Following Doctor's Orders

by Caro Carson

  None of the adults seemed to have heard her. When Brooke had broken the news, that girl had been in the waiting room, too, a lovely young person on the threshold of adolescence, with braces on her teeth and shiny long hair.

  “Aunt Lucy?” the girl asked, trying again. “Can I go and see Grandpa with you?”

  Brooke wished now she’d shaken the girl’s hand as if she were one of the adults. She feels the loss, too. She’s grieving, too. Pay attention to her!

  The girl looked perhaps eleven or twelve years old, but that was old enough to understand and feel everything that was going on. Brooke knew, because that was how old she’d been when her four-year-old sister had died.

  The monster hit her hard.

  With her pen frozen over the paper, Brooke sucked in her breath at the sudden blow. It had been lurking, she realized, since this morning’s four-year-old patient with the parents who didn’t know how fortunate they were to have a little girl with a common cold.

  The aunt patted the preteen on the shoulder almost absentmindedly, but she did answer her. “We’ll say goodbye to Grandpa at the funeral parlor, honey.”

  The girl’s family cared for her. Of course they did, just as Brooke’s family had cared for her. Still, she’d been lost after her sister’s death. Watching this little drama in the hall, she could see how easily an older child could be overlooked. When her sister had died, Brooke hadn’t been young enough to require the attention of being fed and dressed and provided for, but neither had she been old enough to be included while the adults in her family had made funeral arrangements and tried to console her nearly incoherent parents.

  Brooke’s almost twenty-year-old memories suddenly weren’t old enough. She felt the pain of her sister’s death, a horrible contrast to the pleasure of thinking about Zach.

  Zach.

  Had she really been blaming him for letting the genie out of the bottle? Her emotions weren’t out of control because she’d said yes to him. They were out of control because a four-year-old little girl had stirred up painful memories this morning, and this afternoon’s death had made them boil over.

  She looked at the clock again. It was six forty-five. Unless she texted him that she needed more time, Zach would pick her up at her apartment at seven thirty. She’d given him the address.

  Loretta walked up to her. “Can you start one last patient? It’s a straightforward laceration. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  A straightforward case would still keep her here another hour. Loretta was asking because Brooke always said yes. All of the doctors, not just Brooke, routinely worked past the end of their shifts. It was the nature of a medical career. Zach would understand. He might not have ended his shift on time, either. She’d text him and push back their date by another hour.

  She glanced at the family down the hall. The girl turned away from the cluster of adults. She poked listlessly at a poster on the wall.

  Suddenly, an hour seemed like an eternity to Brooke. She wanted, very badly, to see the man who made her smile against her will with his corny lines. She wanted to be with a man who had confidence, who lived life with a bit of swagger. He’d buy her a drink, she’d soak up his casual charisma and life would be no big deal, nothing to worry about.

  “No, I can’t start a new patient now.” Brooke dashed her signature hastily on the bottom of the death certificate and slapped it, facedown, in the nurse’s in-box.

  “Are you okay, Dr. Brown?” Loretta was watching her with concern.

  “I’m fine. It’s been a long shift, so I’m determined to leave on time for once.”

  The grieving family was breaking up, a few going back into the waiting room, most of them, including the girl, leaving through the door to the parking lot.

  Loretta looked in the same direction Brooke was looking. “That was a nice family, wasn’t it? Listen, I saw Dr. Gregory come in, and MacDowell’s here. You can go on and leave a little early. I’ll let them know.” Loretta patted her shoulder, a maternal move that surprised Brooke into taking a step back.

  “Yes, I’ll see you next time.” She walked quickly toward the kitchen, unbuttoning her white coat as she went. She stuffed it into the next laundry bin she passed, grabbed her purse from the locker and headed for the physician’s parking lot at the same pace she usually reserved for heading to the crash room.

  She wanted to see Zach. Zach had held Harold Allman’s hand and kept the pain from overwhelming him. She wanted, more than anything, for Zach to hold her hand, too.

  Chapter Six

  Zach sat on the tailgate of his pickup truck, killing time in the parking lot of an upscale apartment complex. In the last hour before sunset on a warm Texas day, it was good to have nothing to do but watch residents pull into their slots, lock up their cars and head for their apartment doors. It was all so ordinary.

  Zach needed ordinary. Ambulance work was never his favorite, but a friend had asked a favor. An ambulance shift meant every person he saw was sick and in pain. Patients were scared and worried, and so were the friends or family members who’d called for the ambulance. Family members who rode along with the patient were as anxious and alarmed as the patients themselves.

  It made for a long day. He’d take twenty-four hours with Engine Thirty-Seven over seven hours in an ambulance any day, but Zach, like most paramedics, picked up extra shifts to earn a little more money. Some days, the money wasn’t worth it.

  The adult daughter of his last patient had ridden in the back with him, and her anxious face stuck in Zach’s mind more tenaciously than the rest. The transport had been very long. Despite running with lights and sirens, it had taken over half an hour to reach downtown Austin from the country ranch, and the woman’s gaze had darted between Zach and her father’s gurney the entire time.

