by Diana Palmer
“You’re right. I don’t believe it. You’re pulling my leg.”
“Ask him when he does rounds,” he returned wryly. “I dare you.”
Noreen took the information with a large grain of salt. Isadora had once told her that Ramon hated domestic animals and wouldn’t want anything with fur and claws around him. She’d also said that Ramon didn’t like children and had no intention of siring any. He liked parties and social gatherings and he was a neatness freak at home, Isadora had added carelessly.
He hadn’t seemed that way to Noreen, but she didn’t really know him. He’d made sure of that. The only person who ever managed to get close to him was Isadora. Since her death, he was completely alone. He didn’t even date.
That didn’t surprise Noreen, because she was well aware of his obsession for Isadora. All her life, the older girl had been the apple of everyone’s eye. There was no love left over for Noreen at the Kensington home, because it all went to Isadora. That was still true, even though Isadora was long dead.
Miss Plimm had gone down to the cafeteria to get her supper. Noreen, momentarily alone, was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t hear Ramon come in. He was bending over her with a stethoscope when she noticed him, and she jumped, startled.
“Don’t do that,” he muttered impatiently, sliding the cold metal against her chest under the loose hospital gown. “Breathe normally.”
That was difficult, with his face so close. She kept her eyes shut, so that she wouldn’t have to see that dark complexion, the thickness of his straight black hair, the liquid black of his eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at him. It hurt too much.
He drew away, watching her eyes open. They didn’t quite meet his.
“I’m doing fine,” she informed him.
“Yes, I know.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “How’s your appetite?”
“I eat everything that’s put before me.”
“No, you don’t,” he replied. “You eat the Jell-O and soup and leave everything else. That can’t continue. You have to have protein.”
“I have gas,” she replied with mild belligerence. “There’s no room inside for food.”
“I’ll write up something to take care of that.” He made a notation on the chart. “Eat, or I’ll have to keep you on intravenous fluids.”
“All right,” she said heavily. She glanced up and away again. “How’s my kitten?” she asked.
He smiled, his dark eyes twinkling. “She eats like two cats.”
She stared at his jacket. “Thank you for looking after her.”
“She’s no trouble.”
“I can’t believe that. I know you don’t like animals.” Or me, she added silently.
He scowled. Perhaps she wasn’t quite recovered from the confusion brought on by the anesthesia. He liked animals. He lived alone because he hadn’t had enough time to devote to one, and an apartment was hardly suited to dogs and cats.
“How’s the pain?” he asked.
“I’m doing fine,” she repeated.
He hesitated. She wouldn’t look at him and she didn’t seem inclined to talk. He picked up her hand to examine the shunts they’d inserted in her veins to connect to the fluids she was being given. He scowled.
“When were these shunts flushed last? Meredith always dates them so they don’t remain in place longer than three days.”
“Meredith didn’t do these,” she replied. “I think Annie did. I know they haven’t been in longer than a day.”
He made a note on the chart to have them flushed. One seemed to be clogged. The shunts were implanted so that if there was an emergency, a nurse wouldn’t have to scramble to find a vein for the needle. Keeping them free of clogs was essential to postsurgical heart patients. He picked up her other hand, noting the softness of it, the short, clean nails, the silky skin behind her knuckles.
“You must use hand cream constantly,” he remarked as his thumb smoothed over the back of her hand. “Your skin is incredibly soft.”
She pulled her hand back from his. She still wouldn’t look at him. “They’re working hands,” she replied, “not model’s hands.”
“I know that, Noreen.”
He hardly ever called her by name if he could avoid it. Didn’t he know that he was torturing her? She closed her eyes, praying that he’d go away and leave her alone.
It was all too apparent that she was going to shut him out. She’d been hurt too much over the years to warm to him now. He scowled, because it bothered him that Noreen hated his touch. He remembered her at his first anniversary party, backing away from him in the kitchen. It had bothered him even then, even when he was married.
“I’ll check on you later.”
“Thanks, but there’s no need. Miss Plimm is very efficient.”
Her remoteness irritated him. “Would you rather I sent John on rounds?” he asked curtly, naming an associate in his surgical group.
“That…might be better, if you don’t mind,” she said in a subdued tone.
His temper flared, hot and unreasonable. Without another word, he carried her chart back to its tray, slipped it in and left the ward.
Noreen sighed her relief. Just a few more days, she told herself, and she could get out of here. When she was recovered, she’d look for a job at a hospital in the suburbs, one where Ramon wasn’t on staff. She owed him her life, but not her soul. She wasn’t going to put herself through any more torment on his behalf. She recalled applying for a passport some months earlier, with some half-formed notion of sacrificing her nursing talent in some third-world nation to escape thoughts of Ramon. It seemed ridiculous in light of what had happened to her. At the time, it had seemed very rational.
She stared blankly out the window, wondering if her aunt and uncle were really out of town. Ramon had probably been softening the blow. They’d never wanted Noreen in the first place. They’d only taken her in from a sense of responsibility, not out of love. She’d been an extra person in their lives, always on the outside of the family circle, always the fifth wheel. It had hurt when she was a little girl, but she’d grown accustomed to being excluded from family pastimes and assigned to endless domestic tasks. Since Isadora’s death, they’d only invited her to the house once, and it had been far too uncomfortable for all of them to repeat. She didn’t need to be told that they’d only invited her out of a sense of duty, to keep people who knew them from gossiping.
