Lightstruck: ( A Contemporary Romance Novel) (Brewing Passion Book 2)

by Liz Crowe

  Elle leaned forward on the table. “I know I must look like an odd candidate for this job, Mrs. Fitzgerald…”

  “Evelyn, please.”

  “Evelyn. But I assure you, I’m more than qualified and am eager to make the move from cellar man to assistant brewer. I’ve brought more references, if you’d like to see them.”

  “To be honest, I was ready to hire you from your résumé alone. You have a degree in brewing science from Oregon State. Why are you messing around as anyone’s cellar man?”

  “Ah, well, as you can see…” She passed both hands up and down her front, acknowledging her odd appearance. “I don’t always make such a great first impression I suppose. Besides, my last job was pretty…great. I mean, I left, of course.” She felt her ears burning hot, a dead giveaway that her face was doing that red blotchy thing in the middle of an important interview. “And, as I’m sure you know, this is a horribly sexist business.”

  “Oh, boy, do I.” Evelyn sighed and leaned back. The hand she used to touch her face was shaking.

  “Perhaps I should get you some water,” Elle said, her inner, natural caretaker taking over.

  The other woman smiled at her. “I have some, right here,” she said, pulling a refillable water bottle from the bag next to the baby seat and taking a long drink. “I forget how dehydrated I get when I’m at work.”

  Elle waited, her eagerness to work for this woman filling every corner of her mind. “I didn’t mind working my way up, even with my degree,” she insisted, hoping to cover her earlier gaff. “And I’ve passed up promotions, trust me, because some men are simply impossible to work for. I don’t know your brewer that well which means he doesn’t have an asshole of a reputation to precede him. Oops,” she said, covering her lips. “My mouth. Apologies.”

  Evelyn laughed. “No, he’s not exactly an asshole. But he’s not the most creative guy on the planet, either. The trade-off, if you get me. Are you? Creative, I mean?”

  “Very,” Elle said. “I was a trained chef before I went to the brewing institute. I was sous to a very famous man for a while, before…” She looked down at her hands, cursing herself for saying too much. But somehow, Evelyn Fitzgerald seemed to encourage that. “That’s not pertinent to this conversation. Again. Please accept my apologies.”

  “No need to apologize. You didn’t include that on your résumé. The chef thing, I mean.”

  “I don’t consider it relevant anymore.” Elle touched the space between her collarbones on reflex, then dropped her hand.

  “So, when can you start?” Evelyn stood, holding out her hand.

  Elle’s heart pounded as she rose and shook her new boss’s hand. “Tomorrow, if you like.”

  “Great. Be here at eight-thirty. I’ll set you up with HR and get all that out of the way then introduce you to Bryan, my non-asshole, somewhat boring brewer.”

  Elle laughed, feeling so comfortable in this woman-space that she wanted to cry instead. At that moment, Evelyn’s baby let out a loud wail that sounded sharp and alarming. She turned to the seat, pulled the blanket aside and touched Rose’s face. “She’s burning up. She’s so hot. I… How…? Oh shit.”

  Elle put a hand on Evelyn’s arm. “May I hold her? While you find your phone, perhaps?”

  With a shell-shocked expression on her face, Evelyn handed the wailing baby over. Elle held the child close to her lips, all the better to gauge her body’s temperature. “Arme kleine Schatz,” she crooned. “Poor darling, shush now.”

  Rose’s wails ramped down to sniffles as she tried to process who was talking to her. But her face remained beet red and her eyes seemed glassy. Elle tried to keep her voice level, calling on her old training as an apprentice nurse. “She is very feverish, Evelyn. We should take her to hospital.”

  “Hospital?” Evelyn burst out, her voice tight. “What do you mean?”

  Rose was sucking in air now, as if she couldn’t catch her breath. In between, she made mewling, helpless, awful noises as if someone was stepping on her. Elle knew she had to keep the mother calm, but get Rose to medical help as fast as they could manage it. “I think that we should drive to hospital right now. I will drive and you hold the poor sweetling.” She kept her voice as neutral as she could. “I am a trained nurse’s assistant. It was my first job, in Germany. This child is very ill. We should go.”

