Critical Care: 1 (Mercy Hospital)

by Candace Calvert

  Wow. Claire raised her brows, clueless of how to respond. “You mean . . .”

  “I only mean those roses came with an apology typed on a florist card by some anonymous person he dictated to over the phone. Long-distance from across the state line no doubt. I met Brad at church. But lately his idea of Sunday morning gatherings is the all-you-can-eat brunch and playing slots at Harrah’s. Although I guess I have that to thank for his donation to Jamie’s fund—hope it’s not all in quarters.” Erin frowned and doubled her hand into a fist. “I should install a punching bag in the nurses’ lounge; I always feel better after a couple of good jabs.” She lowered her hand and smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all this on you.”

  “No, you’re not. I guess I assumed when I saw those flowers . . .” Claire spread her hands and shrugged.

  “Maybe I’m jaded. I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say that my father isn’t going to win any awards for sincerity and honesty. Trust doesn’t come easy for me. But just once, I’d like to meet a man who gets it, you know? Gets that it’s not about the big show, that simple is fine—no, that simple is way better.” Erin tapped her finger against her scrub top, in the vicinity of her heart. “A guy who understands that it’s what’s right in here that counts.” She pressed her hands together and threw her head back, gazing toward the clinic ceiling. “Show me that guy!” Then she chuckled and turned back to Claire, her eyes playful and warm. “Amen?”

  Claire laughed. “Amen,” she agreed, feeling a rush of affection for the passionate and gutsy redhead. Erin deserved all that and more.

  The sun was setting, tinting the sky purple and orange and pink, by the time Claire set out across the parking lot to where she’d parked Kevin’s SUV. She took a deep breath of cool air and exhaled slowly, feeling her shoulders relax for the first time in hours. God must have been listening to her prayers at Faith QD; it felt so good to be there for Jada Williams.

  In truth, the worst case she’d faced today was helping Glenda pluck a blue LEGO from the nostril of a two-year-old bucking harder than a rodeo bronc. Claire shook her head, remembering how the mother had insisted the little girl say thank you for their help. Yeah, right. The wary and sniffling child had compromised by waving bye-bye furiously in a blatant attempt to get away as fast as possible.

  Claire couldn’t help but empathize. She felt the same way. I’m outta here. And since Merlene had convinced an on-call nurse to pick up some shifts starting next week, Claire wouldn’t be needed in urgent care for more than a couple of days in the interim. Tomorrow was her day off. She’d get up early, take a long run, maybe go to the pet store and find a consolation toy for Smokey after his raccoon scare. Claire stopped as she arrived at the SUV. What on earth?

  She walked around to the front and lifted a cellophane-wrapped bouquet from the hood. Her breath caught. Daffodils? Before she could move, she heard Logan’s voice.

  “Hi, Educator.”

  She turned and saw him smile, the fading sunlight casting rosy warmth to his features much the same way the fire embers had that night on her deck.

  Logan looked at the bouquet and then at her face, shrugging. “I was at the Jeep store. It’s next door to this flower shop. And when I saw those, they made me think of you, so . . .” His brows scrunched. “That’s not true.”

  He took a step closer, and once more Claire was aware of his height, the effect he had on her breathing, and . . .

  Logan sighed. His expression seemed vulnerable, his eyes sincere. “The truth is I went looking for those daffodils because I’ve been thinking about you all day. I have another day off tomorrow, and I want to spend it with you. Would that be okay?”

  Claire looked down at the blooms tied with a ribbon and wrapped in paper and thought of Erin’s words, the way she’d tapped her fingers over her heart. Simple, heartfelt.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “I think that would be very okay.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Oh, man. Logan bit his lip, willing himself not to laugh as the rainbow trout escaped Claire’s fingers for a third time. Spotted and silvery pink, it arched and flopped in tall grass along the narrow stretch of the Truckee River. He was too smart to risk laughing, but it took everything he had not to, watching that determined look on her face and her nose wrinkling as she planned her next move. Her catlike stealth turned into Three Stooges clumsiness by the borrowed rubber wading boots as she grabbed, missed, and grabbed again.

  “Need some help . . . there?” Logan asked, his voice rising an octave, then choking on the last word despite his efforts.

