Doctor's Secret (Carver Family)

by Lyz Kelley

  Never would a man touch her again.

  Not in that way.

  She donned a gown and mask and entered the isolation room, where the truth gripped her by the throat. The abandoned newborn’s wails, clenched fists, and board-stiff body told her what Beth hadn’t.

  So innocent.

  So sick.

  So addicted.

  Settling into the high-backed rocker, McKenzie forced herself to visualize her happy place—her toes digging into warm sand, the sun on her face, the salty ocean waves washing away the tension. Beth handed her the underweight baby, its tiny, tense fists waving in the air. Cradling the rigid pink bundle against her chest, she studied the infant’s angry, pain-contorted face. With a finger, she checked the oxygen tube and then the slow back-and-forth rhythm to accompany a much-loved lullaby she often sang while rocking troubled infants. The power of the melody and the swaying rhythm soothed both the abandoned child and McKenzie’s own churning thoughts.

  “She’s a fighter, that one,” Beth said above the hum of the machines. “Unfortunately, we can’t give her anything more to counteract the opiates in her system, only something to help her sleep. If she starts turning blue, call for help immediately. The doctors think there might be a cardiac problem. They’re running tests now.” Beth peered at the beeper vibrating at her hip. “Cow’s behind! I’ll be back in a few.”

  She opened the door, sending a sliver of light across the infant’s cheek and then turned. “Will you be okay?”

  Raging desolation closed in, warping McKenzie’s emotional balance. Fighting for stability, she cleared her mind and focused again on calming the infant, sharing the dream of a world filled with only happy, healthy children. “You trained me, Nurse Perfect.” She gave her friend a mischievous grin. “Besides, the machines will let you know if I need anything.” Her gaze swept over the surrounding monitors, and then returned to her friend’s face. “Go.”

  Beth’s shoulders dropped. “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant. I’ll be fine.”

  The door closed with a gentle click, and reality hit. McKenzie centered all her attention on the agitated pink face. She adjusted her mask and then folded back the edges of the blanket to brush the tiny cheek with the side of her finger. She knew better than most that life was unfair. Outwardly, this precious child appeared perfect, delicate. Pitch-black hair, a pebble nose, and flawless lips. So perfect, yet so ill. She wanted to strangle the mother for subjecting her child to the hell of withdrawal.

  The mere thought of abandoning a sick child, or any child, was unfathomable and something she was incapable of doing.

  Time drifted until voices outside the isolation room thrust her out of the calming stillness. The door opened. Light flooded the room. A shadowed shape filled the doorway. She covered the baby’s eyes with her hand to minimize the shock of the brightness.

  Idiot, her mind screamed.

  “How’s my new ward?” a male voice asked from the doorway. “Wait. Do I know you?”

  “Shhhhh.” She struggled to hold on to the nurturing calm.

  “You’re not a nurse.” The man moved closer. “Where’s your badge?”

  His movements were intense. Rigid.

  She glanced down where her nametag had been pinned and sighed, remembering. She’d tucked her badge in her apron pocket when cleaning up her art supplies. She lifted her chin. “I don’t have it with me.”

  “Since I have no idea who you are and you can’t provide proof of who you are, you must leave immediately,” the man said with steely resolve, pointing at the hall.

  He couldn’t be serious. But he looked dead serious. The baby stiffened.

  No, please don’t wake up. Please…please…don’t wake.

  She held her breath to support her silent plea.

  Too late. The baby’s howl vibrated through her chest, and a fierce protectiveness gripped her. She glared at the man, her nerves bristling. His body language communicated aggressiveness, but his eyes spoke of a protective passion.

  “My name’s McKenzie Carver. Any of the nurses can vouch for me.”

  “Miss Carver, I appreciate that you’re trying to comfort the infant, but with no badge or ID, you’ll have to leave. Hospital policy.”

  When she didn’t move, the man stepped into the room and delicately retrieved the baby.

  The cold chill that filled her empty arms left her exasperated and speechless. The baby’s enraged cries escalated, drowning out the sound of the ventilator.

