“Your dad and I were classmates in medical school. How is he these days?”
Molly took the seat he offered. It seemed she hadn’t quite outrun the looming shadow of her father after all. “He’s currently in Beijing, conducting a training conference on the latest alternative techniques for closure of the open abdomen.”
“Fascinating.” The chief sat behind his desk and straightened his name plate. “Dr. David Carpenter” it proclaimed, in engraved gold letters. “And, please, call me Dr. Dave.”
“Okay.”
The cluttered room was the opposite of Molly’s own pristine office back home. Amongst his papers and files were several family photos, in which everyone was laughing and cheerful. Smiles—genuine ones, anyway—were rare in the Flynn family.
“What can you tell me about my patient, Dr. Dave?”
“Yes, yes. Of course.” He searched through a stack of charts on a shelf against the far wall then handed her one. “His name is Robert Templeton, though he prefers to be called Bobby. Thirty-one and a professional hockey player for our hometown team the Anchorage Anoraks.”
“Anoraks?” Molly raised a brow. “Isn’t that a type of jacket?”
Dr. Dave chuckled. “Yep. But it sounded cool so we went with it.”
“I see. Says here he’s an enforcer. What exactly does that mean?”
“It’s not an official position on the hockey team, more of a tough guy. He starts fights to protect the smaller guys from taking the hits.”
“Huh.”
Molly had gone to a Blackhawks game in Chicago once, with Brian, and had had to cover her eyes during the worst of the brawls. Even a year spent in the ER hadn’t prepared her for the copious amounts of gore and raw testosterone. If her new patient regularly partook in those kinds of brutal activities, it was no wonder he’d landed in the hospital.
“What are his current symptoms?”
“He was initially seen through our outpatient clinic for contact dermatitis.”
She frowned. “How does a man go from a simple skin rash to cardiac arrest?”
“Good question.” Dr. Dave sat back in his chair. “The treating physician gave him samples of diphenhydramine to take before he left and the wheezing started shortly afterward.”
“He was allergic to the anti-allergy medicine?”
“It would appear so.”
“Looks like they gave him point one cc of epinephrine to counteract his reaction to the antihistamine.” She traced her finger down the chart documentation. “Could he have an underlying heart condition? A skin infection like cellulitis can cause a rapid pulse. Or perhaps inflamed blood vessels from vasculitis?”
“Nope. His CBC results were normal. No signs of an infection anywhere.”
“Hmm.” She flipped to the patient’s labs, then went back to the history and the physical. “No food allergies? He’s not taking any meds on a regular basis?”
“None.”
“And he’s been complaining of strange scents?”
“Yes. Says he smells cinnamon and cloves all the time.”
“All right.” Difficult cases were Molly’s bread and butter. She took them as a personal challenge. “Can you please order a CT of his chest to rule out Churg-Strauss Syndrome? His bloodwork may have been normal, but inflammation of the blood vessels in his heart, lungs and skin would explain all his symptoms. Also, let’s start him on a high-dose steroid therapy.”
“CSS doesn’t have a good prognosis, does it?” Dr. Dave asked, his tone concerned.
“For patients diagnosed and treated quickly the life expectancy is five years. Untreated, Mr. Templeton would have a year at most. Of course there’s always the chance this isn’t autoimmune-related.”
“You’re the expert, Dr. Flynn. I’ll get these orders to the staff right away.” Dr. Dave smiled—the kind of fond grin she’d always wanted from her own father but never received. “You look so much like your dad.”
Molly clasped her hands atop the file on her lap. Looks were about the only thing she and her father had in common. Always active, Roger Flynn expected everyone around him to adhere to his hectic schedule. To him, Molly had always been too quiet and boring, preferring to stay home and read a good book rather than operate in the jungle.
“Would you like to meet your patient now?” Dr. Dave stood and moved toward the door. “I believe your crew’s waiting for us outside Bobby’s room.”
“Of course.” She followed him out into the busy hallway. “And, please, call me Molly.”
“Okay.” He pushed the button for the elevator. “All the staff assigned to Bobby have signed the required releases except one. I’m still working on him.”
