by Anne Fraser
“Tens, but tell Dr Thomas.”
“Dr Sutton, we have a patient who insists one of us misplaced his false teeth while he was here yesterday, but no one remembers a patient with dentures.”
“Tell Dr Thomas.”
Unfortunately, he bounced those same issues back at her. It wasn’t his fault. He was still trying to find his footing, but it meant she dealt with the problems twice. She simply had to be patient until he learned the ins and outs of their department’s management.
“Gina, where’s the list of locum physicians?”
“File cabinet, top drawer.”
“Gina, who’s in charge of Central Supply?”
“Jessie Ames. Extension 4125.”
Amazingly enough, he didn’t ask her to look into the missing denture problem, so when she interrupted him for a patient consultation,she brought up the subject herself.
“Oh, that,” he said when questioned. “He wasn’t our patient. He’d gone to St Bridgit’s, so I happily referred him over there.”
St Bridgit’s was a small hospital across town, about half the size of Belmont, but in spite of being Belmont’s competitor, they shared a congenial working relationship.
“I’m glad it was them and not us,” she commented, thinking of all the paperwork they’d been spared.
“Tell me about it,” he said fervently, before he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “What’s on your mind?”
Think of me as your husband first. Although he’d made that statement in regard to their hours spent privately, it was far too easy to think of him in that light every time she saw him. Perhaps once the shock wore off, she’d become better at compartmentalizing her life, but right now she was having difficulty separating Ruark, her future husband, from Ruark Thomas, her boss.
As his calm gaze met hers, she clutched the chart in her hand and forced herself to focus on her patient. “Roger Davis is sixty-three years old and has a history of type-two diabetes. He’s been vomiting since yesterday morning and hasn’t been able to keep anything down.”
“Has he taken his insulin?”
“He claims he has.” Gina ran through his symptoms. “He doesn’t have fever, diarrhea, headache, achiness or chest pain. As expected, his electrolytes show he’s slightly dehydrated so he’s presently on IV fluids.”
“Any history of GI problems?”
“None.”
“Lab work?”
“Pending. His bedside glucose was 405, which is four times the normal. Critical, in fact.”
“Food poisoning?”
“It’s possible,” she admitted. “Diabetics who are sick can have results in the two or three hundreds, but four hundred seems excessive for a simple case of food poisoning.”
“Want me to take a look?” he asked.
“Would you mind?”
She escorted him to room two. Mr Davis sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a green Hawaiian-print shirt and pressed tan slacks. His dark brown hair was clearly courtesy of a toupee, but the IV in his hand, coupled with him retching into a plastic basin in his lap, spoiled the effect of a vacationing businessman.
“This is Dr Thomas,” Gina announced. “And this is your lucky day. You get to see two of us for the price of one.”
“I don’t feel too lucky right now. In fact, I feel awful. Can’t you do something to stop me heaving up my insides?”
“We’re working on it,” Ruark promised. “Are you able to keep anything down? Water? Tea?”
“Not for long.”
“Are you having trouble urinating?”
“Haven’t noticed, so I guess not.”
He turned to Gina. “I want a urine sample.”
“He already gave one. We’re waiting for the lab report.”
Ruark turned back to Roger. “Sit tight. We’ll be right back.”
He nodded right before another spate of retching struck. The two of them left him clutching his emesis basin.
“Any ideas?” she asked once they’d stepped into the hallway.
“I know it’s easy for us to explain the unexplainable as a virus or food poisoning, but the other signs aren’t there.”
“I agree.”
“He might have a urinary tract infection.”
“I thought of that.” She approached Ruby. “Check on Davis’s urinalysis results, will you?”
Ruby handed her a page. “They came through a minute ago.”
Gina scanned the document. “Bingo,” she said before handing it to Ruark.
“The only problem is,” he said slowly, “simple bladder infections don’t cause vomiting, even in diabetics.”
“What are you thinking?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say. His temperature, pulse and respirations are all normal, as is his blood pressure. How do you take temperatures here?”
“Ear probe.”
“Can we get a rectal temp?”
“Sure, why not?” She waved at Lucy and made her request.
The nurse frowned as she listened, but she agreed to take the required temp. “I hope you aren’t going to want these on everybody,” she grumbled before she disappeared into Davis’s cubicle. A few minutes later, she returned with a wide smile on her face. “It’s 102.”
“Then he does have a fever,” Gina mused. “A urine infection, plus fever, plus vomiting adds up to—”
“Sepsis,” Ruark finished.
Somehow, the bacteria invading Roger Davis’s bladder had spread into his bloodstream and were attacking the man’s natural defense systems. Left untreated, his blood vessels would collapse and his kidneys would fail.
Gina turned to Ruby. “Call the lab. I want stat blood cultures and then we’re going to admit him.” She faced Ruark and walked him back to his office. “A heavy dose of antibiotics is in order, wouldn’t you say?”
He grinned. “Well done, Doctor.”
