PATIENT CARE (Medical Romance) (Doctor Series)

by Bobby Hutchinson

  She visited Betsy every moment she could squeeze out of her schedule. She took in a radio and tuned it to her mother’s favorite station. She talked to her in a bright, cheerful voice, even as tears streamed down her face. She held her hand, stroked her cheek, rubbed her feet and her back.

  Betsy lay unmoving.

  For Melissa, the worst time came in the middle of that night. During the day, she’d been forced to rush from one item on her calendar to the next, and she’d had to concentrate, which kept her from thinking too much or too often about her mother.

  She’d been exhausted by the time she got home. There’d been an evening meeting that hadn’t ended until nine-thirty, after which she grabbed a burger from a drive-through. Home at last, she filled a tub with hot water, soaked for ten minutes and then collapsed in bed, emotionally and physically exhausted.

  She’d fallen asleep in an instant, but at 2 a.m. she was suddenly wide-awake, and the first image that popped into her mind was that of James Burke. Every heartless word that hateful man had spoken about Betsy reverberated in her head. The awful thing was that there was no indication his assessment was wrong. Betsy was unresponsive.

  In an effort to keep hysterical tears at bay, Melissa planned what to do, aside from playing the radio, to stimulate Betsy. Medical evidence indicated that even patients in deep comas responded to auditory stimulation.

  As she racked her brain, the clock crawled from two to three, then to four. She got up and found a tape player to take to her mother’s room. Betsy liked old favorites such as “Moon River” and “When You Wish Upon a Star.” Melissa vowed she’d hunt down a store in the morning that sold vintage tapes.

  She sorted through photos and found the ones of the holiday she and Betsy had taken to Mexico to celebrate Melissa’s getting her master’s degree. There were pictures of the resort where they’d stayed, the mariachi singer who’d taken a fancy to Betsy. Melissa put them in an envelope.

  She’d pin them up in her mother’s room and talk to Betsy about them.

  When she was exhausted from worrying about Betsy, Melissa turned her thoughts to James Burke. What was she going to do about him? She had a meeting at which he’d be present scheduled for this morning. How could she possibly remain cool and businesslike around him?

  She finally fell asleep again at 4:45, and when her alarm went off at six, she could barely force herself out of bed and into the shower.

  The day showed signs of being a disaster before it had even properly begun. She’d started her period and her stomach was swollen and crampy. She had a burgeoning zit in the middle of her chin. Her hair needed a trim and a conditioning treatment: it defied all her efforts to contain it in its usual tidy knot at her nape.

  She spilled coffee on the first ensemble she put on, and when she clicked on the television to the local station as she ate a bowl of cold cereal, she caught the news clip of her being interviewed the previous afternoon. That took away even the small appetite she had.

  She stared at the screen, aghast. Lord, was that really her? She looked downright frowsy and ancient contrasted with the peppy young blonde who’d done the interviewing. The cameraman had filmed head and shoulders, close up. Melissa’s makeup was nearly nonexistent, her obstinate hair hung in tired wisps around her face and the camera accented the weary lines around her eyes and mouth. Thank God, she’d sounded better than she looked. She’d actually managed to get across most of the information she’d wanted to convey. But seeing herself was almost painful. She imagined female viewers wondering aloud why she didn’t get her hair styled and use some mascara.

  Feeling as low as she’d ever felt, Melissa swallowed two aspirin, packed up the photos and the tape player and drove to work, not sure how she was going to struggle through the day.

  The doctors were picketing in front of the hospital, and when she pulled into the parking lot she found that a battered silver travel trailer was blocking her privileged parking spot.

  Amalgamated Plumbers Of Canada proclaimed a banner across the back of the trailer. Honk If You Support The Docs, another hand-lettered sign decreed.

  Melissa pulled up in front of the trailer and climbed wearily out of her car. The sun was up, the air already humid. Smells of simmering chili and cinnamon buns permeated the air, reminding her that she’d hardly eaten since Betsy had gotten sick.

