Her L.A. Knight

by Lynne Marshall

  “Notice the headline.”

  “Rick Morell voted most valuable employee by his peers for the second year in a row.”

  She sat quietly and waited for him to read the rest of the story.

  “Notice that there are several accounts of heroic actions that your son has taken, above and beyond the call of duty, to maintain the high quality of care expected by Mercy Hospital.”

  He grunted and read on. How dared she lecture him on his own son’s medical merits? With great care he hid his thoughts.

  “This is far from scientific data, Ms. Seabury.”

  “I think you’re missing the point.”

  “The point being that my son is respected by his peers?”

  She pushed the air with her finger. “Bingo.”

  Cass looked expectantly at him, but he refused to acknowledge she’d outsmarted him. Her bright, green-eyed stare revealed quick thoughts coursing through her mind.

  “As you know, Dr. Morell, my family’s trust fund has a long history with Mercy Hospital. We’ve provided several large donations over the years for your building projects, the most advanced medical equipment, and research.”

  “Yes, of course I do, Ms. Seabury.” He nodded appreciatively, with a half-hearted smile and a sense of dread creeping up his spine. “And for that, we at Mercy Hospital are deeply grateful.”

  “Both of my daughters are employed by the hospital, and we all wholeheartedly believe in the facility’s medical mission statement. ‘To serve the ill and healing with the best and brightest.’”

  He nodded, advancing to a pleased smile. How good he’d gotten in his role as one of the hospital administrators, at feigning interest in what others thought he needed to know. The trick was maintaining control, his only real source of power.

  Using a plump hand to puff up her full head of graying red hair, she looked casually around the room. “The thing is, I’m a bit distressed by one of the current decisions made by hospital Administration.” She crossed her leg and sandal-clad foot, and leaned forward. “Distressed enough to consider withdrawing this year’s donation.”

  Dr. Morell lifted his brow with concern. “Oh? Which decision is that, Ms. Seabury? Perhaps I can put a word in to Administration on your behalf.”

  “Granted I’m no medical professional, but I do recognize quality when I see it. I believe it would be a grave mistake not to promote Rick Morell to the supervisory position in the ER.”

  Everything came clearly into focus. He furrowed his brows. “Are you attempting to blackmail me, Ms. Seabury?”

  She sat primly in the chair and offered a sly smile. “I believe I am, sir.”

  He sighed, pursed his lips, and glanced around the office. So she’d beat him at his own game. Several strained moments of silence ensued while he thought.

  Finally recognizing his own defeat for the greater good of the hospital, he looked Cass Seabury in the eyes, trying hard not to show his anger at her interference. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Who can take the admission?” the charge nurse queried her staff shortly after the change of shift from day to evening.

  China checked her clipboard. She had four patients assigned to her, but one, an arthroscopy patient, would be discharged tomorrow, Friday morning. “I can take another patient. What’s the admitting diagnosis?”

  “Broken hip. Pre-op.”

  No sooner had she agreed to add another patient to her assignment than the elevator doors opened and a gurney rolled out. Instead of an orderly delivering the patient from ER, Rick was at the helm. Her heart exploded into a thousand butterflies and her mouth went dry.

  She hadn’t seen him since he’d pushed his way into his father’s office a couple of days before, and the magnitude of her body’s response almost made her lose her balance. Feeling the blood drain from her face, she leaned on the counter for support, pretending to read a chart, trying to look blasé.

  He rolled the gurney her way, grinning like a man with a purpose. “What room is Mr. Stewart going in?”

  She couldn’t make her mouth move, so she pointed to the room.

  “Follow me, I’ll give you report,” he said.

  He pushed past and she dutifully tagged along, praying she wouldn’t stumble or tremble conspicuously. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breathing felt out of sync. She stopped just outside the room to recover a modicum of control.

  She could do this.

  She put on her nursing face and stepped inside. “Hello, Mr. Stewart.”