“Unfortunately anyone who doesn’t sign the forms can’t participate in the care of the patient from this point forward. My crew films whenever I’m present, to make sure we get an accurate portrayal of the process.” The elevator dinged and they boarded. “Perhaps this person can be reassigned?”
“Right.” Dr. Dave chuckled. “And perhaps polar bears will learn to tap dance.”
Molly glanced up, surprised by his sarcasm.
“This particular physician is a close friend of Bobby’s and can be...stubborn when it comes to people he considers family. I talked to him again, before you got here, but he hasn’t budged on the publicity releases. I’m afraid he prefers to keep a low profile. Dedicated workaholic, really.”
“I see.” Molly crossed her arms, wishing she’d had time to unpack her lab coat and cover up her casual travel clothes. “Well, I don’t know anything about this Dr. Ryder, or his reasons for not signing, but those rules come directly from the network. Besides, treating a close friend or family member is a conflict of interest.”
“Oh, I’m still the patient’s official care provider.”
The elevator arrived on the fourth floor and Dr. Dave held the doors, exiting after Molly.
“But Bobby signed consent forms allowing Jake full access to his medical records when he was admitted, and granted him power of attorney in case he’s incapacitated.”
Molly waited while Dr. Dave walked on ahead to the nurses’ station, to speak with a curvy Latino woman whose name tag read “Gladys.”
“Our boy available?” he asked.
“Yes, sir, Dr. Dave. He’s got company, though.”
“Dr. Ryder?”
“Yep.”
“Great.” He turned to Molly once more, his smile broad. “You’ll like Dr. Ryder. He’s a brilliant trauma surgeon, like your father. The youngest head of EM in Anchorage Mercy history. Cut his teeth on combat rescues in Afghanistan...”
Molly only half listened from that point, her mind still snagged on Dr. Dave’s earlier words.
“He’s a brilliant trauma surgeon, like your father.”
Great. Just what she needed. Roger Flynn, Version Two.
“Hey, Mol. About time you got here,” said her cameraman Rob, coming around the corner with her show’s field producer, Neal. “Thought we’d have to send out a search party.”
“Funny.” She smoothed her hand down her shirt, then asked Neal, “Everything all set?”
“Everything except the guy sitting in the room with the patient.”
“Molly?” Dr. Dave stood with his hand on the door. “Ready to go in?”
“Of course.” She turned to her crew. “Give me a moment.”
Resolve steeled, she followed Dr. Dave into Bobby Templeton’s room. Whatever this Dr. Ryder’s issue was with being on TV, she needed him to get over it or get out. Perhaps all those years of dealing with her father had made for good practice after all.
“Bobby, this is Dr. Molly Flynn, from Diagnosis Critical. As we discussed, she’ll be managing your case from this point forward.” Dr. Dave placed a guiding hand on Molly’s back and gave her a slight nudge. “Dr. Flynn, this is our local
superstar—NWHL MVP Bobby Templeton.”
“Hey.” The burly guy gave her a small wave. “Honor to meet you. I watch your show all the time when I’m not training. My favorite episode was the one with the weird toe fungus.” His gaze darted from her to the man at his bedside. “What’s the matter, Jake? Tongue-tied around a beautiful woman?”
Dr. Dave smiled. “Dr. Flynn—this is Dr. Jake Ryder.”
She turned, her polite smile freezing then falling. Dr. Ryder was the gorgeous rescuer from the accident scene. With her luck, she should’ve guessed.
He looked different now, dressed in scrubs instead of his navy and black EMT uniform. Not that the pale green material looked bad. Quite the contrary. With his stethoscope slung around his neck—no lab coat—he was transformed into a stoic professional, but she wasn’t fooled. She’d seen glimpses of the passion lurking beneath his surface at the accident scene. In fact, just the thought of him rushing headlong into danger to save that little boy and his mother caused a fresh wave of giddiness to bubble through her.
But her attraction to him wasn’t a good thing. It was a distraction she couldn’t afford.
