“Is that fluid around the stomach?” she asked.
“And air,” he replied, pulling himself together. He was about to operate to try to save a young woman’s life. There was no time for loss of concentration, no matter the source. What he was seeing on the CT scan indicated the internal injuries were probably quite extensive.
And they were. What he had estimated would be an hour-long operation stretched to two and a half hours, as he discovered Kaitlin’s diaphragm and stomach, as well as her liver, had been damaged. As he cauterized and stitched, he reflected on how lucky the young woman had been.
He wasn’t really surprised to come out of surgery and see Liz waiting to hear the outcome. Yet as he took a few moments to take off his surgical gear and wash up, his awareness of her just on the other side of the doors was disconcerting.
Settling in at Hepplewhite, in New York City itself, had been difficult enough, but every time he came into contact with Dr. Liz Prudhomme it intensified his sense of disorientation. Which was funny, in a weird rather than amusing sort of way, since it was something she’d said to him in Mexico that had prompted his move from Colorado.
Although they’d just met, he’d found himself telling her about being jilted only weeks before the wedding. What she’d said to him had lingered in his mind.
Sometimes, when life seems to be screwed up, you need to take a chance on the change that’s been forced on you, you know? Figure out what it would take to make the crappy stuff into an asset, or a benefit. Maybe you’ve had a lucky escape, being dumped. I don’t know, but now’s the time for you to make a new, better plan. That’s what I do when life tries to mess with me, anyway.
On reflection, her advice had made perfect sense. Wasn’t he the poster child for overcoming? For taking whatever effluvium life flung at him and making something worthwhile out of it? In comparison to all he’d been through, being jilted was, in the final analysis, insignificant. It was nothing when weighed against being abandoned as a baby, surviving the foster-care system, or losing his best friend. It was even small potatoes when compared to the depression that had blanketed him following Brody’s death. What it had done, though, was underscore how much he’d been drifting along through life.
The job at Cramer had been a sound choice, given his desire to be close to Jenna and the kids, and, although demanding, strangely easy after being deployed. He’d done well but after Mimi’s defection had decided to reactivate his childhood wish to travel the world, get to know new places intimately, before moving on to the next. And where better to start than in New York City?
It had seemed a perfect plan, until he’d found himself working with Liz Prudhomme and had realized he’d not just made a change but turned his entire life upside down.
He couldn’t make her out.
While he’d never heard her be rude, there was a distance between her and the world, a wall created of solemn, clear-eyed looks and cool professionalism. Although being the epitome of calm whenever they worked together, occasionally she’d glance at him, and all the arousal he tried to suppress rushed through him anew. For him, the spirit of the woman he’d had in his bed hovered in the back of his mind continually. A ghostly fantasy, flushed and excited, her body bowing and twisting with ecstasy yearned for and then achieved.
He’d give anything to be rid of those memories and the fantasies they inspired, but not even seeing her in her usual milieu, which was anything but sexy, helped.
If anything, it made her more fascinating. Every time he met those clear green eyes, or saw her striding purposefully through the hospital, it enticed him further.
Apparently, along with all his other issues, he was a masochist too. If that weren’t the case, surely it would be easy to push aside the attraction he still felt? And it wasn’t just the sexual appeal either. Something about that self-containment of hers interested him. Maybe in it he saw an echo of his own distance from others, and couldn’t help wondering where hers sprang from.
Whatever the reasons, it made dealing with her a constant strain, and now he wished she’d simply called up to the surgical floor to find out how the operation had gone, rather than waiting around. With a sigh of resignation he pushed through the doors into the corridor beyond.
She was in street clothes, a pair of jeans that fit her curves perfectly and a coral sweater that somehow made her skin glow. A handbag, the size of a small suitcase, was on her shoulder, and she carried her winter jacket over one arm. Apparently she was about to go home.
“How did it go?” she asked, with habitual directness.
“Pretty well,” he replied, before giving her a more detailed account of the injuries he’d found and repaired. “I think she’ll make a full recovery.”
Liz glanced down the hall, toward the waiting area. “The police are waiting to speak to her. Apparently, she did shoot her boyfriend. I didn’t realize he’d been brought in too, not long before she was.”
Cort nodded. “Initially I was treating him, and then Dr. Hammond told Dr. Yuen to take over and sent me down to attend on Kaitlin.”
Dr. Yuen was young, newly licensed and not as experienced as Cort with the types of multiple injuries Kaitlin had experienced. The younger doctor had seemed nonplussed to have been pulled away from such an interesting case, but what the chief of surgery decreed went.
Liz’s face tightened for an instant, then smoothed out again. “Well, the boyfriend survived, and is telling the cops she shot him, and he was just defending himself when he beat and stabbed her. It’ll be interesting to see how it all pans out.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” he said. “It’ll probably take a while for the cops to figure it out.”
Liz nodded, turning on her heel. “Thanks. I’m on my way out, so I’ll see you.”
“See you,” he replied to her retreating back, leaving him watching the enticing sway of her hips for a few moments before he caught himself and went to talk to the police.
CHAPTER FOUR
CORT WAS JUST doing his job, Liz thought sourly a week later, but that didn’t stop her wishing he was doing it somewhere else. No matter his intent, his presence sure didn’t improve productivity in the ER department.
She was sitting at a computer, doing some research, when Cort came down to speak to one of the other physicians about a case. It was slower in the department. While the emergency room was being revamped and expanded, there was less traffic, with more serious cases being routed to other hospitals in the area. Cort had been asked to take on more general surgery cases until things picked up again, and had apparently agreed without demurring. Right now he was consulting with Dr. Durham and a steady stream of nurses was coming by, each one lingering for what Liz considered to be an unconscionable time within gawking range.
He was a menace!
And why was he hanging about so long too? Surely he had rounds to do up on the surgical floor?
Yet all the gossip she’d heard about him so far was still of the glowing variety, not even counting the comments about his looks. The nurses loved him, had no complaints about either the way he handled his patients or how he dealt with staff, and they were usually the first to grumble and moan about the surgeons. Her own co-workers in the ER department also seemed happy with how he interacted with them. Even Durham, the crankiest of them all, was right at this very minute grinning like a demented fool at Cort Smith.
Mind you, it was fairly rare to find a surgeon who was content to take a wait-and-see approach when the patient might, in the end, still need an op. From the conversation going on between Durham and Smith, that was exactly the situation they were discussing. Keeping her gaze on the screen in front of her didn’t stop her from listening in.