She sighed and closed her eyes. She was going to start her life over, she decided. She was going to stop pining for Ramon and regretting the indifference of her aunt and uncle and everyone blaming her for Isadora’s death. She was going to get a new job, a new wardrobe, a new apartment and a new life. Now that she’d be healthy and whole again, she could plan on a future. She was going to live it to the fullest.
Ramon, unaware of her plotting, stormed into his apartment after work with a face like a thundercloud. He was furious that Noreen didn’t want him to visit her, to oversee her care. He’d saved her life—didn’t that matter to her?
He poured himself a drink and sat down heavily in his armchair, instantly joined by the kitten. It curled up against him and purred.
“At least you’re glad to see me,” he murmured, stroking it absently.
He’d enjoyed the kitten’s company. It made him think of all he’d missed in his life. He came home to an empty apartment, to loneliness and grief and isolation. When Isadora had been alive, he came home to noise and laughter and a roomful of people, because she liked parties and gave them frequently. He never had peace or the luxury of silence in which to read the medical journals that Isadora despised.
He wondered now if she’d needed the companionship of other people to make up for the emptiness in her life with Ramon. Isadora hadn’t liked animals and children. He could still hear her laughter when he’d suggested starting a family. Ruin her figure and be a slave to an infant, she’d exclaimed, what sane woman would give up her independence to be a little homemaker? As for ani
mals, she wouldn’t have cat hair on her elegant furniture, and dogs were just too much trouble. Like children.
He’d loved Isadora, so he’d given up his dreams of domesticity after that one conversation. But he saw his colleagues with their wives and children, heard them plan vacations at resorts that catered to families. He’d been envious, because he and Isadora had parties instead of a family. They grew apart after the first few months of their marriage and went their separate ways. And in the last few months before her death, Isadora had been drinking far too much. She cheated on him, made threats, impossible demands, accusations. She hadn’t been happy. She’d promised to do herself in if he went off to France without her, depriving her of seeing her lover who was also going to be there.
He’d refused because of her health, not out of jealousy. But his reason hadn’t mattered to Isadora. She’d raged at him that he was only a dog in the manger. It was Noreen he lusted after, she’d accused wildly, and not for the first time. Well, Noreen would never want him, because she was afraid of men and especially him, she’d raged. She’d never explained, and he hadn’t wondered about the statement. Until now.
He sipped his drink, recalling other incidents, other arguments, that belied the perfect marriage he and Isadora had shown to the world. She hated his work, his commitment to his patients, his absences in emergencies. Once, she’d hung up on a patient’s hysterical wife, refusing to call Ramon to the telephone. The man had been in cardiac arrest, and fortunately, another doctor had come to his aid. That had happened a week before Ramon left for France. And Isadora had gone walking in the cold rain without a coat, with bronchitis.
He’d gone to France after having asked Noreen to stay with Isadora and look after her. Noreen had agreed gladly, giving up her free days to take care of her cousin.
Everyone had thought that Noreen let Isadora die. Now, Ramon felt he knew and could accept the truth. It had been a tragic round of circumstances, ending with Noreen’s mild heart attack. And he and the Kensingtons hadn’t even allowed her to defend herself. They’d blamed her, isolated her, punished her for something that wasn’t her fault, for two long years. No wonder she withdrew from Ramon’s touch, from his offers of help.
He groaned aloud. How could he have been so arrogantly judgmental? How could he have overlooked Noreen’s compassion, branded her as a merciless killer? He was as guilty as she was. He was more guilty. He’d left Isadora behind out of necessity, because she couldn’t safely fly in that condition. But only now did he admit that he hadn’t wanted to take her with him.
His fairy-tale marriage had been going steadily downhill. He and Isadora had fought constantly at the last, especially on the day he’d left, and his conscience had beaten him over it, again and again. He’d wanted some time to himself. It was his absence as much as Noreen’s that had led to Isadora’s death, but he hadn’t been able to admit his guilt or have anyone know that his blissful marriage was a sort of hell. And now it was too late to make any difference. Noreen wanted no part of him. She never had. She’d backed away from him constantly over the past six years, especially after his marriage to Isadora. How could he blame her?
If only there was still time to make it up to her, he thought sadly. He couldn’t take back the past two years, but he could make her life a little easier. He had to talk to the Kensingtons. They had to be made to understand, too. Noreen had been done a great wrong. Now it was up to him to make it right. He hoped he could.
Noreen was able to walk around the unit three times the next day, with Brad lending her his support. She laughed at her own light-headedness, but she kept on, grinning at the nurses as she trundled along. Several of the patients were up walking today. All of them were steadily improving and looking healthier. The stimulation of walking kept the new valve working and helped clear her lungs and build her strength back up. She never doubted that she was going to be able to walk out of here within days. Her pleasure showed in her face.
