“In Reno?”
“It’s not far from Carson City, the capital of the state and seat of government. There’s a lot of media attention for the hospital council and part of my job is to spotlight Mercy Medical West for donations and grants to fund health programs.”
He had a point, darn it, but she wouldn’t say those words out loud. “Okay. And all work no play makes Jake… Well, you get the drift.”
His eyes narrowed as he straightened, still in her office doorway. “You’ve been taking a lot of shots at me. What’s really bugging you?”
“Nothing.”
He moved into the office, close enough to smell the spicy scent of his aftershave. “This is about sex, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“This is Vegas, Hope. You need to work on your bluffing skills.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
“So we slept together. Big deal. Over and done with.”
This was a bad time to wish she’d closed her office door. “It’s already forgotten.”
He shook his head. “If that were true, you wouldn’t be acting like I was the sleazy saloon owner who stole the new schoolmarm’s virtue.”
“Respect has to be earned.” And he hadn’t earned hers, she thought.
“If I could take back what happened, I would,” he said. “It wasn’t the wisest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Oh?”
“The fact is we need to clear the air. Sexual attraction impairs judgment and makes people do stupid things. It jeopardizes the mission and puts the goal at risk.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “We need to fix this. Find a way to be cordial. Go back to the way we were.”
The way they were? Exactly where was that? Sexual tension snapped between them from the moment their eyes met. Going back there was not a good place to take a stand.
“I have nothing against you, Jake.” Except for the fact that her hormones whimpered every time she heard his voice or set eyes on him. That wasn’t his fault, but it didn’t stop her from resenting him for it. “I guess my behavior is about motivation. You could say that I believe challenge keeps people on their toes.”
“You’re challenging me?”
“Yes.”
“You want a challenge?” He moved and stopped just on the other side of her desk, looking down as intensity snapped in his eyes. “I’ve got one for you. What have you done for people lately?”
“What?”
“You know. People. The less fortunate. Have you worked with Habitat for Humanity? Built a house? Served meals at a shelter? Do you throw out seed for the spotted owls?”
“They’re not people.”
She’d gotten on his last nerve, but this was not the best time to notice that he was sexy when he was angry. His eyes darkened and her stomach dropped as if she were on the down loop of a roller coaster. This had definitely backfired. This intense Jake was even more compelling than the easygoing, teasing one. This steely-eyed man made her want again.
“You want to talk people? I can do that.” He stared down at her. “You’re a nurse, right?”
“You know I am.”
He glared at the framed Nevada nursing license hanging on the wall behind her. Without warning he took the pen out of her hands, careful not to touch her. He grabbed a square of sticky notes from her desk and wrote something on it, then tossed it back in front of her.
“If you really want to help, be there. Eight o’clock Saturday morning.” He punctuated the words with a frown, then walked to the doorway. “And, Hope?”
“What?”
“If you don’t chicken out and actually show up, be prepared to use your nursing license for more than wall decoration.”
The words were barely out of his mouth and he was gone. It felt as if she’d been caught up in the vortex and power of a tornado, then suddenly dropped to earth. Hard. Jake Andrews had basically told her to put up, or shut up. And she had to hand it to him; the logic was brilliant.
She couldn’t back away from the challenge no matter how much she wanted to back away from the man.
Chapter Seven
Eight o’clock Saturday morning Hope showed up at the appointed place, a community center near the downtown Regional Justice Center. It was an old stucco building with small circular marks she swore were bullet holes. She walked inside where there was a large waiting room. About ten or twelve people sat in folding metal chairs. Three young boys were on the floor, playing quietly. In the front of the room there was an oblong table where a woman was doing paperwork.
Hope walked up to her. “Hi. I’d like to—”
“Here you go.” She smiled and held out a clipboard. “Just fill these out. The second form is a medical history and we need you to be as thorough as possible.”
“I’m not here to see the doctor.” That wasn’t exactly true, Hope realized. Her heart beat a little faster at the thought of seeing Jake Andrews, but she wouldn’t admit that had anything to do with why she’d accepted his challenge and shown up. “I’m Hope Carmichael. A nurse. Dr. Andrews asked me to come by today.”
“Nice to meet you.” The thirtysomething, jeans-clad brunette was wearing a badge that identified her as an employee at Mercy Medical Women’s Wellness Center. “Liz Healy. And I’m happy to see another pair of hands. Although not surprised. Jake has a way of inspiring volunteers.”
Inspiring was one way to put it. Hope thought verbal pressure was more accurate. He’d dared her to come. “Can you tell me where to find him?”
The woman nodded. “He’s doing outpatient surgical procedures. Around the corner at the end of the hall.”
“Thanks.”
She followed the directions and noticed computer-generated signs taped to the closed doors starting with “Exam Room 1” and so on down the corridor. In the doorway to the room straight ahead she saw Jake talking to a young blond woman. She stopped, giving him privacy with the patient. But then he glanced her way and smiled before continuing the conversation. His voice drifted to her.
“I aspirated the cyst,” he told the woman.