Molly swallowed hard against the lump in her throat caused by the tension between them. “Nice to meet you again.”
“Again?” Dr. Dave asked with interest. “You two know each other?”
“I came across an emergency scene where Dr. Ryder was working on my way from the airport. He seemed quite...handy to have around.” Molly rubbed her arm where Dr. Jake Ryder had grabbed her, her flesh still tingling from his touch.
“I should’ve guessed you were media.”
The way he said the last word, like a curse, set her hackles rising. Common sense demanded she keep her head down, focus on work. Ignore this man who broke her concentration and keep her distance. Unfortunately he seemed to push all her buttons without even trying.
She met his sanctimonious stare directly. “What’s wrong with the media?”
Instead of answering her question, the man looked back to Dr. Dave and exhaled sharply, his expression a mix of disgust and exhaustion. “Can we hurry this up, please? I’m coming off a thirty-six-hour rotation.”
“Jake, please,” Dr. Dave implored. “Dr. Flynn’s one of the best in her field. You should reconsider signing those forms. Together, you two could make a fabulous team.”
“No.” He widened his stance, an immoveable wall of nope. “No releases. Not until I’ve seen for myself I can trust her.”
It was the derision in his tone, Molly decided, that really got to her. She’d developed a thick skin over the years out of necessity, and could put aside almost any slight. Except one against her professional conduct.
Incensed, she stepped closer to the arrogant man, ignoring the heat of him penetrating her thin cotton T-shirt and the clean, soapy scent of his skin. Bad enough that she had to constantly prove herself to her father. She wasn’t about to take the same crap from this pompous stranger—no matter how maddeningly attractive.
“My integrity isn’t in question here, Dr. Ryder. Now, as per my network’s guidelines, I must exclude you from Bobby’s care unless you sign the required paperwork. I understand having the crew trailing your every step might be a headache, but—”
“You don’t understand a damned thing, lady,” he growled, his jaw set.
“Sorry, Dr. Flynn, but no one’s touching me if Jake’s out of the picture,” Bobby added. “My prerogative.”
Molly crossed her arms, all previous flutters of attraction for the handsome ER doc buried beneath a mountain of affront. She hated appearing so flustered, and cringed inwardly at the thought of how her father would judge her—letting her emotions get the better of her—but there was nothing to be done at this point.
“Then it appears we’re at an impasse.”
“Sure does.”
Dr. Ryder mimicked her defiant posture and didn’t give an inch. His gaze had gone positively flinty, and a small muscle ticked near his tense jaw, drawing her eyes to the hint of stubble shadowing his tanned skin.
“Why won’t you sign the releases?” she demanded.
“Why do you think it’s any of your business?”
His lips were pressed so tightly together Molly was surprised he could even get words out.
Dr. Dave coughed, the sound reverberating in the small room. “Jake, be reasonable. Dr. Flynn’s a prodigy. She graduated high school at thirteen. In addition to her medical degree she’s earned two PhDs.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “In what?”
“Art history and genetics,” Molly said, her tone equally frosty.
“Then I’ll be sure to call you the next time I need to know the DNA sequence for a Jackson Pollack painting.”
“Unfortunately for you, Mr. Pollack didn’t leave behind any DNA samples for testing. Although it might be possible to extract a specimen from his exhumed corpse, given the lack of oxygen and sunlight to denigrate the samples. In fact, the oldest actual DNA specimens hail from Greenland, extracted from beneath a mile of ice...”
Molly’s voice trailed off as she took in the dazed stares of the others in the room and her heart sank. Not again.
“Right.” Dr. Dave passed Bobby’s chart to her on his way to the door. “I’ve got other patients to attend this evening. Jake, you’ll have to leave if you won’t sign the releases. We discussed this.”
“I don’t want to be on camera.” Dr. Ryder scrubbed a hand over his face.
“Why not?” Molly asked again. “Perhaps if you voiced your concerns—”
“He just doesn’t, okay?” Bobby rose to the defense of his friend. “Can’t Jake be an off-screen consultant or something?”
