Critical Care: 1 (Mercy Hospital)

by Candace Calvert

  “Sorry,” she said, pressing her cookie against her lips. “Really, go on.”

  Logan frowned, feigning insult. “That was it. You think there should be more?”

  “No, not at all.” Claire furrowed her brows like she was rethinking the quick dismissal. “Only that maybe . . .”

  “Only what?” Logan prompted, realizing he cared what she thought. Very much.

  Claire pursed her lips and then exhaled. “I was going to ask if you’ve ever considered easing up on your staff a little.”

  “Easing up?” He stared at her.

  “Yes,” Claire said, lifting her chin as she met his gaze. “Easing up, lightening up, throttling back. Whatever you want to call it. Put yourself in the nurses’ shoes for once.”

  “In their . . .” Logan hesitated, telling himself to go slowly. Whatever he said here could be very dicey. There was more at stake than the doctor-nurse relationship.

  “I haven’t forgotten what you said about the buck stopping with you,” she continued, spreading her hands. “It’s obviously true. As a doctor, you’re ultimately responsible for a patient’s outcome. But have you considered that the nurses feel just as accountable? That we’re as much under the gun in a critical situation as you are? Maybe more than you are?”

  “More?” Oh, boy, here we go.

  “You bet. Think about it. You have a critically ill patient, and as a doctor, you make an assessment and a treatment plan—granted, a brilliant plan—then you give orders and walk away. Who’s left at that patient’s bedside? Who’s injecting complex drugs into his bloodstream, watching for dangerous side effects and all the while trying to say something, anything, to ease the fear in that poor soul’s eyes? Trying to convince him that it will be all right, when you know that at any given moment something could go wrong.” Claire sighed and looked into Logan’s eyes. “Nurses. You’d be lost without them.”

  Logan raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, truce. I’m not about to argue with that. In fact, Erin and Sarah are among the best nurses I’ve ever worked with. I’m not kidding when I say I’d like to clone them. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “It’s competence I’m talking about. There’s a huge difference between being there and being competent to be there.” Logan scrunched his brows. Surely Claire could understand that; she’d worked ER herself. “Take that nurse who was working the day of the day care incident.”

  “The one who threatened to quit?”

  “Yes. And you want to know why? Because she couldn’t handle it. Because I told her to get a grip or get out of my department.” He shook his head, feeling the anger return. “The paramedics are off-loading this little girl who’s been trapped in a burning building, who’s just stopped breathing. Stopped breathing. They’re trying to control her airway; we’re scrambling to get things going, and then this nurse starts panicking. Wailing like a civilian. And becomes completely and totally useless to me. I’m trying to save burn victims, and I’ve got a useless nurse! You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

  Claire didn’t answer, and when Logan turned in his chair, he saw that her face had gone completely pale. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated. What’s wrong? What did he . . . ? Oh no. Burn victims. Her brother.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I understand.”

  “Claire, wait.” Logan twisted his chair so he could reach her and took hold of her hands. “I’m a fool,” he said, rubbing her cold hands gently between his. He had to make this better. “I’m sorry. I should have thought about your brother before I said that.”

  “No, don’t.” Claire slid her hands away from his and shut her eyes for a few seconds. Then she took a deep breath. “Don’t apologize, Logan. Please. Just listen. I need to explain something.”

  +++

  Claire couldn’t believe what she was doing, but she had no choice. Having this conversation without explaining felt like continuing a lie. She took another breath and let it out slowly, but her insides kept trembling. “I was that nurse. I panicked too. Back then.”

  Logan leaned forward again, started to reach for her hand but stopped himself. “It’s not the same thing. You shouldn’t have had to see your brother like that.” He glanced away for a second, a muscle on his jaw tensing. “No one should have to see someone they love like that. You couldn’t be expected to function as a nurse in that situation.”

  Claire wanted more than anything to stop there. To let it rest and move into Logan’s arms for the comfort he so obviously wanted to give her. But she couldn’t. There was more to say. Confessions of incompetence to the doctor who hates that above all things. Claire muttered under her breath, “It wasn’t only that day.”

