“I’ve been working with Danny for two days now. As you know, his girlfriend is still in critical condition. Though he knows that the car accident wasn’t his fault, he still feels a lot of guilt over it—and he’s also feeling a lot of anger right now. He needs to work through those emotions and I’m working with him and his parents on a daily basis. Threatening him with the placement of a feeding tube only gave him another reason to be angry. He needs to feel like he’s in control of something right now, and taking away more of his control is not going to help.”
Ian looked down at the psychiatrist. It was as if the woman could just magically see which buttons to push on him. Working through emotions. Yeah, he’d heard the same psychobabble from his marriage counselor. He’d paid a hefty price for the hours he’d spent “working through” his emotions with his wife after the death of their son—and that wasn’t even counting the ridiculously large check he’d written every month. And what had that gotten him? A painful divorce and a scarred reputation.
“Good morning,” said a voice behind him.
Turning, Ian saw the hospital’s Chief Medical Officer approaching them. From what he’d learned since relocating to New Orleans, Dr. Richard Guidry had been on the staff here since he had started in practice. Now white-haired, and a little round about the middle, the man led his staff with a firm but gentle hand, and with his top concern always for the care of the patient.
Ian admired the man, and had always found him easy to work with. He actually found it easy to work with all the staff here—the only exception being this psychiatrist who was hounding him right now. He couldn’t say what it was about her that sent him running whenever she came around, but his fight-or-flight instinct always kicked in, sending him hurrying away from her.
“Good morning.”
He and Dr. Wentworth replied at the same time, then looked at each other. He wondered if she knew just how forced the smile on her face looked.
“Am I interrupting anything?” the older man asked, and then gave the two of them a disapproving look, letting them both know that he had witnessed at least part of their conversation.
Ian knew that one of the man’s strictest rules for his staff was that there must be no confrontations between them. His expectations were high, but they all tried to meet them.
Now, after the trouble Lydia had caused for him in Atlanta, Ian tried especially hard to avoid any trouble, and for the two and a half years he’d been here he’d had no problems with Richard Guidry. It would be the department’s resident shrink that got him in trouble.
“We were just trying to set a time when we can get together to discuss a mutual patient,” Ian said, then looked over at Dr. Wentworth, aiming for a smile that would at least look less painful than the one she wore. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Wentworth?”
The woman gave him a look that started out as disapproving and then turned sly as she tilted her head and smiled up at him.
“That’s right, Dr. Guidry. Ian was just agreeing with me that we need to get together today to discuss this patient. Your office this afternoon around five, right?” she asked. “I’ll see you then.”
She walked off before giving him an opportunity to reply, leaving him with no doubt that he had just been outmaneuvered.
“I’m glad to see that y’all are working so well together,” Dr. Guidry said as he turned back to Ian. “Frannie’s an excellent psychiatrist, and she’s very passionate about the work she’s doing here on the pediatric floor. I wouldn’t want there to be any issues between the two of you”
The man gave Ian a pat on the back, then continued on his way down the hall. Ian had no doubt that their performance hadn’t fooled the older doctor—the man was too sharp for that—so he would have no choice but to meet the psychiatrist as he had agreed. Which was the last thing he wanted to do.
CHAPTER TWO
IAN FINISHED HIS NOTES for the monthly department heads’ meeting scheduled for the next day. He’d hoped to be setting up the education on new robotic equipment in the OR by next month, but the cost of the newest model had increased above his approved budgeted amount, and now he was stuck with going back to ask the finance board for more money.
He ran his hands through his hair and stood. It was ridiculous that he was continually having his hands tied by upper management, who wouldn’t know a scalpel from a pair of forceps. The new equipment would help cut down on the invasiveness of so many surgeries—which in turn would decrease recovery time and complications. It shouldn’t have to be so hard to get the tools his team needed to take better care of their patients. How was he supposed to operate his department like this?
Ian opened the drawer in his desk and pulled out a pamphlet on the new equipment. The advances they had made in robotic surgery had quickly made their current equipment outdated. He knew the city had struggled for years after Hurricane Katrina to replace the older equipment, and this would be a big start in that direction if he could only get the budget increase he needed.
Under the pamphlet he spotted the unopened letter he had received from his ex-wife weeks before. The plain white envelope glared up at him. It sat there accusing him, as Lydia had, of being cold, heartless and uncaring. He feared the envelope contained more of the hurtful words she’d spat at him in front of their counselor. Words that had cut him to the bone and severed any feelings he’d had for her. Had Lydia always been that cruel? That heartless? They’d had problems, sure—what couple didn’t?—but he would never have guessed that the woman he’d loved since high school could turn on him that way.
But then, hadn’t he deserved it? At least some of it? Like she said, if he’d been at home maybe he would have been able to save his son. He glared at the envelope and slammed the drawer shut. No, he would not be dragged back to that pit of hell where he’d lived after the loss of his son.
