After she heard the front door shut, Ana said, "Papi, are you sure you should be going back to the store so soon?"
He gave her the don't-contradict-me expression he'd perfected years ago and didn't answer. She'd known he wouldn't.
* * *
Ana scrutinized the gunshot wound in the young man's thigh. Not much bleeding because the EMT had cut the trouser leg off and done a good job stanching the flow, but it hurt the patient on the gurney.
"What's your name?" Ana asked.
"Julio Rivera," he said through clenched teeth.
"How did this happen, Mr. Rivera?" Ana asked.
"A car drove by and someone inside shot me."
Ana observed the young man. His light brown complexion was dry, no sweating, no sign of shock, although pain was obvious in his dark eyes. "They're holding an operating suite for you. We'll take you there in a few minutes and will get you pain medication while you're in recovery." She shone her light in his eyes. The pupils were fine. No drugs, no concussion. Not that there would be with a leg wound, but it never hurt to check. Patients didn't always tell doctors everything.
"I don't understand." He shook his head. "I didn't recognize anyone." He closed his eyes. "I was waiting for the bus to go to work, not doing a thing to anyone, when they shot me."
"Gang initiation?" Mike spoke softly from behind her.
Startled by his closeness, Ana looked over her shoulder. To hide the pleasant flutter seeing him gave her, she said in her professional voice, "Maybe, but now he needs a transfer."
"Yes, Doctor." He moved the gurney around her leaving her to stare at his back as he moved farther away.
"Doctor," Olivia, the nurse, called. "Patient in Trauma 1."
A few hours later, Ana leaned against the wall around the corner from the emergency entrance. Despite the howling of ambulances and the shouts of the medical personnel, it was a peaceful place. At least as peaceful as it got around the hospital with maybe the exception of the chapel. She didn't know because she'd never felt like visiting the place.
Across the lawn was a small garden outside the west wing. If she ignored the noise and focused on the greenery, she could calm herself.
Feeling the approach of Mike, as she was beginning to think of him, she turned toward him. Yes, it was Mike Fuller. How amazing that she knew that. Not wanting to examine the phenomenon that made her a little breathless, she said as she watched his approach, "I didn't know you came here."
"Yeah," he said with no explanation.
"Did you know your mother visited my father at our home?"
"No." He frowned. "I slept most of the day and came in early."
"When I went to my father's house last night, she was there. He was helping her look for a job. What do you think?"
Mike nodded and leaned against the wall next to her. "What do you think?"
Just like Fuller to answer her question with one of his own. She watched his face but it was blank, no emotion showed anyplace. Here she was with her heart beating faster and longing to get some reaction from him, but the man never gave anything away.
"He hasn't smiled so much since my mother died last year."
"That's not what I meant." He dropped his gaze to his feet. "I mean how do you feel about your father seeing an ex-con?"
"I don't know." She considered her words. "Actually, I do. It bothers me because I don't know your mother, but this is my father's decision. I know better than to interfere in what my father does." She sighed. "If she makes him happy, I'll accept it. I'll be glad for both of them."
For almost a minute she watched Mike's hands on the top of the wall, powerful hands with thick, strong fingers. Finally she looked up to meet his glance. "What do you think of your mother's keeping company with my father?"
He shoved his hands in his pocket. "It's okay."
"They are, after all, adults who have raised families and can make their own decisions." When he didn't answer, she said, "Right?"
He nodded.
She shouldn't care if Mike communicated with her or not. They worked together. There was no reason for her to say much more to him than, "Transfer" and "Thank you" and "Fuller." He did respond well to those, transferring when asked, coming when needed, but not a lot else. She had no right to expect or demand more.
As he moved away, she said, "Let's not allow anything between our parents to affect our work situation."
"Doctor, orderly. Got it." Without another word, he headed back to the E.R.
"That's not— " she started to say but he was already around the corner. Taking a deep breath and attempting to gather enough calm to last the rest of her shift, she followed him into the building a minute later.