  Logan’s forehead wrinkled with confusion. “Meaning?”

  “I panicked over and over. Every ER shift I worked from then on. I couldn’t keep my hands from shaking. I’d walk over to the medicine cupboard and completely forget what I was there for. I’d jump out of my skin every time I heard a siren. I was . . . useless. Exactly what you called that other nurse just now.” Claire’s lips tightened as she struggled against a surge of anger. Where had that come from?

  Logan winced, and Claire was instantly sorry. What am I doing? What had she been about to do, compare Logan to the Sacramento doctor who’d shredded her confidence after Kevin’s death? That was completely unfair. The only things Logan had done were . . . wonderful. He’d given her a day like she hadn’t had in years, made her laugh, brought her up here to show her his house and the sunset. And now she was trying to spoil it?

  Claire squeezed Logan’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, managing a smile. “All that was a long time ago, and none of it had anything to do with you. Really, I’m sorry, Logan.”

  He brushed his thumb across the top of her hand, and the tenderness in his expression made Claire’s heart ache. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” he said simply. Then he turned and pointed toward the range of mountains turning pink, purple, and orange. “It looks like we’re about to have that sunset I promised you.”

  Claire felt Logan’s arm slide around her shoulders. Then the thought hit her: She’d just told him things she hadn’t told any other person. Painful parts of her past she’d been afraid to tell anyone but God. It seemed so impossible, yet at the same time completely natural. And as comfortable as Logan’s warmth beside her.

  They watched silently as the sun slipped behind the mountains and dusk began closing in around them. In minutes, it would be dark and Logan would drive her back to her car. Claire didn’t want the day to end. She turned at Logan’s voice. He was standing.

  “C’mon,” he said, offering his hand. “Let me show you the lights on the river.”

  Claire took his hand and they walked over to stand beside the granite boulders, their surfaces now shadowy in the diminishing light. Below, the sunset’s last colors glinted on the surface of the American River like metallic threads in a little girl’s hair ribbon. Lights began to dot the banks above.

  “It’s beautiful,” Claire said, very aware of her hand inside Logan’s. “The sunset, the river, your house—this whole day.” She blinked against unexpected tears and looked at Logan. “Thank you so much.”

  Logan let go of her hand and brushed a strand of hair away from the side of her face, trailing his fingers gently along her jaw. “You,” he said, tracing his thumb across her chin, “are the very best part of today.” Logan leaned down and touched his lips first to the side of Claire’s face and then lightly to the corner of her mouth, the warmth of the connection making her breath catch. Then he leaned away just far enough to look into her eyes, as if asking for permission.

  Somehow Claire managed the barest nod, and when Logan kissed her again, she wound her arms around his neck, feeling his silky curls under her fingers. His arms slid around her waist, drawing her close as the kiss deepened. And she returned it measure for measure.

  +++

  Logan waited as Claire unlocked her car door, then took hold
of her hand, thinking once again how perfectly this woman fit in his arms. In my life? He didn’t want anything to ruin the chance it could be true. Blast, he didn’t even want to let her go right now. “So,” he said, squeezing her hand, “these big plans you have for your career—that’s all local, right?”

  “Local?”

  “I meant you’re not planning to climb the nursing education ladder in, say, Phoenix?”

  “No,” she said with a short laugh. “Not that my folks haven’t been trying to finagle that, trust me. But it looks fairly certain I’ll get the educator position at Sierra Mercy.” She sighed. “At least that’s my plan. I’ve been praying about it forever.”

  Praying. There was still that faith hurdle and . . . He looked at Claire, realizing that she’d said something. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

  “I said it helps me.”

  “What?”

  “Praying.”

  Oh, boy. Logan shrugged. “That’s good. I’m . . . glad.”

  “And uncomfortable?”

  Logan opted for the truth. “You mean about the subject of prayer?” He saw Claire nod. “No, prayer doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I see it all the time with our patients. And there’s Erin, of course. She’s waving prayer around my ER like a personal battle flag. Not to mention advertising it on T-shirts. You haven’t seen me trying to stop her, have you?”