She’d been set to congratulate herself on treating him as she would any other colleague, but before she could, he’d covered her hand with both of his. After Ruark’s announcement, no one would comment or question if they were seen, but he was doing more than hold her hand. The small circles he traced in her palm nearly drove her crazy and caused her knees to grow weak. His touch sent a delicious shiver down her spine, but she found herself powerless to break contact.
And his eyes held such promise…such passion…and such frustration, as if he wanted to do much, much more….
Surprisingly enough, she wanted it, too. What was it about this man that he could so easily cause her to react like an infatuated teenager?
He’d said they’d take things slow and play having a physical relationship by ear. At this rate, they’d both be jiggling the bedsprings before the ink had dried on their marriage license.
“Same to you,” she managed to say. “I wouldn’t have considered taking a rectal temp.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you learn a few tricks. By the way, I forgot to tell you last night about Janice Myers.”
His gentle caress befuddled her to the point where she had to forcibly think about who Janice Myers was. When she did, she was pleased her voice sounded normal, even though her pulse rate wasn’t. “What did Horton find?”
A twinkle appeared in his eyes. “It was her appendix. Red, swollen, and ready to burst. If he’d delayed a few more hours, she’d be fighting peritonitis.”
Gina’s spirits soared. “I was right.”
“And everyone knows it. From what I heard, Frank grumbled about doing the procedure from the time they wheeled her into the OR until he opened her up and it nearly jumped out at him. According to rumor, the nurses are hounding him to apologize, so be prepared.”
She laughed, thrilled her instincts hadn’t failed her. As much as she hated confrontation, arguing with the man had been worth every tense moment. “OK, but I won’t hold my breath. Meanwhile, do you want to tell our patient his good news?”
“Go ahead. I have a ton of paperwork to finish before our date tonight.”
“Our date?” she repeated.
“Sure. I thought we’d go to dinner.”
“Sorry,” she shook her head. “It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
“I thought that applied to the day of the ceremony.”
“Could be,” she admitted, “but I have a hundred and one things to do before tomorrow.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve changed the schedule so we both have the next couple of days off. It won’t be the longest of honeymoons, but we’ll still have one.”
Her face warmed as she’d hadn’t given thought to anything other than the ceremony. In fact, she would have probably reported for her shift the next day as usual. So much for presenting the picture of wedded bliss. Suddenly, what they were about to do, and the ramifications if they—she—took a false step and committed a social error, overwhelmed her.
He shook his head and smiled. “Can’t have the newlyweds working the day after, can we?”
She managed a smile. “Honestly? I hadn’t thought about it.”
“I have,” he said firmly.
“Yes, but I didn’t. And there’s the problem.” She tried to tug her hand free, but he didn’t release it.
“I don’t see one.”
“Then you aren’t looking. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.” She met his gaze, certain he would read the sorrow in her eyes. “This isn’t going to work.”
He frowned, before he pulled her into the nearest empty exam room. “Why do you say that?” he asked as soon as he’d closed the door and blocked it with his foot.
“Because I’m going to make a mistake and we won’t convince anyone that this marriage isn’t a farce,” she wailed, tears threatening at the prospect of dragging her father’s name through the proverbial mud when she failed. “The schedule is a prime example. I would have come on duty the next day and not thought a thing about it.”
“Do you honestly believe I wouldn’t have noticed if you’d gotten up at 5:00 a.m.? That I wouldn’t have stopped you?”
He sounded incredulous, and hearing him state it like that she felt a twinge of embarrassment before she squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye.
“The point is, you would have had to stop me. What happens when you aren’t around to correct my blunders? I’ll do or say something that will raise questions and then—”
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” he told her. “In a few days you’ll settle into a new routine and you’ll be fine.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then everyone will believe my wife is a dizzy blonde and will feel sorry for me,” he said soberly.
She narrowed her eyes as his comment sank in. “Did you call me a dizzy blonde?” Then, as soon as she saw his smile, she knew he’d only been trying to end her pity party, and he’d succeeded. She punched him playfully in his biceps.
“Those are fighting words,” she said without heat.
“Noted. As for making mistakes, I hear it’s a common phenomenon among newlyweds. After my brother’s wedding, he introduced his wife to the German ambassador as his girlfriend, which caused more than a few chuckles, although my sister-in-law didn’t find it as humorous as we did.”
“I’m sure she didn’t.”
“The point is, don’t worry.”
Easier said than done, but his confidence was infectious. “Is that a royal decree?” she asked lightly.
“Absolutely.” He tipped her chin up so their gazes met. “Better?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”
With a feather-light touch, he tucked a lock of her hair behind one ear before he lowered his head and kissed her.
It began softly, tentatively, then became more demanding and certain. He pulled her against him and the heat from his body penetrated her scrub suit and heavy lab coat.
He nibbled on her lower lip and she opened her mouth to tease him in kind before the soft, erotic touch of their tongues meeting made her burst into flames.
Instinctively, she threaded her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to press herself against him. His lips moved from her mouth to her cheek, then to her ear, before trailing down her neck. She leaned her head back, eager to offer more of herself to him, until she heard voices outside.
He must have, too, because he instantly stilled, then loosened his hold on her and grinned.
