Romancing the M.D.

by Maureen Smith

  “Hey, baby,” she called out cheerfully. “We’re making tortillas.”

  He smiled indulgently. “I see that.”

  When he met his mother’s gaze, a silent look of understanding passed between them.

  “I’m teaching Tamara how to make tortillas like my mother taught me.” Marcela smiled meaningfully. “Maybe one day she can do the same for your daughter.”

  Victor’s heart lodged in his throat.

  Without a word, he walked over to Tamara and his mother, draped an arm around their shoulders and tenderly kissed each woman on the cheek.

  Although he’d lost a patient that day, he suddenly felt like the luckiest man in the world.

  Chapter 18

  Over the next two weeks, Tamara and Victor happily settled into their new lives as roommates.

  Although Tamara had initially claimed to want her own bedroom, she’d never had any intention of sleeping apart from Victor. So they’d gone shopping for a new king-size bed, and when it was delivered, they’d thoroughly enjoyed christening every square inch.

  Living with Victor allowed Tamara to discover all facets of his personality, including the boyishly playful side, who stood on their private terrace every morning, let out a primal wail and thumped his chest like Tarzan.

  Late one afternoon, Tamara returned home from her mother’s house to find Victor swigging a beer and cooking steaks on the stove as one of his favorite tunes—“Rebelión” by Afro-Colombian artist Joe Arroyo—blasted from the stereo. Grinning from ear to ear, Tamara had stood in the doorway watching as he belted out the Spanish lyrics while moving his hips in time to the catchy, salsa-infused song.

  When she sashayed her way into the kitchen, he’d glanced up at her with a delighted grin. Setting down his spatula and beer, he’d taken her into his arms and led her into an improvised salsa dance. Tamara had matched his rhythm and step, sensually swiveling her hips and laughing as he twirled her around. They’d gotten so caught up in the fun, playful moment that the steaks nearly burned.

  They enjoyed romantic candlelight dinners on their terrace, which boasted such a stunning view of the Potomac River that they could have been dining at a fancy waterfront restaurant.

  Over the course of those two weeks, they became each other’s sounding board, spending hours talking about their patients and seeking each other’s advice. Tamara was ecstatic when the chief of surgery, Dr. Thomas Bradshaw, chose her to scrub in on a three-part surgery consisting of a double coronary artery bypass, an aortic valve replacement and the repair of an ascending aorta. Her excitement over being selected was tempered by fears that Victor would resent her for receiving such an amazing opportunity over him.

  But she needn’t have worried.

  When she shared her great news with Victor, he was genuinely thrilled for her, taking her out to dinner to celebrate. On the day of the surgery, he and several other interns gathered in the viewing gallery to watch the dramatic operation. At one point, Tamara lifted her head and looked right at Victor. Eyes glowing with pride and adoration, he smiled and gave her a thumbs up.

  And Tamara fell harder in love.

  Late one night, they were lying on a blanket in front of a cozy fire, sated from hours of lovemaking and lulled by the soothing lash of rain against the living room windows.

  Idly running her fingers through Victor’s thick, silky hair, Tamara murmured, “Do you know when I first realized that I loved you?”

  Victor had been lying on his stomach with his head resting on his arms, his eyes closed as he luxuriated in her gentle caress. Hearing Tamara’s question, he slowly opened his eyes to meet her tender gaze.

  “When did you realize?” he asked softly.

  She smiled. “It was the day I walked into Bethany Dennison’s room and saw you arm wrestling her kid brother.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed Victor’s face. “The same day I asked you out on a date?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t admit it to myself then, because I was still in denial about the way everything had changed between us. But seeing you with little Decker… It melted my heart, Victor.”

  He eyed her wonderingly. “I had no idea.”

  “You weren’t supposed to. I was in denial, remember?” She smiled softly. “I didn’t admit it to myself until the night we had dinner with your parents. Afterward, when I was at my mother’s house and we were rehashing everything that had happened, she told me that you and I clearly loved each other. And that’s when I finally admitted—to myself and out loud—that, yes, I had fallen in love with you.”