  “Nope, I’m fine.” Claire turned, her eyes narrowing below the brim of her ball cap. “Hey, you’re not laughing at me, are you?”

  “Me? Do I look that crazy?” Logan leaned back on his elbows on the bank, blinking into the sun and watching as Claire finally got a grip on the slippery fish. He smiled as she released the ten-inch trout into the clear and ice-cold water. “I wouldn’t risk laughing at a woman who’s beaten me at everything all day. I’m just hoping you don’t want to arm wrestle. Frankly my masculinity couldn’t take it.”

  She whirled around, dark ponytail whipping across her shoulders, then planted her hands on her hips and grinned.

  This time he did laugh. And warmth flooded through him. She’s so incredible.

  Logan stretched his legs out in front of him, feeling the early afternoon sun seep through the denim, and watched Claire gather her fishing gear. He’d offer to help, but he knew she’d shrug it off. Her independence and spunk were in high gear, and for some reason she seemed far more confident in this environment than at the hospital.

  He shook his head. He hadn’t been kidding about her besting him all day. She’d climbed like a gazelle up the rocky trail ahead of him, not breaking a sweat, while he’d worked hard to catch up—and struggled to cover the fact that the heart-pounding effects of altitude were limiting his conversation to basic grunts and nods. She’d shinnied agilely down the steep slope to this fishing spot like she’d done it a thousand times before, while he lumbered behind determined not to sit down and slide. She expertly tied the knots on her fishing line—and his—then caught the biggest fish of the day. Even if she couldn’t hold on to it.

  Logan took a deep breath of pungent alpine air and let his gaze drift, taking in the height of the pines, the speckled granite boulders rising through clumps of red-branched manzanita, and knee-high grasses dotted with wildflowers below blue, blue sky. And the soul-soothing sound of water tumbling over river rocks. He loved it here, and it had always been exactly what he needed when the pressures and turmoil of the ER squeezed in on him. Quiet and solitude.

  No, not solitude today. But then this was so much better. Because Claire was so easy to be around. He hadn’t expected that. Although cold pizza for breakfast and the hassle-free ease of sharing tube socks four ways, straight out of the dryer, definitely had its benefits, spending much of his life in an all-male household hadn’t prepared Logan for dealing with the delicate intricacies of relationships with women. Their sensitivity and exasperating attention to details eluded him, and there was always that white-knuckled need to be careful that things he said and did wouldn’t be misinterpreted. Like with Beckah. It had been both mysterious and frustrating, and maybe that’s why being with Claire seemed so great. He blinked up into the sun as she appeared.

  “So I’ve intimidated you?” she asked with a smirk. She leaned her pole against a boulder and tossed a pinecone out of the way before sitting beside him.

  “Yes, brutally,” Logan said, wishing she’d move a few inches closer but completely happy that she was . . . here. It felt better than anything had in a long time, and he wasn’t about to mess it up. “Who knew that a nurse with pink scrubs could . . . ?”

  “Could what? What exactly am I doing?” Claire asked, her eyes widening in the shadow of the ball cap. “Tell me. Now I’m curious.”

  And so very beautiful. Her eyes, Logan noticed, were the same soft gray of a dove
’s wing. Almost a lavender gray, with flecks of white, and lined with those long dark lashes. He blinked, remembering that she’d asked him a question. “I only meant that who knew you had all these outdoor skills? I haven’t met many women who can climb rocks and scramble down a cliff without worrying about her clothes or breaking a fingernail. Or who knows how to lock in a Jeep’s hubs for four-wheeling, tie a fisherman’s knot, and handle salmon eggs and red worms.” He raked his fingers through his hair and smiled. “I mean, it’s great. You’re easy to be around, almost like you’re—”

  “A guy?” Claire interrupted, her eyes narrowing. “You’re saying I’m almost like a guy?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that at all. I . . .” Couldn’t have said anything more stupid. “I’m saying I’m having a great time. And that it’s cool that you’re . . .” Logan groaned, flailing to dig himself out of the hole. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—” He stopped, realizing she was laughing.