“Do not say a word,” she ordered as she ran her hands through her hair and checked her clothing. Nothing seemed amiss, so she flung open the door.
“Gina?” he called.
“What?” She paused on the threshold, irritated by her enthusiastic response as much as she was awed by his kiss.
“You look…” He paused, then smiled.
Once again, she checked herself. “You were saying?”
“Now you look ‘engaged’.”
Gina clutched the bouquet of flowers Ruark had given her prior to their wedding ceremony in a near death-grip, conscious of Ruark—her husband!—following her into his home around ten o’clock the next evening. He looked exceedingly handsome in his black tuxedo and she could imagine how breathtaking he would be if he’d worn his official state dress, complete with ribbons, sashes and sword. Clothes may not make the man, but they certainly dazzled feminine eyes.
And while their wedding had been an impromptu affair, she was glad she’d chosen this calf-length lacy white dress that swirled so invitingly around her legs instead of the business suit she’d initially planned to buy. She hadn’t felt this feminine since the last formal ball she’d attended as a med student.
“The ceremony and reception afterward turned out well, didn’t it?” she asked as she stood in the hallway and wondered where to go next.
He raised one eyebrow. “Did you expect otherwise?”
“To be honest, I didn’t know what I was expecting,” she admitted. “You truly thought of everything.”
He had. The hospital chaplain had performed the ceremony as the thirty guests filled the chapel to capacity. Afterwards, they’d gone to a conference room for a small reception with the required cake and punch. A chamber ensemble had provided the music and a short, homely fellow had bustled around, taking photographs until she’d hardly been able to see anything except spots. Someone had decorated the chapel and the reception room using the same mixed flower theme as in her bouquet.
Somehow Ruark had even managed to book an appointment with her hairdresser and a manicurist for earlier in the day.
She couldn’t think of a thing that had been missed. No one could accuse them of shortchanging their wedding—other than the bride and groom not being in love, of course.
Don’t think about that, she scolded herself. You knew what you were agreeing to, as well as Ruark’s feelings on the subject. You can’t look back. Only forward.
“I tried,” he said as an embarrassed grin appeared. “We’re only doing this once so I wanted you to have all the trappings.”
Touched by his effort to make this day as special as possible under the circumstances, a lump formed unexpectedly in her throat. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Before you credit me with all the details, I should probably admit my staff reminded me of a few things and handled most of the legwork. The guest book, bows on the pews.” He shrugged. “Things like that.”
“Regardless, you did a remarkable job on such short notice. Frankly, you delivered more than I expected. Maybe you should go into the wedding planning business,” she said lightly, holding her slightly wilted bouquet like a talisman. “You’re wasted as a physician.”
He visibly shuddered. “Sorry. Give me a trauma, not color schemes and cake flavors.”
“Speaking of cake, it was delicious.” To be honest, she hadn’t actually tasted it until her last two bites, but those two bites had been exquisite.
“Thank Henri. He’s been creating since you left the other night,” he admitted on a wry note. “He insisted on white but knows I prefer chocolate, s
o he baked one of each.”
“I’ll speak to him,” she promised.
Ruark loosened his bow-tie and shrugged off his jacket. “I shouldn’t be hungry, but I am. Want to raid the refrigerator?”
Her stomach still hadn’t settled from her nervous excitement, but sitting in the kitchen appealed far more than unpacking her suitcase or going straight to bed. “Sure, why not?”
But once they’d entered Henri’s domain and found him packaging the remnants of their reception for the freezer, he waved his arms and dismissed them.
“What man thinks of food on his wedding night?” the Frenchman chided.
Ruark winked at Gina. “A hungry one.”
Henri tutted before promising to bring a tray upstairs, his florid face beaming at the couple. “Now, shoo. Go and enjoy each other.”
Literally pushed out of the room, the chef’s comment seemed to echo in the empty dining hall. Enjoy each other.
For some reason, she found the Frenchman’s instructions sweet, although from Ruark’s disconcerted expression he did not.
“Does he know about—?” she began.
“Yes, but he’s a romantic at heart. So, shall we adjourn upstairs, as we’ve been commanded?” he said dryly. “Or head for the study to watch television?”
She wasn’t ready to enter his bedroom so she chose the alternative. “The study,” she answered promptly.
But once there she was too keyed up to focus on world events, the weather forecast, or the current baseball standings. She strolled around the room and noticed the eight-by-ten framed portrait of his family on his desk. It was an official photo because the men wore ribbons, sashes and swords, and the women wore ballgowns, diamonds and rubies. What struck her most was how closely the men resembled each other.
“Tell me about your family,” she said, hoping to hear they were like everyone else underneath their royal trappings.
He joined her at his desk. “This is my father, Frederick.” He pointed to the distinguished-looking gentleman wearing a gold crown. “He’s been the King of Marestonia for the last fifteen years since my grandfather died. My mother, Christina, is from Sweden and stays busy with her charity work. When she’s not traveling or fund-raising, she’s busy with our family and state events. Don’t worry, though, she’ll welcome you with open arms.”