Radclyffe - Turn back Time

by Turn back Time (lit)

  "Hey, I already signed on for the detail." Pearce banged open the steel door of her locker and draped her white coat over the metal hook.

  Then she stripped off her scrub top and exchanged it for a navy blue rugby shirt. "When is everyone getting together?"

  "About eleven. That gives those of us who were on call last night time to go home and get cleaned up." Wynter resisted the urge to look down as Pearce stepped out of her pants and tugged on threadbare 501s. While Pearce buttoned up, Wynter shrugged into her knee-length woolen coat and eyed the brown leather bomber jacket that Pearce tugged out of her locker. "Don't you freeze in that?"

  "This?" Pearce said, pulling on the jacket. "No way. It's the real deal. My grandfather was a Navy flight surgeon."

  Wynter smoothed her hand down the sleeve, amazed at the suppleness of the leather. Pearce looked young and tough and outrageously attractive in it. Fleetingly, Wynter wondered just when it was that she'd begun to think of women that way, but she quickly pushed the question aside. "It's beautiful."

  "Thanks." Pearce held her breath, watching Wynter's face soften with pleasure. At that moment, she'd have given anything she had if only that look were for her. Warning bells clanged, and she reminded herself why she wasn't going down that road. "It keeps me warm."

  Wynter lifted her eyes to Pearce's, her fingers still resting on the jacket. "I bet it does."

  "See you in a little while," Pearce murmured, sidestepping over the bench and out of touching range.

  "Come hungry," Wynter called after her.

  "Count on it." Pearce laughed as she shouldered out the door.

  That's my problem.

  v "Who are you waiting for?" Mina asked.

  "No one," Wynter said.

  "You've been watching that clock like an expectant father. So don't tell me no one."

  Wynter blushed. "I was just checking..." She saw Mina's eyes narrow the way they did when one of the kids was telling a particularly clumsy fib. She sighed. "My senior resident is supposed to come over to help out. That's all."

  "Dr. Hotty Pants?"

  "Shh," Wynter admonished, stifling a laugh. "Someone will hear you."

  "All the men are in the living room plotting strategy. You'd think they were going to war and not unloading a truck full of furniture.

  Speaking of which, they're late."

  "When have you ever known a delivery service to be on time? Everything about this move happened so quickly, I'm just grateful I don't have to leave everything in storage for the next year."

  Ken walked into the kitchen and threw an arm around Mina's shoulders. "The truck is just pulling up out front. Is your sister with the kids?"

  "They're all tucked away upstairs with Chloe and a roomful of toys. If anyone wants me, I'll be next door in Wynter's new kitchen telling her where to put everything. I just adore organizing kitchens."

  "Yeah, and just about everything else," Ken said good-naturedly.

  He kissed Mina and hurried outside to continue his supervisory role.

  Wynter looked after him fondly. "I don't know what I'd do without you and all the rest of your family. I--"

  "Just hush up. You and Ronnie are family. Now let's get going before those men put everything in the wrong place."

  They made it as far as the front porch before Mina stopped so abruptly that Wynter nearly ran into her. The eighteen-foot delivery truck had backed up onto the sidewalk, and its tailgate now rested on the wooden steps that led up to the wide front porch of the other half of the Victorian twin. A small cluster of people congregated by the open truck bed, most of them gesticulating and talking at once. One person stood apart observing the conclave, legs spread and arms folded, sporting an amused expression.

  "Well doesn't she make an interesting picture," Mina said softly.

  "Would that be your Dr. Hotty Pants?"

  "Mina," Wynter hissed, "for God's sake...she'll hear. "

  "Ooh, she's a real looker. I bet plenty of men have been brokenhearted to find out she plays for the other team."

  Pearce glanced up to the porch idly, then fixed on Wynter and waved. "Hey."

  "Hey." Wynter waved back, unable to put the image of Pearce--in low-slung black jeans, scuffed brown boots worn down at the heels, and olive-green army jacket with faded patches where the insignia had once been--together with a man. It didn't seem right. "You think? She doesn't seem like the type guys would go for."

