Kitabı oku: «New York City Docs», sayfa 3
It had been over four years. Surely the studio had had lots of people come and go in that period of time.
“How do you know he will?”
Her glance skittered away. “He may have mentioned you once or twice.”
Ah, yes. Clay could see how that might have been awkward for her: explaining why they’d broken off their relationship and why he would no longer be training at the studio.
He could have kept going—he liked the sport. But he’d been so angry at Tessa back then, he hadn’t wanted any reminders. Besides, he’d been intent on making a clean break. Seeing her every week at the studio wasn’t exactly the best way to do that.
“And I’m sure you gave him nothing but glowing reports.”
This time, Tessa stopped completely, an odd look coming over her face. “I never said anything bad about you, Clay.” She seemed to hesitate, then continued. “Why don’t you let me call him, and I’ll get back in touch about a time.”
Okay, so she’d just gone from basically telling him to get in contact with them himself to offering to do it for him. What gives?
He decided to press a little harder. “Any particular reason you want to do it?”
She shrugged. “I speak the language. It might be easier for me to explain things.”
Somehow he doubted that was it at all. She just wanted to be in control of how much information the school’s owner had. It certainly wasn’t because of Marcos’s English skills, since he spoke it perfectly, although he still had a Brazilian accent. As did Tessa. Just a smidgen… when she got angry or emotional. Clay could still remember some pretty heady times as they’d made love. In the heat of the moment, when she’d been squirming with need, she’d gritted out something in Portuguese. And, man, had it done a number on his control, breaking it into tiny pieces.
The accent had also been there when she’d cut things off between them, the anger and pain in her eyes unmistakable, although he still had no idea what he’d done that had been so terrible. It had only been a bracelet. Lizza would have taken it and run. Except that had all changed after their divorce.
Women.
But now wasn’t the time to go into any of that. And going to the studio was probably a bad idea. A really bad idea judging from Tessa’s wary expression. But he admired the athleticism of capoeira and wanted Molly to experience what he had the first time he’d seen it. Especially since she was going through a phase where she was giving karate chops to everything in sight, including him. He wanted her to see what a real martial art looked like. And to understand that it wasn’t about “chopping” people or breaking boards, but about discipline and self-control.
Maybe his daughter could even take lessons, although he had no idea what ages they accepted.
And maybe Clay could even start training again himself. He could use something to help him stay in shape. He could go when Tessa wasn’t there. They could still keep their lives completely separate—he’d learned a thing or two from Lizza’s insistence on maintaining a his and hers division of households.
His and Tessa’s circles never needed to intersect.
Okay, then. He’d done what he’d come to do. Offer his condolences. Now it was time to get the hell out.
He took his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a business card. “Give me a call when you know something.”
Tessa hesitated, and for a moment Clay wondered if she was going to refuse to take it. Then she reached out and plucked it from his fingers, careful not to touch him. At least that’s the way Clay perceived it. So he did something about it. He caught her hand, the card trapped between them. He felt her muscles jerk and then relax. “Give my best to your dad, okay?”
“I will. Thanks.” Then she tugged free and spun away from him, striding after her patient, who was now long gone. Leaving Clay wondering what the hell he’d been thinking for going after her… for touching her. Because she wasn’t the only one who’d reacted. His hand had wanted to linger, his fingers itching to stroke over her palm the way he used to when they were together.
He knew far too well why he’d done it. It had irked him to see her attending standing so close to her while she’d been doing that surgery. And how, when the man had touched her sleeve, she hadn’t flinched away from him, as she did with him.
He hadn’t liked the way it made him feel. Had felt the need to see if she still responded to his touch the way he remembered. She’d responded, all right. He just couldn’t tell if she’d been repelled by the warm slide of flesh against flesh or if she’d been bothered in a completely different way.
He could only hope her reaction had been no less disturbing than his had been—a kind of knee-jerk muscle memory that happened without conscious thought. He’d been stunned the first time it happened. And the second.
He needed to somehow erase that memory and everything that went with it. Because if he couldn’t, he was in big, big trouble.
The first thing to do was make sure he didn’t touch her again.
No matter what.
