by Caro Carson
“Nitroglycerin at the scene, Mr. Bishop?” Brooke could never match Zach’s life is good approach, but she did her part to keep the patient calm by continuing her methodical exam, palpating his undamaged leg as if she weren’t discussing a potentially life-threatening event with Zach.
Anticipating Brooke’s next order, Loretta opened a drawer and pulled out a pack of ECG leads, ready to place the little sticky circles on Harold’s chest so they could monitor his heart, although that wasn’t a typical part of treating a fracture. As if they’d choreographed it, Brooke moved to the foot of the bed as Loretta took her place.
While Loretta unbuttoned Harold’s shirt and attached the leads, Brooke pressed her fingertips to the ankle of Harold’s broken leg. She took his pulse without jostling the injury, needing to confirm that blood was still circulating past the fracture to reach his extremities.
The patient looked up at Zach and scolded him. “Now, don’t go embarrassing me in front of these pretty ladies. That chest pain comes and goes, I told you. I just take one of those tiny white pills, and I’m fine. Fit as a fiddle, except for my leg.” But his chuckle was forced and he rubbed at the center of his chest with his free hand.
No sooner had the nurse turned on the television-like monitor over the bed than Harold’s worried rubbing motion changed. He clutched at the open edge of his shirt. “Maybe...one of my pills?” he gasped.
Brooke read the jagged line of his ECG in a glance. A myocardial infarction—a heart attack—was underway. “I’m going to take good care of your heart, Harold. Let’s do something about that pain, too.”
From that moment, time slowed down and sped by simultaneously. It was always that way for Brooke while she led her team through an emergency. When she had to function at a high level of complex decision-making, everything seemed paradoxically simple.
At her word, the crash cart was called. Extra personnel filled the room. Decisions had to be made, one after the other, in a logical order. As a nurse tied a yellow disposable gown over Brooke’s white coat, Brooke called for the right drugs at the right doses. Once morphine had eased the panicked and pained patient into unconsciousness, she quickly dressed the broken leg as a stopgap measure before the cardiac cath team arrived to rush the patient to their artery-opening, lifesaving theater.
After the patient and his bed had been rolled away to the cardiology floor, there was a moment of silence, of inactivity. As if the bed were still there, no one walked through the empty center of the room as they snapped off their gloves and discarded protective gear.
Brooke was the first to use the sink as she scrubbed her hands for the millionth time that day, the smell of the soap and the sound of the water bringing her back from that intense state of mind. She thanked her team for their work, making eye contact and nodding at each person, the equivalent of a handshake in an environment where hygiene procedures made real handshakes problematic.
Zach was not in the room. Brooke had been so very alert through it all. How had she missed his exit?
The image of Harold clinging to Zach’s hand was vivid in Brooke’s mind. When Harold had lost consciousness, his hand had slipped from Zach’s. Brooke could remember thinking, Now Zach can administer the oxygen. Brooke had ordered him to do just that, and he had, of course.
When had he left the room? It was curious, how moments that were crystal-clear became hazy. As more and more of her regular team had entered the room, Zach must have stepped out, no longer needed and making room for those who were. He was a good paramedic that way.
He was a good paramedic in every way. Sharp and smart in matters of medicine. Comforting in his cocky way. Patients loved him. Her staff loved him. And Brooke—well, she needed to at least thank him as she had the others.
He was probably out by the nurses’ station, filling out his own paperwork. Brooke would go out there to dictate this patient’s chart. She’d ignore Zach, he’d ignore her and just before he left, he’d lean in, ready to murmur some outrageous line in her ear. But this time, she would speak first.
She would thank him for a job well done. Even if he did leave a disturbing wake of feminine fluttering everywhere he went, it was a pleasure to work with someone as good at his job as he was. After eight months of frowning at the man, it was time she thanked him for being part of the team.
It was professional courtesy. Nothing more—but he’d probably be so surprised, he’d forget to deliver whatever corny line he had ready.
The thought nearly made her smile.
Chapter Two
Zach scowled at the coffeepot, too damned frustrated with himself to wait for her in the hallway.
He’d transferred his patient, Harold Allman, to the care of the hospital. No cause for frustration there. The handoff had gone smoothly. It had been done in the nick of time, too. The poor guy had coded right there in the treatment room. Since a heart attack probably had been lingering on the horizon for months, Harold’s heart had chosen the best possible place to succumb to the inevitable. He was in good hands here, with Dr. Brooke Brown and the rest of the West Central team.
Zach should go now. There was nothing to wait for. No one to wait for.
Yet he couldn’t seem to make himself leave this emergency room, not without a chance to tease Dr. Brown first, and that was the problem. That was no laughing matter.
As a fireman and paramedic, Zach belonged out in the city of Austin, first on the scene, providing initial care. Or he belonged back at the firehouse, waiting for the next call. He belonged with his crew, Murphy and Chief, who were outside, under the portico that marked the ambulance entrance. Undoubtedly, they were sitting on the chrome running boards of Engine Thirty-Seven right now, shooting the breeze with other first responders as they waited for him.