  "It's not what she's wearing, honey, it's her face. She's beautiful- and I bet she's got a body to match under that bad-boy get up."

  "She does. And I think she looks great exactly the way she is,"

  Wynter said. Pearce was just Pearce. An attractive, desirable woman where everything fit just the way it should. Her looks, her brains, her spirit. Her charm. Oh my God. What am I thinking.

  "Did I say she didn't?" Mina gave her a look, then ambled over to the porch rail and called down. "You sure you want to get mixed up with these crazy men, honey?"

  "I figure someone needs to keep them out of trouble," Pearce called back.

  Mina laughed. "Well, good luck. You'll need it."

  Wynter joined Pearce on the sidewalk while Mina headed for Wynter's new house. "You made it."

  "Just in time, it looks like."

  "I'm going to direct traffic inside. If you get tired, don't feel you need to stay--"

  "Are you kidding? These are a bunch of anesthesiologists and internists, for crying out loud. They'll quit a long time before me." She scanned the porch, looking for the glimpse of Wynter's life that she didn't know. "Where's your daughter?"

  "Upstairs with Mina's sister and Ken and Mina's kids. I'll introduce you later--if you want."

  "Sure. I'd like that." She turned when Ken called her name. "Time for me to flex my muscles."

  Impulsively, Wynter grasped her arm. "Be careful, okay?"

  Pearce laughed. "No sweat. I'll see you later."

  Wynter sidled around the tailgate and joined Mina inside. The three-story Victorian, renovated by a recent owner, featured a clerestory ceiling in the rear of the first floor that opened all the way to the third.

  The hardwood floors gleamed. The kitchen had been modernized as well, and although she rarely had time, she looked forward to the opportunity to cook. Decks opened off the kitchen as well as off the master bedroom on the third floor. Although the backyard was postage-stamp sized, she contemplated yet again getting a puppy for Ronnie. The problem was that when the sublet was over and she moved to a permanent location where Mina and her extended family were unavailable to help with child care, a dog would be out of the question.

  "What are you thinking about so hard?" Mina pointed several men who had boxes marked kitchen in their arms toward the rear, calling after them, "And don't drop them on the floor when you put them down."

  "Ronnie keeps asking for a puppy. She's a good age for it, but I just don't see how I can handle taking care of one."

  "Our kids want another one too. Maybe we could work out joint custody," Mina suggested. "Our yards are side by side, and if we put a gate in the fence, we can share the whole space."

  Wynter shook her head. "It's going to be hard enough as it is for her not to be with you and the kids every day once we get a permanent place. I don't want to add a puppy to everything else she's going to miss."

  Mina pursed her lips as if to disagree but merely said, "We'll see."

  For the next hour and a half, Wynter directed the half dozen men carrying boxes of books, furniture, and suitcases to various parts of the house. One of the last items off the truck was a tiger oak rolltop desk that she'd inherited from her grandmother. It was huge, heavy, and cumbersome, but she loved it and had carted it all over the country.

  "Where to?" Pearce asked as she balanced one rear corner of the desk on her knee at the foot of the second-floor staircase. Ken had the front and another anesthesia resident, Tommy Argyle, had the opposite back corner.

  "The middle room on the second floor. On the wall opp
osite the fireplace."

  "It's going to be a tight corner up here," Ken called down.

  "We might have to lift it up over the banister," Pearce said. She glanced at Tommy. "Think you can handle it?"

  "Huh. With one arm tied behind my back."

  Wynter rested a hand on Pearce's shoulder and said quietly, "Do you compete with everyone about everything?"

  "It's no fun otherwise." Pearce craned her neck and called up to Ken, "Let's get this done. I smell pizza."

  Wynter turned, and sure enough, the pizza delivery man stood behind her in the middle of the living room with eight large pizza boxes cradled in his arms. "Back here in the kitchen. I'll show you."

  Wynter and Mina were setting out paper plates, napkins, and bottles of soda and beer when a crash sounded from above followed closely by a chorus of shouts. Wynter ran ahead of Mina and started up the stairs two at a time. Ken came racing down and nearly collided with her.

  "Ice. We need some ice," Ken said urgently.