Tessa plopped onto one of the dark dining room chairs in the brownstone house where she lived and put her head down on her arms. Caren Riggs was already home, standing in the kitchen rolling and cutting what looked to be square noodles on the marble island in the center of the space. Right now, though, Tessa was too wrung out to care, even though whatever Caren was cooking smelled divine.
Interacting with Clay was turning out to be even harder than she’d expected. Because when he touched her she quaked. And felt wistful about long-gone days.
She didn’t want to yearn for him. That was a million times worse, in her opinion, than simply lusting after that scrumptious bod. Because lust she could explain away—after all, Clay was a hunk of the first order, a vital man who dominated whatever space he happened to stroll past. Even Brian, who was a little older than Clay and just as attractive, with a touch of gray in his sandy-brown hair, didn’t make her insides squirm and twist the way her ex did.
And that was bad. Very bad. Because she didn’t want to have any kind of reaction at all to him. She was afraid she’d learn something she didn’t want to know. That she’d never quite gotten over him.
Sure you did. You broke up with him.
No. She’d broken it off because she’d known they weren’t going to be good for each other and had gotten out while the getting was good. That didn’t mean it hadn’t been painful or that it hadn’t ripped her heart from her chest to contemplate never seeing him again.
A few minutes passed as she sat there, and then the table beneath her cheek shifted a bit. Caren had evidently come over and set something down.
“Hey,” the other woman said. “You look tired.”
“Am.” The mumbled word was all she could manage.
“Then eat something. I made chicken and dumplings—classic comfort food. Besides, I have something I need to talk to you about.”
Oh, no. This was the second time today someone had used those words.
Tessa looked up to find her friend sitting across from her, and, yes, there was now a shallow, wide-rimmed bowl sitting in front of her. A second bowl sat in front of Caren. The concoction smelled even more heavenly this close to her nose. “What’s the occasion?”
“Not really an occasion. I may just not get any Southern cooking for a while, so I thought I’d make some now while I still can.”
Caren wasn’t from New York, and Tessa found her slow drawl soothing somehow. Even now it seemed to drift through her soul, pushing back the tide of confusion and grief that had gripped her ever since her surprise encounter with Clay in the hospital lobby.
She tilted her head, accepting the spoon the other woman handed across to her. The brownstone, owned by Holly and her family, was decorated in classic dark woods and rich upholstery. It reminded her of what she might find in Clay’s parents’ home. Wealthy, understated. But for some reason this place didn’t make her cringe the way it might have had she not been paying her own way.
“Why wouldn’t you get Southern cooking for a while?” She stirred the mixture in her bowl to help cool it.
“That’s the thing. I was going to talk to you, Holly and Sam after you all got home. But when you came in first, I thought I’d sound you out about it.” Caren paused and eyed her for a second. “Is everything okay?”
“Peachy.” She cut into one of the dumplings and blew on it for a second before sliding it into her mouth. Her tastebuds perked right up, a low groan sounding from her throat. She’d never tried honest-to-goodness Southern cuisine before meeting Caren, but she was rapidly becoming addicted. Swallowing it, she smiled. “This stuff is awesome.”
“Told you you’d like it. Aren’t you glad I forced you to try homemade dumplings after you moved in?”
“I hate to admit it but yes. I’ve only had the fluffy biscuit kind. These are so good.” She waited until Caren had eaten a couple of bites before continuing. “So what’s going on?”
Setting her spoon down in her bowl, her friend propped her elbows on the table. “I’m thinking of going on a medical mission.”
“What?” Caren had never mentioned leaving the hospital or the brownstone. “Where to?”
“Africa. Cameroon, actually. I just got the go-ahead to start packing.”
“Wow, that was fast. What about your fellowship, are you just going to let it go? And what about your unit?”
The house had been divided into four separate units with a shared kitchen, living room and dining room. Over the course of their residency the four roomies had become fast friends. Maybe because they were all young and single, but it was probably also because they shared a common goal of becoming doctors.
She’d just assumed things would stay the way they were for a while. To think of Caren no longer being here…
“That’s the thing. I have a cousin who is thinking of coming to West Manhattan Saints and applying for a fellowship.” Caren scooped up another bite of dumpling and waved it around for a minute. “She could sublet my unit. All my furniture would stay put. There would just be a new face to go along with it.”
