Nightwatch

by Jo Leigh

  “When is it scheduled?”

  “Day after tomorrow, at ten-thirty.”

  “I’ll be there. And Callie, if you don’t mind, could I get the doctor’s report on the initial injury?”

  “Of course. I’ll have it there for you.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  Their business was over, but Callie was reluctant to hang up. “I imagine it’s been a nightmare day for you.”

  “You got that right. The traffic problems alone would have kept us busy, but there was an incredible amount of damage. It’s going to be a while until we get a handle on it.”

  “Today we had a lot of repair injuries.”

  “Sure, that makes sense. I’m surprised there weren’t a lot more serious problems.”

  She picked up her cooled cup of coffee and took a sip. “We had a lot of traffic in the E.R., but not much that was deadly, thank goodness.”

  “I wish I could say the same for this damn city.”

  “You’ve had a lot on your plate lately.”

  She heard his sigh across the line. “Too much, Callie. There’s been way the hell too much death around Courage Bay, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let it continue.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE LIGHTS WERE DIMMED, the soft padding of the nurses’ feet faded into the background along with the beeping of the heart monitors and hush of respirators. Guy had never felt more helpless. Or more determined.

  He cradled Heath in his arms, thinking about what this little one had to face. If he got through the first few weeks of his infancy, he’d still have developmental difficulties, physical and mental. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have a meaningful life.

  Guy had seen many patients over the years who had given birth to developmentally challenged children, and while not ignoring the shock and the disappointment these parents faced, he’d made it a point to let them know that their children would be a gift to their lives. There were two support groups his team had helped put together in Courage Bay to help families cope and thrive in such situations. His experience was that parents who had the right attitude really did find that their special children made their lives rich and blessed. There were significant hurdles to conquer, but that created a bond that was unique in all the world.

  It shocked him to realize that while he’d believed that intellectually, he hadn’t truly understood it until now.

  The protectiveness he felt toward this child eclipsed any emotion he could ever remember feeling. It was stronger than his love of medicine, stronger than his feelings for Tammy, even in the beginning. It was new, and frightening. Within less than twenty-four hours, his priorities had completely shifted.

  He had to save this boy’s life. He had to find Heath’s father, and make sure that bastard paid for what he’d done to Heather and her baby.

  It occurred to him that before he’d known about Heath, the highlight of his week was knowing his boat had been safe from the storm. Now the boat seemed a trifle, an extravagance with no meaning.

  No meaning.

  It all came down to that, didn’t it? What had it all meant? The success of his career? The pursuit of winning, of money, of women—trophies to impress himself. And in the process, he’d turned a blind eye to those who needed him, to those who could have given his life depth. Even his sister and brother, who had offered him family and friendship and continuity, were sidebars to his life. When was the last time he’d really talked to either of them? Not about the hospital, but about their lives? It was as if they’d all agreed that nothing of substance would interfere with the casual day-to-day exchanges, or even holiday gatherings.

  He wondered if they had a deeper relationship with each other, or were they as superficial as he was?

  He wished Rachel were here, which was just one more surreal aspect to the day. Why her? Why now? Why did he feel so safe when she was near and want so badly to talk to her in a way he’d never dreamed of before? What the hell was going on with him?

  If someone had told him yesterday what he’d be thinking about right now, he would have laughed out loud. Then sent the person to the psych ward.

  Heath blew a little bubble between his lips and stirred slightly. All notions of craziness fled as a feeling of pure joy cascaded through Guy’s body. Heath had moved so little, had responded so faintly, that this was something to celebrate.

  He tried to remember the last time he’d prayed. Maybe he never had. But he did now.

  THE ELEVATOR TO THE fourth floor was crowded, and Rachel stood in the front, as close to the door as possible. She hadn’t found Guy in the E.R. or in his office, although Connie had told her he was doing better today, that he’d just needed some sleep. Rachel had, too.

  After her shift had ended that morning, she’d gone straight home and climbed into bed. One of the first things she’d done when she’d bought her house was to install blackout curtains in her bedroom. Even when it was noon, she was wrapped in cool darkness. She’d also purchased the best sheets she could find, six-hundred-count Egyptian cotton, because bed was huge in her life. Medical school had taught her the importance of taking any and all opportunities to sleep, and she’d nurtured the habit by making her bedroom as cozy and nestlike as possible.

  Except this morning, her thoughts had kept her from immediately conking out. For a change, it wasn’t one of her patients spinning in her head, it was Guy.

  She was still stymied over her reaction to him. She’d known him for two years, and nothing like this had happened before.

  She’d thought he was attractive since day one, no question about that, but when he’d touched her last night it was like being zapped by a live wire. Why? He’d touched her before. A hand on her shoulder, a brush of his arm, and while she’d been aware, she hadn’t felt—

  The first thing that came to mind was awakened. Turned on. In all senses of the phrase. Her focus had shifted, and her awareness had gone from fuzzy to startlingly sharp.

  It made no sense. If she’d been diagnosing someone in her condition, she would have laughed and told them it was nothing life threatening. A simple case of lust.

  Lust?

  That was absurd.

