. “That’s not really a nurse’s uniform is it?” he asked, taking another look at her aqua pantsuit topped with a sweater in a paler shade.
“I’m sure you didn’t summon
me to discuss fashion,” she said quietly. She glanced at his IV and walked to the foot of his bed. “Do you want me to lower the bed for you. You really should be sleeping.”
“I’m tired of sleeping, of being drugged and lying here.”
“Good. That means you’re getting better.” She flashed him a quick smile and bent over to crank the head of his bed down anyhow.
“Don’t. Please.” He didn’t know where the “please” came from. It wasn’t like him to beg.
She straightened. “You really need to sleep, Simon.”
Her voice was no-nonsense and firm but hearing her say his name gave him a jolt. “I can’t. I’m bored, and everything still hurts. I feel like a child.”
“Do you want something to read?”
“I’ve read all the magazines already.”
“What about books?”
Simon looked away, frowning, trying to remember the last book he read. “Maybe,” he said with a shrug.
“We’ve got some Westerns, which might appeal to a modern-day cowboy like you, some science fiction, mysteries, thrillers—the usual cross section.”
“I don’t like fiction. Why don’t you just sit and talk to me?”
Caitlin shook her head and walked over to the side of his bed, leaning against the metal radiator that ran along the wall below the window. “You are probably my most persistent patient. It’s one o’clock in the morning, you really need to sleep.”
“So you said.” He smiled at her and folded his hands on his chest. She looked like she was willing to stay awhile, which suited him just fine. “How long have you been working here?”
“Five years.”
He raised his eyebrows at that. “That long?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I held a job down longer than a year.”
“What did you do?”
Simon hesitated, lifting his thumbs and inspecting them. “This and that.”
“Sounds fishy,” Caitlin said, dropping her head to one side, as if inspecting him.
“Not really.” He frowned at her. “Did you grow up here?”
A Family-Style Christmas and Yuletide Homecoming Page 5
