The Aries Libra Connection (Opposites In Love Book 1)

by Lane-Walters, Janet

  Bishop laughed. “Long as they’re complaining, we don’t have to worry.”

  “Oh, there you are.” Sandra Wallace, the assistant Director of Nursing, strolled toward them. She shifted her ever-present briefcase to her right hand and grabbed Bishop’s arm. “Weren’t we meeting at the buffet?”

  Bishop’s meaty hand covered hers. “You missed the game. The nurses won.”

  She eyed Eric’s faded cut-offs. He felt like he’d been examined by a fashion consultant and dismissed. “My aren’t you casual.”

  “Not for a picnic.”

  Her lips curled at the edges. “Appearance is always vital. Have I interrupted something important?”

  “We were talking about Jenessa Robertson.”

  As though brushing crumbs away, her hand fluttered. “Watch her. She’s always stirring up trouble.”

  “She seems to know a lot about the hospital’s problems,” Eric said.

  Sandra sneered. “She should. She enjoys causing them.”

  Bishop laughed. “Girl’s always rooting like a goat in the garbage dump.”

  “Lobbied for us to hire floats.”

  “So how much real trouble has she caused?” Eric asked.

  “Organized the union. Fought for every point in the contract,” Bishop said.

  Sandra’s laughter rang hollow. “She has no respect for authority. Threatened a sick-out. Even stormed a Board meeting to make demands. Jim thinks she’s cute.”

  “And dangerous.” Bishop waved the cigar. “Might offer her a job.”

  Eric moved away from the pair. “See you later. Promised to meet Sam.” As he jogged away, a glimpse of red shorts and long legs tempted him to change direction.

  Moments later, still watching Jenessa Robertson, he dropped to the ground beside Sam. Rushing into a situation he wasn’t sure he could control made no sense. He swallowed a mouthful of the icy beer Sam handed him. There would be other encounters with her. He smiled in anticipation.

  * * *

  Jenessa leaned against one of the picnic tables and finished her food. She felt confused and uneasy. Megan had been right, but broad shoulders and a dimpled smile didn’t make the rest of the prediction true.

  “Thank heavens for Bishop.” Her whispered comment ended in a chuckle. Being grateful to him for anything felt weird. Usually, his attitude made her want to scream.

  She scanned the clusters of people for members of the negotiating team. Time for a meeting. She spotted one of the women at the buffet and joined her. “Hi, Dru.”

  “Good game. What’s happening?”

  “It’s time to push for negotiations. They have their D.O.N. That was their excuse.” She slathered catsup on a hamburger and took a bite.

  Dru put down her fork. “Claire said to wait.”

  “Do I head the team?”

  Dru finished a chicken leg. “You do.”

  “There’s a strategy meeting. My apartment at five.”

  “Who else have you told?”

  “You’re the first. Nan’s by the swings. Let’s go tell her.”

  “I’m on the way.” Dru dropped her plate in the trash. “They may scrimp on pay and benefits but they always have a great spread.”

  “Right. Keep the girls happy.” She and Dru strolled across the playground.

  “What’s up?” Nan asked.

  “Strategy meeting today,” Jenessa said. “My place at five.”

  Nan raked her red hair. “About time. Does Claire know? Sometimes she’s as bad as the Board.”

  “What do you mean?” Dru asked.

  “I told her we should report the hospital to the Labor Board and petition for arbitration. She said she has another plan to force their hand.”

  Dru sat on one of the swings. “Maybe she wants to give Mr. Bradshaw a chance. Wonder if he’s taken.”

  “You are,” Jenessa said.

  “Just window shopping.”

  Nan pushed an empty swing. “Want to hear the latest rumor?”

  “Would you still tell us if we said no?” Jenessa asked.

  “Of course. One of the night nurses from Peds told me the hospital’s being sold.”

  Dru laughed. “That’s old news. Heard it years ago. I bet half the rumors are invented by bored night nurses.”