* * *
Mike strode inside when the automatic doors opened.
What was his mother doing? Keeping company with Dr. Ramírez's father would make life difficult. It would make Mike's life difficult.
When he heard, "Transfer" from the E.R., he hurried down the hall to answer the call, but his mind continued to consider the situation between his mom and Mr. Ramírez.
He could handle being attracted to Dr. Ramírez. He'd deny it, ignore it and work through the situation. That's all there was to it. The buzz he felt when she was around was extremely pleasant but couldn't— wouldn't— lead anywhere. If he allowed it to be any more than that, he was setting himself up for trouble, for a complication he didn't need.
If their families became close, the line between doctor and clinical assistant might blur or even be erased. The thought scared him, a lot.
At the direction of the attending physician, he grabbed a gurney with a patient to transfer to the OR, pushed it toward the elevator and pressed the call button.
As the elevator door opened, he could hear calls of "Transfer" and there were only two orderlies on tonight. Better get moving.
* * *
Almost a week later, Mike dropped on the sofa as soon as he got home and fell asleep immediately.
"Antonio has invited us to dinner tonight." His mother's voice filtered through the shroud of sleep, seeping into his brain, slowly. After trying to make sense of the syllables, their meaning came together. He opened his eyes and muttered, "What? Who? When?" sounding like a high-school journalism teacher. Then he blinked several times, rotated his shoulders, and swung his feet around to sit up. "You're going to Mr. Ramírez's house for dinner?"
Not good. He'd hoped any attraction between his mother and Mr. Ramírez would slowly go away. He'd wished they were just friends, but what he'd seen sparkling between the two of them at the hospital, added to the fact she'd visited Mr. Ramírez in his home and now planned to go to his house for dinner— that added up to more than just the beginning of a friendship.
She sat on the sofa next to him. "We're all going to their house for dinner. You, Tim and I."
He stretched and yawned, trying to think of an excuse.
"I'm sorry I woke you up, but I was so excited."
"I have to work tonight." Work was a terrific reason not to go.
"Not until eleven, right?"
He nodded reluctantly. Could he call now and get on an earlier shift? "Mom, I don't feel comfortable. Dr. Ramírez is my supervisor."
"They're going to have Mexican food." She smoothed his hair away from his face and attempted to pat down his cowlick. "Everyone is bringing a dish. You love enchiladas."
"I don't think mixing work with…"
The smile on her face disappeared. She slumped and bit her lip. "I understand," she said. "I thought how nice it would be for Antonio's family to meet mine, but if you can't make it, I understand. You work very hard for us."
As he watched her, Mike realized how brave his mother had been, flitting around the house as if she had no cares, painting the wonderful scenes, which brightened the entire house, taking care of her sons. All her activity hid the fact she'd only recently been released from eight hard years in prison. She was almost sixty and sometimes looked every day of it and more. As she bent
her head, he could see silver streaks threaded through her red hair. She was no longer Hurricane Tessie. She wasn't even Light Breeze Tessie.
Certainly he could do one thing for her.
"All right, Mom. I'll go this time, but don't ask me again, okay?"
"Oh, thank you." She smiled at him, the sparkle returning to her eyes and taking ten years from her age. "Just this one time." She nodded and stood. Glancing at her watch, she said, "It's barely noon. We need to be there at six, so you have plenty of time to get a nice rest. Go back to sleep."
As if there were any possibility of his getting any more sleep now. He lay on the couch for fifteen minutes, eyes wide-open and staring at the ceiling before he got up and took a shower.
* * *
When she'd gotten off her shift the morning of the dinner, Ana had stopped at the grocery store on the way back to her apartment. Only a few blocks from the hospital, her place cost more in rent than an apartment so small should, but she was earning more now and the proximity to the hospital was worth the cost.
She parked her car, got out and took the elevator to the third floor. Once there, she unlocked the door to go inside, dropped her purse on the table in the entry, walked across the tiny patch of beige carpet that was her living room and into the narrow galley kitchen. There, she pulled out the ingredients for the dish she was taking to the dinner.