  "What happened?" Wynter, a sick feeling in her stomach, searched the landing above but saw no one.

  "Tommy dropped the damn thing."

  "Is he hurt?"

  "He's fine, but Pearce got her hand caught--"

  "Oh God. Pearce." Wynter pushed around Ken and ran upstairs.

  The men huddled around a figure on the floor. The desk sat on its side nearby. She pushed at the nearest figure. "Move. Move out of the way."

  Pearce slumped on the floor, one arm cradled across her chest, her head leaning back against the wall. Her face was ashen. Wynter dropped to her knees beside her. "Let me see."

  "Give me a minute," Pearce whispered.

  Wynter could hear the pain in her voice and it tore at her. She was used to seeing people in pain from far greater injuries, but she felt exactly the way she did when Ronnie hurt herself. She wanted to absorb the pain, take it away at all costs. So she did exactly what she did when Ronnie was hurt. She put her arm around Pearce's shoulders and drew her close. "Let me see, honey. It's okay."

  Eyes still closed, Pearce buried her cheek against Wynter's chest, trying to lose herself in the scent of petals and raindrops and long ago joy. "Hurts. Hurts like a mother."

  "I know. I know it does." Wynter pillowed Pearce's head between her breasts, rocking her softly. Then she kissed the top of her head and stroked her sweaty cheek. "Are you bleeding?"

  "Don't know. Don't think so."

  Wynter felt a rush of relief. Her stomach was twisted into knots, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. "Do you think you can let me look now?"

  "Couldn't have been my foot," Pearce said, her voice stronger.

  "Had to be my goddamn hand."

  "Pearce," Wynter said more firmly, her own strength returning along with Pearce's. "Let's see what we're dealing with."

  With a soft groan, Pearce sat forward, still half in Wynter's lap. She lifted her left hand, gently supporting it with her right. It was already twice its normal size, the knuckles scraped and swollen.

  "Range your fingers for me...slowly," Wynter instructed quietly, one hand on the back of Pearce's neck, lightly caressing her.

  Even though the pain threatened to overpower her, Pearce managed to extend her fingers nearly completely, but she could not make a fist.

  There was too much swelling. "I don't think anything's broken."

  Wynter laughed softly. "Thank you Dr. X-ray Eyes. That's so helpful."

  Ken clambered up the stairs, shouting, "I've got the ice."

  "Good. Give it to me." Wynter reached behind her without taking her eyes off Pearce's hand and set the plastic bag of ice on the floor by her feet.

  "Is it bad?" Ken asked anxiously. "Should we take her to the ER?"

  Wynter felt Pearce tense. "No. We're okay. I'll be down in a minute."

  Ken rocked back and forth uncertainly for a minute, and then when ignored, crept away.

  "I'm going to palpate it," Wynter said.

  Wincing, Pearce gently probed the base of each finger. "I don't feel anything."

  "Just let me confirm." Gently, Wynter repeated the action, searching for point tenderness that would indicate a fracture. On close examination, Pearce's fingers did not appear deviated, and there was no apparent deformity of the hand. The marked swelling and rapidly discoloring skin made it difficult to examine her critically, however.

  "We've got to X-ray this."

  "Let's ice it first and see what it looks like in a few hours. The last thing I want to do is sit in the emergency room for half the day." What Pearce didn't say was that if she showed up in the emergency room, someone would call her father within two minutes. She didn't want him involved. She didn't want to hear him tell her that she shouldn't have been doing anything to endanger her hands. Every time she worked on her car, she heard his voice admonishing her. She could just imagine what he'd say about her moving furniture.

  "I'll call ahead and let them know we're coming," Wynter said.

  "I'm sure they'll get you right in--"

  " No ," Pearce said fiercely.

  Wynter recognized the fear beneath the stubbornness, and because she couldn't imagine Pearce being afraid of anything, she relented.

  After a final gentle caress down Pearce's neck and over her shoulders, she retrieved the ice pack and held it out. "We'll wait until tonight. If it's worse, we're going."

  Pearce carefully placed the ice pack on the palm of her hand and leaned back against the wall. She regarded Wynter through eyes dull with pain. "You've been waiting for this moment, haven't you?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "For me to be helpless so that you could take charge."