  Until she investigated, Jenessa wasn’t about to dismiss the rumor. “There’s Simone. My place at five. Pass the word.” She darted across the ballfield where a group of teenage boys were practicing.

  “Watch out!”

  Jenessa turned to see who had yelled. A hard object smacked her head.

  The next thing to enter her awareness was a pair of hazel eyes… Incredible eyes. An aroma of pine swirled around her. A vague recollection lapped at the edge of her thoughts.

  “Are you all right?” a deep voice demanded.

  She tuned out the voice and focused on the rugged planes of his face.

  “Jenessa, Jenessa Robertson, are you all right?”

  She stared. Lips, tempting in their nearness, moved away. “I’m fine, I think.”

  He flashed a smile that revealed a dimple in each cheek. “I’m glad. I was about to call for help.”

  His fingers touched her wrist. She wondered if her dizziness was caused by the way her heart rate had accelerated. He slipped his arm beneath her shoulders and eased her into a sitting position. The trees danced and came to rest. A name popped into her thoughts. Eric Bradshaw. She lightly brushed the lump on her head. “Guess I got beaned.”

  “My fault. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

  “You sure know how to get attention.” Sandra Wallace’s nasal twang grabbed Jenessa’s wandering attention.

  Jenessa looked at the crowd and leaned against Eric. For a moment, she savored the aura of protection he projected. “Isn’t that what you always say?” She stared at the dark-haired woman and shook her head in disbelief. “A pink suit and heels. This is a picnic, not tea with the First Lady.”

  “I can tell you’re not hurt.” Sandra wheeled. As she strode away, her briefcase swung like a pendulum.

  “Bag lady,” Jenessa whispered.

  “Why?”

  “That briefcase is an extension of her arm. I wonder if she goes to bed with it.”

  “Maybe she has dark secrets.” Eric grinned. “Ready?”

  He helped her to her feet. Her knees buckled. His hand slid from her shoulders to her waist, leaving a trail of warmth behind. He helped her to one of the tables.

  “I think you’d better sit down. Anything else I can do for you?”

  She thought of a dozen things best left unsaid. The pressure and heat of his hand at her waist made her want to purr. What was she thinking? “I’ll be fine.”

  “Let me get some ice for your head.”

  After he left, she rested her elbows on the table and closed her eyes. She searched for a memory that burned off like early morning mist under the rising sun. The idea that she knew him belonged to a fantasy. How could she have forgotten a man who looked like him?

  She groaned. The softball must have addled her wits. Someone slid onto the bench. She tensed.

  “You’ve done it,” Megan said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “His attention. I felt the vibes clear to the buffet. Why did you send him away?”

  “You know why.”

  “Jen, he’s perfect.”

  Jenessa wanted to shake her head, but every movement changed the dull ache into sharp pain. “My head hurts.”

  “That bad?”

  “I got beaned. He helped me up. He’s the enemy.”

  “Guess you heard he’s anti-union and was lured from a hospital where the nurses voted theirs out.” Megan half- rose. “He’s on his way back. Darn, he’s stopped to talk to Sam.”

  Jenessa stood. While she waited for her vision to clear, she leaned against the table. “We’re meeting at five. Will you be there?”

  “Got tapped for a double.” Megan looked at her watch. “Dinner break’s
over. See you.”

  With steps that began shaky and steadied, Jenessa walked along the path to Grove Street. A contract was essential but if her colleagues voted to strike, no matter how wrong she thought they were she would join them. With a deep sigh of regret, she wished she and Eric Bradshaw weren’t in opposition. Forget it, she thought and began to jog away.

  Chapter 2

  Jenessa stood in the basement laundry room and sorted her clothes. The second strategy meeting had begun with the team’s agreement to push the Board for negotiations. Then Claire had arrived. The union president had urged them to wait and several of the women had changed their votes. Why had Claire been so adamant?

  She wiped her forehead, doing little more than spreading accumulated moisture into her hair. For weeks, the temperature and the humidity had hovered in the nineties with no sign of relief.