  “No.” Claire smiled, watching him intently.

  “But I’ll be honest. I’m okay with God, but for me prayer doesn’t work.” Logan rubbed his brow. “Beckah started going to church after we broke up. She said things like ‘Let go and let God.’ You’ve heard that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, I get the concept. But for me, letting go is giving up. I don’t do that very well. It’s like in the ER: a heart fibrillates, and I shock it with electricity; a severed artery cuts loose, I clamp it off before someone bleeds to death; a patient stops breathing, so I breathe for him. I do something always. I don’t let go. I don’t solve it with prayer. By blindly trusting that . . .” Logan let his words trail away, sure he’d said more than Claire wanted to hear. Aware too that he may have sealed the deal against her ever seeing him again.

  Suddenly she stepped close and wrapped her arms around him, burrowing her face against his chest.

  “Hey, what’s that for?” He chuckled against her hair, relief washing over him.

  “It’s a good-night hug, Dr. Caldwell. We both have to work in the morning.”

  She stepped away, and Logan had a hard time reading her expression in the darkness. He needed to know what she was thinking. “Those plans that you’ve been praying about,” he said, already missing the feel of her in his arms. “I was wondering if there’s any room in there for me?” He tipped his head to get a better look at her face. “May I see you again, Claire?”

  Her quick smile made his heart race. “Yes. But right now we’d both better get home. I have to do a final critical incident follow-up with the ER staff tomorrow. And I hear the doctor in charge is an impossible beast.”

  Logan frowned. “Hey. C’mon now. Am I really that bad?”

  Claire’s lips curved into a smirk. “Jury’s still out.”

  +++

  Sarah shivered inside the darkened phone booth and wished she’d thought to wear a sweater. She pressed the receiver to her ear and listened to the distant rings, knowing she wouldn’t notice the cold—even if this gum-sticky and littered phone booth froze completely solid—once she heard her father’s voice. Daddy, please.

  She nodded, her chin quivering. The chances were better from a pay phone. No caller ID for her mother to screen. More chance that she’d think it was a telemarketer and continue to watch her TV show, yelling for her father to pick it up.

  The rings continued . . . four, five, six . . . and then Sarah heard the message—her mother’s voice—saying no one was home, have a nice day, and God bless you.

  Sarah closed her eyes, holding the receiver against her chest as the line went dead. She needed her father more than she ever had before. It was almost Emily’s birthday. And she wasn’t sure she would make it this time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire sank back against her pillow, smiling as the dawn brushed her windowsill melon pink, like paint on a fresh new canvas. She buried her fingers in her sleep-tangled hair and sighed, awed by two things. First, that she’d now spent a consecutive sunset and sunrise with Logan Caldwell filling her thoughts. Second—even more amazing—the fact that for the first time since she’d started whispering that prayer for healing, Claire had begun to feel it being answered.

  Last night, when Logan kissed her and held her close, the emptiness in her chest had eased, its painful hollowness filled by something new. A warm and achy-good feeling. But . . . She glanced at the open Bible on her bedside table. How could someone live without the comfort and connection of prayer? She thought of Jada’s heart-tugging need that day in the clinic. Could Logan be okay with God without ever praying to him? Could a lonely, motherless boy become a man . . . a husband without believing that God listens? And could I love a man who—?

  Claire’s eyes opened wide and her stomach fluttered. Love? Where did that come from? She shook her head. Love was nowhere in her plans. Brushing her teeth and getting to work? Absolutely. It was time to get moving.

  Ten minutes later she pulled on navy yoga pants and a matching hooded sweatshirt, then slid into her flip-flops and padded toward the kitchen, stopping when she heard insistent tapping at the front door. She crossed to the door and swung it open, stunned.