“You’re absolutely sure it’s not breast cancer?” she asked anxiously.
“No. Tumors are solid. A mass. There’s nothing to suck out,” he said, simply and firmly.
“I’m so relieved, Doctor. I didn’t want to come here. It’s very hard for us to take a handout. We lost our health benefits when my husband was laid off. He’s so proud and determined to provide for his family. But he insisted I come here. He’s in the waiting room with the kids.”
“How many do you have?” Jake asked.
“Three. All boys. They keep me pretty busy—” Her voice caught. “I was so afraid I wasn’t going to be around to see them grow up.”
“Hey.” Jake dropped his hand to her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Boys hate to see their mom cry.”
“I’m sorry. But a breast lump is pretty scary.”
“Yeah, it is. And now you know there’s nothing to worry about. You may have some discomfort from the procedure, but over-the-counter pain medication should take care of it. Don’t take more than the recommended dosage. And don’t be playing tackle football with the boys.”
She laughed. “Can I have a doctor’s note to get me out of cooking?”
He patted the side pocket of his white lab coat. “I’ve got a prescription pad right here. I can write up something about pampering mom and picking up toys. Doctor’s orders.”
“If only…” She held out her hand. “Thank you again, Doctor. For everything.”
Jake took her fingers in his. “You’re welcome.”
The woman smiled when she passed, then Hope met him in front of the door to Exam Room 8. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself. I see you found the place.”
“Yes.”
She’d found more than the place. Jake had definitely taken his halo out, dusted it off and settled it securely in a holding pattern above his head. She found out he was an honest-to-goodness hero,
judging by the expression on that young mom’s face.
“You were really wonderful with that woman.”
He shrugged. “It’s easy when the news is good.”
She glanced down the hall where a door opened and a man walked out with what looked like a prescription in his hand.
She met Jake’s gaze. “You’re not the only doctor here?”
“No.”
“And you do this out of the goodness of your heart?”
He slid his hands into the lab coat pockets. “I’m not sure what gave you the impression that my heart is two sizes too small, but I do have one. This endeavor has nothing to do with business and everything to do with helping people who need it.”
She was trying to think of a way to frame a question about his motivation and couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound snarky. After the gentle and reassuring bedside manner she’d just seen, snark was totally inappropriate. So she finally just said, “Why?”
His eyes narrowed, but not before going stormy as shadows flitted through the gray. There was desolation there, too. She wasn’t sure how she knew that except maybe it takes one to know one. She’d experienced despair and when you’ve gone through something like that, it wasn’t hard to recognize the look in someone else.
“Why do I do it?” Anger chased away the darkness. “Because I know how it feels to have absolutely nothing.”
Surprise didn’t come close to describing what Hope felt. He was the golden boy with the magic hands. She’d seen his home and knew the price tag would make the average person as pale as his white coat. It was really hard to comprehend his having nothing. Absolutely nothing.
But she realized something else, too. Jake Andrews was one-dimensional only in her mind. She had assumed things about him, made unflattering assumptions that she’d wanted to be true. The fact was, she knew hardly anything about him and now very much wanted to change that.
“Jake, I—”
“Dr. Andrews?”
The female voice was laced with alarm and diverted Jake’s attention. “What, Liz?”
“There’s a little girl here. Pretty bad leg laceration.”
“Bring her back right away,” he said.
“She’s out in the car. Mom’s in the waiting room. Borderline hysterical.”
“Okay.”
He ran down the hall and out the door. Hope followed and it wasn’t hard to find the emergency. A small, older compact was right outside the door.
A reed-thin woman straightened from the rear passenger side of the car and waved them over. “Taylor fell off her bike.”
“How old is she?” Jake asked, before leaning in to examine the child.
“Ten,” the mom answered.
A moment later he looked at Hope. “I’m going to carry Taylor inside. Can you handle the mom?”
“Of course.”
He bent into the opening and talked to the child. “Hey, kiddo, I’m going to pick you up. I’ll be as careful as I can not to hurt you. I’m a doctor. My name is Jake. I’ll have this leg fixed in no time.” In spite of his cheerful running commentary, the little girl started to cry.
He gently lifted her out of the car. Her brown hair was coming loose from her ponytail and tears made tracks through the dirt on her face. There was a towel covering the lower half of her leg which she held stiff and straight out in front of her. As if she weighed nothing, Jake carried her through the door Liz held open.
“There was so much blood,” the woman said, looking at her hands.
“What’s your name?” Hope asked.
“Mary Ferguson. I didn’t know what to do. I’m a single mom. I don’t have medical insurance or much money. But she’s my baby—”
“You did the right thing.” Hope slipped her arm around the woman’s shoulders.
“The emergency room costs a lot. My neighbor told me about the clinic.”
“Your daughter is in excellent hands. The doctor will take good care of her.”
Liz met them inside the door. “Hope, Dr. Andrews took Taylor to Exam Room 2 and wants you to meet him there.” She looked at the mother. “He asked if you could fill out the paperwork.”
