by Beverly Bird
Nancy nodded. “Okay. I’ll put in the request for you.”
Cait breathed again. “How long will it take?”
“If there’s an opening—and I don’t know yet because I’d have to run it through the computer—it could be just a matter of days.”
That sounded good, Cait thought. She rose to her feet. “Thank you.”
Nancy reached to shake her hand. “You’re welcome.”
Cait turned away, then the woman’s voice froze her. “You must be a special woman. You put up with Sam for quite awhile.”
Cait jerked back to look at her. “Damn it, nothing happened!”
Nancy looked shocked, then confused, then curious. Cait realized that the counselor had been speaking professionally. She felt color flood to the roots of her hair this time, and she fled the office without another word.
Things just kept getting more interesting, the woman thought.
She watched Caitlyn Matthews hustle down the hospital’s main corridor in her oh-so-white sneakers and her saccharin-sweet pink top. Then her curiosity turned to anger. Something painful punched her between the eyes from the inside out.
So the twit had a problem she thought personnel could fix. It just made the woman more determined to find out what was going on.
At the end of the hallway, Caitlyn stopped, rubbed the back of her neck and looked over her shoulder. The woman quickly stepped into a doorway, out of sight.
Sam got the emergency call from the hospital at two o’clock Sunday afternoon. Gilbert Travalini was having a rejection episode. Minor, as such things went, but it needed his attention.
Sam was almost glad. It would save him from his parents.
He thumbed the off button on the portable phone, disconnecting the switchboard’s call as he sprawled on the sofa and watched a ball game. Then he tapped in his parents’ number and spoke to his mother. She was disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to make dinner. Maribel Walters lived for Sunday nights when at least one of her children would arrive to share the meal with them. Sam thought it was probably because they spared her the usual silence of her dinner table. She and Sam’s father had run out of conversation years ago.
Sam wondered, as he always did, why they hadn’t just divorced, instead of producing five kids and dutifully clothing them, feeding them and educating them for the next thirty years or so. And why, when those kids were all fed, clothed and educated, they didn’t just shake hands and part ways. He wondered why people got married at all.
The thought depressed him.
By the time he took a shower and arrived at the hospital, his back felt knotted with tension, just as it had since Cait had run out of the ballroom last night. He examined Gil and adjusted the boy’s medication. He put an alert on his chart that someone should call him immediately if his fever climbed even one-tenth of a degree higher. Then, because he was in the hospital, anyway, he stopped at his office and scooped out the wad of memos in the clear plastic folder attached to his door.
He winced a little at the one from Kimberlie Leon telling him not to ever call her again. As if he did so with any regularity, Sam thought. He’d done it once—and then it had only been to return her call. She’d been the one to instigate the fiasco of the ball last night. She had invited him.
All the same, he let himself into his office to use the phone to send her flowers with an apology for cutting out early. He leafed through the rest of his memos while the florist had him on hold. When he saw the lime-green personnel slip, he frowned. What the hell? He and Nancy had peacefully coexisted in the hospital for a few months now. To say they’d parted amicably after the divorce was an understatement. Their parents were still the best of friends. But they didn’t send memos back and forth between each other.
Sam read this one. It wasn’t personal. It was business. Cait had requested a transfer to another physician.
“Thank you for holding,” a voice chirped in his ear. Sam slammed the phone down without responding.
What did she want a transfer for? For that matter, the reason she’d bolted from the dance last night was still a mystery to him. He’d asked both Jared Cross and the intern she’d danced with, but neither man had had an answer for him. Estrada had said something inane about a candle.
And now she wanted to work with a different doctor?
Sam shot to his feet, clutching the memo. Something hot tweaked his nerve endings. Because, he thought, she was the best nurse he’d ever had. And how could she abandon Gil Travalini this way? Or any of the other kids who loved her, for that matter?
He found himself downstairs, banging a fist on the personnel-office door, before it dawned on him that it was Sunday. There was no answer. Nancy would be at home, though she had obviously been here at some point today.
Conveniently, he knew where she lived. He sent her an alimony check on the fifth of every month.
Sam jogged outside to his car and revved the engine. The rumbling roar matched his mood. He shot the Maserati into gear and punched the gas. The car lunged out of the parking lot.
His ex-wife lived on a pretty side street in a Spanish-style adobe house half the size of the one they’d shared when they’d been married. She’d gotten their house, of course, in the divorce. She’d been a debutante, he a resident when they’d married. They’d stayed together for three years. In the second year, he’d started earning some significant money. They’d left their rented apartment and purchased a sprawling four-bedroom Mediterranean on the edge of town, near the Carson and Wainwright ranches. Then they’d parted ways and Nancy had pretty much soaked him.
She’d sold the house to buy something smaller and had no doubt invested the difference wisely. Her father was a stockbroker. She also had his alimony payments to live on. Why she felt compelled to work at the hospital was beyond Sam’s understanding.
