Why did she keep doing that? Emotions had no place in ER medicine. Feelings were part of long-term recovery. For that matter, why had she just shared so many details about herself? She usually chatted with patients when she could, but didn’t share personal information. What was so different about this particular patient?
“Megan?”
She looked over her shoulder and saw the ER unit secretary in the doorway. “Yes?”
“Dr. Sullivan said to show you this.” The tall, thin, mid-fortyish woman handed her a computer printout. “He said to put it in the chart,” she added before hurrying from the room.
Megan’s eyebrows went up as she scanned the information. “Well, this is interesting.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s procedure to check the computer for previous data on every admit.”
“So I’m an admit.” His gaze narrowed on her. “Would you like to share the information with me?”
“I suspect you already know what it says.” She met his gaze squarely. “We saw you the first time a year and a half ago.”
His forehead furrowed. “Broken ankle?”
“Skydiving,” she confirmed. “Next was a shoulder separation.”
“I think that was hang gliding. That tree came out of nowhere.”
“Last but not least,” she said, “a ruptured spleen—resulting in surgery.”
“Waterskiing. I took the jump, and I remember soaring through the air with the greatest of ease. After that it gets a little hazy. I think one of the skis torpedoed me.”
“It appears you’re something of a regular here.”
She studied his pupils, watching for classic signs of concussion. The heart monitor would tell her his vitals, but she touched two fingers to the pulse in his wrist. For some reason, she felt the need to touch him.
“You have some dangerous hobbies, Simon.” She met his gaze. “Motorcycles? Hang gliders? Water skis, oh my. I’d say that makes you one of those guys who lives on the edge.”
“It’s not a bad place to be.”
“Why?”
“It’s the only safe place to feel anything.”
The words stunned Megan, but before she could respond, the doctor shoved aside the privacy curtain. The tall, balding, bespectacled physician had X-ray films in his hand.
“I see you’re wide-awake now, Mr. Reynolds.” He stood on the other side of the gurney.
“Thanks to Megan. She’s keeping me on my toes—so to speak.”
Dr. Sullivan nodded knowingly. “Megan’s one of the good guys. I just wish she was full-time staff.” He flipped through the pages of the chart in his hands, then looked at the man in the bed. “Good news. Nothing’s broken. But the paramedics who brought you in said witnesses told them you tried to get up after the accident and had trouble walking.”
“Yeah.” His brow furrowed as he thought. “I stood up and felt pain rip through my leg.”
“Where specifically?”
“Calf and thigh.”
“Since there are no broken bones, that would indicate soft tissue damage.”
“You want to give it to me in English?”
“Sounds like muscles, ligaments or tendons. You’ll wish it was a broken bone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Bones knit fast. For everything else, recovery is painful and slow.”
The patient nodded his head and started to sit up. “Okay. Thanks, Doc. Now I’ll get the heck out of here so someone who really needs this bed can have it.”
“Whoa.” The doctor put a hand on Simon’s chest and applied gentle but firm pressure, urging him back onto the bed.
Dr. Sullivan moved from the side to the foot of the gurney. “You’re not seriously planning to walk out of here? And I use the term walk loosely, because if you’ve got the kind of damage I think you do, you’re not going anywhere without crutches for a while. And the CT scan shows a possible concussion.”
“Two-dimensional pictures of the goose egg,” Megan translated, in case he didn’t know the term from his other visits.
“You said possible concussion.” He ignored her and directed the question to the ER doc.
“Yes. We need to watch you for signs of deterioration.” The doctor looked at Megan. “Has he complained of nausea?”
“He hasn’t complained about anything,” she admitted.
Simon glanced back and forth between the two of them. “So we all agree I’m fine. It’s been fun. I appreciate everything.”
Megan slipped into a state of readiness when he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the gurney. He’d regained consciousness quickly, and his snappy verbal responses told her he was firing on all cylinders mentally. But the rest of him had taken a beating. At the very least, he had to be wobbly. If he started to go down, she wanted to be close enough to catch him.
She almost laughed out loud. At five feet two inches, a hundred and five pounds, her catching a big man like him was ridiculous. But at least she could break his fall, slow his descent so he wouldn’t do more damage. She noticed the bright array of bruises, scrapes and one nasty-looking wound on his shoulder.
“You’re in no condition to leave the hospital,” she said.
“If one of you could call me a cab, I’ll just be on my way.” He looked from the doctor back to her.
“You’ve still got abrasions that need cleaning up and the laceration on your shoulder needs a couple of stitches,” the doctor said. “If you’ll just lie back down—”
“Thanks but no thanks.”
Simon tore the leads off either side of his chest and the one in the center. Then he did the same thing to the ones on his legs. The sound of Velcro ripping followed as he forcefully removed the blood pressure cuff from his arm. Megan remembered that she’d had to find an adult large to accommodate his impressive biceps.
Inane thought. And one she didn’t have time to analyze, because the idiot was going to leave without treatment. Before she could decide how to stop him or if she should even try, he removed the medical tape and IV from his arm. Blood dripping down the inside of his forearm mobilized her in a hurry.