  “Good morning.” Logan stood on the porch, wearing a University of California sweatshirt over faded jeans and looking like he was barely awake, with dark beard stubble, mussed hair, and his eyes half-lidded. He held a cardboard tray of coffee and a huge deli sack, and when he smiled, Claire’s knees went so weak she had to steady herself on the doorframe.

  She smiled back and managed to speak, her voice a breathless squeak. “Logan, this is so . . . early.”

  He nodded, grinning like a proud ten-year-old. “I know. I took a chance you’d be awake.”

  “And that I’d be hungry?” She eyed the bag in his hands, sniffing appreciatively at the aroma of steaming coffee.

  Logan laughed. “Not much risk there.” He raised his brows. “So, am I coming in?”

  “Um, sure.” Claire walked ahead of Logan into the kitchen, her mind a complete jumble—thinking her hair must look a mess, grateful she’d brushed her teeth, planning what she’d say, what she shouldn’t say, and telling herself not to get her hopes up that Logan’s coming here meant any more than—

  She stopped and turned to him. “Why are you here?”

  He blinked and pointed to the deli bag he’d set on the table. “Breakfast?”

  “I mean, don’t you have to be at the ER in . . .” Claire glanced at Kevin’s football clock. “Twenty-five minutes?”

  Logan repeated the proud smile. “I got the night doc to stay over for a couple of hours.”

  “But . . .” Claire stared at him, a man who was always early for his shifts, had been rumored to spend the night in his office, shower and shave in the surgeons’ lounge, and didn’t trust anyone to fill in for him.

  “Because,” Logan said, stepping closer to gently grasp Claire’s shoulders, “I didn’t want to wait hours to see you again.” He took a breath, the look in his eyes warm and honest. “I couldn’t wait. There’s something about being with you that feels good, Claire. You make me feel kind of optimistic about things. I can’t explain it. But I haven’t felt that way in a long time. I like it.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

  Perfectly wonderful sense. Claire nodded, afraid to speak over the lump in her throat. She moved into Logan’s arms, sighing as he hugged her close. That amazing feeling was there again, warm, new, and tender. But fragile too, like a glistening spray of bubbles from a child’s party wand. She didn’t want to do or say anything tha
t might end this feeling. Tears threatened as the truth hit her. Lord, help me please. I think I’m falling in love.

  Then Logan stepped back, cradled her face in his palms, and kissed her thoroughly.

  +++

  Logan let the motorcycle idle at the edge of Gold Bug Park. He still had thirty minutes before he was expected to take over at the ER. Claire had shooed him out after breakfast, saying she needed to go for a run before work. Probably true. And had nothing to do with his bumbling attempt to express his feelings. “You make me feel kind of optimistic about things.”

  Logan’s groan bounced off the inside of his helmet. Had he really said something that idiotic? Idiotic but true. Claire did make him feel hopeful, and she couldn’t know how important and incredibly rare that was at this particular moment in his life. What he’d wanted to say to her was much more romantic and spontaneous. But way too corny. He’d wanted to tell her the moment she’d opened the door that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. That he’d lain awake for hours remembering the way the sunset had seemed to change the color of her eyes, and . . . Logan shook his head. Never could have pulled that off. Better to hand a hungry woman a ham and cheese bagel.

  Despite the fact that he was no poet, they’d had a great time this morning. Talking, laughing . . . he’d even managed to pet the one-eared cat without losing a finger. Best of all, being with Claire again convinced Logan that she was good for him.

  In fact, she may have already helped him make a big decision. He wasn’t going to Beckah’s wedding. The confusing pull to be there didn’t feel so strong now. Maybe it wasn’t important to understand why she’d left him. Seeing Beckah walk down the aisle in a Carmel wedding chapel wouldn’t accomplish that anyway. She’d left him because she didn’t want to stay. Period. Anything beyond that would remain a mystery, the same as it had with his mother. And it was okay. At twelve years old, there hadn’t been anything Logan could do about his mother. Except pray to a God who didn’t listen. There hadn’t been anything more he could have done to help Beckah after the miscarriage. Logan flinched at the memory of Beckah’s pale face and tearful voice. “Where’s your faith, Logan?”