A key scraped in the lock just before the front door was pushed open. Sam Napier appeared, carrying a couple of bags, which he switched to the other hand before closing the door again. He glanced at them. “Hi. Am I interrupting something?”
With his longish hair, lean build and the slightest hint of a Scottish accent, Sam could only be described as superhot, but he was also something of an enigma, quiet and intense, rarely sharing anything personal about himself. Maybe it was just a guy trait, but Tessa had a feeling there was more to it than that. Whatever it was, he was definitely the quietest of the housemates.
She shrugged. “You’re not. Caren was just… She glanced at the other woman, wondering if she wanted the medical mission thing kept a secret.
“I was just telling Tessa that I might be leaving for a while. My cousin Kimberlyn—who’s also on her way to becoming a doctor—would be able to move in and take over my share of the expenses, if that’s okay. I wanted to check with everyone first before giving her a definite answer.”
Sam came over to stand by the table. “I don’t have a problem with it. I guess it’s really up to Holly, though, since she and her folks own the place.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll ask her tonight.”
“Is Kimberlyn still in med school?” Sam asked.
“She’s a resident, like us. She’s just getting ready to apply for a fellowship.”
Sam slung a bag over his shoulder. “Sounds like the perfect solution, then.”
“I think so, too,” Caren said with a smile. “I’m so relieved. I was worried you guys might be upset with me for bailing on you so close to the end of our residency.”
Tessa smiled back. “Of course not. I’m excited for you. Besides, you’ll be back. And you’ll have to send loads of pictures of Cameroon.”
“I will.” She popped two more spoonfuls into her mouth and then stood. “I’m on call tonight, so I need to jump in the shower really quick. And I’ll start packing for the trip.”
“Go,” Tessa said. “I’ll clean this up.”
Caren squinched her nose. “It’s a mess out there—there’s flour everywhere. Are you sure you want to tackle it?”
“Definitely.” Besides, it would give her something to think about other than Clay.
“Well, I’ve got an early surgery in the morning, so I’m going to turn in.” With a wave, Sam went up the stairs toward his unit.
“Thanks again. I think you’re all really going to love Kimber.”
Tessa stood and stacked their bowls. “If she’s anything like you, I’m sure we will.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“DR. MATTHEWS? YOU’RE needed down in Emergency,” one of the nurses at the central station called over to him, phone still to her ear.
Six hours into his shift, Clay had performed two surgeries and done a phone consultation with a doctor from one of the other local hospitals. It had been hectic enough that there’d been whole blocks of time in which he hadn’t thought about Tessa once.
Until now.
“What have you got?”
“Looks like they have an elderly gentleman who fell down his front porch steps and broke a leg. Or maybe a hip.”
“Tell them I’m on my way.” Clay pushed the button on the elevator. The funny thing about fractures in the elderly was that cause and effect were rarely quite as simple as the nurse made it seem. Whether the break caused the fall or the fall caused the break was often up in the air. He’d seen enough spontaneous fractures in his time that he knew brittle bones could suddenly give way under the stress of years’ worth of use and abuse.
By the time he got down to the first floor his thoughts were all on his patient, already planning for various scenarios and how he’d deal with each.
One of the attendings stopped him just as he stepped into the hallway where the exam rooms were. “Are you the new orthopedist?”
“Yes, Clay Matthews.”
“Anthony Stark. Good to meet you. Your patient is in exam room four. I called in one of the residents as well, once we got a good look at him.”
That was odd, since the only orthopedic resident Clay knew of was at dinner. Maybe he’d come back early. “Okay, thanks. Has he been up to Radiology yet?”
“Yes. He just came back. It looks like a displaced break.”
Perfect. Displaced meant the two ends of the bone weren’t aligned—a more complicated situation to address. Compassion tickled the back of his throat. Another tricky piece of news. He knew of at least one patient in the past month whose heart hadn’t been strong enough to do the surgery needed to repair a broken pelvis. He could only hope that was not the case with the current patient.
The sound of someone bellowing came from the exam room where he was headed.
The ER doc gave him a half smile. “All I can say is good luck. Let me know if you need some help in there.”