  Evelyn seemed to freeze in place, staring at Elle. “All right,” she said, handing over her keys and taking Rose in her arms again. “Oh, my God, she’s…so hot. Should we call nine-one-one?”

  “No time. Hurry.”

  Evelyn nodded and followed Elle down the metal steps, through the brewery and out of the back door.

  They were rushed straight through when they arrived, mostly thanks to Elle’s precise description to the checkin staff. Rose was limp in Evelyn’s arms by then, her eyes rolled back in her head, her breathing shallow.

  “Oh, my God,” Evelyn whispered, tears rolling down her face. “She’s been fussy all day, but I didn’t think anything of it.”

  “It’s all right,” Elle said. “My guess is that it’s some form of strep since it came on so quickly.”

  “Strep?” Evelyn repeated. “I didn’t think babies got that.”

  “Not many do,” Elle admitted, keeping her palm on Evelyn’s arm to steady her. The doctors and nurses hovered over the baby’s tiny body. At one point, one of the doctors—who looked to be all of eighteen years old—barked at the nurses to “get the mother out of the room.”

  “The hell you will,” Evelyn said, peeling away from Elle and heading straight for the approaching phalanx of staff before planting herself near the bed. “I’m staying.”

  Elle moved quickly to catch her when she saw that someone was giving baby Rose mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

  “God damn it, grab her before she concusses on the fucking floor.”

  Doctors, Elle thought with disdain as she and a nurse got Evelyn up onto a nearby gurney. Their pompous asshole-ishness knows no borders.

  “Are you family?” the nurse asked as she accompanied Evelyn’s limp form into a different, curtained-off space in the emergency area.

  “No,” Elle said, her eyes on the woman’s pale face. “A friend.”

  “Well, then do you know how we can reach her husband? The baby’s father?”

  “I’m…um…” Elle backed away, hand to her neck, her mind spinning with a distinct lack of options. She heard the thin wail coming from where Rose had been unconscious a few moments before. She took a deep breath. “I know how to find him,” she declared, reaching for her outdated cell phone and hitting re-dial from the brewery’s main number. Glancing at her watch, she prayed that it was the sort of place where the front office didn’t shut down at five on the nose.

  “Thank you for calling the Fitzgerald Brewing Company. This is Alice. How can I help you today?”

  Evelyn sent up a quick mental thanks, then said, “Alice, my name is Elle. Elisa Nagel. I’m… I am to be the new assistant brewer.”

  “Oh, right, yes. Did Evelyn leave with you? I need her to sign—”

  “I am very sorry to interrupt you, but I need to know where Mr. Fitzgerald is.”

  “He’s…out of town. Why?”

  Elle shut her eyes and slumped against the wall. “Is there anyone there who can reach him, immediately?”

  “Hang on a minute.” Elle winced at the sound of a phone dropping onto a surface. “Brock! Come here,” she heard Alice saying. There was more shuffling, bustling noises. Then a deep masculine voice said, “Hello? This is Brock Fitzgerald. Austin’s bro—”

  “Evelyn and the baby are in the emergency room,” Elle blurted out, trying not to sound as terrified as she was. “You must come now.”

  “What? Who is this?”

  “It’s Elle, Elisa Nagel. I’m the new brewer. We were finishing my interview and the baby…” Her throat locked up. “Please come now, Mr. Fitzgerald. I will meet you at the emergency room entrance.”

 
“Wait, how will I know who—?”

  “I’m the short one, with the weird hair. Hard to miss. Bring some extra clothes for Evelyn, if she keeps them there, maybe in a locker somewhere? But hurry, please.” She ended the call and pressed her fingers to her lips as a contingent of medical staff rushed past her, wheeling Rose away in a small incubator. The adrenaline rush that had been sustaining her escaped in a giant whoosh. Her legs gave out and she slid to the floor, still clutching her phone in one hand.

  Chapter Eight

  Elle sat in what was possibly the most uncomfortable, pre-formed plastic chair in the entire universe for over an hour, barely moving a muscle. She’d met Brock—a tall, very handsome man who was, she recalled, Austin’s twin—and given him the basics of the situation. He’d located Austin in Denver for the annual large beer expo and had arranged to get him on the next plane home. Then she’d been forced to wait, and wait…and wait while Brock sat with Evelyn in her room and they all awaited word of Rose’s condition.