  A potbellied giant of a man stepped out of the trailer, opened up a collapsible table and began setting up green plastic lawn chairs around it. He was whistling “When The Saints Go Marching In.”

  Melissa went marching over. “Can I speak to whoever’s in charge here, please?” She squinted up at the huge man, realizing she’d left her sunglasses in the car and now her head was aching, as well as her stomach.

  “I guess that’d be me, ma’am. Name’s Rudy Ransom.” He stuck out a massive paw, and she had no choice except to shake it. “What can I do you for?” He grinned at her. He had a silver tooth on the top, just left of center, rosy cheeks, a cherub’s face and a full head of curly white hair, all of which made him look a little like Santa Claus without a beard.

  Melissa dredged up her most professional demeanor. “This trailer is blocking my personal parking spot, Mr. Ransom. I’d appreciate it if you’d have it moved as soon as possible. I work at St. Joe’s and need a place to put my car where I can be assured of its safety. I’d rather not be towed for parking in someone else’s spot.”

  “Sorry about that, ma’am. This is the food trailer for the picket line. I put ’er here because of the tree. Get’s hot as Hades in there, what with the stove goin’, never mind the oven. How’s about I find you another parking place for a coupla days?”

  For a moment, Melissa considered sticking to her rights and insisting that he move the trailer, instead. But the energy that would require could better be used at her job. And her energy was in short supply this morning.

  “As long as my car is in a safe place, I guess that’ll be okay.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a piercing whistle that made Melissa wince.

  A uniformed security guard came trotting over.

  “Lennie, the trailer’s blocking this lady’s personal parking spot. How about finding her another good one?”

  “Sure thing, Rudy.” The guard smiled at Melissa and jerked a thumb at her car. “This little beauty yours, ma’am?”

  She nodded, and Rudy Ransom whistled his approval. “Nice wheels,” he said. “2009 BMW, am I right?”

  “You got ’er,” Lennie confirmed, before Melissa could say a word. “I’ll take good care of her for ya,” Lennie promised, as Melissa handed over her keys. “I’ll bring these back to you in a few minutes, soon as I locate a good spot.”

  “Take the load off your feet,” Rudy ordered, pointing at a lawn chair. “You got time for a cuppa java. It’ll be a few minutes before Lennie gets back.” Rudy disappeared inside the trailer, and returned with a steaming mug of coffee and a silver thermos jug.

  Melissa hesitated, then sat. She was early, and she needed to find out exactly what the Plumbers’ Union was doing here supporting the physicians’ job action. The relationship between the two escaped her.

  “Had breakfast?” Rudy handed her the mug along with sugar and several containers of cream.

  “Yes, thank you.” She remembered the television debacle and shuddered.

  “Time for a snack, then.” Rudy went inside, and was back in a moment with a thick chunk of chocolate brownie on a paper plate and a plastic fork. “Get yourself around that. The wife made it this morning.”

  Melissa sipped the coffee. It was delicious, strong and fresh. She looked at the brownie, thickly coated in fudge icing, and her mouth watered. Chocolate was the one thing she couldn’t resist when she was having her period. A single mouthful of the brownie told her it was easily the best she’d ever tasted. She had another bite, and then a third. She could have sworn it helped her headache. She swallowed and tried to distract herself. “Do y
ou belong to the Plumbers’ Union, Mr. Ransom?”

  “Sure do, I’m shop steward for Local 253.”

  “I see.” She frowned at him. “Can you tell me exactly what you’re doing here?”

  He looked at her as if it was self-evident, but his voice was polite. “Picketing’s tiresome business. Lord knows, I’ve done enough of it in my time. Only thing that makes it bearable is havin’ some good hot food ready and waitin’ for you when you need a break.”

  Melissa nodded. “I just don’t quite understand why the Plumbers’ Union is supporting the doctors.”

  He raised a fist. “Solidarity,” he bellowed, making her jump. “All for one, and one for all.” He lowered his arm, refilled her coffee from the thermos and leaned close enough so Melissa could smell brownie on his breath. “Fact is, I owe my life to one of them there doctors,” he confided. “Came that close—” he held out two fingers a smidgen apart “—to packin’ it in last spring. Pain was somethin’ awful. The wife called 911. Took four of them ambulance guys to get me on the stretcher.”