  He palmed the infant football-style to check the tubes, and then eased her into the isolette. He turned and tried to cup McKenzie’s elbow, but she jerked her arm away.

  “Please don’t touch me.” Her heart picked up speed as she backed into the prep room.

  This linebacker in scrubs had no right to make assumptions.

  She removed the medical gown and mask while muttering a stream of fresh, vivid, and increasingly unflattering curses under her breath.

  Ready to give the man a direct and curt scolding, she whirled around, but her nose connected with the giant’s chest, requiring her to step back and look up. And up…and up. Shortly after she passed the six-foot mark, she encountered serious brown eyes.

  The up close and personal proximity to his gorgeousness even made her heartbeat pause to take notice before taking a hop, skip and a jump. The guy was tall, dark and brutally handsome, brutal because he attacked every female sensibility. His face could have belonged to a Greek sculpture, with a plaque below engraved, “back away, don’t touch.” His intense stare forced her back and out of harm’s way.

  McKenzie ratcheted her chin up. “May I suggest you ask one of the station nurses who I am?”

  “It wouldn’t matter. Visiting hours are over, and you’re not a trained nurse.” His intelligent brown eyes studied her. “I’ve authorized only medically-trained personnel to be in that room.” His voice had a sharp, decisive edge that left little room for argument.

  The emphasis on the word medically seemed wrong, and she tried wrapping her mind around his word. “That’s not policy. Plus, it’s impossible to implement or enforce.”

  His chest puffed at the challenge. “It is my policy. And your opinion has been noted.”

  She studied his stubbled chin and broad chest before latching onto his nametag. Of course. Now she knew the identity of the man standing in front of her—this was the medical professional her family had approved for this project. The man who was going to be operating their surgical machine. The surgeon whose expertise they were relying upon to launch their new robotics line. Well, crap.

  She returned his blistering stare. “Dr. Branston, I understand—”

  “Clearly you don’t. I asked you to leave. Please do not make me call security.”

  Her arms felt empty, and her heart enraged.

  That poor little mite needed every ounce of support to survive, but the man between them was a formidable barrier.

  Contrary to the impressive background report and stellar references she’d read, the hospital’s new pediatric department head and surgeon—this blockhead—didn’t have a tender bone in his body.

  Anger wiped away her exhaustion. She pushed her shoulders back. “If you’d let me explain—”

  “If you’re a volunteer here then you know we don’t allow anyone near these critical babies without proper ID. I’m not going to ask again. Leave now, or I will call security.”

  His sturdy jaw, broad chest, and muscular build gave her pause. He might have rocketed off the top of the good-looking scale if he hadn’t been such a pompous ass.

  Her temper heated above simmering, but years of disciplined control softened her composure. “This baby needs special care.”

  “Yes, she does, and it’s my job to see she gets the best care possible.” Lacking authority, she took a resigned breath, leaned forward, and glared directly into his steel-hard eyes.

  “Best possible care. At least we agree on one thing. However, doctor, you are an obsti
nate, hard-headed…Neanderthal. You jump to conclusions, won’t give a person a chance to explain, or take the time to verify information.”

  “Fine, I’m calling security.” He reached for his phone.

  “If you do, you will regret it.”

  His hand paused mid-dial.

  She pinched her shoulder blades together and lasered in on the obstinate man. “We will meet again, Doctor Branston. And when we do, we will have a very different conversation.”

  Obstinate. Neanderthal. Who used words like that anymore?

  The woman marched down the hall in such a deliberate manner that not even a herd of stampeding wild horses could have deterred her. Her strawberry-blonde hair swinging from side to side held Garrett’s attention while he finished dialing security.

  “This is Dr. Branston. There’s a woman heading toward the lobby in the main elevator. She doesn’t have proper ID. She’s about five-nine with light red hair, wearing jeans and a light blue jacket. Would you make sure she leaves the hospital campus?” He moved his jaw from side to side to loosen the tension while remembering the ferocity in the woman’s moss-green eyes. He waited for security to return. “You found her. Great. Thank you for your help.”