  The hospital bustled and went about its business all around her, reminding her of her early goals to be a nurse in her youth. At one point, she shifted her hips, which made her lower back sing out in agony, reminding her that she’d been sitting still for too long. It was one of her skills, she thought as she stood up slowly and let the circulation return to her legs. The tingly, prickling sensation made her stumble with the full force of memory.

  How many times had she been forced to hold her position—for long minutes, sometimes hours, and once, overnight. She shook her head to clear it of the cobwebs, refocusing on the issue at hand. Aggravated at the level of non-communication that had left Evelyn limp with terror, Elle grabbed the arm of a nearby nurse and used her most important-sounding voice. “Please, may we know something about the—about Rose. Rose Fitzgerald? Her mother has been waiting for over an hour.”

  The woman glanced down at Elle’s hand. She moved it away, realizing that the hop flowers she had inked onto her knuckles probably were a tad incongruous considering she was dressed like a pharmaceutical sales woman, albeit one with unique hair. “I am sorry,” she said, holding the woman’s gaze, even though that act took a lot out of her. “But we must know something, please.”

  “Hold on. Let me see what I can find out.”

  “Many thanks,” Elle said, hoping she sounded peer-to-peer professional and not mildly hysterical. She sat, but stayed perched on the edge of the hard seat, her eyes fixed on the double doors between her and the pediatric intensive care unit. Finally, the doors opened again and the nurse she’d spoken to strode out. Elle stood, panic skittering around the edges of her consciousness at the sight of the woman’s grim face.

  “The child is alive. She has influenza.”

  “She’s…going to live, though?”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t say anything more.”

  Elle grabbed her arm again. “Then please come with me and tell her mother.”

  The nurse rolled her eyes, but must have sensed Elle’s desperation and went with her to the elevator, down three floors, through an incredible warren of hallways until they stood outside the closed door to Evelyn’s room. Elle set her jaw. “She’s in there. Her husband is not here yet. He is flying home from Colorado.”

  The nurse, who was, Elle realized, very young, started wringing her hands. “I have to get someone more senior than me,” she said, backing away. “I could get into real trouble for saying anything.”

  When the door opened, the nurse’s eyes widened before she whirled and ran down the hall. Elle sighed, then turned, expecting to see Evelyn. But she found herself face to face with Brock. “News?” He jerked his chin in the direction of the cowardly retreating nurse.

  “Influenza was all I could pry out of her before she ran off. Is this really how a hospital operates here? It’s shameful.”

  Brock ran a hand down his face.

  “Rose? Is she all right? Austin, is that you?” Evelyn’s voice floated out from behind him.

  Brock turned into the room. “Evelyn, I need you to be calm.”

  “Fuck you and your calm. Where the hell is my baby?”

  Elle pushed past him. “I’ll take this. You go and demand that someone give her some news. Be firm. They’ll listen to you more likely than me, anyway.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Brock said, treating her to a handsome smile. “I find you pretty intimidating.”

  Elle’s face flushed hot.

  “Stop flirting, you asshole, and go find a doctor who will talk to me,” Evelyn demanded.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He winked at Elle, the headed down the busy hall.

  Evelyn was sitting in the fake leather recliner next to the hospital bed. She looked strung out, wild with worry. She walked over and grabbed Elle’s arm. “What’s wrong with Rose? Why in the hell am I in this room?”

  “She’s in intensive care. They had to sedate you after you fainted. You were a bit…hysterical.”

  “I’m… She…” Evelyn held up her arms, as if surprised to find herself dressed in jeans and a brewery labeled sweatshirt instead of her work clothes.

  “I had Brock bring some extra clothes. You struck me as the practical type who’d keep something around in a locker somewhere. You let me help you change.”

  “Right. Brock.”

  “And he called Austin,” Elle reminded her, leading Evelyn back to the chair.

  “Austin,” she said, sounding weak. “And Ross?”

  Elle hesitated, not knowing whether Evelyn was still fuzzy from the sedative or what, with that last comment. “I’m sure he’s coming, too.” She patted Evelyn’s shoulder. “Is that water?”