  Victor’s expression softened. He reached out, gently stroking her cheek. “Your mother is very perceptive if she realized how we felt about each other after just an hour in our company.” His gaze roamed across her face. “Truth be told, I’ve probably been in love with you since the night we got stranded at the hospital.”

  Surprised, Tamara stared at him. “Really?”

  He nodded. “We connected in a way I never thought was possible. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that night.”

  “And I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Tamara confessed.

  “If I hadn’t already been a goner, hearing about how you went to bat for me with Dudley would have done the trick.”

  Tamara smiled ruefully. “Not that I think it made any difference—”

  “It made all the difference in the world to me,” Victor said huskily. “So nothing else matters.”

  Tamara turned her face into his palm and tenderly kissed it. “I’m so lucky to have you in my life,” she whispered.

  He held her gaze. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

  “We’re both lucky. How about that?”

  He chuckled softly. “Sounds like a good compromise.”

  Tamara grinned. Imitating his pose, she rested her head on her arms and stared at him, watching as soft firelight danced across his face, a face she’d never grow tired of looking at.

  Since their first night in the condo, Victor hadn’t broached the subject of marriage again, even though the rift with his mother—Tamara’s main reason for turning down his proposal—was no longer an issue. He’d promised not to pressure her, and he was keeping that promise. Yet Tamara found herself wondering whether he’d changed his mind about wanting to marry her. Although she still wasn’t ready to give him an answer, she needed to know that she hadn’t forfeited her one and only chance to become Mrs. Victor Aguilar.

  Striving for a casual tone, she asked, “Since your family is Catholic, does that mean you’d be expected to get married in a Catholic church?”

  Victor went still, searching her face. “More than likely.” He paused. “Do you think that would be a problem?”

  “It could be,” Tamara said carefully, “if your bride was raised a Baptist, and her pastor had always looked forward to officiating her wedding. Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “Of course.” Victor slowly propped himself up on one elbow. “As the groom, I’d be willing to make some compromises. Especially if it seemed that the location of the ceremony meant more to my bride than it did to me.” He paused. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  “Of course,” Tamara said with mock sobriety.

  “So…do you think my bride would have any special locations in mind for the reception? Preferably someplace big enough to accommodate my large family and every Colombian my parents know.”

  Smothering a laugh, Tamara replied neutrally, “Now that you mention it, there’s a historic mansion not far from here that would make the perfect venue for a romantic wedding reception. Waterfront views, landscaped grounds, beautiful gardens. I’m sure you and your bride, as well as your guests, would be very pleased.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Victor agreed with an irrepressible grin. “And since you’re on a roll, where do you think my bride would want to go on our honeymoon?”

  “Well, speaking for myself, I’ve always thought Italy made a perfect honeymoon destination.” Tamara sighed. “Bu
t I’m sure you and your bride could reach a consensus that you’re both happy with.”

  “Oh, of course,” Victor said with exaggerated earnestness. “After all, the most important thing is that we’d be together, and looking forward to spending the rest of our lives together.”

  “Of course.” Tamara smiled at him.

  He smiled back, his eyes gleaming in the firelight.

  “Well.” He sat up abruptly and rolled to his feet. “Thanks for the information. You’ve been most helpful.”

  Mouth agape, Tamara watched as he sauntered, unabashedly naked, from the room. “Where are you going?”

  “To bed. One of us has to be up early.”

  “But we’re not finished—”

  “Good night, Tamara.”

  Sputtering with mock indignation, she jumped up and chased after him. He laughed as she hopped onto his back, arms looping around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist.

  “I don’t think my bride would take too kindly to me having a naked woman on my back,” he drawled.

  Tamara grinned, nipping his ear. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her…?.”