Clay frowned and headed toward the curtained-off area where the sound of voices was growing louder. One female and one male… who sounded none too happy.
Noting that there was no chart in the holder, he swished open enough of the curtain to get through. He stopped in his tracks. Even though her back was turned, the female arguing with his patient wasn’t a nurse. It was Tessa. And she was trying her damnedest to pull back the sheet covering the patient, while he held on to the fabric with all his might. Her Brazilian accent was there in all its blazing glory.
Not that it was doing her any good.
“No one is seeing my privates except my doctor!”
“I am a doctor, Mr. Phillips. I’m here to look at your leg.”
What the hell? Why was Tessa trying to look at his patient’s leg? Dr. Stark had said he’d called in another resident, but Clay had assumed it was an orthopedic resident.
If it wasn’t for the seriousness of the man’s injury, he might have been tempted to just stand back and see how things played out between the two of them, because the Tessa he knew didn’t give up once she got going. For anything.
That probably wasn’t in the best interest of his patient, though.
He stepped closer. “Anything I can do to help?”
Two heads craned around to look at him. Surprisingly, Tessa’s normal irritation at seeing him was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she looked almost relieved.
The patient—Mr. Phillips—yanked harder on the sheet. “This little lady is trying to get a look at my equipment.”
He wasn’t sure whether he was more shocked by the “little lady” description or by the fact that a patient was basically calling Tessa a Peeping Tom.
“I’m trying to see his mole.”
Ouch.
Wait. Maybe she really did mean mole as in…
“I thought this was my patient. Broken left femur?”
Tessa nodded. “And a suspicious skin lesion on his other leg. Which is why Dr. Stark called me in.”
Damn. Of all the rotten luck. So much for the idea that keeping busy could keep him from thinking about her. Because right now his job included the very person he was trying to block out of his mind.
Even more pressing, though, was the need to keep the patient calm. Which meant he just might have to ruffle a few of Tessa’s feathers.
Stepping to the other side of the bed, he ignored her for a moment. “How about if I ask Dr. Camara to step back while I take a look? Would that be better?”
“But—”
He stopped her words with a look. Surprisingly, instead of the dark anger he expected to see on her face she simply nodded, let go of the sheet and took ten steps back until she was against the curtain on the far side of the space.
Glancing at the patient’s face and seeing it crumple in relief, he noted a dark bruise where the man had evidently fallen already apparent on his right cheek. As was the pain he’d been holding back. Clay touched the top edge of the sheet. “May I?”
Mr. Phillips released the covering and allowed Clay to pull it down. He edged the gown up as far as he could without totally exposing the man. The area just above his left knee was obviously broken, the frail-looking limb bent at a five-degree angle. And at the top of his other thigh was a dark mark about the size of a quarter.
Irregular edges. Mottled coloring that looked like the boiling up of a tar pit.
Tessa was the expert when it came to skin conditions, but Clay knew enough to bet this was exactly what she thought it might be. Melanoma. The deadliest form of skin cancer. And the most likely to have spread. Whether it had metastasized to his bones and caused the femur to break was something they wouldn’t be able to determine without more tests. Regardless, both conditions needed immediate treatment. The break was the most urgent, but the size of the growth on his other leg was also worrisome.
He glanced up at her and gave a nod. “He does have a lesion.” He added a quick description, leaving out the actual word.
“I need to see it to be sure.”
Mr. Phillips started to reach for the sheet again, but Clay stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. He glanced back up at Tessa. “Could you leave us alone for a moment?”
Even with her red hair pulled back in a clip and twin smudges of exhaustion beneath her deep green eyes, Tessa was beautiful. Probably even more so now than she’d been back in medical school. There was an iron determination that hadn’t been there when they’d been together. Or maybe it had been and he’d simply been too busy—and too entranced by her porcelain skin and vibrant personality—to notice.
But he saw it now, and so he added, “Please? Trust me on this.”
Without another word, she ducked beneath the fabric of the privacy screen rather than pulling it to the side.
He turned back to his patient. “Mr. Phillips, Dr. Camara is a professional.”
“Still. My wife has been the only woman to see me naked in all these years.”
