by Eve Gaddy
Chapter Two
A BIT MORE THAN an hour and a half later, Claire finished up her part of the patient’s surgery. Jonas Clark had come in several minutes before and observed. He didn’t make her nervous. She wasn’t a novice, after all. But she was very aware of his presence. Fortunately, the repair of the aortic arch had gone well. As soon as she closed, Clark’s surgical team started prepping and repositioning the patient for his craniotomy.
Claire didn’t leave immediately, but stayed to watch Clark work. It wasn’t every day she was able to see a world-class neurosurgeon perform an operation. She hoped it went well, especially since it had been unclear as to who should operate first, not that she had admitted to any indecision at the time. The patient’s condition had decided for them.
“Worried about your patient, Doctor?” Clark asked her as he began.
“No, just interested. Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
He was accustomed to people observing him, she knew, since he’d come to Shady Grove from Massachusetts General, a huge teaching hospital. She watched for some time, impressed with the man’s abilities. Reluctantly, she left before he finished, knowing she had her own duties to attend to.
She went to her locker, picked up her cell phone to find her husband had called five times, not leaving a message until the last one, just a few minutes before. Glenn didn’t call that many times for no reason. Usually he didn’t call her at all when she was at work.
She listened with a sinking heart. “Goddamn it, where are you? Call me immediately,” was the extent of his message. If that wasn’t typical Glenn. Just then she was paged to the ER. She would deal with her husband later.
To her surprise, Glenn was in the ER when she got there. “About damn time you showed up,” he said. His blond hair was disordered, and he’d taken off the suit jacket he habitually wore. He looked rumpled, stressed, and angry. Very unusual for him. Well, the rumpled part anyway. Stressed and angry were quite common nowadays.
“You had me paged? Why?”
“To ask you what the hell you mean by not alerting me about my father.”
“Your father? Did something happen to Lawrence?”
“He was in a car accident. He’s here in your ER. I didn’t get a call from you. No sign at all that you even know or care. This is my father, damn it, you should have been the one to call me.”
She didn’t blame him for being upset about his father, but that still didn’t justify his yelling at her. “I just got out of surgery,” she said, guiltily aware that she could have been there sooner if she hadn’t stayed to watch Jonas Clark perform his wonders. “My patient was the driver in a bad car wreck. His passenger was injured as well. I wonder if your father was that passenger? The other driver was killed.”
“I neither know nor care about the other people. I’m concerned with the treatment, or lack of it, that my father is getting. Why the hell aren’t you at least overseeing things? He has a head injury, a concussion the doctor said.”
Knowing there was no way to stop Glenn’s tirade, Claire let him rant.
“My father’s arm might be broken. Goddamn Lanie Avery is the orthopedist taking care of him, over my protests. I want her gone. I won’t have that incompetent bitch putting her hands on my father.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Lanie’s a very fine doctor,” she said impatiently. “She wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Claire refused to be drawn into an argument about Lanie. They’d never agree. “Never mind. I’ll go check on him. Where is he?”
Glenn said no more, just turned and led the way to one of the cubicles. Glenn’s father, Lawrence Westbrook, was awake and obviously in pain.
“Where the hell have you been? Why haven’t I been given pain medication? Does the goddamn doctor think I’m an addict? What’s taking so long?”
And as big of a jerk as ever, she thought, unsurprised. She told herself to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was clearly in pain and possibly scared, though she had a hard time believing that. “Let me look at your chart. I’m sorry I missed you, but I was in surgery. It sounds like my patient might have been the driver of your car.” Almost certainly was since her father-in-law and her patient were the only auto traumas currently in the hospital.
“Peter Moore?” he asked. Claire nodded. “Damn fool. I told him to let me drive, but no.”
“He’s in critical condition. He’s still in surgery.”
Lawrence grunted. “Get me something for the pain, right now,” he demanded.
So much for being concerned about his friend, she thought. Reading through his chart quickly she said, “You have a concussion, Lawrence. They have to be very careful about giving you pain medication with a head injury.”