  Chapter 19

  Three days later, Tamara stood at the bedside of a critically ill patient who needed a new intravenous tube. She was just about to unwrap a sterile needle when Sheryl Newsome bustled into the room.

  “I’ll take care of this, hon,” the nurse said briskly to Tamara.

  “Oh, that’s okay, Sheryl. I can—”

  Without warning, Sheryl grabbed her shoulders, urgently turning her around. The gentle concern in the woman’s green eyes sent a dagger of alarm through Tamara. “Your mother was just brought into the E.R. There was an accident—”

  She’d barely finished before Tamara was racing out of the room, panic and fear choking the air from her lungs as she rushed downstairs to the emergency room.

  She ran past a blur of concerned faces, shrugging off hands that reached out to detain her. “Where is she?” she shouted hoarsely, charging through the bustling triage area. “Where’s my mother?”

  That was when she saw Dr. Balmer, Victor and several other physicians working frantically on the unconscious body of a woman on a stretcher.

  The blood drained from Tamara’s head.

  “Mama!” she screamed, rushing over and shoving her way through the figures huddled around the stretcher.

  Vonda lay with an oxygen mask over her face, which was covered with blood and multiple lacerations—an image straight out of Tamara’s worst nightmare.

  As the ground swayed beneath her feet, Victor turned and caught her, holding her upright. “Get her out of here!” he yelled to an EMT, who snapped to attention and hustled over.

  “I’m not going anywhere!” Tamara cried, jerking out of the man’s grasp. “I want to see my mother!”

  “Listen to me,” Victor said with fierce urgency, all but carrying Tamara away from the stretcher. “You’re in no shape to be here right now. Let us get her stabilized—”

  “Why didn’t anyone page me?” Tamara demanded hysterically. “Why didn’t anyone page me?!”

  “I told them to wait.”

  “How dare you? She’s my—”

  “Blood pressure’s sixty over thirty!” Dr. Balmer called out warningly.

  When Tamara lunged forward in alarm, Victor grabbed her. Though she struggled to break free, he held fast, his blue eyes locking on to hers like a laser beam.

  “You can’t be here, baby. You know how this works. You need to go to the waiting room.”

  “She’s my mother!”

  “And now she’s a patient,” Victor growled, swiftly transitioning from concerned lover to a doctor who had a job to do. “She’s lost a lot of blood, so we need to get her to the O.R. As soon as she’s been prepped for surgery, I’ll come talk to you. I promise.”

  “Victor—” Tamara whimpered.

  “I promise.” He grabbed her face between his hands and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth, then nodded tersely to the EMT, who’d been joined by a second one. The two men stepped forward and gently but firmly escorted Tamara away.

  She spent the next forty minutes frantically pacing back and forth in the empty waiting room. She’d spoken to the police officer who’d been the first to arrive at the scene of her mother’s car accident. According to his explanation, Vonda had been traveling down Route One—no doubt on her way to the hospital to surprise Tamara—when she collided with another driver, who’d apparently lost control of his vehicle on the rain-slicked road. The officer’s repeated assurances that the other motorist was at fault had brought Tamara no consolation, nor was she comforted by the news that the other driver had escaped the collision with only minor injuries.

  Nothing would console Tamara if her mother didn’t survive.

  She was on the verge of falling apart when Victor finally appeared, his dark hair concealed beneath the blue, red and yellow scrub cap that paid homage to Colombia’s national soccer team.

  Tamara swooped down on him. “How is she? How are her vitals? Was Dr. Balmer able to get her stabilized? What—”

  “Come on. Sit down.” Taking her clammy hands between his, Victor backed her into a chair, then crouched down to bring himself to eye level with her. His expression was grim. “Your mother sustained internal bleeding from the collision. Dr. Balmer’s primary concern is making sure she doesn’t bleed out—”

  Tamara gasped, tears rushing to her eyes. “Oh, my God,” she whispered brokenly. “This can’t be happening. Oh, God…”

  “Listen to me.” Victor cupped her cheek in his hand, his eyes tunneling into hers. “I need you to stay calm for me. I know that’s easier said than done under the circumstances, but we’re racing against the clock here. So I need you to think like a doctor right now, not like a daughter who’s rightfully terrified of losing her mother. Can you do that for me?”