  “I’m kidding.” She laughed again as she pulled off her cap and tugged her hair free from the elastic band. It spilled down around her shoulders, shiny as mink in the sunlight. “I know what you meant, and—” her eyes rose to his—“I’m having a great time too. Don’t worry.”

  “Good.” He exhaled, not sure how much of his breathlessness was due to mountain altitude and how much was relief. At any rate, he was back on track. “So, where’d you learn to be such a pioneer woman?”

  Claire’s gaze dropped to the ball cap in her hands. When she looked up again, her beautiful eyes looked achingly sad. “Don’t forget that I have . . . had . . . a brother.”

  I’m a fool, Logan thought, using all the restraint he had not to wrap his arms around her.

  She was quiet for a moment, and then she reached for her fishing pole. “Didn’t you promise me lunch?”

  “I did. Pack up your worms, mountain girl. Then give me a decent head start to the Jeep. I know where to find the best burgers in Tahoe.”

  +++

  Erin set her sandwich on the dashboard as Brad handed her a cashier’s check, not the rolls of casino quarters she’d half expected to see. It was made out for two hundred and fifty dollars to the Little Nugget Victim Fund.

  She looked sideways to where he sat at the wheel of the parked Corvette convertible, afternoon sun glinting off the surface of his sunglasses. It hadn’t gone unnoticed, either, that he’d dialed the radio to her favorite station. The rhythm of contemporary Christian music blended in harmony with the distant laughter of children playing in Gold Bug Park. A lunchtime escape, perfect breeze, impromptu picnic in a fabulous car, music that spoke to her soul, and now a generous donation to her favorite charity? All on the heels of that extravagant bouquet of roses. How could she still doubt him?

  “Happy now?” Brad asked.

  Erin sighed, willing the uncertainty to vanish. “Well, it’s really generous. Jamie’s mother can definitely use this.” Along with the money that wiped out my checking account. She smiled with sincere appreciation. “Thank you.” She tapped the paper wrapping on her prime rib sandwich. “For all of this. The surprise lunch and the car ride. It’s nice.”

  “Just nice?”

  What was she supposed to say? That all this stuff made up for the fact he’d shown up at the children’s charity to pressure her into leaving, then taken off to South Tahoe without her? That duct-taping a note to her door was consideration enough? She exhaled slowly to dispel a wave of anger. Lord, keep one hand on my shoulder and the other one clamped tight over my mouth. Please. Erin tossed Brad a weak smile, deciding silence was her best option.

  “Hmm. Okay, then.” Brad pulled off his glasses and pointed toward the glove compartment. “But do something for me, would you? Open that and take out what’s inside.”

  Now what? Erin glanced covertly at her watch before following Brad’s instructions. She needed him to drive her back to the ER. So . . . she opened the glove compartment and lifted out a square, flat box embellished with a shiny gold Angel Store sticker. “Brad . . .”

  “Go on. Open it. You’ll like it. I promise.”

  She lifted the lid warily and then murmured with genuine delight. It was beautiful—beads of gold filigree interspersed with crystal on a stretchy band. She lifted it out, letting the charm, a tiny box, dangle and glint in the sunlight. “It’s the prayer bracelet! It’s wonderful. Exactly the one I’d been wanting. Oh, thank you so much!” She leaned over in the leather seat and brushed her lips against his cheek. Then felt his arms close around her.

  “I’m glad I finally got something right,” Brad whispered against her ear. “I want to make you happy, Erin.” He nuzzled her cheek, then took her face in his hands and lightly kissed her.

  “I . . . well, thank you.” Erin leaned away. “But I’ve got to get back to work. Really. I have to relieve Sarah for her break, finish writing my agenda for the staff meeting, and put up flyers in the nurses’ lounges about Faith QD. . . .” She let her words trail away when she saw him frown.

  “You’ve got to cut back. I keep telling you that. You need to learn to have some fun.” He slipped on his glasses, started the Corvette’s powerful engine, and raised his voice to be heard. “We’ll start Sunday morning. Drive to Reno and catch the car races. Think about it.” He retrieved her sandwich from the dashboard and steered away from the curb.