Her Acura was in the driveway. Sam roared to a stop behind it and got out to stalk to the door and rap his knuckles against it. Nancy opened it wearing half a T-shirt and tiny denim shorts. Her feet were bare. She’d painted her toenails to match her fingernails.
There was a reason he had married her. She still looked delicious. It was just that at some point he had started appreciating her without wanting her.
“Hey,” he said by way of greeting.
She brought a crimson-colored drink to her mouth and sipped on the straw. “Aren’t we a little beyond surprise visits, Sam?”
“It’s business. I need to talk to you.”
“You could have called.” She gave the pout he remembered so well.
“I was already on the road so I just came over. Can I come in or do you have company?”
“Not yet.”
He got the hint. “This won’t take long,” he promised.
She sighed and stepped back from the door to let him into a neutral living room done in Navajo prints. She’d always had good taste and this place was no exception. She put her drink down on a coaster on the coffee table. “This is about Caitlyn Matthews, right?”
Sam crossed his arms. “Well, I’m curious about what’s going on here. You saw her today. I got your memo.”
Nancy tapped a finger against her lip as she thought about it. “Maybe she has a case of Sam-Walters-Strikes-Again.”
Sam dropped his arms, stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a great guy, Sam, but you’re no kind of husband.”
“Cait wants a husband?” He was shocked. Then he remembered that she’d been a virgin. “I think I need to sit down.”
Nancy watched him as he dropped onto the sofa. “I have no idea if she does or not. What happened between you two in that underground room, anyway?”
“Nothing!” He scrubbed his face, then repeated the word more calmly. “Nothing.”
“Well, maybe there’s your problem. Maybe you should have zapped her with some of that patented Sam sex appeal. Maybe she’s feeling left out.”
“Nancy…” He chastised her with his eyes.
&nbs
p; She threw her hands in the air. “I’m just saying that was always one thing you were very good at.”
If he was so good at it, then why was Cait bailing out on him? “Thanks for that.”
“You’re welcome. You make a woman feel like a million dollars.”
“Or chump change, depending on my mood.”
“Pardon me?”
“Never mind.”
She sighed and sat beside him. “Sam, you’re just no good at monogamy.”
He knew that.
“Or order,” she added.
Which was why he was no possible match for Cait Matthews, he thought, why he had to get her off his mind. It was for her own sake. A man like him would drive her nuts after a while.
Of course, she was already acting somewhat wacky in his estimation.
Then he thought about it for a minute and finally asked Nancy a question he knew he should have asked a long time ago. “Did I hurt you? When it ended?”
“Of course not.” She shook her head, her blond hair skimming her shoulders. “We both saw the writing on the wall and acted accordingly. Anything too closely resembling your father’s life gives you hives, and I understand that.”
It was more than that, he thought. He’d been passionately in love with Nancy at first, something he doubted his father had ever felt for his mother; what they’d shared had been nothing like his parents’ union. He just hadn’t been able to hold on to the feeling. It had waned and when it had, he’d been miserable. Nancy had known it, and she’d let him go.
He’d never subjected another woman to that side of himself again and he didn’t intend to start now. He never made promises. He knew himself. Or at least he had, until he’d kissed Cait Matthews.
“Did she say why she wanted a transfer?” he asked finally.
Nancy looked confused, then her expression cleared. “Ah, we’re off the marriage topic and back to your nurse.”
“Sorry. I thought we were finished with the other issue.”
Nancy stood again. “We were. Years ago.”
“Then tell me why my nurse asked for a transfer.”
“I can’t. It’s confidential.”
“Oh, come on. This is me you’re talking to.”
“You’re a hospital employee and I like my job.”
“What, you think I’m going to tell on you?”
“Or she will.”
“I won’t tell her you told me.” Then something struck him, a possible reason for Nancy’s reticence. “Did she lodge a complaint against me?”
Nancy looked amused. “No. As a matter of fact, she went out of her way to make it clear that it had nothing to do with you. She just wants a change of scenery.”
“Why?”
“It seems to have something to do with that ordeal you two went through together.”
The ordeal? Or the sex? His heart did something odd. It almost felt as if it spasmed. “That’s no reason to throw the baby out with the bathwater.”
Nancy looked at her watch. “Sam, I have a friend coming over shortly. I suggest you take it up with Ms. Matthews if you’re unhappy with the situation.”
“I will.” Or he would, if he had any idea where to find her on a Sunday. Sam stood again and headed for the door, then he paused. “Give me your key to the personnel office.”
Nancy backed up, waving her hands in front of her as though to ward him off. “Oh, no. No way.”
“This is important. I’ll copy it and bring it right back to you.”
“You’re going to try to find out where she lives!”
He didn’t bother to deny it.
“Sam, you can’t go through your whole life acting as though rules were only made for other people.”
“I follow rules!”
“In the hospital, sure,” she said. “When you’re working. Until now. This is hospital business.”
“Right. And I’m a doctor there. Is there any specific rule that says I can’t check the file of a nurse who works for me?”