She grabbed some gauze squares and pressed them against his skin to stanch the flow. Simon Reynolds must really hate hospitals. But in his condition it was the best place for him. She had a feeling rational arguments wouldn’t get through to him.
“I say we let him go.” She directed her comment to the doctor.
“I knew I liked you,” Simon said with an approving smile.
Dr. Sullivan pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. “Megan, I don’t think—”
“How far can he get? Between the leg and head injuries, it’s just a matter of what takes him down first. The leg will probably buckle—if he can stand at all. He’s pretty alert, but that bump on the head is bound to make him dizzy. Then there’s the blood loss—” She shrugged and bent his arm up toward his chest to maintain pressure that would help stop the bleeding. “I have a dollar that says he bites the dust as soon as he puts weight on the leg.”
“A whole buck?” Amusement chased the traces of pain from Simon’s face. “You’re not very sure of your diagnosis.”
“If I had more money and a sucker around here who’d take the bet, I could clean up,” she retorted. She glanced at the doctor. “We can just stand here and watch him pass out. Or on the off chance he makes it out of here, we can follow the blood trail.”
“I thought nurses were supposed to be angels of mercy.”
She looked back at him. “I told you I’m no angel.”
“What about the mercy part?”
“Any moron who rides a motorcycle without a helmet, then tries to leave the hospital before he’s physically ready doesn’t deserve mercy.”
Simon lifted one dark eyebrow. “She’s tough as nails, Doc,” he said.
“I’m glad she got through to you. Now then, we’ll clean you up and admit you—”
“I didn’t say I’d changed my mind.”
Dr. Sullivan stared in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. A man in your condition—”
“I’m dead serious.” He started to slide off the gurney.
“No,” Megan cried. She hadn’t expected him to call her bluff.
She instantly moved forward, insinuating herself between his legs to keep him on the gurney. For all her bravado, she was afraid he would hurt himself, do more damage than he’d already done.
When he slid down nudging her backward, she wedged her shoulder beneath his armpit and encircled his waist with her arm. He was heavy. She knew muscle weighed more than fat, and he had an abundance of one and no discernible trace of the other.
“Listen to reason,” she ground out.
When he met her gaze, his own snapped with stubbornness. “So it was an act? You’re not going to let me fall or follow the blood trail?”
“Look, if you don’t get the medical attention you need, you’re going to be one gigantic infection and that will probably finish you off.”
“She’s right, Mr. Reynolds.” The doctor went to his other side and helped Megan get him back on the gurney.
“You can’t keep me here if I don’t choose to stay.”
“Of course we can,” Megan said, bluffing again.
“Liar.” Simon’s forehead beaded with perspiration. “I’m a regular. I know the rules.”
She looked at the ER doctor for help. “Do something.”
“You know as well as I do that he’s within his rights to refuse treatment. Is there anyone at home who can look after you?”
Simon shook his head. “I don’t need anyone.”
“You do need medical care.” Dr. Sullivan rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
“What kind of care?” Simon asked.
She met his gaze. “Stitches on the shoulder or you’ll have the mother of all scars.”
“Chicks love scars.”
“Says who? And scars aren’t the issue. But a nasty infection could ruin your day. The rest of your boo-boos need debriding.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“You don’t know? With all your experience, I assumed you’d be familiar with the procedure. But I see you’re an equal opportunity catastrophe. Debriding is where I pick the gravel out while you bite on a stick.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Way to make me want to stay,” he said wryly.
“We’ll give you a local anesthetic,” the doctor explained. “But it’s got to be done.”
“Here?”
“Unless you sign yourself out AMA,” Megan said. “Against medical advice,” she translated. Although he probably already knew. “If you leave and fall down, you could hurt yourself even worse. But you’ll have no legal recourse with the hospital.”
“I’ll risk it—”
“Why do you want to?” She put her hands on her hips. “Look, you gave us your insurance card, so I know you’re covered.”
“Money isn’t a problem.”
“Then what is the problem?” she demanded.
“I hate hospitals.”
“There’s a news flash.”
“This isn’t getting us anywhere.” The doctor rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Look, Mr. Reynolds, what if you let us clean you up, then you spend the night here? We’d like to keep you twenty-four hours for observation, but we’ll take what we can get. Tomorrow we’ll send you on your way with a home health-care professional.”
“A nurse?” he asked, looking at her.
“Definitely.” The doctor nodded. “You’ll need to have an IV, dressings changed, close observation in case of concussion. We don’t want you passing out all by your lonesome. You’re going to need general care because of the soreness. It’s going to be hard to get around.”
Simon was quiet for several moments. Megan could see he was thinking it over. Still, she wasn’t prepared for his answer.
“Can I have Megan?”
Chapter Two
Simon figured if he hadn’t already had his head examined, he would need to give it serious consideration in the near future. His thinking was crystal clear in spite of the goose egg. Although what he’d just asked sure didn’t prove it. What in the world had possessed him to ask for Megan? The shocked look on her face said she wasn’t keen on the idea, although there was no need to worry. He had no intention of actually going through with this home nursing thing. But her reaction made him damn curious.