  Wynter laughed. "Oh, if I had wanted to take charge, I already would have." She brushed the damp midnight strands off Pearce's forehead. "And if I had wanted you helpless, I probably could've managed that without the desk."

  Despite the relentless, thundering pain in her arm, Pearce was aware of her body quickening. She knew that Wynter didn't mean what she had said that way, but her body would do what her body would do.

  She stretched her legs restlessly, trying to lessen the sudden tightness in her thighs. "Pretty confident."

  "You just noticed?"

  Pearce grinned and closed her eyes with a sigh. "No. I noticed."

  Wynter wanted to tell everyone in the house to clear out. She wanted to take Pearce to her bedroom, where she didn't even have a bed, and tuck her in. She wanted to watch her sleep and guard her while she did. She wanted to take away her pain. She wanted to kiss her and make her feel better--make herself feel...something. Something she couldn't even name.

  Instead, she got unsteadily to her feet, her legs weak with the force of her unexpected desires. "I'm going to get you a soda. Can you eat anything?"

  Pearce shook her head. "Not yet. But I could use something to drink and a half bottle of aspirin."

  "Coming right up."

  Ken and the others waited in a nervous clump at the bottom of the stairs. Tommy stood next to him looking miserable.

  "Is it bad?" Ken repeated anxiously.

  "I can't tell. It's pretty swollen."

  "Oh man," Tommy moaned. "Jesus, if it's broken her old man is going to take me out and kick my ass into the river."

  "If it's broken..." Wynter said tightly, wanting to say that Rifkin wouldn't have to kick Tommy's ass because she would, "it will heal, and it will be fine. She'll be fine." She walked away from them, determined that it would be so. She didn't intend to let anything hurt Pearce.

  * * *

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Do you think we should wake her up?" Mina asked Wynter, who leaned in the doorway between the dining room and the living room watching Pearce.

  Wynter shook her head. "It's her hand, not her head. We don't have to wake her up for neurochecks."

  "She sure sleeps like someone knocked her out."

  Although Wynter's books and personal articles were still in boxes stacked about the room, the livin
g room furniture was at least accessible, and she had insisted that Pearce stretch out in the leather recliner and rest. The men had consumed the pizza and quickly disappeared. While Ken and Mina fed the kids next door, Wynter had curled up on the sofa next to Pearce to read a book. Now, four hours later, Mina was back, the sun had gone down, and Pearce had not stirred.

  "She works too hard," Wynter murmured, trying to recall the last time she had seen Pearce leave the hospital before midnight. Just like her father.

  "I'm awake." Pearce, her long legs spread on the raised foot support, shifted in the chair and opened her eyes. "Stop talking about me."

  "Well, there goes all the fun," Mina said, starting toward the front door. "I'll see about getting the Wild Bunch settled in for the night.

  Chloe's probably ready to go home."

  "I'll give you a hand in a minute," Wynter called.

  "I've got it all under control--you'll just mess up my system. You look after the patient here."

  Laughing, Wynter edged around boxes and settled on the corner of the coffee table nearest Pearce. "How do you feel?"

  "A little fuzzy. What exactly did you give me?" she asked suspiciously.

  "Three aspirin and ten milligrams of Valium. I thought the muscle relaxation might help with the pain."

  "Jesus," Pearce muttered. "Leave it to a surgeon to just take over.

  Don't mind me, I'm only the patient."

  "It's standard procedure to sedate a trauma patient," Wynter said, looking not the least bit contrite. "No one's allergic to Valium. And admit it--you feel better, don't you?"

  Pearce rolled her head back and forth. The sick headache was gone. Then she glanced down to her lap where her hand rested on the soggy ice pack wrapped in a towel. Experimentally, she flexed her fingers. "It's easing up."

  "Let me see."

  Wynter cradled Pearce's injured hand in both of hers. She felt the pulses, examined the scrapes, probed gently. "It's definitely not worse."

  "I said that." Pearce wasn't even thinking about the pain. She was studying Wynter's face as she bent her head over Pearce's injured hand.