  Melissa believed it. He probably weighed close to three hundred pounds.

  “Got me in Emerg, and damn if my gallbladder wasn’t on the verge of bustin’ wide open.” Rudy’s cornflower-blue eyes widened, and he shook his head at the memory. “Only thing saved me was Dr. Burke. The man’s a genius with the knife, let me tell you.”

  Melissa nearly choked on her bite of brownie.

  Rudy didn’t notice. “Turned on the old telly the other night and there’s this stuff about the doc’s bein’ on strike. So I just called up the members of the local, and we figured a little support was in order. Couple of the wives got busy and cooked, and I volunteered to set up the trailer out here. It’s the least I can do for the good doc.”

  “Does, uh, does Dr. Burke know you’re here?” Melissa looked over at the picket line. She couldn’t see Burke. She couldn’t imagine him on a picket line, anyway.

  Rudy glanced at his watch. “Should be along any minute now. I called up his answerin’ service. They said the doc would be here along about seven-thirty. He rides his bike over.”

  Melissa checked her watch. It was twenty past. She snatched up her purse and her briefcase. “Thanks for the—”

  “Hey, there he is now.” Rudy raised his voice. “Hey, how d’ya do, Doc. Remember me?”

  James Burke looked up and waved. He was locking his bicycle to a bike rack at the back of the lot. He unhooked his helmet and looped it over the handlebars, and then he came striding over.

  Chapter Seven

  Melissa felt her heart begin to hammer. Her hands were trembling. She was still furious with Burke, but damned if she’d let him see how upset she was. Her first reaction had been to run, but she decided to hold her ground. She’d have to face him sooner or later. It might as well be now. Besides, Lennie hadn’t yet reappeared with her lousy car keys.

  “Hey, Doc Burke, I was just tellin’ this lady that if not for you, I’d be pushin’ up daisies,” Rudy said.

  Melissa’s skin felt tight and hot, but she stared Burke in the eye. It was gratifying to see that he looked as uncomfortable and ill at ease as she felt. He was wearing black biking shorts and a tight-fitting top that emphasized his lean build. His forehead was covered with sweat and he used the back of his hand to wipe it.

  “There’re a coupla guys I wanna introduce to ya, Doc, if you gotta minute.” Rudy raised his voice. “Hey, Stan. Vern.”

  Two men on the picket line set down their signs and walked over.

  “This here’s Doc Burke. He’s the guy I told ya about. If you ever need to get anythin’ cut out, this is the man to do it.” Burke shook their hands, although his discomfort at Rudy’s testimonial was evident.

  Melissa made a move to leave, but Rudy stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Dunno where my manners are. I didn’t even get your name, ma’am.”

  “It’s Melissa. Melissa Clayton,” she said.

  “How d’ya do, Melissa.” Rudy reached out and shook her hand all over again. “You know Dr. Burke, Ms. Clayton?”

  “We’ve met, yes.” Melissa eyed him, and James Burke turned an interesting shade of magenta.

  “How ’bout a coffee, Doc? And a cinnamon bun.” Rudy had the coffee poured and the bun on a plate before Burke could refuse.

  “Let me warm that up for you, Melissa.” The thermos was poised over her cup, but Melissa shook her head.

  “I have to get to work. Thanks for the coffee.” She glanced down at the empty plate that had held the sweet. “And the brownie.” God, she’d eaten the entire thing. “I need my—“

  Before she could finish, Lennie appeared like an apparition and handed her the car keys.

  She stuffed them in her bag and hurried across the lot to the hospital entrance, but once inside she had to wait for the elevator.

  “Melissa.” Burke’s voice sounded from behind her, but she didn’t turn around.

  “Melissa, wait just a moment. We need to talk.” He came up beside her, and the dratted elevator still wasn’t showing any sign of arriving. She debated escaping up the stairs, but part of her knew he was right; they did have to talk. It might as well be now.