She took one step away from the bed. “I’m afraid the home health-care system doesn’t work that way, Mr. Reynolds.”
“It’s Simon, remember? And what way is that?”
“Assignments are handled by the coordinator, Pat Gautreau.”
“What about requests?”
“It’s not a call-in radio show,” she snapped.
“I didn’t mean to insinuate that it was.”
“Time out.” The doctor put his hand up. “I’m going to put in the paperwork requesting a home nurse for you, Mr. Reynolds. I’ll get in touch with Pat and see what she can do to accommodate your personnel preferences. In the meantime, Megan, clean him up. One way or the other he’s going to need that. I’ll do the sutures when I come back.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
After the doc left, Simon watched her move around the small space. It took several moments to register that she never looked at him. She pulled over a stand-up metal tray and put a disposable cloth on it. Paper crackled as she assembled packaged squares, gauze and other mysterious packets. It looked like she was preparing for major surgery. If she pulled out a scalpel, he was outta there, even if he had to crawl.
Finally, she looked at him. “Okay, hero. Lie back down and grit your teeth.”
He complied with her first request, sucking in a breath when every part of his body protested. He slowly let the air out, then said, “So why don’t you want to come home with me?”
“What makes you think I don’t?”
“My brains might be scrambled, but I’m not stupid.” He watched her tear open a square white package, then closed his eyes. She was a bundle of energy, and it made his head hurt to watch her.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” The clipped tone said she knew damn well.
“You looked like you’d swallowed a whole bottle of castor oil when I asked for you.”
“Hold still. I’m going to spray on a topical anesthetic for the pain. It might sting a bit.”
He felt something cool on his skin. It stung for an instant, then stopped and there was blessed relief as the throbbing discomfort went down a notch. He opened his eyes. “Come on, Megan. What’s your deal?”
“I don’t have a deal. You’re imagining things. You should have your head examined.”
“I already did. What happened to the straight-talking, take-no-prisoners angel of mercy?”
“I’m still here. Although you might have your doubts about the mercy part when I get through with you. This is going to hurt. I’ll be as quick as I can.” She let out a long breath, then said, “I’m sorry.”
One minute he was thinking that her tone held heartfelt apology and he wasn’t sure why. The next, fire shot through him and it was all he could do to hold it together. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on holding still. Simon gritted his teeth and clenched his jaw to keep from making any sound as she dabbed and prodded, rubbed and poked his skin to clean the scrapes.
Should he tell her not to bother? There was nothing she could do for what really ailed him. The wound was deep inside where no one could reach it.
“There. Done,” she said.
He opened his eyes and saw her toss bloodstained gauze on the tray. “That wasn’t so bad.”
But he’d heard the raw edge to his voice. His scraped skin tingled and throbbed, hurting only slightly more than his throat from his effort to hold back any sound.
One of her eyebrows lifted. “Really? Maybe I missed something. I can check and see. Go through it again—”
“No!”
He met her gaze and saw the shadows in her wide blue eyes. Her lips turned up at the corners, evidence that she was teasing him. But it cost her. Every job had its downside. Hurting a patient, even to help, wasn’t easy for her. Humor was her defense mechanism.
“You’re absolutely sure?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He let out a long breath. “I’m squeaky clean.”
“At least your boo-boos are,” she qualified. “Now I’m going to put on some antibiotic.” She grabbed a packet and ripped off the edge, then squeezed until opaque ointment appeared. After touching a swab to the stuff, she applied it to his scrapes.
She met his gaze. “Okay, just a couple more spots on that pretty face of yours and you’re almost ready for the doctor to suture your shoulder before you go upstairs for the night.”
“You seem awfully cheerful at the prospect of passing me off.”
“Really? And I thought I was being subtle.”
“Why are you so anxious to get rid of me?” he asked, squirming.
“Hold still.” She finished dabbing the ointment at a spot on his jaw, then met his gaze without blinking. “You’re my worst nightmare.”
“Wow. Don’t sugarcoat it, Megan. Tell me how you really feel.”
Her lips compressed into a straight line for a moment and she shook her head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“But you did. So come on. The least you can do is explain.”
“No.” She shook her head. “You’re not going to provoke me into saying anything else.”
“How unfair is that? I should get something for holding still while you tortured me.”
One of her delicate eyebrows rose. “Now there’s a switch. The person being tormented is usually the one who sings like a canary.”
“I think it hurt you more than me. So give.”
“No.”
“Why? Why am I your worst nightmare?”
Still holding the swab, she looked at him, her eyes snapping. “Are you going to drop this?”
“No.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “You win. Why am I anxious to pass you off? You’re dangerous, a loose cannon. Before you ask how I know this, I’ll tell you. No one in their right mind would try to leave the hospital in your condition. Obviously, you thumb your nose at the rules.”
Midnight, Moonlight & Miracles Page 2