She relented. “Okay, damn it. But don’t you dare copy the key. I want to find it in my mailbox when I leave here for work tomorrow morning.”
“You will. I promise.”
“Just leave it there in the box. Don’t knock on my door. Don’t try to come in. I’ll have company.”
“Who is it? Anybody I know?”
“None of your business.”
“Someone from the hospital?”
“Same as above.”
“Okay, just give me the key.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” Though maybe, he thought again, she should.
He took the key and left the pretty adobe house he’d paid for. He gunned the car and headed back to the hospital. Fifteen minutes later he had Cait’s address.
He had never gone to this much trouble over a woman in his life.
Part of him just wanted to drive home again and forget the whole thing. If she wanted a transfer, let her go. Nurses were a dime a dozen. Good ones…okay, those were harder to come by. But he’d find one eventually.
He glanced at the slip of paper again where he’d scrawled her address. It was a residential street halfway between the hospital and Nancy’s home, where he had to go, anyway, to return the key. Instead of turning north toward his condo, Sam kept driving.
Cait was sautéeing sweet red peppers with a little garlic and olive oil when the unexpected knock came at her door. Water was boiling for the linguine. She sighed and turned the burners off, lifting the skillet away from the heat for good measure.
Tabitha could be long-winded.
She headed for the living room, then realized she hadn’t washed her hands when she’d left the kitchen. She wiped her palms on the seat of her jeans before grasping the doorknob, then she laughed giddily. She was definitely losing her mind. And why not? Life as she knew it had been turned upside down.
She opened the door and her jaw dropped.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
Sam looked shocked. “Did you just swear?”
“Of course not.”
“Yeah, you did. You said ‘hell.”’
She had, she realized. She pulled herself together. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Don’t do that,” he said, bracing a hand against the doorjamb.
“Don’t do what?” Cait eyed his hand. She couldn’t close the door now without severing his fingers.
“That thing with your chin. I really hate it when you do that thing with your chin.” He imitated her, bringing his own up a notch.
“You came here to insult me?”
“No. I came here to find out why you don’t want to work with me anymore.”
Nancy Walters. Cait wasn’t sure if she was furious or just felt stupid for trusting the woman. “Your ex-wife called you and told you already.”
“I stopped by the hospital to check on Gil Travalini. The memo was in my mail slot.”
Cait’s heart started beating again slowly. Now what was she supposed to do? Somehow—naively, she realized now—she’d thought the whole thing could go through without any sort of confrontation.
“Well?” he prodded. “Are you going to give me an answer or not?”
“Not. Goodbye.” She shut the door, deciding she didn’t give a damn about his fingers, after all.
He yelled and jerked them free just in time. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted.
Cait poked her nose through the slit in the door. “Did you just swear?”
“Yeah, but I do it as a matter of course.” He was still examining his knuckles, looking aggrieved.
“Sam…” She broke off when he looked at her sharply. “What?” she asked suspiciously.
“You just did it again. You called me Sam. Last night it was Dr. Walters.”
“Last night we were at a hospital function. Today you’re standing on my doorstep.”
“I wouldn’t be if you’d let me in so we could talk abo
ut this.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“I want to talk.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“You owe me an explanation.”
“I don’t believe I do.”
“We’ve worked together for years.”
“But not for much longer.” She shut the door. He pounded his fist against it again and she pulled it open. “Will you please go away?”
“I will after you tell me why.”
Cait sucked in a breath. That was never going to happen. She put a protective hand to her tummy, realized she was doing it and snatched it away. “My reasons are personal.”
“We got pretty personal in Hines’s underground room, so that should let me in.”
Her heart staggered. If he only knew.
In the end, he’d given her a gift unlike any other. Oh, yes, she wanted this baby, she thought. Sam was just a wrinkle in the whole fabric that she needed to eliminate. Before he could whisper more things at her like “Dance with me.” Before he could make her laugh again…and make her believe that he meant anything he said or did.
“That,” she said quietly, “was a one-time thing.” This time when she shut the door, she threw all the locks.
She waited a long time to hear his footsteps go back down the stairs. And finally, at long last, she heard his car engine come to life. Shaky, she went to the window to peer out. He was just sitting behind the wheel, looking confused and lost, and for a moment her heart went out to him. She’d hurt him. And she couldn’t bear it.
But that was ridiculous. No woman had the power to hurt Sam—certainly not her, a one-time thing.
He finally backed out of the driveway and left. When her adrenaline stopped pumping, Cait felt her limbs go to water.
She moved to the sofa and sank onto it, feeling wobbly. She really did have to put some distance between them. She wasn’t sure if she could stand much more of seeing Dr. Sam Walters.
Then something itchy moved over her skin again. Hating herself for it, Cait gave in to the urge and went back to the window to look out. This time someone was watching her, sort of. It was Mrs. Brody, standing on her back porch. She looked between Cait’s apartment and the disappearing Maserati again and again and again.