  The NICU usually provided a peaceful and quiet place to reflect, but her presence didn’t remotely create a sense of tranquil. He rolled his shoulders, wincing against the ache, and checked on his new patient, who had quieted, before moving back to the scrub room to lather and re-sterilize his hands and forearms. He needed sleep, but thoughts of the children who needed his help kept him going. Finding the person who allowed that woman into the critical care quiet room became secondary to spending some quiet time with the abandoned newborn.

  The emergency transplant surgery he performed earlier elbowed its way into his thoughts. The adrenaline rush, the clarity of knowing exactly what to do, the smooth, coordinated command of the OR docs and nurses. If he’d had the correct equipment, he might have done even more intricate work. The next twenty-four hours were critical to whether Jacob would be playing baseball or sitting on the sidelines.

  His thoughts shifted to his other patients, specifically Katrina Yankovich. She reminded him of a fragile, wounded bird. Yet her mother gave valid reasons for early release. She had no insurance. She couldn’t afford the care. Someone would be home to help Katrina recover. He reluctantly signed the patient release papers. Yet, before the ink dried, the double-guessing began. Maybe, she should have stayed one more day, just to be sure.

  He shook his hands dry, put on a clean mask and robe, and then entered the NICU’s isolation room to survey the newborn—the one fate had assigned him to protect. He systematically checked every tube and monitor. His forehead creased with concern.

  “Tough start, kid.” He leaned in, aware of the voice monitors and not wanting anyone else to hear his pep talk. “Looks like you and I are going to spend several weeks together. First, we need to wean you from the opiates. When you’re stable, you’ll get a good home. How’s that sound?” He dropped back into the rocking chair, and then studied the monitors, noting the baby’s vital signs. “I’m glad you’re mad. You should cry because you deserve better than this. Stay angry. It will help you fight.”

  The redhead’s lullaby wafted into his mind, along with the image of the baby in an unnatural, drug-induced sleep. “I’ve lost a few,” he said, and swallowed to clear his throat. “I’d prefer not to lose anymore. I’ll make you a deal. You stick around long enough, and we’ll fix your heart with my new surgical robot. It’s a great big machine, and it works miracles. You’ll see. You need to stay with me. Deal?”

  The face of every child who’d died in his care scrolled through his thoughts like a movie stuck in a continuous loop. Every year he added to the constant, cycling list. He’d been trained not to dwell on losing a patient, to harden his heart and to focus on saving far more kids than he lost. That eased his burden. At least a little.

  Placing two fingers over the baby’s heart, he held his breath, counting the rapid beats. “I know what it’s like to be abandoned. My mom left me, too. But let me tell you, you are wanted. Someone wants to hold you and love you and take care of you. You won’t have to scrape and struggle. I’ll get you through this—promise.” And, I’ll make sure you’re protected. No one will hurt you like they hurt me.

  The door opened, and he looked up to see Head Nurse Bernard push her way into the room. She peered around the door, searching the room. “Where’s Kenzie?”

  “Who?” he asked while rearranging the tubing at the baby’s throat.

  “The young woman in here a few minutes ago.”

  “You mean the red head? I had to evict her for lacking proper identification.” A fiery irritation spread across the nurse’s face, and told Garrett what he wanted to know. “You allowed her in here, didn’t you?” He pointed at the clipboard hanging on the wall. “I left specific instructions that only medically-trained personnel were authorized to touch critical care babies.”

  The nurse’s jaw dropped open, and her arms crossed. “You may be the finest stallion in the barn, but you’ve got no idea what it takes to run this ward. A policy like that takes time to implement. It’s not like we nurses stand around, read memos, and pick hay out of our butts.” She snorted and flapped her hand dismissively. “Never mind.”

  The nurse left, mumbling about a jackass and manure.