  “Yes.”

  Elle poured her a cup and held the straw to Evelyn’s dry lips. “Rose has the flu,” she said, trying to make it sound innocuous. “They’re keeping her isolated right now.”

  “Flu,” Evelyn parroted.

  “Yes. She’s…okay. But that’s all I could get out of anyone.”

  “Where is she?” Evelyn jumped to her feet, sending the water cup skittering across the linoleum. “I need to see her now.”

  “All right. I’m sure we can—”

  “Take me to her, Elle. Please. She needs me.”

  Elle nodded, grateful to have a task. She opened the door and checked for nosy staff. Then she led Evelyn down the hall to the elevator. They rode the few floors in silence, exited, and headed down another faceless hallway until they came to a door that said ’Pediatric Intensive Care. Authorized personnel only beyond this point’ in shocking red letters. The same door she’d been staring at for so long earlier.

  A wave of panicked dizziness washed over Elle. But she sensed Evelyn’s hesitation and fear as if it were her own. She rallied, and put her arm around the other woman’s waist and motioned for a sympathetic-looking nurse. “Please,” she said to the woman. “We need to see her baby.”

  “I…can’t.” Evelyn hesitated while the automatic doors into the ICU swung open once the nurse touched her ID to a sense pad. Elle urged her forward. “Austin,” she whispered, hand to her throat.

  “He’ll be here soon. Come on. Let’s go check on that sweet baby.”

  Chapter Nine

  Once accepting that she was not going to budge, the ICU staff made Evelyn gown up, put on a mask, booties over her shoes, and gloves on her trembling hands before they’d let her in the isolation unit. Inside, Rose lay in a plastic crib, hooked up to wires, a nasal cannula, and with a needle that looked as big as her arm stuck into her scalp.

  “Why…is there a needle in her head?” Elle heard Evelyn ask in a breathy, weak, unbelieving voice as she stood, staring down at her daughter.

  “It’s the best way to keep her hydrated. The veins in her arms are too hard to get to at this age,” Elle said from outside isolation unit, talking into an intercom. “It’s normal in the Peds ICU.” She smiled. “They’re saying that Rose is stable, and her fever is going down. But it will likely spike again, fair warning. That’s typical in th
e first twenty-four hours.”

  “Oh,” Evelyn said, still staring at the child. “Thanks for all your help.”

  “It’s fine. Glad I was there.” She sensed Brock standing next to her. She bristled, nervous from his presence. She touched the intercom button again. “Evelyn, you can touch her? She needs you to touch her.”

  “Can’t I hold her? Nurse her? Something?”

  “Probably not,” Elle said. “She needs to be kept still for now so the staff can control her hydration and medication through the IV in her scalp.”

  “All right. Okay.” Evelyn put her hand on the bed that was dwarfed by the machinery and the sheer emptiness of the room around her. “Rose,” she said. “Baby. I’m here. Mommy’s here.”

  Elle frowned, hearing the helplessness in the woman’s voice, watching as she pressed her palms to her breasts. Her anger at the lack of empathy among the so-called medical staff ramped up once again. “Excuse me,” she said, catching the sleeve of a staff person. “Can we get a breast pump down here? She’s going to need it right away.”

  Luckily, she seemed to have found someone who gave a shit about a patient’s well-being. The woman’s eyes softened as she glanced into the isolation room. “Of course. I’ll need to head up to maternity for one. Wait right here.”

  “Thank you,” Elle said.

  “Please, I need to hold her,” she heard Evelyn wail. She turned and saw the woman, tears running down her cheeks. “I have to hold her.” The thin sound of the baby’s cry tore it for her.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Elle said and stepped away to flag down a passing nurse right when a loud alarm rang from the isolation unit. Several staff pushed past her as they gowned up before running in and shoving Evelyn aside.

  Elle stumbled and sensed herself falling, dropping to her knees. A strange hand gripped her biceps before she face-planted. She looked up and came face to face with a man who had to be Austin Fitzgerald. He was fully gowned and masked, his eyes bloodshot, jaw covered in dark stubble. The distinct odor of beer consumed the night before wafted out of his pores. She nodded, hot-faced with embarrassment and regained her footing.