At least, it did until Ramon came onto the ward and she saw him in her path. Her brilliant smile faded. Her eyes went lackluster and her gaze dropped abruptly to the floor. Her hand clung tight to Brad’s long arm.
“Good,” Ramon said, ignoring her lack of animation. “Walking is just what you need to do, as often as you can manage. It will make your recovery easier.”
“This is our third time around,” Brad told him. “She’s making progress.”
“Yes, so I see.”
“We need to move on,” she told Brad. “I get wobbly when I stand still.”
“Brad, you’re needed in 310,” one of the nurses called. “Mr. Sharp says his medicine’s running out on the breathing machine.”
Brad hated to desert her, and his expression reflected it. “I’ll take her the rest of the way around,” Ramon said, moving to take Brad’s place. “See to your patient.”
“Yes, sir,” Brad said, casting an apologetic glance at Noreen, who looked as if she’d just been turned over to the headsman.
“It won’t kill you to touch me,” Ramon said tersely, guiding her hand to his forearm. “Come on. Walk.”
She did, hating him, hating the curious glances of the other workers—it was unusual for a surgeon to take time to loiter with a patient while he was doing rounds.
“How’s the pain?” he asked as they rounded the nurses’ station.
“Better,” she said through her teeth.
He only nodded, drawing her along beside him slowly until they were back at her room. He helped her into bed, took off her slippers, unhooked her breathing tube from the oxygen cylinder and refitted it to the wall unit before the technician appeared to do it.
He took his stethoscope and listened to her chest while she struggled with weakness and breathlessness and her own helpless reaction to his proximity.
His black eyes met her light ones at point-blank range. He didn’t move at all.
“My chest hurts,” she said uneasily.
“I’ll have them bring you something for it.” He pulled the sheet up to her waist. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes. Of course.” She lowered her eyes to his tie.
She heard his slow, deep intake of breath. “You haven’t asked about your kitten.”
She was trying desperately to control her breathing. “Is she all right?”
“She’s fine. You’ll be glad to have her back when you go home.”
“Yes.”
He smiled faintly. “I’ve gotten used to her.”
“There are plenty of homeless kittens in the world,” she said noncommittally.
“I was hoping I might be allowed visitation rights,” he replied.
She looked up, then, her eyes devoid of all feeling. “I don’t think so,” she replied tautly.
His eyelids jerked, ever so slightly. He searched her eyes. “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?” he asked quietly.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You know,” he replied. “Good God, it must have occurred to you that I’d find out what happened eventually. I was shattered to know you’d had a heart attack and that was why you’d left Isadora alone.”
“It did occur to me,” she told him. “But perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you that I tried to tell you and you wouldn’t listen. None of you would let me tell you what happened.” Her face closed up completely. “I’ve been treated like a murderess for two years. Do you think I can just forget all that?”
He stood up straight. “No,” he replied. “And I should have realized it.” He searched her eyes. “I would apologize,” he added quietly. “But too much has happened for a simple apology to wipe out the past two years. I am truly sorry, if it helps.”
She lowered her eyelids. She was tired, worn-out. “You didn’t know,” she said dully. “They didn’t know, either. Oh, what difference does it make now?” she added miserably, biting hard on her lower lip. “She’s dead! And it was my fault! I should have tried harder to make the doctor understand why I had to go home!”
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He felt the words as if they were the twist of a knife in his stomach. “Noreen!” he exclaimed softly.
The door opened and Brad came in, his gaze accusing on Ramon’s swarthy face. He moved to her side and glared at the older man. “Can’t you stop hurting her?” he asked quietly. “Good God, man, she’s been through enough!”
“Yes, she has,” Ramon said in a subdued tone, watching the tears roll down Noreen’s pale cheeks with pain in his eyes. “And I haven’t helped matters.” He turned and went to the open doorway. “I’ll have them bring her something for the pain. Try to get her to eat.”
Brad didn’t answer him. He pulled a tissue from the box at the side table and handed it to Noreen to absorb the tears running down her cheeks. He’d never seen her look so totally defeated.
Ramon went down the hall in a fog. Tears on Noreen’s face. He’d seen them before and turned a cold heart to them. Now, it hurt him to have made her cry.
He’d expected to wave his hand and undo years of indifference and hostility. For the first time, he saw what a long road it was going to be, to win back Noreen’s trust. It left him numb.
Miss Plimm, the private duty nurse, stayed with Noreen at night for three days, but the following morning Noreen quietly and appreciatively sent her on her way. She wasn’t going to be obliged to Ramon for any more expenses, if she could help it.
Feeling that way, it was a good thing she couldn’t see ahead to the following Monday, when she was released from the hospital. She’d taken the obligatory nutrition class—the only surgical heart patient who attended it alone—and the nurses had filled out the necessary forms and given her prescriptions and appointment cards for follow-up visits to Ramon’s surgical group and the cardiologist.
She waited for the porter to bring a wheelchair and the nurse to get a taxi for her. She hadn’t counted on any complications. Well, possibly the kitten, but perhaps the owner of her apartment house would bend the rules for her. He and his wife were compassionate people and they liked her.