Just then Lanie came in and shot Claire a meaningful look. “I’ve looked at your X-rays, Mr. Westbrook. You almost certainly have broken ribs, and you fractured your radius. Ordinarily I’d put you in a soft cast and send you home until the swelling goes down, but since you’ll be in the hospital for a few days because of your concussion, we can probably do it while you’re here. You won’t need surgery, at least.”
“I don’t want to stay in the hospital. Why can’t I go home?”
“I’ll let the ER doctor talk to you about that,” Lanie said diplomatically.
Ignoring Glenn, Lanie said, “Claire, if I could have a word with you?”
Claire followed her out, conscious of a feeling of relief at leaving the room. “Do you think he has internal injuries?” she asked her friend.
“Not according to preliminary findings. It’s possible further tests will turn up something, as you know. Although he fractured his radius, it’s not an open fracture, so that’s good news. The concussion is a bit of a worry, but you can talk to the ER doc when he comes back. I haven’t seen films on that. How about the driver?”
“The aortic repair was successful. Now it’s up to the neurosurgeon.”
“Jonas Clark was breathing fire after you went to the OR. I don’t think he liked having his patient whisked away.”
“I wouldn’t have either. But he got over that once the patient’s status was clear. He should be finishing up soon.”
“Did you watch any of the operation?” Lanie asked.
“I did. The man lives up to his reputation. He’s good. Damn good from what I saw.”
“He came from Massachusetts General. He should be good.”
“I hope Glenn hasn’t been too hard to deal with,” Claire said, knowing he had likely been a pain in the ass at the least.
“Oh, he’s been a peach,” Lanie said sarcastically. “Seriously, other than yelling about how he didn’t want me touching his father, he’s been okay. Once he realized it was me or no one, he shut up.” She glanced at the cubicle. “I see where Glenn gets his winning personality.”
“Lawrence is a piece of work.”
“Flaming asshole is how I’d describe him.”
Claire laughed. “Yes, that works too. But he is in a lot of pain.”
Lanie leveled a look at her. “And he’s normally sweet as pie, right?”
“No, he’s normally a jerk. Just not so blatant about it. Thanks, Lanie.”
“All in a day’s work. Unfortunately.” Before Claire left, Lanie put a hand on her arm. “I still can’t understand why you stay married to Glenn when you’re clearly unhappy.”
“It’s complicated,” Claire said, and left her.
Glenn knew how to be charming. She’d never have married him if he’d treated her then like he did now. But that didn’t explain why she put up with it. Was she just chasing a hopeless cause? Or did she hate to admit failure so much that she continued to stay in a dying marriage?
HOURS LATER, CLAIRE let herself into her house and collapsed on the sofa, tossing the sandwich she’d picked up onto the coffee tab
le. It had been a long day. Glenn was still at the hospital with his father, which suited her just fine. She’d felt a little guilty leaving, but she had to work tomorrow, and if she didn’t get some sleep she’d be useless. And Glenn knew he could call if he needed her. But she didn’t think he would. Given the severity of the car accident, Lawrence’s tests had turned out well. A couple of broken ribs and a broken arm, while painful, were nothing compared to the trauma the driver had suffered.
Even if she could have tolerated it, Claire wouldn’t be of any use at Lawrence’s bedside. Lawrence didn’t like her any more than she liked him. He’d had a different kind of wife in mind for his only child. A woman with more beauty than brains and who would stay home and manage their social life. Which was about as far from Claire as you could get.
Glenn hadn’t exactly gotten what he’d expected when he’d married her, either. He’d known she was studying medicine, of course, but he’d been a lot more interested in her social pedigree than she had realized at the time. Claire came from a socially prominent, wealthy family, but she’d always been driven to succeed in her chosen profession. She hadn’t scorned the social scene her parents had enjoyed, so much as she simply didn’t have time for it.