  The sorrow on her face haunted him. She’d known, as he’d known, that nothing he did would save her father. He’d done it all, anyway, fifty miles of work with her sorrowful eyes upon him.

  An apartment door opened. An old lady stepped out, her white hair neat and tidy, and she poured a glass of water on a potted plant by her door. Then she went inside. She’d been in no distress at all. She’d looked bored. Zach could have kissed her.

  He checked his watch. He still had thirty minutes, at least, to detox before his date with Brooke. He needed it. She was cool, calm and collected, no matter how chaotic the ER became. He needed to play it cool, too. He hopped off his tailgate and slammed it shut. His arm and chest muscles, tired from performing hopeless CPR, immediately protested the forceful motion.

  Slow down. Keep it light.

  He wasn’t here for any kind of emotional entanglement. He didn’t need Brooke’s cool levelheadedness to help him get over a bad shift. He was just here for a drink with a woman who reminded him of a sexy librarian. Nothing more.

  A sedate sedan pulled into the spot next to his, and two couples got out. As the ladies passed him, they smiled. The men looked at him with suspicion. All four of them, like every single person he’d seen in the past half hour, were senior citizens.

  This couldn’t be the right address. Brooklyn Brown, young and vital with legs that could slay a man, couldn’t possibly live in a retirement community.

  A gray-haired man wearing a veteran’s ball cap passed Zach’s truck on his way to toss a trash bag in the complex’s Dumpster. On his return trip, he stared Zach down as he stalked closer and closer. If Zach were in his firefighter uniform, the man would probably salute. Zach had long noticed that old men liked seeing young men in uniform; maybe he reminded them of themselves in younger years. But since Zach was not in uniform, he could practically see the man wondering if he was a troublemaker of some kind. A hooligan.

  Zach crossed his arms over his chest to stretch his sore triceps and looked up to the second floor and the door that was supposedly Brooke’s. Maybe he should
find the mailboxes and see if the name Brown was on the one that matched this number.

  “You lost, son?” the ball-cap man asked aggressively. Once a warrior, always a warrior, at least in attitude.

  Zach tried to disarm the man with friendliness. “Nope. Just waitin’ on a woman.” He uncrossed his arms so his stance looked less aggressive, but the move cost him.

  By morning, he’d be feeling every last chest compression he’d performed today. Instead of going out tonight, he ought to be soaking in a tub of ice water like he had back when he ran two-a-day football practices.

  The old man grunted something that sounded like agreement. “Women. Never on time.”

  “This one’s not late. I’m early.” Zach pointed in the direction of her second-story door. “I’d hate to be waiting at the wrong address. Do you know if Dr. Brooke Brown lives here?”

  He dropped his aching arm before he finished his question. Maybe instead of going out, he could soak in Brooke’s tub. With Brooke.

  And...that idea was wrong to entertain. It would only lead to frustrated pain in other parts of his body. This was their first date, and he half expected her to cancel on him. For the past four years, he’d had a never-on-the-first-date policy. Jumping into bed—and into love—with a certain blonde angel named Charisse had cured him of that impulse. Never again.

  You’ve known Brooke for the better part of a year. She’s not keeping any secrets from you.

  And...that was the wrong way to let his thoughts travel, too. This was just a drink. Nothing more.

  “A doctor, huh? That pretty young thing in 89E?”

  Zach wouldn’t have described Brooke as a pretty young thing—an elegant, professional woman was more appropriate—but her neighbor was looking at her through a lens several decades older than his. This was the right address.

  “Yes, sir,” Zach said. “She’s a doctor. If she’s late, she’ll have a good reason.”

  “I don’t know about that.” The old man wasn’t going to concede that any woman might have a good reason for being late. “Don’t let me catch you here mooning about under her window once it gets dark, you hear?”

  “I hear.” Zach was close to thirty, so being given orders like he was still a teenager was kind of amusing. He crossed his arms over his chest again, welcoming the stretch in his muscles, and leaned against the back of his truck.

  As the old man headed up the concrete sidewalk, a red sports car pulled into a parking space, looking as out of place among the town cars and four-door sedans as Brooklyn Brown herself must look among her neighbors. The red car was an old model, and Zach had the fleeting thought that it must be true that young doctors were drowning in med school student loans if Brooke had to drive a car that many years old.

  Older model or not, it was a sports car. That was the important part. His sexy librarian couldn’t help but be sexy, even with her hair always pulled back and her clothes always buttoned up.

  Sexy was good. Sexy raised no red flags.

  He enjoyed the view as the red door opened and a pair of very feminine legs swung out of the car. Zach savored the sight of those legs before checking out the rest of Brooke, for Brooke it had to be. He took in the tight gray skirt, its businesslike material snug over the curve of her hips, then the pastel buttoned-down shirt that stretched tightly across her chest as she slung her purse strap onto her shoulder, and then the best part of the view, red lips and dark eyes in a beautiful face.

  Her face—

  All his leisurely thoughts stopped cold, swamped by concern. Something was wrong. That was the expression of a woman in distress. He’d never seen it on Dr. Brown.