He looked down to his watch. There were only minutes before his meeting with Dr. Wentworth and he was determined not to show any of his weaknesses. The last thing he needed was the woman with those soul-searching eyes of hers trying to pry into his personal life.
Picking up the phone, he made a call to the robotic medical equipment company, to check once more on the new prices, while he forced the pain back down deep inside his chest where he kept it hidden.
* * *
Frannie stood against the wall outside Ian’s office. She knew he was in there. She could hear him moving around his desk and papers being shuffled. She knocked on the door and waited for an answer while she fought her instinct to run. This was going to be a disaster—especially after the way she’d tricked him into meeting with her.
Hearing a bark ordering her to enter, she opened the door.
“Ian, thanks for meeting with me,” she said as she entered the room.
She’d never gotten the nerve before to seek Ian out in his office. At least now she’d have him cornered. He had no choice but to talk to her.
Sitting behind his desk, the man looked even more powerful, and the hospital-issue furniture seemed dwarfed by his size. Watching as he looked up at her with eyes that flared with impatience, she caught herself taking a step back.
No, he wasn’t going to scare her off this time. Squaring her shoulders, she forced her chin up and held her ground. This man was not going to ignore her again.
“I know we’ve both been busy, but I would really like to talk to you about some of the progress I’ve been seeing with your patients this week.”
Ian leaned back in his chair and gave her his usual uninterested stare. It was as if the man looked straight through her—as if he couldn’t stand to look her in the eye. Or was scared to.
“Is Danny Owens eating?” he asked.
She’d checked on the teenager during her afternoon rounds and knew Ian wasn’t going to like her answer. While Danny’s nurse had reported that he had eaten a few bites of his lunch, his appetite was still far from what it should be for a
growing teenage boy. Frannie had an idea that until his girlfriend started making some progress toward recovery they wouldn’t see a lot of change in his appetite—but he had started to talk to her and his parents now, so at least she had begun to see some improvement.
“Some, but not enough. He’s not eating like he needs to.”
The pointed look he gave her told her the conversation was over as far as he was concerned. But if he thought she was going to be that easy to get rid of he’d underestimated her. They needed to get everything out in the open. No more tiptoeing around Dr. Spencer and his issues. If she was going to work with the man they needed to do it now.
“Exactly what is it, Dr. Spencer, that you don’t like about me? Is it that the board chose to fund my program without your approval? Or is it something more personal?”
She wanted the truth. If she could take it.
“There is nothing ‘personal’ between us, Dr. Wentworth. And the fact that the board approved your program is not surprising, considering your family’s involvement in the hospital.”
She burst out laughing, aware that it sounded more bitter than humorous. “You think my father helped me?” she asked. “You should take some time to talk with my father. He wants nothing more than for me to fall flat on my face, so that I’ll come to my senses and go back to school so that I can become a ‘real’ doctor.”
He had to have heard how disappointed the senior Dr. Wentworth was that his only child hadn’t followed in his footsteps. Her father had been very public about it.
“Nevertheless, as I said, this isn’t personal. I have nothing against you or your program. I’m sure your services are useful in some cases. But with the tight budget we have to operate on at this time I just don’t think that your services make enough difference for these children to justify their cost. These kids need a lot of healing time and physical rehab which is expensive.”
“So what you’re saying is that as long as we take care of a patient’s medical problems their psychological issues will go away? Because I can tell you a lot of people look healthy from the outside while hiding deep psychological scars inside. If you’d read any of the literature on adverse childhood experiences I handed out when I started my program, you would know that these children often suffer from both mental and physical problems later in life. Many of these children will never be the same, no matter how well you fix the trauma to their bodies. For some there will be scars deep down inside them that will never heal if they don’t get help. Is that what you want? Is that what you’d want for your child?”
His jaw tightened and his eyes jerked away from hers. She saw his hands whiten as he gripped the chair-arms. All telltale signs that she was getting to him. Maybe the man wasn’t as indifferent to her cause as she’d thought. Maybe he did have a heart.
She watched as his fingers relaxed their hold and his body sank back into his chair. When he opened his mouth, once more the distant man she had seen earlier, she knew she had lost him.
“My job is to fix the injured kids who come into this hospital,” he said. “I do that by using all my surgical skills and the best technical equipment I can get my hands on. My goal is to make them well so that they can get back to their lives as soon as possible. I understand that you want to help these kids, but—”
He put up his hand to stop her when she would have interrupted. She held her comments. She’d let him finish his high-and-mighty speech, but then she’d have her say.
“I’m a surgeon. I use test results, vital signs and physical examinations to tell me how a patient is recovering. All of those give me tangible information that helps me make decisions for the patient’s care. I’m sure you want to help these kids, and I’m sure you do in your own way, but my focus needs to be on their medical health. I’m a surgeon—it’s what I do, what I’m good at. I’ll be glad to leave their psychological wellbeing in your hands as long as it doesn’t interfere with the plan of care I have for them.”