After eating she took a quick shower, then crawled into bed and closed her eyes. Fifteen minutes later, she acknowledged she couldn’t turn off her brain long enough for sleep to take over. The journal she’d brought home from her mother’s house sat on the bedside table. Had it really been the cause of that dream? Surely something like that was a fluke and wouldn’t happen again. She’d only glanced at the journal the first time, after all.
She reached for it, picked a page at random, and started reading. Fortunately, Rachel’s handwriting was beautiful and not difficult to read except where it had faded. For the most part it hadn’t faded too badly, which surprised Claire. After all it was nearly 150 years old.
Rachel’s Journal—January 2, 1859
I am a wretched, wretched person. Victor Lawrence came to my father and asked for one of his daughters in marriage. At first, he cared not which one. He made it clear he wanted a good breeder. My father, naturally, denied him. But when Mr. Lawrence saw the two of us, he insisted he wanted Sarah. Sarah is by far the prettier, and suffers no squint, as I do. Father denied him again, saying he would force neither daughter into marriage against her will.
But Mr. Lawrence said he would ruin Father and force him to leave the area. And when he found that Ben and I were to marry, he threatened Ben’s livelihood as well. He says he can destroy the store, and I believe him. Whereas if Father agrees, Mr. Lawrence said he would gift Father with enough money to not only keep up the farm but to expand it. And that he would give him money for Ben and I as well. While Ben and I do not need his money, I am afraid of what he will do if he does not get his way. Sarah has agreed. And I, wretch that I am, allowed it. I said nothing in protest but allowed my darling sister to sacrifice herself for the rest of us.
To what misery have I sentenced my poor sister? But how can we fight so powerful a man? Perhaps he will not be as terrible as I fear. Are the rumors true? They say he is a brutal master. His slaves do not talk. They dare not. None of our servants talk to his slaves. They say he threatens to whip them to death if he hears his business bandied about. I fear a man so cruel to his slaves will be no better to his wife. Others say I am naive and that is how many use their slaves. But I cannot condone such cruelty.
CLAIRE CLOSED THE book and set it aside. She wanted to read more but knew she’d regret losing sleep, especially since her workdays were normally busy. She closed her eyes and drifted off, thinking of two sisters on the eve of the Civil War.
January 1859
SARAH KNEW WHAT she had to do. Her duty, regardless of what she wanted. Victor Lawrence desired her. He had made it clear he could help her father keep his farm, or he could ruin him. As well as ruin Ben, her sister’s betrothed. Her father wouldn’t force her to marry the wealthy plantation owner. A kinder, gentler man than her father she’d never known. That was part of the problem, that and his abolitionist leanings. He refused to own slaves, relying instead on freedmen, those of his own he had freed as well as the few others he found, to work his fields. Around these parts such actions were viewed as eccentric at best, seditious at worst.
Sarah could not let her father sacrifice everything for her. Her sister Rachel loved being betrothed and couldn’t wait to be a married lady. She was to marry Ben Adams, the man she loved, though. Soon, God willing, they would be married and have children to brighten their days.
But Rachel’s betrothed owned the general store, and he depended on the goodwill and business of the plantation owners from the surrounding areas. Everyone was well aware that a man like Victor Lawrence could ruin anyone he chose. She knew Victor had threatened her father with ruin if she didn’t choose to marry him. And she believed he had threatened Ben, as well. Her father wouldn’t speak of it, but she could tell by his ceaseless poring over his accounts that he was worried.
Perhaps once she married Victor Lawrence, her life wouldn’t be so bad. He was wealthy and could offer her whatever she wanted.
Everything but love.
If she married Victor Lawrence, her loved ones would be safe. If she resisted, ruin.
Duty won.
Chapter Three
August Present Day
IN THE THREE days since he’d met Claire Westbrook and tangled over a patient, Jonas had not been able to get her out of his mind. He couldn’t figure it out. He was not the kind of man to obsess over a woman. Especially not a woman he wasn’t even sure he liked. But for reasons he didn’t understand, Claire had been on his mind. And stayed there whether he wanted her to or not.