The door opened and Neal stuck his head inside. “We need to get a move on, Mol. The network’s called me five times already, wondering when they’re going to receive initial footage.”
Molly hated to admit defeat, but things were getting desperate. If a compromise would get this guy to agree to the network’s terms then it was worth it—at least for now.
“Fine, Dr. Ryder. But you’ll have to work around my schedule. If I need access to Bobby you leave, no questions asked.” Molly extended her hand. “Deal?”
He didn’t move at first, and her hopes dwindled. Finally, Dr. Ryder grasped her hand, his voice sounding as reluctant as she felt. “Deal.”
“Good.”
Molly brushed aside the inconvenient flood of endorphins fizzing through her from his touch and handed him the patient’s chart. She did her best work when she had colleagues with whom to brainstorm, and tonight she needed to bring her A game.
“Before the crew comes in, what’s your assessment?”
Dr. Ryder thumbed through the pages, glancing at her with no small amount of suspicion. “Given the weird olfactory hallucinations, and the fact we’ve ruled out the other obvious choices, how about encephalitis?”
“The only elevated result on the CBC was a slightly higher than normal eosinophil level, which doesn’t point to a brain infection.”
Molly struggled to keep her voice steady. It wasn’t the case that unsettled her. It was this man. He was too big, too masculine, too...everything.
Gladys came to check the patient’s vitals. Molly wanted to question Dr. Ryder further, but his cell phone buzzed.
He pulled it from the front pocket of his scrubs, then scowled at the screen. “I need to get back to my department. Bobby, you’re okay with all this?”
“Yep.” The patient shifted on his bed, the plastic frame creaking under his muscled weight. “I’ll call you if I need you, Jake. And don’t hover. You just think you have to watch out for me because—”
“That’s not why.”
A look passed between the two men and the air in the room seemed to vibrate with a secret silent understanding.
Then Dr. Ryder headed for the door,
calling to her over his shoulder. “May I speak to you outside, Dr. Flynn?”
Still trembling slightly from a jumble of unexpected confusing emotions, Molly took a deep breath and followed him out into the hall. She hated being this overwrought in front of people, especially her new patient, but this issue between her and Dr. Jake Ryder needed to end. She wouldn’t let him destroy her best chance to save her show, even if it meant putting up with his irritating sexiness for the duration of her shoot.
* * *
“What are your next steps?” Jake asked once they’d reached a secluded corner of the hall.
The words had emerged more harshly than he’d intended, given Dr. Flynn’s slight wince, but he couldn’t seem to help it. Bad enough that she’d walked around that accident scene looking like some Disney princess come to life—all big blue eyes and lush blond hair—making him itch to hold and protect her. The tightness in his chest intensified, though his frustration was directed more toward himself than anyone else. Even worse that the first woman he’d felt attracted to since Kellie’s departure was the media star Dr. Dave had invited to collaborate on Bobby’s case.
Irony at its finest, folks.
Trust wasn’t something Jake gave freely. He’d been burned too badly in the past. The truth was, he had a hard time believing in anyone these days, except his Army buddies and his tight-knit circle of friends. Intimacy required vulnerability, and Jake didn’t do vulnerable anymore. Besides, he was a successful trauma surgeon. With his crazy schedules and on-call nightmares it was difficult to meet people, let alone have any kind of life outside his profession.
That was the excuse he was going with anyway.
And maybe Molly Flynn was the best at what she did—if Dr. Dave was to be believed. That didn’t excuse her impassioned speech about her sterling integrity—which, crazily enough, had only increased his foolish awareness of her as a woman. All he’d been able to concentrate on when she’d talked was her sparkling azure eyes and soft pink lips. God help him, he was in trouble here. Because she was Bobby’s specialist and a TV sensation.
The last time he’d dealt with the press—after his commendation—he’d gotten way more than his fifteen minutes of fame. Worse, the glare of media attention had only intensified after his relationship with Kellie had fallen apart, with reporters poking and prodding into his wreck of a personal life like vultures at a roadside kill.
One Night with the Army Doc Page 3