“And if it does interfere? I understand your need for control of your patients’ care. I get that. But what you did with Danny today could have set him back. Using ultimatums with teenagers can often backfire. I only want what’s best for your patients too. All I’m asking is that we work together. If you have a problem with something I’m doing, tell me. My ego can take it, believe me. But this has to go both ways. If I disagree with how you’re handling a situation, I get to tell you, too.”
She sat still and waited as Ian stared at her. She’d let things go too long between the two of them. They needed to settle their differences. She suspected he was trying to find a way to avoid agreeing with her, but she’d put it to him in a way that left him no loophole. He either agreed to work with her or he came off as the biggest jerk in the hospital.
“I’ll agree to that, but for anything related to my patients’ physical health I get the last word. Now, if we’re finished here, I need to check on a couple of my surgery patients,” he said as he rose from his chair.
She’d been close to getting through to him—she just knew she had—but then he’d retreated, shutting down those emotions she was certain she’d seen and turning back into the same detached surgeon she had been dealing with for the past five months.
She wanted to fight him. To tell him that she had seen that crack in his armor before he’d closed it. But she knew it wouldn’t help. She’d spent years trying to get through the barriers her father had built around himself after her mother’s death until she’d finally realized that it was useless to continue.
Not that she was giving up on Ian. She’d seen enough of a response from him to know his heart hadn’t hardened completely—at least not yet. There might not be any hope for her father, but maybe someday Ian would see that the children he treated didn’t just need him for his surgical skills. They also needed the emotional support that the two of them working together could give them.
She stopped as she got to the door and then turned back toward him, curious now that she’d made the comparison between him and her father.
“Ian, do you ever do anything besides work?” she asked.
“My work is important to me,” he said as he reached up to take his white coat from the hook by the door.
“But do you ever relax? Let yourself enjoy life? Take time to play?”
“What? Are you worried about me, Dr. Wentworth?”
He reached for the door handle and she stepped back, the movement almost sending her into his arms for a moment. Her breath caught, freezing in her lungs. The warmth of his body teased at hers and her legs refused to move away from him. A second turned into two and neither of them moved away.
How had she missed this? She spent too much time studying people’s emotions and reactions not to have seen it. The speeding of her heartbeat when he was around...the magnetic push and pull between the two of them whenever they were together—they were all signs that she had ignored. Did he feel them too? Was that why he was always finding ways to avoid her?
“Some of us don’t have the time to play,” he said, breaking the silence between them, “and I never play with my co-workers.”
She continued to stand there, between him and the door, waiting to see any sign that would hint that he felt it too—this attraction that sent all of her vital signs rising.
He wanted test results? She’d give him test results.
She moved in closer, so their bodies were mere inches apart. She watched as his eyes drifted down to her lips, the look in them so hot that she wet them with her tongue. Oh, yeah, he felt it—and he wasn’t happy about it at all.
He jerked back from her. The moment was gone, but she had what she needed. Was this the reason they had such a hard time working together? This attraction that he seemed to want to ignore?
She turned back to him once more as she stepped out into the hall. She tried to keep a straight face, but managed to put just a touch of husk
iness into her voice.
“Really, Ian? Than exactly who do you play with?”
The look on his face before she turned and left him was priceless.
* * *
It had been a week since he had met with Dr. Frannie Wentworth—or Dr. Frannie, as his patients called her. A week during which he’d struggled with the conversation they’d had and his own response to her.
He’d come out of it sounding like a royal jerk, who didn’t really care about his patients. But he did care. He gave his patients everything to help them recover. All his skills as a surgeon and all his diagnostic knowledge. That was all he had now—all he could afford to give.
Once he had been like the young psychiatrist, letting himself get drawn into his patients’ emotions and needs, but that wasn’t him now.
And then there was that other response. The one when for a second he’d almost held her in his arms and his body had taken over, leaving him in no doubt about what it wanted to do.
It was the giggle of a little girl, the sound so sweet, that had him stopping, and an answering laugh that made him turn around. He knew the room he’d just passed. He’d been consulted on the child’s case by her oncologist, and knew she was at the end of her third round of chemo and that the results were draining the child. Her parents were considering having a feeding tube surgically inserted, but he had not heard anything concerning their decision.
Looking through the cracked-open door to the room, he watched as the child, wearing a pretty pink-flowered bandana on her head, pulled a brush through the hair of the brunette psychiatrist he had been thinking about. Sitting on the bed with her legs crossed in front of her, dark hair flowing down her back, Dr. Frannie looked perfectly at home playing with the little girl.
Was this how she worked?
“You know your parents only want what’s best for you, Sarah. Is it that you’re scared of the surgery?”
Ian watched as the child’s mouth tightened and the look of enjoyment left her face.
The Surgeon's Baby Bombshell Page 2
