by Erin Wade
“Yes, it is.” Eric grinned.
“I’ve been here over thirty-six hours,” Heather rolled her head on her shoulders. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter 3
Trin stared at the hand attached to her wrist. She wondered if it was functional or if it was just for looks. If it was for looks, someone was playing a terrible joke on her.
The hand looked as if it was being held in place by barbwire. The xxxx stitching was the roughest patching job she’d ever seen. Of course, she’d never seen a hand sewn back onto anyone before.
Holding her breath, she curled her fingers slightly. To her surprise, all four of them obeyed her command. Now the thumb. Without opposable thumbs man is just another animal, she thought .
The thumb moved at her will too.
The last time Trin had seen her hand, it was laying on the derrick floor. God bless the saint who had reattached it. She wanted to meet him, to thank him.
“Thank you, God,” Trin mumbled as the sedatives took over and she slipped into a dreamless sleep.
##
Heather Hunter checked the chart as she pushed Trin’s door open. The roughneck was sleeping peacefully thanks to the morphine and antibiotics the nurses were pumping into him.
So young , Heather thought as she studied the face with the sculpted angles and curves. The skin was flawless like a child’s. Way too young to be working in a dangerous oil field job.
She examined the hand, gently flexing the fingers and thumb. The tips of each digit were pink and warm. She smiled when she was satisfied her handiwork was perfect. Dad will be proud of this , she thought as she made notations on the chart and left the room.
“Heather,” Peter Trotter sprinted to catch up with the beautiful brunette. “Do you have a minute?”
“For a consultation?” Heather asked.
“No, a cup of coffee,” Peter shrugged. “I thought we could discuss the fundraising ball for the hospital.”
“Peter, you know I don’t like to get drawn into the fundraising part of hospital operations.”
“But you did promise to get involved with the Cattle Barron’s Ball,” Peter reminded her. “If you could just be nice to Bobby Joe or Billy Bob or whatever his name is, the hospital might be selected as the recipient of the donations this year.”
“So now you’re pimping on the behalf of the hospital,” Heather glared. “Why don’t you be nice to Suzie Mae or Betty Lou?
“Why your sudden interest in the hospital’s finances?” Heather narrowed her eyes. “Have you managed to create another lawsuit against us?”
“I …, uh may have a small problem,” Peter gulped as he tried to steady his voice. “But you could fix it.”
“I wouldn’t touch one of your botched surgeries,” Heather turned to face the man. “Honestly, I have no idea why Father allows you to practice in this hospital.”
“You promised to help,” Peter wheedled. “Your father said we could count on you.”
“When is the planning session?” Heather acquiesced.
“Four this afternoon.” The self-serving smile on Peter’s face made her want to slap him.
“I’ll be there,” she said instead.
Heather checked on five other patients who were recovering from the terrorist act at the Fat Stock Show. Everyone was doing nicely. Now for a conversation with Father , she thought.
Dr. Eric Hunter finished his dictation and waved his daughter to the seat in front of his desk. “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise? Although it is rarely pleasant when you seek me out.”
Heather couldn’t help laughing at her father. He knew her so well. “The Cattle Barron’s Ball.” The exasperation in her voice told Eric she wasn’t happy about being involved in his pet fundraiser.
“Honey I’m on the planning committee for them every year. They’re tired of my old face and requested you be on the committee this year. You’ll have the entire year to put together a ball that will knock off their socks They donate millions to the hospital each year.”
“Which we use to settle Peter Trotter’s malpractice lawsuits,” Heather grumbled. “Honestly, Dad, what’s the man holding over you? I can’t believe you would tolerate his ineptness if he didn’t have something to blackmail you.”
“You make it sound as if I have a deep dark secret,” Eric laughed.
“Do you?”
“No. As you know Peter’s father Jarrod and I were in the war together. I was wounded and left for dead. Jarrod crawled on his stomach to see if I had a pulse. When he discovered I was alive, he dragged me onto his back and crawled back to trench. I would have died on some filthy, sand dune if Jarrod hadn’t saved me.