  Not that Rachel was immune, but it hadn’t happened to her in a long, long time.

  And why in hell would she feel lust for a man in so much pain? God, maybe she was a sicko, some kind of sadist.

  Well, if that were true, it was the first she’d been aware of it.

  Come to think of it, it wasn’t his grief that had made her see him differently, it was his raw humanity. He’d unmasked himself yesterday, and for the first time, she’d seen the man behind the white coat.

  Okay, so she wasn’t a pervert, which was good. But she was deeply affected by Guy Giroux, which was bad. Very bad.

  The elevator stopped and she got out, heading directly to the NICU. It felt odd to be here in her civvies. She’d worn jeans, a maroon turtleneck and leather jacket—a typical choice for days off. But it felt too casual for the hospital.

  Guy, as she’d suspected, was with Heath, but he wasn’t alone. The whole team was there, standing around the incubator, deep in discussion. She thought about joining them, but decided it wasn’t her place. Instead she went to the nurses’ station and asked for a piece of notepaper. Quickly she told Guy she’d been by, but that she didn’t want to interrupt. If he needed her, she was on her cell. She signed the message Rachel and noted the time.

  After folding the paper, she asked the nurse to give it to Guy when he was finished with the consult.

  Then she quickly left the NICU and the hospital and headed toward her car.

  The January afternoon had a slight chill, and Rachel shivered, but she didn’t start the engine once she was inside her car. Instead, she looked past the parking lot to the grass and the trees. The hospital was beautifully landscaped, and though the storm had shaken things up, everything around her seemed reborn, and refreshingly lush.

  Rachel wondered what the beach would look like. Pro
bably rough and wild and beautiful.

  She started the car. It was one of her few indulgences. For the most part, she was careful with her money, making sure her portfolio was diversified and safe. But certain things, like her sheets, the occasional cashmere sweater and her Mustang, were luxuries she allowed herself. The car was a reminder of her father. They hadn’t shared a lot, but he’d let her help when he tinkered with his cars.

  And now she had one of her own. She loved this baby, and she did most of the maintenance herself. There were definitely some advantages to having no social life.

  She headed toward Courage Bay’s main shopping district, although there was nothing she had to look for there. Then she noticed a nail salon, walk-ins welcome. She glanced at her fingers. Ugh. The nails were short by necessity, but they didn’t have to be so ugly.

  She found a parking space and decided right then and there to have both a manicure and pedicure. She needed to indulge herself. Relax. And try not to think about Guy.

  GUY GOT THE NOTE from Rachel at four-fifteen. The day had disappeared in consultations, lab reports and phone calls.

  It was the phone calls he wanted to discuss with Rachel, but not yet. He needed to get home, shower, change clothes. He didn’t want to leave Heath, even though he trusted his colleagues to watch him through the night. But if he wasn’t rested, he wouldn’t be able to find Stan, let alone handle his responsibilities at the hospital.

  As he drove, he thanked God for his team. Connie had made sure he was covered, and Callie Baker had stopped in to see him this afternoon to let him know she was there for him if he needed her, and that the entire hospital staff was at his disposal. Everyone was in full support mode for his revised staffing schedule, which was yet another shocker in a considerable stack of them. No one had complained about the double shifts, the loss of weekends off. That kind of support was hard to accept.

  He paid attention to the road while he planned his evening. City road crews were still cleaning up from the storm, and several lights were out at major intersections. In the little shopping district near his home, Sam’s Hardware was boarded up, as was the dry cleaners. The storm seemed a lifetime ago, especially when the sky was clear and the air so clean. His personal storm wasn’t clearing up so handily.

  But no thinking. Not yet. Get home. Power nap. Shower. Rachel.

  He turned onto Druid Lane, past Mrs. Allen’s house. Three cars were parked out front, one with the logo of an insurance company marked on the side. Glad she was taken care of, and that there would be no yapping dogs tonight, Guy pressed the button for his garage and slid the SUV next to his Corvette.

  Everything ached as he walked into the house, and he decided to shower first, power nap second. Everything else would follow in its own good time.

  No. Actually, there was something that had to be done right now. He picked up the phone and dialed Rachel’s cell. He got her voice mail. “Rachel, if you’re not busy, come over tonight. I’ll fix some dinner. Around seven, okay? I want to talk to you about Stan and that whole business. Anyway, come if you can. If not, no sweat.”

  RACHEL RANG GUY’S DOORBELL and suddenly felt like a moron for bringing wine. This wasn’t really a social call. Did she have time to run back to her car and put it in the trunk? No, he’d ask what she was doing, and she couldn’t think that fast. When the lock clicked, she panicked and tossed the bottle in the big hedge. Only, it didn’t disappear. It just bounced once and sat there on the green branches, red bow and all.

  “Rachel.”

  She turned to the door, slapping a grin on her face and trying desperately for an air of nonchalance. “Guy.”

  He looked a bit puzzled, glanced behind her, then stepped back. “Come on in.”

  She walked in, passing him on his left so he wouldn’t look outside and bust her cold.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You need to stop that,” she chided. “There’s no reason to thank me. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.”