Zach should be walking out those glass doors right this second. Instead, he was in the ER staff’s kitchenette, leaning against the counter, lingering against his better judgment.
Go. Just leave. You don’t need to see her one more time.
Her. Dr. Brown. He was waiting around for the chance to say what? One lousy sentence. That was all he ever said, one dumb line to see if she’d smile, but damn if he didn’t look forward to those stolen moments.
Dr. Brown had become something of a favorite with him, which was idiotic. She had a sharp mind and a beautiful face, true, but so did a lot of women in the world. Heck, so did a lot of women right here at West Central. Zach always enjoyed working with this hospital staff. Lighthearted conversation and playful smiles were a welcome break during an intense job.
He got neither from Dr. Brown. They weren’t her style, which meant she wasn’t his style. Zach pushed himself away from the kitchen counter that held the industrial coffee machine. His crew was waiting on him. He needed to get back to the engine. He’d catch Dr. Brown next time, see if he couldn’t make her smile.
The coffeepot was nearly empty, sitting on the burner, dangerously close to being boiled away entirely. Before he left, Zach could show some appreciation for the friendly folks at West Central. If there was one thing a fireman knew how to do, it was make a gallon of coffee. He opened the cabinets until he found the white paper filters, and made himself useful.
Go. You’re stalling. It could be another hour before she’s done with Harold. She’s hated you from day one, anyway.
Maybe she had, but he hadn’t felt the same. Hate was not how he’d describe that first impression. He and his crew had brought in a patient during shift change. She’d been leaving, he realized now, which was why she hadn’t been wearing her white doctor’s coat.
The patient hadn’t been critical. They’d been wheeling him in at a sedate walk, but even if they’d been coming in at a run, Zach would have noticed Dr. Brown. Her dark hair had been pulled back tightly, and she’d been wearing a crisp white button-down shirt and a pinstriped pencil skirt. She’d only lacked
the black-framed eyeglasses to complete the look of a guy’s fantasy librarian or schoolteacher. Smart. Controlled. Sexy.
She hadn’t noticed him at all. As he and the crew had wheeled the patient in, she’d merely stepped aside, unimpressed and perhaps slightly bored, as if firemen surrounding a gurney were an everyday sight for her. He’d wondered who the sexy librarian was. Zach was used to crowds gathering to watch him work, not to being ignored.
Go. Quit hanging around for another glimpse. She didn’t notice you then; she ignores you now.
But he’d never really convinced himself that she hadn’t noticed him that first day. As he’d passed her, their eyes had met for the briefest second. Met and held just a moment longer than strangers do. When Zach had turned back for a second look, she’d been turning away to head out the door. There was something about that quick turn that made him suspect she’d been staring at him after all.
True, she ignored him now. It was a very aware kind of ignoring, however. She had to know exactly where he was in order to stand with her back to him. She had to intentionally remain silent when the nurses chatted with him as she wrote in her charts. And he would have sworn on more than one occasion that she’d deliberately stood in his path, making it easier for him to deliver one of his teasing pickup lines before he left the ER.
Those lines had become a private game between them. Harmless. Fun. And challenging, especially now that he’d made her lips quirk in an unwilling smile more than once.
It’s fun to try to make Brooke Brown smile, but it’s fun to make every beautiful woman smile. No difference.
The grapevine had said she was seeing someone at this hospital when he’d first laid eyes on her last September. He’d been dating a nurse at a different hospital. Their game had started off innocently enough, just verbal sparring. It had never gone further. Heck, they never dropped the professional courtesy of addressing each other as Dr. Brown and Mr. Bishop.
Through the fall and winter and spring, nothing had changed, although the grapevine now said Dr. Brown was no longer seeing anyone in particular. Of course, Zach and the nurse at the other hospital had parted ways long ago. He always ended a relationship while things were still friendly, before any drama could develop.
This long-standing flirtation with the sexy librarian-teacher-doctor at West Central wasn’t any kind of relationship, so it was completely drama-free. In other words, it was safe. Zach didn’t want an emotional relationship, and Brooke Brown, MD, was no threat in that sense. They didn’t care for one another beyond their running joke.
Go, then. This isn’t the way you play the game. You crack a joke if she happens to be on duty, and then you leave. Why are you sticking around now?
He wasn’t. He was leaving. As soon as the coffee was ready, he’d pour himself a cup and get the hell out of Dodge, before he did something stupid and tried to take this non-relationship to the next level.
He thought about her too much. With their first call of the day, Engine Thirty-Seven had been directed to another hospital, and Zach had been disappointed to lose the chance to see Dr. Brown. To tease her. To try to make her smile.
That was a red flag in his book. Zach loved women, and women loved him. But to start thinking exclusively about one woman, to be obsessed with one woman?
Been there, done that, never doing it again.
The steady drip of the brewing coffee built momentum, filling the carafe. He just needed a few more minutes.
When dispatch had directed Engine Thirty-Seven to take Harold Allman to West Central, Zach had felt a little extra adrenaline rush: Dr. Brown could be on duty.
Red flag.