First she cut the menudo into small pieces, put it in a pot with a calf's foot, chilies, bay leaf and garlic, leaving them to simmer while she slept.
When she awakened six hours later, she checked the menudo, added a few more ingredients, then took a shower.
How should she dress tonight? she wondered while she dried her hair.
For goodness' sake, why was she acting all girlie? Tonight was a family dinner, only with a few extra guests. She'd dress as she always did for family dinners: jeans and a T-shirt.
But one of those extra guests was Mike Fuller and, for a reason she refused to admit, she wanted to look better than "okay." She hated the fact he only saw her as a doctor with her funny little bun, lab coat and comfortable shoes. She wanted to break free of the image tonight, to be a real person.
On the other hand, their relationship was doctor-CA so she should choose her clothing accordingly. Having made the decision not to dress in any special or unusual or totally different way for the additional guests, she pulled her hair in a ponytail, slipped into her jeans, shirt and athletic shoes, and studied herself in the mirror.
Plain. Exactly what she looked like. Her younger sister and friends wore makeup, but with her schedule, Ana stayed with a fluff of powder and swipe of lip gloss which was usually gone after a few hours. Did she have anything more in the drawer?
A touch of blush and a dab of mascara made her appear a little prettier. Next she pulled her hair from the scrunchie and brushed it. She liked it curling down her back. Finally, she changed into a yellow cotton blouse with ruffles around the neck and put on matching sandals.
This time when she studied her reflection, she had to admit she looked good, really good. She shook her head to allow the curls to swish across her shoulders.
She was no longer Dr. Ramírez. She was Ana Ramírez, and she was all female.
* * *
In the entire city of Austin, how had he ended up in front of this house, with Dr. Ramírez inside? His mother would, of course, expect him to enter it. He would have banged his head against the steering wheel in frustration if having to explain the injuries didn't present such difficulty. So instead, he sat in the car with its engine still running in front of the Ramírez's house and thought, She's in there.
"Are you getting out?" Tim asked from the backseat. "I don't how you feel about it, but we've been promised Mexican food. I'm not going to miss any of it." He leaped out and loped toward the house.
"Mike," his mother said with concern in her voice, "you don't have to go in if you're uncomfortable."
Uncomfortable wasn't the word he'd use to describe the reluctance he felt.
"Thanks, Mom." But it would be worse if he sat in a car in the drive all evening. They'd think he was more of an idiot than he actually was. He turned off the ignition, got out of the car and went to the other side to help his mother out. Before Mike could reach her, Mr. Ramírez hurried from the house and opened the car door.
"Bienvenida, querida mía," the widower said with a big smile and stretched his arm out for Tessie to take. After she turned in the seat and stood, he kissed her on the cheek.
Dr. Ramírez's father was kissing his mother. That stomach-tightening thing hit him again. Oh, sure, it was on the cheek, but it was a kiss.
How was a son supposed to respond to seeing his mother embraced by a man? Mike had no idea. He'd never thought of Mom as, well, a woman who would be attractive to a man, as a woman a man would want to kiss. Only Tim's running out of the house seconds later saved Mike from standing by the car with his mouth hanging open and looking like a fool.
"Hey, Mike, wanna play some roundball?"
Mike closed his mouth and nodded. He probably would have agreed if Tim had said, "Wanna jump into a pit of cobras?"
"This is Quique," Tim said, pointing to the wiry, good-looking kid holding a basketball who'd followed him. "He says there're some kids down the block always ready for a pickup game." His mother and Mr. Ramírez moved on to the lawn as Tim grabbed the ball from Quique and dribbled it down the sidewalk.
"What about dinner?" Mike asked.
"Ana said I was in the way and kicked me out," Quique shouted as he ran after Tim. "Told us to come back in an hour."