  He walked behind her and put his hands on her collar, but he didn’t remove her jacket. Instead, he leaned softly forward. She thought she heard him take a deep breath, then he said, “You’d be wrong.”

  She shivered as he slowly pulled her jacket off, touching her upper arms briefly. Not good. She’d just gotten here, and she’d made a fool of herself twice. No more shivering allowed. This was not really personal. He needed a sounding board, nothing more. And she was the one who’d opened her big mouth last night and said she’d help.

  Guy cleared his throat, then hung her coat in the closet. Rachel took the opportunity to look around. She’d never been here before. When Guy hosted social events for the staff, they were inevitably held at the Bar and Grill. His place was beautiful, lots of white marble, modern paintings, elegant furniture. But it was a bit cold, as if a decorator had had her way when Guy was at work. “Nice,” she said.

  He waved away the compliment. “I hope you don’t mind salmon again so soon,” he said.

  “Mind? I love it.”

  “Great. Come with me,” he said, taking her hand and leading her past a large great room that was much the same as the foyer and into a kitchen where everything changed.

  “Oh, Guy,” she exclaimed.

  “My other passion,” he told her. “Aside from sailing.”

  She worked her way around the huge room slowly, examining the big wraparound counter made of smooth granite, the six-burner professional stove, two ovens, two microwaves, the subzero freezer and fridge. She ran her hand over the deep double sink with the grocer’s spigot, and checked out the cubbyholes built into the shelves to hold baking equipment. In the center of the kitchen stood an island with oversize drawers, a separate sink and butcher-block cutting board. It was the most perfect kitchen she’d ever seen. “This is amazing.”

  He smiled like a proud papa. “It’s criminal that I use it so infrequently.”

  “You must quit your job tonight and become a full-time chef.”

  He laughed out loud, and she blushed when she realized what she’d said.

  “God, I needed that,” he said. “Laughter. It really does heal, doesn’t it.”

  She nodded, remembering what he’d been through and what he was facing. “Tell me about Heath.”

  “Wine, then talk.”

  “Hold on.” She held up her hand. “I forgot the wine in my car.”

  “Great. You need your jacket.”

  “I’ll just be gone a second.”

  “I’ll get busy at my new career.”

  She grinned all the way outside, then stood by the hedge, getting chilled in the cool night air, for what she thought was an appropriate time to get to her car and back. When she finally went into the house, she felt as if she was visiting a friend. Wow. She hadn’t done that in a long time. Her best and pretty much only friend, Allie, lived in San Francisco.

  As she passed the great room, she could hear Guy puttering. Maybe that’s what all this was about. She needed a friend. Someone she could talk to. She could have a boss for a friend, right? Who cared if he was male. Men could be friends.

  As she turned the corner of the kitchen and saw him standing at the counter chopping herbs, Rachel knew immediately that while Guy might indeed become a friend, that wasn’t at all what she really wanted from him. Not by a long shot.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GUY LOOKED UP when he heard Rachel approach. He scarcely noticed the bottle of wine in her hand, caught as he was by the tension barely concealed in her face, in her whole body. He put down his knife, trying like hell not to panic. “What’s wrong? Is it Heath?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Did you hear something?” He walked around the island. “Was it a phone call?”

  “No, no.” She held up the bottle. “I just got this.”

  He let the information sink in. Whatever had changed her mood, it wasn’t about the boy. “Is something else bothering you?”

  She smiled, although he wasn’t completely
convinced. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

  “That’s something I can fix. Why don’t you pour the wine, and I’ll finish the fish.” He grabbed the corkscrew and handed it to her, his fingers brushing the side of her hand. She was cold, but he had the feeling it wasn’t just from the air outside.

  She’d only been gone a few minutes. When she’d walked out of the kitchen, she’d seemed relaxed. So what had she thought of, walking to her car? That she shouldn’t be having dinner with her boss? Could she see how much he wanted her here, and had that made her want to get the hell away from him?

  The cork popped as he turned to the stove. The salmon was already seasoned and he was heating the cast-iron pan. Once it was hot enough, he put the two fillets in it, the sizzle loud in the still house.

  Rachel poured the wine as he went to the other side of the kitchen, where a CD player had been built into the cabinet. A live concert by Jean-Pierre Rampal seemed perfect, the lilting flute lightening the mood. Then he got his glass and held it up for a toast. “To moments of respite,” he said.

  She smiled again, and although there was more heart in it this time, he knew beyond a doubt that something had changed, and not for the better.

  They both took a sip of wine, and while Rachel stared somewhere off to his right, Guy noticed that her lips had left just a trace of pale pink lipstick on the edge of the glass. Interesting. Rachel always wore red lipstick at work. He’d never given it much thought, except for the perfectly natural observation that anyone who didn’t want to kiss her when they saw it was insane. But here, on her day off, she wore a much lighter tint, softer.

  “So what else can I do?” she asked, putting her glass down.

  He looked at the table in the dining room. Everything was set up, ready for the meal. “You can light the candles,” he said. “And toss the salad.”

  While she went to complete her first task, he finished up the dressing for the Tuscan-bread salad. By the time she was back in the kitchen, it was finished, and he had to turn over the salmon.