Yeah, yeah. The coffee’s still brewing. I’ll be out of here in a few minutes.
When it came to Dr. Brown, he always seemed to linger a few more minutes. As she’d handled Harold’s code, Zach should have left the room. He should have gotten out of the way immediately. Instead, he’d stood at that door and watched her for a minute longer. Then for five minutes longer.
Watching Dr. Brown’s cool concentration had stirred something in him, something more than physical attraction. He was impressed with her. He’d almost felt proud of her.
And yes, her abilities as an emergency physician made her even sexier, damn it. He’d thought she was sexy the first time they’d locked gazes last September. Now it was April, and the problem wasn’t just that he found her sexy. The problem was, every other woman no longer seemed as sexy to him.
Hell, if enough red flags aren’t waving for you, then you might as well stick around and make a fool of yourself over a woman for a second time in your life. Fall in love, get down on bended knee. I’m sure rejection won’t hurt as badly the second time. Stay and enjoy that pain again.
To hell with the coffee. He was leaving.
Zach grabbed the doorknob and pulled.
Dr. Brown was on the other side, holding that side’s knob. The force with which Zach pulled the door toward himself pulled her into the room as well.
“Oh,” she said, looking up at him in surprise. She only looked up a few inches. Although he was tall, she was, too, and she always wore heels with those pinstripe skirts under her white coat.
They stood there, each holding their side’s doorknob for a long, mute second. Zach let go and stepped back.
She came in and shut the door. “I was looking for you.”
His surprise was genuine. For eight months, he’d been bringing patients into West Central. For eight months, she’d been ignoring him.
“I wanted to tell you that your decision to under-dose the morphine increased the odds in Harold Allman’s favor. Thank you. And thank you for sticking around after the handoff. I think the way you kept him calm also kept him out of severe shock.”
Dr. Brown had never spoken two complete sentences to him. Zach wasn’t sure what to make of it. She wasn’t flirting, not like other women did. She was just talking to him. He crossed his arms over his chest.
Her gaze held his as she spoke. She didn’t come close to batting her eyelashes, not one flutter, but he noticed how thick they were, anyway.
“Not a lot of people would have held a patient’s hand like that,” she said. “Especially a... Well, I was going to say especially a man wouldn’t hold hands, but that would be gender stereotyping, wouldn’t it?”
Gender stereotyping. Did she have to speak like a sexy librarian as well as look like one?
“Forget I said that,” she said. “It was a job well done, whether you’re male or female.”
Apparently done for the day, she began unbuttoning her white lab coat, starting with the button at her chest.
Damn, damn, damn. He was definitely male.
Through the kitchen was an even tinier room, one that held a cot and a few metal lockers. It was the physician’s lounge, in theory. In reality, it was just where the doctors stashed their belongings. Dr. Brown stepped toward the lounge door, unbuttoning as she walked.
There was no way Zach was going to leave while an attractive woman was removing clothing. He leaned back against the counter.
Since he couldn’t just stare at her, he kept the conversation going. “I denied the patient adequate pain relief, so it seemed like the least I could do was let him squeeze the hell out of my hand. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. The old guy could grip as hard as a female patient I had last year. She was in labor, and she nearly broke my hand with every contraction.” He paused and grinned at her. “But if that sounds like gender stereotyping, forget I said that.”
And then it happened. What the corniest pickup lines or the cleverest zingers couldn’t accomplish, a simple conversation could: Brooke Brown smiled. She laughed, actually. Laughed as she shrugged off her white coat and let it drop down her arms.
Go. Leave now, before you fall too hard.
He couldn’t ju
st turn tail and run. That wasn’t how they played their game. It would look odd. He needed to spar with her. Keep things normal.
But he stayed silent, mesmerized by a Brooke Brown who was neither focusing on medical care nor glaring at him while the rest of her staff flirted with him. She reached behind the door for a hanger, a woman doing a common task that shouldn’t have been so fascinating. He didn’t look away as she hung up her white coat.
“I’m glad I’m done for the day,” she said, as she stepped into the tiny room and opened one of the metal gym lockers. “Are you done, too?”
She was making small talk, completely unaffected by this change in their routine. Still, he didn’t take his eyes off her, not even to glance at the wall clock. By the time they drove the engine back to the firehouse, it would be seven o’clock and the end of his twenty-four hour shift.
“Yeah, I’m done, too.”
He needed to stick to his plan. Coffee to go. Head for the engine after delivering the line she expected, if he could remember the over-the-top line he’d planned.
He could not. As he picked up the full coffeepot, he thought of the oldest line in the book, instead. He raised the pot in one hand and the cup in the other. “Can I buy you a drink?”
She froze in place. Her back was to him, and since he was watching her every move, he saw her hesitation. He watched her fingertips as she raised her hand to the back of her neck and fumbled for her stethoscope. She pulled a square purse out of her metal locker, keeping her back to him, her head a little bowed. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. We’re not coworkers per se, but we do work together at least a couple of times a week, and...”
Her voice trailed off as she turned around and saw him holding up the coffeepot and the cup in the gesture that had accompanied Can I buy you a drink?