  “What I said about your mother was clinically correct, but it came out the wrong way, and I apologize.” He rattled the words off as if he’d memorized them.

  “Your people skills need a lot of improving, Doctor.” Her tone was cold and distant. “St. Joe’s has courses, you know.”

  The elevator finally arrived, and she stepped on.

  He did, as well. For the first time in recent history, the blasted thing was empty except for them. Melissa punched the third-floor button; she wanted to pop in and see Betsy before going to her office to start the day.

  Burke didn’t punch any button; obviously, he was going to the same place.

  The elevator stayed where it was for what seemed an eternity before it began to move.

  “Melissa, I’m sorry.” This time he appeared to mean it. “The last thing I intended to do was upset you,” he went on. His tone was becoming less certain with each sentence. “I never know what to do when someone cries.”

  “A handkerchief or a kind word work a heck of a lot better than walking away,” she snapped.

  “You’re probably right.” He sounded miserable. “You are right,” he corrected, when she glared at him. “Will you accept my apology? Please?”

  She would, of course. She pretty much had to. She didn’t want bad feelings between them; they did work in the same hospital. Still, she let the silence stretch because it wouldn’t hurt him to squirm a little.

  The elevator stopped. They were at the third floor, but before the doors could open he reached around her and put his finger on the button that kept the doors shut. She was cornered; his head was close to hers, his chest only inches away. She could smell clean sweat under laid with aftershave. His hair flopped onto his forehead. He gazed into her eyes for a moment. Then his gaze wandered to her mouth and he swore under his breath.

  “Damn, you make me want to—”

  Instead of finishing the sentence, he bent his head and kissed her.

  It was so unexpected that for a moment she couldn’t believe it was actually happening. But his lips were warm and tender, and he kissed well. She was enveloped in his scent, woodsy and intimate. The kiss wasn’t a long one by any means, and he certainly didn’t do anything invasive

  with his tongue, but her insides were humming when she pulled away.

  He looked every bit as startled as she felt. He still had his finger on the button, so the elevator doors stayed closed.

  “Exactly what do you think you’re doing, Doctor?” She tried for steely and outraged but instead got shrill and shaky.

  “Beats me.” He gave his head a bemused shake. Then he frowned at her, and his deep brown eyes went from abstracted to alarmed. “Damn it, Melissa, I hope you know I didn’t plan that,” he burst out. “Because I didn’t. Being close to you makes me—oh, G
od. Please don’t think sexual harassment here.”

  It hadn’t crossed her mind until he mentioned it.

  “It’s—well, see—”

  He was stuttering. She wondered if anyone aside from his mother had ever heard James Burke stutter. She waited. She managed to raise her eyebrows in what she hoped was a cool, questioning manner, but her face was burning. She cursed her coloring.

  “It’s just that you’re the sexiest—” He stopped short and tried again. “You’re a lovely woman. I’ve always found you attractive. And just for one minute there, I lost my head.” His shoulders slumped and he sighed. “I guess now I really owe you an apology.”

  She drew in a shaky breath. “No,” she said softly. “You don’t.” She swallowed and said the first thing that came into her head. “It was a nice kiss. It’s also nice to find out that you’re human, after all.”

  Lord. Was nice the only word she could think of?

  “People might be starting to wonder what’s wrong with the elevator, though,” she added, when he still didn’t make a move.

  “Oh. Yeah. Of course.” He released the button and the door slid open. No one was waiting, and Melissa was relieved. She felt warm and rumpled, and she knew her cheeks were still flaming. She’d just as soon nobody saw her for a couple of minutes, until she had time to regain her composure. Had he really said she was sexy?

  “I’m going to see Mom,” she said to fill the sudden awkward silence.

  He waited until she’d stepped out of the elevator, then followed her. “That’s where I’m going, too.” He sounded preoccupied.

  They walked together down the hallway and turned the corner. No one was at the nursing station, but that was because the entire staff was gathered around Betsy’s bed.

  Melissa’s heart almost stopped. “Oh, my God, what’s wrong? Is she—”