“You’ve never had a female doctor?”
The man shook his head. The pain had to be excruciating, but evidently the thought of having Tessa see him was even more uncomfortable than his injuries. Clay could always call in another dermatologist—a male one—and risk bringing Tessa’s wrath down on his head. But that wasn’t fair, either. Tessa was a doctor, and to send her away just because she was a woman made something stick in the lower regions of his gut. So he came up with another solution instead.
“How about if we do this? We’ll keep your hospital gown where it is, and I’ll cover you with the sheet like this.” Clay arranged the folds so that it draped over his waist and created a little “U” of exposed skin. Only the skin lesion was visible. Nothing else. They’d have to examine the rest of him to see if there were any other suspicious areas but they could do that while he was under anesthesia for his leg, if tests showed he was strong enough to even have the operation.
The head of the bed had been cranked up so that Mr. Phillips could see what Clay was doing, and the man visibly relaxed. “I guess that would be okay. But don’t let her pull it any farther.”
Clay gave him a grave nod. “You have my word.”
“Well, okay, then.”
“Tessa? Could you step back in here?”
The man turned his head sharply. “I have a daughter named Tessa.”
“Well, see there? That must be a sign.”
Tessa came over to stand by the bed. “Did I hear you right? You have a Tessa at home?”
“Well, not at home. She’ll be forty-nine next week. Lives in Montana with her husband and three horses.”
“Do you have any other family members you want us to call?”
Even as she spoke, her eyes were already on the skin lesion, and Clay could see her mentally sizing it up in her head.
“My wife’s been gone for ten years and my two kids—Tessa and Jeremy—live a long way away.”
Clay’s gut tightened. Maybe Mr. Phillips should think about moving closer to them. But that wasn’t up to him. It was up to his family. “Did you give the front desk a way to reach either of them?”
“Yes.”
Tessa rounded the exam table until she stood across from Clay, although she didn’t look directly at him. Instead, she kept her gaze on their patient. “Thank you for letting me see the spot. We’ll need to take that off, maybe even while Dr. Matthews fixes your leg. Would that be all right?”
“I s’pose so. As long as you keep your eyes where they’re supposed to be, young lady.”
Tessa smiled. “Absolutely. I give you my word.”
The man’s head fell back onto the pillow, the pain lines deepening. “Then what d’you say we get this show on the road.”
An hour later—with an EKG and bloodwork confirming that Mr. Phillips had the constitution of an ox, even if he had the bones of the eighty-year-old man he was—Tessa shared an operating room with Clay for the very first time.
And the very last time, if she had her way. Her hands might not be shaking, but the rest of her certainly was as Clay stood across from her, working on the broken femur as she excised the skin tumor on the man’s other leg. “It’s not as deep as it could be,” she said, unable to prevent herself from talking as she worked, something she’d always done. No one had seemed to mind it in the past. And Clay didn’t seem to mind it now.
But for his part he’d been mostly silent as he worked on drilling holes for the pins that would hold the ends of the patient’s bone together and allow it to heal.
Once she’d gotten clear margins, Mr. Phillips would have to undergo a PET scan to see if the cancer had spread. The tumor was large enough to make her uneasy, but things like this had surprised her before. She could only hope for the same good outcome. She glanced up. “How does his other leg look?”
Clay paused for a minute, before meeting her gaze. “I think he’s got a good shot, if he’s careful.”
Keeping true to their word, Clay had made sure that Mr. Phillips’s private parts were covered at all times, even though the man would never know the difference. And it made something inside her warm to know that Clay cared about his patient’s dignity.
He was a good man. Even if he wasn’t the right one for her.
And he wasn’t. She’d done a lot of thinking over the past four years about her actions. Her temper—or maybe it was her pride—had gotten the best of her, and she’d ended their relationship in the worst possible way, mailing his gift back to him and basically telling him to get lost.
Yes, maybe someday she would find a way to apologize for that. She wasn’t sure when or how, but now that they were working together, surely it was a sign that Fate was giving her an opportunity to make things right. Maybe they could at least become colleagues, even if they could never be friends.