  After starting the washers, she dragged a lawn chair into the band of light from a high narrow window and read the first of the letters Megan had left for her. Envy gripped her.

  Lauren had left Central America and was headed for Africa and her next assignment. How many countries did this make?

  She closed her eyes and drifted into a fantasy of travel to foreign lands. After she finished her Master’s, maybe she would join her friend’s adventures.

  A washer lid slammed. She looked up and swallowed a groan. What was he doing here? From where she sat, she had a great view of his back. Her gaze focused on his shoulders. Scars criss-crossed the left. How had he been injured?

  His muscles contracted and expanded beneath a bright green tank top. She nibbled on her lower lip and watched each subtle movement. How would she feel if he swept her into a bear hug the way Chuck had when he’d been excited about a new photographic study?

  She shook her head. He wasn’t Chuck. In coloring, Eric stood in contrast to her dead husband’s dark handsomeness. Eric possessed an inner calm Chuck had lacked. Eric’s movements were controlled. His touch would never be exuberant. His hands wouldn’t stroke… Aware her thoughts were headed for dangerous territory, she looked away.

  After cramming the crumpled letter into the manila envelope, she inched to the door. What was wrong with her? Though normally a fighter, every encounter with Eric Bradshaw filled her with an urge for flight.

  He turned. His dimpled smile brought a return of yesterday’s confusion over wanting to have and to reject his attention.

  “Hello, Jenessa.”

  With a whispered huskiness, his voice caressed her name. A delicious sense of anticipation walked her spine.

  “How’s your head?”

  A hint of amusement in his deep voice made her wonder if he’d read her swirling thoughts. “I’m fine.” She pressed the manila envelope against her chest.

  “No headache? No blurred vision?”

  “I’m fine, Mr. Bradshaw.” Hoping to place a barrier between them, she shaded her voice with formality.

  “Eric,” he said. “What happened? When I returned with the ice, you were gone.”

  Something I’m not ready for, she thought. “I went home. The sun...my head.”

  The washer buzzer spurred her into action. As she transferred clothes to the dryer, she wished one of them would vanish, preferably him. The D.O.N. had no right to be so attractive. She’d liked the battle better with Sandra as the primary opponent. She dropped the last item in the dryer and backed to the door.

  “Don’t go. Since yesterday, I’ve wanted to talk to you about the hospital.”

  “Why? Didn’t Sandra warn you about my attitude?”

  “I’m not Sandra Wallace.”

  “I know that.” She retreated again. He could prove more dangerous.

  “I’d like to change your mind about administrators. I’m willing to listen to your ideas about the problems here.”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard all you need to know.” She wanted to scream. Didn’t he feel the currents that caused her skin to tingle?

  “I need feedback from nurses involved in patient care.” In measured steps, he walked toward her. “I think you have what I need.”

  Her desire to run grew. There were things she could tell him, but could she trust him to listen?

  “Feedback won’t help. We need a contract that addresses the problems of staffing and autonomy.” She grinned. “Or a new Board president.”

  “He’s only one Board member.”

  She felt like a mass of static electricity waiting for a touch to send sparks flying. When he returned to the washer, her tension ebbed to a reasonable level. In three steps, she reached the door. “He might as well be. Most of the others owe him money.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I wish I was.” He flashed a smile and she sucked in a breath.

  “The hospital’s headed for a strike if something doesn’t change.”

  “Tell Mr. Bishop.”

  “I have and I’ll repeat it until he hears me. There must be a way around him.”

  “For the union to have a contract with teeth.”

  “There are other options than a union.”

  “What’s wrong with unions?”

  He looked away. “That’s a long story. Why don’t we go somewhere and discuss the changes you’d like to see?”

  “Where?” Did the breathy quality of her voice betray the depth of her interest? This wouldn’t work. Like trains halted on opposite sides of a platform, they were headed in different directions.

  Reluctant to walk away, she searched for a reason to stay. He was charming. Part of her wanted to be charmed, but he belonged to the opposition. An idea occurred to her. If she spent some time with him, she might discover where he stood. “Sure.”