  He stared at the closed door, wondering if he’d been transferred to a zoo. He didn’t have the energy to chase the nurse to discuss safety issues and policy infractions. Only qualified nurses were going to handle the critical, unstable infants, not some do-gooder off the street who couldn’t even manage to keep track of a nametag. The babies came first. He’d deal with Nurse Barnyard tomorrow.

  The tiny face puckered in pain. He released a worried breath. Closing his eyes, he let the infant’s cry seep into him. He pledged—as he’d done a thousand times before—that no more children would die in his care.

  No more.

  At least that was what he intended.

  Hoped.

  Chapter 2

  “I can’t meet on Thursday, I have an appointment with the caterer for the Hospital’s charity fundraiser.” McKenzie scrolled through her calendar looking for an opening. “How about Friday morning. I can meet for coffee.”

  “Done.” Her brother thumbed through the calendar on his phone. “Who’s your date for the charity ball?”

  Crap. Not again. Why do I need a date? What was wrong with just going solo? “We could go together,” she hated the wishful, almost desperate undertone in her statement.

  Liam’s brow lifted. “Avoiding men again?”

  “No. No. Just I haven’t gotten around to asking anyone.” And if she put off asking long enough she wouldn’t have to.

  “Sorry. Can’t. I already have a date for the ball. Mom and Dad, especially mom, will expect you to be escorted. You could ask Larry.”

  Larry? Her cousin who adjusted his tie every three seconds and forgot everyone’s name, including his sometimes. No. She’d be up to her elbows in details, and didn’t need the extra challenge of keeping a man occupied. “I’ll do what I did last year and hire a guy from the security firm.” Those guys know how to stay incognito and out of the way.

  “You do and mom won’t be happy.”

  She gave him her best stink-eye. “Thanks for the support.”

  “What? It’s the truth,” he pushed open the heavy hospital conference room door.

  She entered and set her planner on the oval mahogany table, and then moved to look out the window, her thoughts as jagged as Manhattan’s skyline. “Is your project status report updated?” she asked to change subjects, hoping her sibling would drop the idea of her finding a date altogether.

  Liam’s mouth quirked into a smile, knowing full well why she brought up the report. “I’m ready,” he said just as Dr. Cowell, the hospital’s Chief Medical Officer, walked in looking at his computer tablet, set his coffee down, and took
a seat. Liam slid into a burgundy leather chair as she rolled back the one next to her brother.

  Heads turned when the conference room door opened again. A dark angel of fury entered the room and the pulse pounding in her ears drowned out the air conditioner’s hum.

  Dr. Cowell beckoned to the intruder. “I’ve asked Dr. Branston to join us for the project review this morning.”

  McKenzie gripped the edge of the conference room table, and shoved down a simmering rage. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Liam’s intrigued expression, and chose to ignore him.

  Freshly shaved, Branston no longer projected the bad boy image some women might find attractive. The confident, cool way he carried himself reminded her of the old classic movies her grandma used to watch. She guessed confident and cool were required in his line of work, but that still didn’t give him permission to be unyielding.

  Branston walked around the far side of the table. When he acknowledged her, his eyes widened with recognition, before squinting with suspicion.

  She slid into her chair and crossed her legs. Gracious, the man had a way of looking at her. Like he saw the insecurities and flaws she’d worked years to hide. “I believe, Doctor, the last time we saw each other, I alluded to the fact we would have a very different type of conversation.”

  The doctor cracked each knuckle on his right hand, one by one. “I take it you are here to file a complaint. Nurse Bernard told me she asked you to rock. That we were short-staffed—that you had volunteered to sit in. But I hope you can understand that since you had no identification, you left me little choice. It’s my job to protect the children in my care.”

  “You might have—”

  “Dr. Branston.” Dr. Cowell’s tone reminded all those in the room that while adopting the image of a gentle and loving grandfather, he still wielded power and authority at New York General. “May I properly introduce McKenzie and Liam Carver? The Carvers donated the money for the pediatric wing and the robotic suite we’re building, the one you desperately want opened. McKenzie, in particular, is the champion for this project.”