“As he lowered me over the sandbags to safety, he was shot in the back. He’s been paralyzed ever since.”
“I know the story, Dad, but how many others are you going to allow to leave this hospital paralyzed because Peter is a sloppy surgeon?
“How long do you continue to let other people pay your debt to Jarrod. Peter’s success rate is under thirty percent. He should not even be allowed in a hospital room, much less given a scalpel. And the bottom line is he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how many patients he maims and cripples because he knows you will cover his ass.”
“Heather!” The sternness in her father’s voice told Heather she had stepped over the line.
“I know you promised Jarrod you’d take care of Peter,” she argued in a softer tone, “but can’t you at least put him in a position where he can’t harm people who put their trust in us?”
“What position would you suggest?” Eric furrowed his brow.
“Janitor,” Heather snorted.
Her father raised his eyebrows and didn’t dignify her suggestion with a comment.
“Finance,” she suggested. “He could head fundraising and grants for the hospital. He’s handsome and until one gets to know him he’s charismatic.”
“You don’t like him at all, do you?” Eric watched his daughter’s eyes. They always answered before her lips moved.
“I can’t stand the man,” she answered through gritted teeth. “I think he’s a weaselly little prick.”
“I’m afraid I agree with you,” Eric chuckled.
“Will you do me a favor?” He pulled a thick file from the lap drawer of his desk. Look over these x-rays and MRIs. See if you think you can make this man walk again.”
Heather looked at the folder as if her father had handed her the Holy Grail. “This is Jarrod Trotter’s file?”
“Yes, if we can fix him, we’ll be free of Peter the butcher.” Eric’s shoulders sagged as he let his daughter know he agreed with everything she had said.
“I’ll find a way, Dad.”
##
Chapter 4
“You’re a very lucky young lady,” the night nurse cleansed Trin’s arm and returned it to the soft cast that kept the wrist from moving. “Dr. Hunter is the best in the business.”
“When will I meet Dr. Hunter?” Trin asked. “I want to say, ‘Thank you’ in person.”
“The doctors are making their rounds now,” the nurse answered. “It shouldn’t be long.”
“I thought I’d drop by and check on you,” Eric Hunter nodded to the nurse and opened Trin’s chart.
“I’m Dr. Hunter,” he smiled, quickly reading the notes on the chart. “Are you a righty or a lefty?”
“Right handed,” Trin answered.
“It looks like you are having a miraculous recovery,” Eric’s eyes danced as he examined his daughter’s handiwork. “Wonderful, absolutely wonderful.” His voice was filled with pride.
“I wanted to thank you, sir,” Trin said.
“Don’t thank me—” a call over the intercom interrupted him.
“Dr. Hunter, please report to the trauma unit. Dr. Hunter, Eric and Heather, please…”
“Duty calls,” Eric grimaced. “You can probably go home tomorrow. Congratulations, you were lucky to get the best surgeon in our hospital.”
/> Narcissistic fellow , Trin thought.
##
Father Nathan Provoost straightened the literature in the foyer of the chapel. He was biding his time as he waited for Dr. Heather Hunter to finish her surgery. He knew she always prayed in the chapel after every surgery.
At forty-two Father Provoost was a handsome man with slivers of silver in his jet-black hair. Politically he had aligned himself with Bishop Grant Ryker when the Bishop decided to split his followers from the Episcopal Church and joined them with the Anglican Church of North America.
Bishop Ryker disagreed with the Episcopal Church’s practice of ordaining women priests and was deeply disturbed by the church’s consecration of a homosexual bishop.
Ryker didn’t just walk out of the Episcopal Church, he took the entire Fort Worth-based Diocese with him: 15,000 parishioners, 48 churches and 58 clergy supported his conservative stand.
Bishop Ryker did what no one had ever done. He didn’t just take the people, he laid claim to all the diocese’s buildings and assets claiming they belonged to the Christians who were following him and not the American Episcopal Church. The rights to the assets had been tied up in litigation for over fifteen years but Bishop Ryker maintained control over them.