She was beautiful. A knockout with long, dark blonde hair of a thousand shades, and a flawless milky-white complexion. Even in scrubs he could see she had curves for days. Okay, she was smoking. But so what? He’d known other beautiful women. Even dated a few. Besides, she was married. She didn’t wear a ring, but that wasn’t unusual for a trauma surgeon. No sense wearing something you had to take off and keep up with on a daily basis. His information about her marital status came from her friend, Lanie Avery. The orthopedist had mentioned something about Claire’s father-in-law going through the ER the same day as Mr. Moore, their mutual patient.
Father-in-law meant she was married. Off the table. It wasn’t as if he wanted to date her, anyway. There were plenty of available women, a lot of them right there in Shady Grove hospital.
There was Arianna, the radiology tech who’d made it clear from the day he’d met her that she’d be interested in seeing him outside of work. She was hot. And available. There was also Chamika, a model he’d met in Boston who was based in Dallas. Somehow she’d heard he had moved to Texas, and she’d texted him to call her. Chamika was gorgeous. Available. But he couldn’t summon up the energy to do anything about it.
Poor timing, that’s all it was. New job, heavy schedule. Right now, all he wanted to do was sleep. He’d been on call last night and up operating for most of it. He got in his car, the silver ZR1 Corvette that he loved like a child. At the rate he was going, the ‘Vette might be as close as he ever came to offspring. Still, he was only thirty-four. Plenty of time left to tie himself down with a wife and kids. If he wanted to.
Which he didn’t.
He drove out of the parking garage and nearly passed a woman leaning against her car, an eye-popping candy-cane red M5 Beamer. He slowed down, then stopped. The hood was propped open, indicating she wasn’t standing there for kicks. Well, damn. Claire Westbrook, looking cool and beautiful in hospital scrubs after a night spent on call. How did she manage that?
He rolled down his window. “Need some help?”
She looked relieved. “Yes, thanks. A jump would help. I hope.”
He got out, went around to the trunk, and pulled out his jum
per cables. “Long night?” he asked as he connected the cables.
She rubbed her neck and groaned. “Very. How about you?”
“Yeah, it was long. I operated most of it.”
“Me too. The older I get the more I wonder if I picked the right specialty. I should have been a dermatologist. Or something else nine to five. But no, I had to pick trauma surgery.”
“You’d be bored in a heartbeat with a nine-to-five job.”
“How do you know that?”
He glanced at her and smiled. Nine to five? He didn’t think so. “I saw you operate on Mr. Moore. You’re a born surgeon.” Cool, collected, capable. Of course, he expected that in a hospital as well run as Shady Grove. Didn’t always happen, though.
“Thanks. That means a lot coming from a surgeon of your reputation.”
“I wasn’t blowing smoke. I meant it.” He couldn’t say why it was important to him that she knew he was sincere, but it was.
She smiled. “It never occurred to me that you were feeding me a line. I’m not that insecure. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Annoyed that she’d managed to throw him off balance without even making an effort, he said, “Get in and crank it.”
It took several tries, but it finally started. Her car was seriously smoking, just as she was. Briefly, he wondered if it was hers or the husband’s. Hers, he decided. It suited her perfectly. Classy and beautiful. He bet that sucker would run.
“Thank you.” She propped her arm on the open window and smiled at him. “I wasn’t looking forward to waiting for AAA. Last time I called them it took hours. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” She laughed at his expression. “Decaf, so you can sleep once you get home. How about it?”
What the hell. Maybe if he got to know her better, she’d cease being such a fascination. “Sure, why not. I’ll follow you.”
Or maybe she’d become even more intriguing, in which case he was screwed.
The coffee shop he followed her to was a small diner on Berry Street that he remembered from his high school days. He wouldn’t have thought Claire knew it, though. Interesting.