  Zach had already taken a step toward her when she looked up and spotted him. Her expression altered instantly, from misery to...relief? Surprise? She couldn’t be that surprised to see him here. They had a date.

  “Oh, you’re here,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  She headed toward him in a way that made him think, for a moment, she was going to throw herself into his arms, but she stopped just inches away. They stood there, a bit too close, awkward.

  Not touching. For eight months, they’d never touched. Until he’d steadied her hand as he poured her coffee three days ago, he’d never felt her skin.

  For the past three days, he’d thought of little else.

  “I’m early. Brooke, are you okay?”

  She nodded, but she seemed to be very intent on placing her car keys in a particular pocket of her purse.

  It wasn’t her concentration on her purse as much as it was that ever-present, invisible barrier that stopped him from reaching for her, although God knew she looked like a woman who could use a hug. He told himself that was okay. They were Dr. Brown and Mr. Bishop, not exactly hugging buddies.

  Still, he ducked down a few inches to take another look at her face. “Bad shift, huh?”

  “I’ll be fine. It was... It just made me think about...” She looked in the direction of her door, avoiding eye contact with him. “It reminded me of things I’d rather not think about. I’ll get changed and we’ll go. I could use that drink.”

  She half smiled at nothing in particular, and Zach told himself to follow her cue. He should smile, too. Walk her to her door. Change the subject, give her space and time to recover, let her soak in her virtual tub of ice, if that was what she needed before they went out for that drink.

  But she didn’t take a step. Something had happened since he’d left her this morning, something serious enough to discompose the unflappable Dr. Brown.

  “The ninety-six-year-old,” he said quietly. “You were the receiving physician, weren’t you? Aw, Brooke, I’m sorry.”

  She stared straight at him then, stunned. “How did you know? You didn’t bring him in. Were you—?” She shook her head before she finished her thought. “The radio. You must’ve heard it over the radio.”

  “I was there. That was the shift I covered. I stayed in the ambulance.”

  “You were outside? Oh, I wish you’d come in.”

  The pleading note in her voice matched the look in her eyes. He felt a tug in his chest that was far deeper than a layer of aching muscle.

  He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t ask this. He shouldn’t get involved with this woman.

  “Why?” he asked, reckless.

  Her expressive eyes became more shuttered. “You’re a very good medic. I like working with you.”

  “Right.” She’d said as much three days ago, when he’d asked her out. His skills as a paramedic weren’t why they were here. He played along, wanting her to talk. “So, did the other two paramedics screw up or something?”

  “No, they were fine.”

  She went back to fidgeting with her purse, brows knit in concentration.

  “It was just that the case made me sad,” she said, “and you make me smile.”

  He hadn’t seen that coming. At all.

  She dashed her cheek against her sleeve although Zach hadn’t seen a tear. She pretended to laugh it off; he knew her well enough to know she was pretending.

  Red flag.

  “Sorry,” she said, wiping her dry cheek. “See? I could have used some of your humor, such as it is. A corny line to take my mind off...things.”

  He was so tempted to put his arms around her that he forgot to laugh politely along with her. At his silence, Brooke hitched the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and took the first step toward her building.

  She pivoted back suddenly. “Ninety-six years old! Why did that family put themselves through it? Why did they put my staff through it? He’d died peacefully in his sleep. Did they really need me to verify that?”

  Zach remembered the daughter’s face as he’d pushed and pushed and pushed, compressing a heart that was finished beating, forever. “Maybe they
were hoping for a miracle.”

  Brooke made that little sound of disbelief, the same one she’d made this morning when she’d scoffed at the idea that he’d spend the night with no one if he couldn’t spend it with her.

  “A miracle. After forty minutes of CPR? I can’t even think where to start with that one.” She reached up and yanked her ponytail holder out of her hair. The cascade of dark brown hair in the light of the setting sun had a beauty that hit Zach square in the chest.

  Her hair was a little longer than he’d imagined, a little straighter. The light picked out metallic glints in the rich darkness. She shoved her hand through her hair and shook it loose.

  His mouth felt dry. His body went hard. Muscles that had ached a moment before were suddenly charged. There was nothing light about it, nothing pleasant and civilized.

  Hadn’t he always known that Brooklyn Brown would be dangerous?

  “I don’t mean to dismiss miracles,” she said in a more subdued tone.

  Maybe she thought his silence was disapproval. He forced himself to speak. “You’re just saying what everyone was thinking. Go ahead, blow off some steam.”

  Too late. She was already back in control, standing calmly, but the evening breeze still toyed with her hair.

  “Spontaneous, unexpected recoveries do occur, but they’re so rare.” She still sounded like that schoolteacher-librarian despite the unrestrained hair. “That’s why everyone talks about them, because they are once-in-a-lifetime occurrences. They become legend in a hospital, you know?”

  “I know.” His voice sounded gruff to his own ears.

  “That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to see one.” Once more, she ducked her chin a bit, but this time she looked up at him through her lashes and smiled almost shyly. “Although honestly, if his heart had suddenly started beating, it probably would’ve scared me to death.”

  Zach came closer. Denim brushed pinstripes as he picked up a handful of her hair and let it slide over his palm. “I don’t think you scare easily.”