  “This is the beautiful nurse I was telling you about,” Rick said with a grin to an appreciative, white-haired patient. “She’ll take good care of you, I guarantee.” He rolled the gurney beside the hospital bed and pumped it up to slightly above the other bed.

  “China, this is Mr. Stewart. He took a fall at home this morning and broke his hip. Hip replacement surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning. I’ve already called the ortho tech to come up and apply Buck’s traction for tonight.”

  Rick walked around to the other side of the bed and rolled the draw sheet up close to the patient’s body. China joined him and held the same sheet down toward the legs. Their hands touched, setting off a domino effect of goose-bumps from her arm to the base of her neck. Could he feel it, too?

  “One, two, three,” he counted, and on cue they both pulled the patient toward them onto the hospital bed, Rick doing the lion’s share of the work.

  Mr. Stewart let out a little “Ouch” but quickly settled into the bed.

  “I medicated him before I brought him up. We’ve ordered the pre-op labs—the phlebotomist should be here soon to draw them.”

  Sounding so businesslike, China worried that Rick had already gotten over her and moved on. But then they looked up at the same moment and caught each other’s glance. Enough sparks flew to ignite the oxygen system on the wall.

  Going hot and then cold, she couldn’t draw her eyes away from his piercing stare. He responded with a knowing look, mesmerizing her with heat and desire.

  “Could someone cover me up? I’m getting cold,” Mr. Stewart said.

  China clicked back into reality.

  “Oh. Of course.” She rushed to pull the blanket over her patient. She raised the bedrails and fluffed his pillow. “I’ll be right back for the admission interview, and I’ll bring some sheepskin heel protectors, too.”

  “OK, Mr. Stewart, best of luck with the surgery. I’ll come to see you tomorrow, like I promised.”

  “I’m going to hold you to it, young man.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Rick rolled the empty gurney toward the door. China held back, keeping a safe distance, waiting for him to leave, grateful that she had tomorrow off and wouldn’t have to see him again.

  Once she stepped outside the door, she felt his firm grasp on her wrist leading her toward the supply room. Electricity coursed up her arm to her shoulders and down her spine from his touch.

  He pulled her inside and closed the door. “Why haven’t you answered any of my calls?”

  “Uh…”

  She’d hardly had a chance to catch her breath when his mouth covered hers. She melted into his arms and marveled at the velvet warmth of his kiss. Immediate memories of his muscular, naked body covering hers sent shivers through her core. The woman on fire, the part of her who’d been missing since their goodbye, came back to life.

  She could and would survive without him, but he made her life sweeter. She leaned against the counter and kissed him back while vaguely realizing she was at work and making out in the supply room. She didn’t care.

  He abruptly broke off the kiss long before she was ready. His penetrating chocolate-colored eyes looked deep into her soul. She shook her head to help concentrate on his words.

  “For the record,” he said, tersely, “my reaction to your legs was shock and pain for you, because I care about you. How they look makes no difference to me. My feelings haven’t changed, but until you believe that there is no hope for us.”


  He shoved his hands into his pockets and prepared to leave. “When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me,” he said, in a sonorous voice. He opened the door. “By the way,” he said, over his shoulder, “nice skirt.”

  Breathless and shaken all the way down to her toes, she worked to recover and said, “They’re culottes.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  THE next evening, China’s day off, she joined Sierra for dinner at her house. Mother Cass sat with a cat-like grin, bouncing a protesting Timmy on her knee.

  “I’m too old for this, Grammy.”

  She pinched his cheek. “You’re never too old for your Grandma’s lap.”

  He wriggled off and escaped her playful, tickly grasp and shot out of the room.

  Sierra served after-dinner tea, and sat with China on the kitchen bench on the other side of the table. “Come on. Spill. What happened?”

  China pretended to be only mildly interested in her mother’s story.

  “He’s a tough one, that Lawrence Morell, but not as tough as this old broad.” Cass laughed and slapped her knee.

  Sierra rolled her eyes and watched China for a reaction.