  “What about Frank’s Place?”

  Had he read her desire to have the meeting in a public place? “Sounds fine.”

  She ran up the stairs ahead of him. The glaring light in the glass-walled lobby struck her with the same intensity as his smile. “Do you know Bishop’s our landlord?”

  “So he told me.”

  Jenessa stepped into the steaming morning air. A film of moisture collected on her skin. Heat from the pavement seeped through the soles of her sandals.

  Several minutes later, they entered the cool, nearly deserted restaurant. Rather than a booth awash in sunlight, she chose a center table. They ordered. She stared at her hands.

  What now? A glib tongue had always been an asset and a problem. Though questions formed as soap bubbles wafted from a giant wand, they vanished before she voiced them. Why had she given into the impulse to come? She didn’t want to be attracted to him or any man and risk falling in love again.

  When the waitress brought the coffee, Jenessa looked up and found him staring. He combed his fingers through his hair. “Are you from Eastlake?”

  She shook her head. “I attended Grantley for my BS and returned to the city. When my husband died, I came back.” She stirred the coffee so vigorously some of the liquid sloshed over the rim on the cup. “And you, why Eastlake?”

  He leaned his elbows on the table and wondered how much he should tell her. “Sam Gray and I’ve been friends since college. He knew I wanted out of the city and suggested I apply here.”

  Her blue eyes issued a challenge. “I hear you’re anti-union.”

  “Not really. Unions have their place. I don’t feel they’re part of the professional image nurses need to project.”

  “Without one at Eastlake, we’d be crushed.”

  “Maybe.”

  She cut one of the nut rolls and ate a piece. “Definitely. Retention rate is abysmal. Before the union, the stay for a nurse was eight months. It’s two years now.”

  Where had she obtained her statistics? He put his cup down. “Those aren’t the numbers I’ve seen.”

  She licked her fingers. Heat flowed to his groin. She leaned forward. “Bet Sandra provided your numbers. Probably included the Grantley students who work here while earning their degrees. Ask her for the truth.”

 
; “Don’t worry, I will.” He grinned. “Let’s agree to disagree about unions. What’s the focus of your Master’s?”

  “Adult practitioner with an emphasis on head and spinal cord injuries.”

  Of course, he thought. Again, he remembered the day he’d seen the light of hope in her eyes die. “Do you plan to stay?”

  “I’d like to, but a lot of people will cheer if I leave. Enough about me. What about the contract?”

  “Don’t you ever give up?”

  “Rarely.” His eyes held questions she couldn’t answer.

  Feeling like a butterfly caught in a collector’s net, she turned and stared at the spider plants in the windows. If she let him, he had the power to hurt her more than her husband’s death had.

  “What do you have against unions?”

  His hand tightened until his knuckles turned white. “A hospital isn’t the place for one. If nurses walk out, tragedies occur.”

  “And they don’t when there’s short-staffing and when nurses are pushed to their limits.” She caught a flash of guilt in his hazel eyes and wondered why. “So tell me about your plans for the Nursing Department.”

  As he spoke, she felt mesmerized by his voice and his ideas for changing the patient care delivery system and for giving nurses both responsibility and authority. If only it was possible, she thought, but Bishop and the Board stood in the way.

  She cleared her throat. “Most of the union members would back your ideas.”

  “I see no evidence of that. You’re demanding higher wages and more benefits.”

  “Are we?”

  He shook his head. “What’s the union done for the patients?”

  “We made a start at changing things with our first contract. You’d better push Bishop to start talks.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Sounds like a threat.”

  “A warning.” She pushed her chair back. “Now that you’re here, some of the more militant members expect results.”

  “Bishop promised me several months to evaluate the situation.”

  “He’s good with promises and poor at keeping them.” Pain flashed in his eyes. She wondered who had broken promises to him. Why should she care? She didn’t want to consider her reasons. “Unless we’re staying for lunch, we’d better go.”