She screwed up her courage, finding it took a lot more cranks of the handle than she’d expected. But she finally took a deep breath and succeeded in opening her mouth. “Do you want to go grab something to eat once we’re finished? Unless you’ve already had dinner.”
He eyed her for a second as if not completely trusting her motives. “Where did this come from?”
“If you’d rather not…”
Okay, now she felt like an idiot, but it wasn’t as if she could withdraw her invitation.
“Tessa, Tessa…” He clucked his tongue. “I didn’t say that.”
So what was he saying? That he wanted to go after all?
Before she could ask, he went on, “Molly’s staying at my folks’ house tonight, in fact. So dinner it is.” He put his head down and went back to work as if that was that.
The reminder of his daughter brought home the fact that Clay had a child with another woman. A supermodel, from the looks of his ex. What had happened between them, anyway?
Maybe he’d tried to buy her one too many gifts. Except the former Mrs. Matthews didn’t look like the type who would have any trouble accepting gifts or anything else from him.
No, that was just her. Stupid, prideful Tessa, who just had to do everything on her own. She’d come to terms with Clay’s parents and had come to appreciate everything they’d done for her. So why couldn’t she do the same with their son?
Because she’d wanted to be his equal. Had wanted so badly to know that she could live and survive and thrive on her own, as her parents had done after moving to the United States. That she was every bit as smart as they’d been.
And then Clay had come along with his easy charm and old-fashioned attitude that said it was okay for him to want to take care of her… when she had still been learning how to take care of herself.
Was it his fault that he’d been born into a wealthy family?
No. But it wasn’t her fault that she’d been born into a family who’d had to work hard for every single thing they had, either. And Tessa had wanted to prove that she was cut from the same cloth. That she could work just as hard and achieve just as much as they had. All on her own.
It wasn’t rational. She would be the first to admit it. But it was what it was.
She finished up the sectioning of the tumor and dropped the last piece into the collection tray to be taken to Pathology. “How are you getting on?”
“Almost done.” He glanced over at her surgical site to find her putting in the sutures. “I’m probably fifteen minutes behind you, if you want to go get cleaned up.”
“Do you mind if I watch?” She smiled. “After all, you got to watch me a few days ago.”
She wondered if he’d even remember what she was referring to, when he’d stood on that observation deck and made her feel so nervous. She’d started out today as a bundle of nerves as well, but had calmed down once she’d realized he had been just as engrossed in his surgery as she’d been in hers. It had felt almost good to be working side by side with him.
No. Not good. Just not crazy scary, as she’d expected it to be. Maybe even like the equals she’d wanted to be all those years ago.
It gave her more hope that they’d be able to come to some sort of accord, since it was inevitable that they’d see each other from time to time around the hospital, just as they had today in the ER.
So maybe she wouldn’t have to avoid him, as she’d thought she would. Maybe she could just smile and walk on by when she happened to see him, instead of ducking into a room and hiding, as she’d resorted to a few days ago.
He smiled back at her, giving her a jolt when his teeth flashed that slow sexy smile she’d once loved so much. “I don’t mind at all, Dr. Camara. By all means… watch me.”
A wave of heat washed over her at the words. Because she could remember a time he’d said just that. Only he hadn’t been operating at the time. No, he’d been lifting her hips, getting ready to…
God! She physically shook her head, trying to rid it of the images that were now spiraling out of control. How he’d wanted her to watch as he sank into her. Slowly. Deeply.
And she had.
She finished her last stitch and tied it. Then had the nurse cut the suture before dropping her needle into the discard tray, her thoughts in a tizzy.
So… she could just grin and give Clay a happy wave whenever she saw him? Evidently not. He’d just shot that idea to hell.
She took a step back from the table, wanting nothing more than to flee the room. But to do that would look funny after everyone in the surgical suite had heard her ask to watch him complete his surgery. And they’d also heard her ask him out to dinner.
More heat poured through her, pushing blood into her head and making it pound with embarrassment. What had she been thinking? She’d wanted to set the record straight—apologize—but there had to have been a better way to do it than going out to eat with him.
Too late to do anything about it now.
And he probably hadn’t even meant his words the way she’d taken them. He’d just been giving her permission to observe him.
Watch me.
Oh, hell. There it was again.