Father Provoost had been wise to follow Ryker. The Bishop made certain Nathan received a salary above and beyond the pay of most hospital chaplains. Of course, Nathan returned to the church coffers ten times his pay. When terminal patients with no heirs faced their maker, they were eager to leave their wealth to the Episcopal Church as if they could buy their way into heaven.
Nathan had carved a nice niche for himself in Fort Worth religious and social circles. He had purchased a palatial home in the elite Mira Vista area and was popular a popular guest at the many social events hosted by the wealthy oil tycoons. More than one oil baron had suggested that it would be financially beneficial for him to request a daughter’s hand in marriage.
The only woman to catch his eye was Dr. Heather Hunter. Dr. Hunter was pursued by most of the bachelors in their town but hadn’t given any of them the time of day.
Nathan laughed to himself as he recalled her mother’s constant lament that her daughter was getting too old to give her grandchildren.
Approaching footsteps pulled Father Provoost from his thoughts of the beautiful doctor. He turned as Heather opened the door.
“Father Provoost,” Heather said quietly. “How good to see you.”
“You look tired,” Nathan moved to stand beside her. “Long surgery?
“Yes, but a successful one.” Heather walked toward the front of the chapel. “I’ll only be a few minutes. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
“No. No. Please take your time. Perhaps you can join me for a cup of coffee afterwards,” Nathan suggested.
“Perhaps.”
Nathan waited in the hallway outside the chapel doors. He would stop anyone from interrupting the conversation Dr. Hunter was having with her God.
After what seemed an interminable amount of time, Heather exited the chapel.
“Oh,” she gasped, “I didn’t realize you were waiting for me.”
“Coffee, remember?” Nathan gave her a slight smile.
“Yes. Did you want to discuss a patient with me?
“No, I just wanted to visit with you.” Nathan said.
“Humm.” Heather linked her arm through the priest’s as they walked to the cafeteria.
Nathan placed the two cups of coffee on the table and reached to pull out Heather’s chair, but she beat him to it.
“What can I do for you Father,” she asked before taking a sip of her coffee.
“I wondered if you would accompany me to the church’s fundraising banquet Saturday night?”
Heather stared at him as if she didn’t understand the question. “Oh, why don’t you simply come by my office in the morning and I will give you a check.”
“I’m not asking you to come to get a donation,” Nathan chuckled. “I’m asking you to come as my date. I’d like to spend time with you.”
“Oh Father, I apologize. I misunderstood you. I’d be delighted to accompany you to banquet.”
Nathan beamed. “That is wonderful. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
Chapter 5
Heather scanned the X-ray and MRI. Everything looked perfect. It had been six months since she had reattached Trin’s hand. The MRI showed the soft tissues more clearly than the x-ray. The doctor was pleased to see the ligaments and muscles had remained properly attached and were healing with no visible scar tissue. She felt a tinge of guilt that the patient had appeared every week for the follow-up exams, but Heather had never met him. She had been in surgery every time. She was determined to be the one giving him the good news that she was releasing him to return to his normal activities. Hopefully, he will have sense enough to stay off oil derricks, she thought.
“Your one o’clock appointment is in exam room number 3,” the receptionist notified Heather on the intercom.
Heather picked up the file and walked to the exam room to check on her handiwork and meet Trin Scott. A low growl from her stomach reminded her she had skipped lunch. She opened the door and quickly scanned the back of a blonde wearing tight jeans that showcased the nicest butt Heather had ever seen. The woman was watching the care-flight helicopter land on the pad outside the window. At the sound of the closing door she turned to face Heather.
“I’m sorry,” Heather said. “I thought Trin Scott was in this room. I, um…” The laughter dancing in the blonde’s baby-blue eyes took away Heather’s breath.
“I’m Trin Scott,” the blonde tilted her head. “I thought Dr. Hunter was seeing me today. I wanted to thank him for saving my hand.”