After his brain reminded him Ana equaled Dr. Ramírez, he realized that playing ball would get him out of a situation that could be potentially embarrassing, uncomfortable, better avoided for as long as possible, or all of the above.
He slammed the car door on the passenger side, pretended not to notice his mother and Mr. Ramírez holding hands as they strolled toward the house, and followed Tim and Quique down the street.
* * *
Ana surveyed the kitchen table in her father's house. The chorizo Martita brought was on the table next to Ana's menudo. Rice and frijoles refritos flanked those dishes. Her father had made his delicious enchiladas, everything from scratch, the old Mexican way. Her younger sister, Luz, would bring pan dulce and salad from the H-E-B where she worked. Even Raúl had brought something, tacos from a Mexican food place. For drinks there were yerba verde and soda. Ana would fix the sopaipillas for dessert later.
"What can I do to help?" Mrs. Fuller asked.
"Nothing, thank you. Everything's as ready as possible until Luz gets here." Ana tugged at the corner of the tablecloth to square it.
"Please tell me about Luz. From what Antonio says, she seems like a lovely young woman."
"Yes, she is. She's nineteen. She graduated from high school last year and has been working. A month ago, she decided she'd like to join the army to learn a skill and get financial help for college."
"Sounds like a determined young lady."
"Yes, everyone in our family is determined to reach their goals." She thought of Raúl and Quique. "Well," she added, "almost everyone is."
As she watched Mrs. Fuller sit by her father, Ana wondered where Mike was. She'd seen Tim dash by with Quique, but where was his older brother?
Not that she really cared where he was, but she needed to know so she'd have the correct number of plates set out, enough glasses.
Maybe he'd weaseled out of dinner. Weaseled, not an attractive word, but she would've done the same thing if she hadn't promised her father she'd help set up a dinner for friends. Next time, she'd get more information about the guests before agreeing.
Finally, Luz arrived, her dark hair coming loose from the ponytail she wore to work. "Sorry, I had to stay a few minutes late," she said. "Go call Quique and I'll finish setting up. I saw them playing basketball at the Parker's when I drove past."
Ana should have refused the request because when she got to t
he door, the three guys were heading up the drive. They were all sweaty and their T-shirts clung to their chests. Tim and Quique were skinny and didn't look all that great.
But Mike. Oh, yeah. She had to stop herself from saying, "Wow," as he walked toward her. His shirt stuck to broad shoulders and a muscular torso. Powerful legs showed beneath khaki shorts. Perspiration trickled down his smiling face. He was breathing a little heavily but still laughing and bickering with the two younger guys.
All in all, he looked absolutely spectacular. She'd never seen him look happy and so masculine and would prefer never to see him look that great again.
When Mike saw her, he stopped talking. For an instant admiration shone in his eyes as he studied her hair and the ruffled blouse. Then the usual Mike Fuller unemotional face covered his features again.
After the three reached the door, Mike said, "Go on in, guys. I'll follow in a minute." Once the boys shut the door behind them, Mike dropped on the porch bench, leaned over and took deep breaths.
Ana had planned to follow the young men in but his respiration bothered her. She sat next to him, grabbed his wrist and began counting his pulse as she checked her watch. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Do you have any chest pain?"
He tugged his wrist from her hand. "I'm fine." After a few more deep breaths, he added, "Just the idiocy of trying to keep up with kids."
"You're okay?" She sat back. "I thought you were dying." Now that she knew he was fine, Ana attempted not to laugh.
"I did, too, for the last fifteen minutes." He groaned and shook his head. "I haven't played basketball so hard in years."
He sat next to her struggling to breathe with perspiration pouring off him. All in all, he looked better than a man had the right to. She couldn't take her eyes off him.
"Why didn't you stop if you were so tired?" she asked.
"And let the kids win?" He stared at her with an expression that said women just didn't get it. "Besides, it was a lot of fun."
He was right. She didn't get it. How could he think pushing himself to the point of exhaustion was a lot of fun?
Love's Healing Touch Page 6