  Sunday. Meaning church didn’t figure into his plans—again. She nudged the tiny prayer box with her finger, her emotions tumbling faster than the Corvette took the corners. Guilt over her continuing doubts despite Brad’s obvious attempts to please her, anger at his lack of consideration for her priorities, and a continued wistful longing for what she’d talked about with Claire yesterday. Men with sincere hearts. They’d agreed completely, almost like long-lost sisters, and she’d loved that feeling.

  Erin grasped the door handle to keep from sliding as Brad took the last of the curves before the straightaway leading into the Sierra Mercy Hospital parking lot. She peered at him for a moment and smiled, picturing a teeny slip of paper tucked into the beautiful little prayer box. She tapped her finger over her heart, imagining words printed in the smallest of type: Help Brad understand that what counts is right in here. Yes. She’d give it to God.

  She tapped her heart once more for good measure as they roared up to the doors of the ER.

  +++

  Claire stopped at the doorway leading onto the marina restaurant’s deck, catching a glimpse of Logan in the distance. She shook her head. What she’d thought that first day she’d met him in the ER was true; his eyes were exactly the blue of Lake Tahoe. In fact, right now . . . She studied his face as he spoke with the waitress, dappled sunshine spilling across the shoulders of his rugby shirt and unruly curls, his rugged features silhouetted against the beautiful vista of the alpine lake. Claire’s breath caught. She’d been wrong; his eyes were bluer than Tahoe.

  What about the other things she’d thought about him that first day when they’d butted heads over her staff interviews? Had she been wrong about those too? She’d thought him insensitive, a bully, a callous, unbending Goliath. The enemy. And had been beyond angry when he’d mentioned weak links. Still was.

  Claire stepped out of the way of a waitress and then saw Logan waving at her. She waved back and walked toward him, a thought making her smile. Supping with the devil again. But maybe it was the risk she’d have to take if she was going to learn more about this man. She had to admit that there were things she was curious about. His interests, his family . . . Beckah?

  “See,” she said, settling into the chair opposite Logan and raising palms still damp from washing. “Perfectly respectable. No one would know I—” she smirked—“caught the biggest trout of the day.” She laughed and glanced around the umbrella-studded deck and at the other patrons, glad she’d been able to freshen her makeup and pick the pine needles out of her hair.

  Sunnyside Mountain Grill, a favorite with both locals and tourists, was casually upscale with men and women sporting
trendy resort wear and sunglasses no doubt worth half a nurse’s biweekly paycheck. A jazz combo played at the edge of the deck, its bass-heavy music blending with soft laughter, tinkling glassware, and the crisp flutter of sails in the marina below. In the distance, the majestic Sierra Mountains, peaks white with snow, seemed to rise from the glassy blue surface of the lake itself.

  Claire closed her eyes for a moment, letting the sun warm her face and inhaling the wonderful mix of scents: pine trees, oiled decking, coconut sunscreen . . . and sizzling orders of burgers and fries. Her stomach rumbled and she smiled. This was not her typical day, for sure. She opened her eyes as Logan spoke.

  “So, what would you be doing right now if you weren’t here, humbling me with your fishing skills?”

  Claire laughed. “Huge, important things. Like buying Smokey a catnip toy. The one that looks like Jiminy Cricket. That might get him to purr.” She frowned. “The poor cat had another raccoon scare.”

  “You mean—?”

  “No, he’s okay,” Claire said quickly. “But there were footprints on the deck outside his little pet door, and he was clinging to the back of the couch like the whole house was surrounded.” She sighed. “Sometimes I think I should have sent Smokey to Phoenix with my folks.”

  “You’re from Arizona?” Logan leaned back as the waitress presented their plates.

  “No.” Claire smiled, realizing he’d already beaten her to the punch in the get-to-know-you inquisition. “I’m a local. Sacramento. My dad took a job transfer to Phoenix after . . . my brother died.” She grabbed a fried zucchini stick, crispy and hot, and pointed it at Logan, determined to turn the conversation back to him. “And your family, Dr. Caldwell?”

  Logan lowered his Angus burger. “Still in the San Jose area. My father has two small hardware franchises now and hasn’t remarried. One of my brothers manages the businesses for him, and the younger one is pretending to go to Foothill College but spends most of his time playing bass guitar for a country band. Silicon Posse. They’re not half bad. I go see them as often as I can. And . . .”