  China kept a poker face, refusing to divulge her eager and expectant feelings.

  “OK. As you know, money talks. When he didn’t budge about Rick, after I showed the newsletter and poll results, I cut to the chase and hit him where it hurts. Mercy Hospital’s pocket book. They’ve been contacting me lately regarding a new building project they want to undertake in the gastroenterology wing. Remember last year our family trust donated all of the upgraded endoscopes?”

  China and Sierra both nodded.

  “Well, now they need a new room with special radiation-resistant walls and all. We’re talking a hundred thou, easy, and they’d like me to donate a portion of it. You should have seen him squirm when I firmly suggested his son was the best man for the ER job, and then in my next breath I brought up the trust fund.”

  She laughed again, a loud cackle that brought Timmy back into the kitchen.

  “What’s so funny, Grammy?”

  “Life is, hon. It’s a real hoot. Enjoy every minute of it.”

  Timmy twisted up his face and glanced suspiciously at his mom. “OK,” he said, rushing back out of the room.

  As though he’d had a second thought, he stuck his head back inside the kitchen. “Aunt China?”

  “Yes?”

  “When can I play checkers with Rick again?”

  China blushed. “Oh, well…”

  “I want to kick his butt again.”

  “Watch your language, squirt,” Sierra said.

  Timmy screwed up his face and glanced at the ceiling. “Gee, I don’t know, Timmy.” China hemmed and hawed until her nephew lost interest and left the room.

  “Soon, if I have anything to do with it,” Sierra said under her breath.

  China kicked her under the table.

  “Ouch!”

  “Now, girls,” Cass chided. “Let me finish my story.”

  Both dying to know yet apprehensive to hear the end, China grew quiet.

  “So I got all serious and looked Lawrence Morell square in the eyes and said, ‘I’m concerned about the decision you’ve made about the ER supervisor job.’ Then I hit him with the old one-two. ‘I’m considering withholding my annual donation,’ I said.

  “His eyes got big as saucers, but he caught himself real quick-like and put on his administrative face.”

  Sierra’s hand flew to her mouth to squelch a giggle.

  “Get this. He says, ‘Are you blackmailing me, Ms. Seabury?’ And I say…” Cass put on an air of grandeur “‘…I believe I am, Dr. Morell.’” She hit the table with her palm, causing the teacups to rattle.

  China jumped and refrained from making a fist and tugging the air with a little victory salute.

  “Way to go, Ma.” Sierra reached across the table and patted her mother on the back.

  “Money talks, girls, money talks. When you both turn thirty, you’ll get your trust-fund money and you’ll know how it feels to be independently wealthy.” Looking pleased, she slid back in her chair and nibbled on a cookie.

  “I got mine last year, remember, Ma?”

  Cass looked shocked, as though she couldn’t fathom her eldest daughter already having reached the age of thirty.

  “Who knows if social security will always be around? I’m using it for our retirement fund and Timmy’s college education,” Sierra said. “In case he wants to go to medical school.” She grinned. “And a super-nice vacation or two.”

  “You know how I intend to use most of mine,” China mumbled, before sipping her tea. “That is, after I buy my first house.”

  “Right. National teenage driver education. Where the hell did I go wrong?” Cass glanced toward the ceiling as though she expected an answer from there. “There isn’t an ounce of self-indulgence between the two of you.”

  “Oh, really?” Sierra said, with a challenge. “Watch this,” she said as she took a second cookie and devoured it.

  Rick sat across from D’Wayne in the fast-food restaurant booth.

  “Do you want your fries?” D’Wayne asked.

  “Nah. I’m not hungry.”

  “Dude, you still gamin’ on China?” He eagerly stuffed a trio of fries in his mouth.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “You’re acting like my old lady.”

  “Your mother,” Rick corrected.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. She always wants to run my business, but I can’t know anything about hers.”

  “She doesn’t want to worry you. That’s all.”