“I don’t have insurance,” she protested, panic in her voice again. “It’s not free?”
“There’s no charge,” Liz assured her. “But the doctor needs a permission form signed in order to treat your daughter. And a complete medical history—any allergies to food or medications. That sort of thing.”
Mary nodded. “Okay.”
Hope left her with the volunteer and went to Exam Room 2, then tossed her purse into a corner. The little girl was sitting up on the table, her legs stretched out in front of her.
Jake stood beside the exam table. “Gloves are in the bottom drawer with disposable gowns.”
She found the items, washed her hands, then gowned and gloved herself. She joined him beside the table as he cut away the jeans to give him a clear field of vision for treating the laceration.
“Bike one, Taylor nothing,” he said grimly.
Hope saw that the wound was deep and would need stitches.
“I want my mommy. I wanna go home,” the little girl sobbed.
Hope didn’t miss the look he slid her. The mother was too distraught at the moment to help keep this child calm. It was up to them to establish a trusting relationship with her.
“Your mom has to fill out some forms. As soon as she’s finished, she’ll come and see you.”
“My leg hurts,” she said, still crying.
“I know. As soon as I fix it up, you’ll be out of here,” he promised.
“What are you gonna do?” Taylor’s brown eyes were wide and tearful. “I don’t want stitches.”
“I can understand why that would upset you,” Jake said. “But here’s the thing… If we don’t, you’re going to have a scar.”
“I don’t care.”
“Okay.” He looked thoughtful. “But your boyfriend might have something to say about it.”
The girl stopped sniffling. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“But you like boys, right?” He was channeling her attention away from the painful laceration.
“Eww.” She scrunched up her freckle-splashed nose.
“Okay.” He pressed his lips together to hide a smile. Glancing at Hope, he asked, “Taylor, why don’t you like boys?”
“They’re mean to me,” she said.
“How?” he asked. “What do they do?”
She rubbed a finger beneath her nose. “Laugh.”
“There’s nothing wrong with laughing, right?”
“They make fun of me,” she said. “Some of the girls do, too. My shoes are old. Or Mommy puts patches on my clothes.”
“That is mean,” he agreed. A muscle jerked in his jaw as he clenched it. “Those boys are dorks. Or dweebs. Or jerks—whatever the current word is that kids use.”
“Mommy says it’s not nice to call people names.”
“Your mom is a nicer person than I am. Kids who make fun of other kids don’t deserve any consideration.” He looked angry enough to test the limits of the “first do no harm” portion of his Hippocratic oath.
But Hope was pretty sure she knew where he was going with the whole girl/boy issue. Someday this girl was going to grow up and care about how her legs looked. He needed to pull the ragged edges of the gash together to facilitate healing and minimize any scarring.
“Is it possible that some day you might like boys?” she asked.
“No,” the child said stubbornly.
“Hope likes boys.” The tension in Jake’s face eased as he looked at her. “Right, Hope?”
“Sometimes.” Although not now that he was going down this road, she thought.
“And do boys like you?” There was a gleam in his eyes because he knew she had to give him an answer fit for young ears.
“No.”
“You’re wrong about that. I’m a boy and I like you very much,” he said.
&nb
sp; “But you like lots of girls,” she shot back.
“I do.” He nodded. “But not as much as I like you. And one of the first things I noticed was your legs. In that very pretty black dress you wore the night of the hospital open house.”
Her heart was hammering at the same time she wanted to wring his neck. No one could ever say the man didn’t know how to multitask. He was teasing her hormones at the same time he talked a little girl into letting him stitch up her leg.
“He didn’t laugh at you?” Taylor asked, looking back and forth between them.
“No.” She remembered that his mouth had been too busy kissing her for him to laugh.
Jake smiled and the smug expression on his face indicated he was thinking about that kiss, too. “Taylor, I want you to think about something. You may not like boys now, but some day you could. And if you do, there’s just a chance that you might care whether or not you have a bad scar on your leg.”
Taylor bit her lip, clearly in conflict about what to do. “If you don’t do stitches, will it be a gross scar?”
He looked thoughtful and so darn cute. “I wouldn’t say gross. But it might make you self-conscious.” When she frowned, he added, “You might want to always wear long pants to hide it. Do you like to go swimming?”
She nodded hesitantly. “Mommy takes me to the pool at the park near our apartment on her day off.”
“And summers here in Las Vegas are pretty hot.” He settled a disposable drape over her leg with a cutout that had a big enough field to work in. “Did you ever fall in the water with your clothes on?”
“Once. At Lake Mead.”
“They were pretty heavy, right?” When she nodded he said, “So you don’t really want to go swimming with your clothes on, do you?”
“No.” She met his gaze with resignation in her own. “Do stitches hurt?”
“I’ll tell you the truth. I have to give you medicine to make it not hurt. And it sounds kind of stupid, but that will hurt. Just a little pinch from a tiny needle, I promise.” He rested his hands on the table as he met her gaze. “If it hurts more than that, I’ll let you punch me as hard as you can.”
Taylor giggled. “Okay.”
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