  Tamara nodded weakly. “What happens now, Victor?”

  “I suggested freezing your mother’s body.”

  “What?”

  “Let me explain. It’s a radical new technique I’ve read up on. It’s called emergency preservation resuscitation, where surgeons induce extreme hypothermia in trauma patients to give themselves more time to protect the patient’s brain and other vital organs from damage.”

  “I’ve heard of the procedure,” Tamara said sickly. “It’s been done on animals, and similar techniques have been used on heart patients and stroke victims. But even in those rare cases, the patients were treated with mild induced hypothermia. What you’re proposing is to drop my mother’s body temperature down to—”

  “Between ten and fifteen degrees Celsius.”

  “What!” Tamara stared at him, aghast. “She’d be clinically dead, Victor!”

  “Technically.” He paused, his mouth set in a grim line. “It’s a risky technique, but that risk has to be balanced against the very real threat of your mother hemorrhaging to death. The surgery she needs is going to put her in more jeopardy. Freezing her body will buy Dr. Balmer more time—up to three hours—to work on her.”

  Tamara anxiously searched his face. “How would it be done? How exactly does the procedure work?”

  “The key is that her body has to be cooled rapidly,” he explained. “In order to do this, a pump will be connected to the major blood vessels around her heart to remove the warm blood and replace it with a cold saline solution.”

  Tamara eyed him incredulously, then shot to her feet and began pacing up and down the floor. “You’re basically telling me that you want to take my mother to the brink of death, and then try to bring her back.”

  Victor dropped his head for a moment, then said with grave solemnity, “Your mother’s already in critical condition, Tamara. The reality is that she may not even survive surgery.”

  Tamara clamped her hand over her mouth, but the anguished sob escaped anyway. Collapsing into the nearest chair, she leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes as the room spun sickening
ly around her.

  Victor walked over and sat down beside her, gently folding her into his arms. As she buried her face against his chest and began sobbing, he stroked her back and whispered soothingly to her.

  “I know you’re terrified of making the wrong decision,” he said quietly. “But in my medical opinion, inducing extreme hypothermia is your mother’s best chance for survival right now.”

  Tamara remembered the argument they’d had over prescribing Naphtomycin to Mrs. Gruener. When Tamara insisted that the drug was unproven and therefore too dangerous to administer, Victor had challenged her to ask herself what she would do if Mrs. Gruener were her mother. Until you’re in that situation, he’d told her, you have no idea what measures you’d take to help your mother.

  How eerily prescient those words had been.

  Opening her eyes, she lifted her head and found Victor watching her intently. She could feel his body thrumming with tension and adrenaline.

  “We don’t have a lot of time here, Tamara. Dr. Balmer’s waiting for your consent before she proceeds with the operation.”

  Tamara pulled out of his arms and shoved a trembling hand through her hair, paralyzed with terror and indecision. If she allowed Dr. Balmer to perform this radical procedure and her mother died, she’d never forgive Victor. But if her mother died because Tamara had been unwilling to take a necessary risk to save her, she’d never forgive herself.

  “The night we got stranded at the hospital during the storm,” Victor said in a low voice, “you told me that you wouldn’t entrust your life to anyone but me. Did you mean that?”

  Tamara nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Well, I’m asking you to trust my judgment, and allow Dr. Balmer to freeze your mother’s body to give her a fighting chance.” His eyes probed hers. “Can you do that, Tamara?”

  She stared at him for an interminable moment. He’d been right about administering Naphtomycin to Mrs. Gruener. At last check, the woman’s sternal wound seemed to be healing remarkably well.