  “And she’s always baggin’ on me, too. Do this. Don’t do that. Listen to me. I know what’s best. Dang.” He gave an exasperated eye roll and glance. “Now every time I ask to use the car, she waves that agreement I signed in my face.”

  “It’s her way of showing she loves you.”

  “She sure has a whack way of showing it.”

  “It’s her job to bug you.”

  “I know. But cut me some slack. I’m sixteen.”

  Rick thought back to the defiant teenager he’d once been, always in his father’s face about things, bound and determined to do the opposite of whatever his father said.

  He thought about how he had always felt there were strings attached to his dad’s affection, and how he refused to play that game.

  Hard-headed pride was all it was. The same kind of reaction he saw in D’Wayne resisting his mother and her “conditions” for driving.

  Something clicked in his brain.

  The oddest thing occurred to him. He’d been guilty of doing the exact same thing he’d accused his father of doing—withholding his love for his dad until he acted the way Rick expected him to. He’d been self-righteously expecting unconditional love, but had only offered conditional love himself.

  Hell, he’d been no different than his old man all along.

  “Did you hear anything I just said?” D’Wayne tugged Rick’s sleeve, looking impatient.

  “What? Uh. No. What’d you say?”

  D’Wayne pushed his fast-food tray away. “Never mind, man. I already ate the rest of your burger.”

  Rick glanced at his empty tray unfazed, and stood up.

  “Where’re you goin’?” D’Wayne asked, gathering up their debris.

  “I gotta see a man about an apology.”

  Rick hadn’t paid a visit to his childhood home since Christmas, six months ago, and then, even though surrounded by family and friends, it had been strained and tiresome. He stood on the doorstep with rattled nerves. It was nine o’clock in the evening, but he didn’t care. When you knew something was right, you didn’t waste time. He’d put this overdue encounter off long enough, and it was finally time to face his past, namely his dad.

  Dr. Morell opened the door in a tattered gold golf sweater and baggy brown slacks. Surprise and confusion battled it out for dominant expression, followed by
the look that hit home and put Rick to shame: suspicion.

  He could only imagine what might be running through his father’s head with him showing up out of nowhere after their last antagonistic meeting.

  “Rick?” Immediately on the defensive, his father’s expression hardened with a glare. “I’m in no mood for another argument.”

  “I’m not here to argue, Dad.” Rick felt calmness settle inside his racing heart. Finally, he resolved to make the right decision where his father was concerned.

  “I don’t appreciate you sending your big guns to blackmail me either.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t put Cass Seabury up to paying me a visit.”

  “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Hmm. It must have been those daughters of hers.”

  His father hesitated, grasped the doorknob, and jiggled the change in his trousers, not budging.

  Rick shifted from one foot to the other. He cleared his throat, smiled at his father, and meant it. “I thought I’d stop by before I went in to work. I traded my shift with one of the night PA’s.” He scrubbed his jaw and took a deep breath.

  Oh, what the hell.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Dad.”

  Bewilderment shifted across his father’s face. He glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s not too late, I suppose,” he said, and opened the door a bit wider.

  “No,” Rick said, putting his hand on his father’s shoulder as he edged into his childhood home. “I’m afraid it’s long overdue, and I really mean it. I came here to say I’m sorry. I hope it’s not too late to say it, but I’m sorry about everything.” He looked sincerely into his father’s eyes. “And I want you to know that, no matter what, I love you.”

  Dr. Morell blocked the entry and offered a cautious glance, one that suggested that Rick might have flipped his lid. “Are you in one of those twelve-step programs or something?”

  Rick laughed. “No. I mean it. I love you, Dad.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Nothing,” Rick said, and raised his hand in surrender. “Nada. Zippo. It’s called unconditional love, and I figured it was about time I learned how to give it.”

  Rick thought he saw a flicker of recognition in his father’s eyes. It didn’t matter if the look was for the wrong reason or not. He didn’t care if his father’s expression was a victorious grin or a genuinely pleased smile. Nothing mattered but what was written on his heart: sincerity.