“I … I’m Dr. Hunter,” Heather blurted out. “I saved your hand.” For some reason she wanted the blonde to know she was the one to thank.
“Then I’m even more thankful.” Full red lips curved into a smile revealing perfect white teeth. “Thankful for an incredibly talented surgeon and a beautiful woman.”
She’s flirting with me, Heather thought, and I like it. If I had known you were so gorgeous, I would have … Heather shook her head clearing it of unprofessional thoughts and said. “Let’s look at the miracle hand.”
Heather spent several minutes checking the flexibility of Trin’s long, slender fingers. “Your hand seems to be functioning perfectly. Obviously, you have been religious about doing your rehab exercises. Have you had any pain or problems?”
“No. No pain,” Trin ducked her head as if embarrassed. “However, I do have one problem.”
“Tell me. I bet I can fix it.” Heather assured her.
“I’m certain you can,” Trin’s smile lit up the exam room. “I’m alone in a strange town and I’m starving. Would it be possible for you to go to lunch with me?”
Heather stood still, unable to think of any good reason to refuse the offer. “I don’t usually have meals with my patients,” she declared trying to reestablish the patient-doctor relationship that had flown out the window the moment she had gazed into Trin’s eyes.
Trin snorted. “It’s not like I’m asking you out on a date, Doctor Hunter. I’d simply like some guidance to a good restaurant.”
Heather felt foolish. It was clear Trin wasn’t thinking the same thoughts she was. “I’d be happy to have lunch with you,” Heather said. She signed the forms Trin would need to checkout. “I’ll get my handbag and lose this hospital jacket while you checkout.”
##
“This is nice,” Trin commented as the hostess led them to a table with a red tablecloth and white napkins.
They placed their order and exchanged smiles. “You’re not from Fort Worth?” Heather opened the conversation.
“Glen Rose,” Trin volunteered. “The greatest place on earth.”
Heather laughed out loud as she surveyed the restaurant. “Restaurants as nice as this?”
“Maybe not as fancy,” Trin beamed, “but the
food is just as good. “Or five-star-restaurant is The Loco Cayote.”
“Seriously?” Heather couldn’t stop the laughter welling up inside her. “Loco Cayote?”
“We have dinosaur tracks, Fossil Rim, Squaw Valley Golf Club and The Promise.” It was evident that Trin was proud of her little town. “Have you ever been to Glen Rose?”
“No, I’ve never had any reason to visit Glen Rose.” Until now , the thought hit Heather’s mind like a grenade detonating.
“What do you do for fun, Dr. Hunter?” Trin took a bite of salad and waited for Heather to answer.
“Fun?” Heather gazed into blue eyes and tried to suppress her idea of fun with Trin Scott. “I … uh, I don’t have much time for fun.”
“You know what they say about all work and no play,” Trin teased.
“What do you do for fun?” Heather asked.
“Whatever strikes my fancy,” Trin’s smile was sweet and honest. “When was the last time you petted a baby rhino?”
“Never,” Heather snorted. “I suspect that where there’s a baby there’s a mother and I wouldn’t want to tangle with her.”
Trin smiled impishly. “If I told you I could show you the time of your life in my little town would you let me?”
I think I would let you do anything , Heather’s libido won out over her common sense. “Yes, I would.”
“Are you available Saturday?” Trin asked.
“No, I’m on call this weekend. My days off are Thursday and Friday.”
“I’ll pick you up Thursday morning at nine.” Trin declared. “Wear jeans and flat heel boots in case we do some walking. We’ll stop for lunch around noon.”
Trin’s cell phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket. “Excuse me,” she said.
“Yes, I know that. I can’t this week. My doctor won’t release me to go back to work.” She winked at Heather.
“I don’t know. The rig is supposed to be delivered to the Clear Creek site Monday.”
Trin listened for a long time as a male voice hummed on her phone. Heather couldn’t make out anything the man said.
“I’ll take care of it, Dad,” Trin finally answered. “You know my feelings on the matter. Let’s talk tonight. I’ll be home in time for dinner.”
