Wounded Souls

by R J Nolan

  Logan stared into Dale’s eyes for several moments, then shook her head. She reached for the wet clothes Dale still held.

  “What are you doing?” Dale tightened her arms around the bundle.

  “Getting my clothes. I’m leaving.”

  “What? Why?”

  “If you won’t take care of yourself while I’m here, then I have to leave so you will.”

  Dale stared at her in openmouthed shock. Logan was so matter of fact, as if it were no big deal for Dale to remove her leg and allow Logan to see her at her weakest. Thoughts of seeing pity in Logan’s eyes made Dale’s stomach churn. She hung her head. “I can’t.”

  Logan put a gentle hand on Dale’s arm. “I understand.”

  Dale looked up and met Logan’s gaze, which was filled with warmth and caring.

  Tugging the clothes from Dale, Logan said, “I’ll bring your sweats to work once I get them laundered.” She sorted out her stuff and then turned toward the door.

  Longing warred with shame inside Dale.

  “Wait!” she said before Logan could open the front door. For weeks, she had longed for the chance to spend time alone with Logan, and now that she had it within her grasp, she was screwing it up. Her gaze darted to the dining table set for breakfast. The scent of pancakes lingered in the air. “Please stay.”

  Logan turned to face her. “Will you take care of yourself? If not, I can’t stay.” Her tone was calm, but resolute.

  Dale clenched her fists at her sides. “Yes.”

  Logan quickly returned to her. She cupped Dale’s face in her palm. “Thank you.”

  Leaning into the touch, Dale allowed it to ground her and soothe her anxiety. She reluctantly pulled back. “Let me throw this stuff in the washer, then we’ll have breakfast.”

  Logan caught her arm. “And you’ll do what you need to?”

  Dale blew out a breath. Logan was the most infuriating—and intriguing—woman that she had ever met. “Yes. That too.”

  Logan briefly squeezed her arm before turning toward the kitchen. “Good. Hurry up. If I leave the pancakes warming too long, they’ll get soggy and won’t be any good.”

  After tossing the clothes in the washer, Dale made her way to the bedroom. She closed the door behind her, leaned against it, and let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t as if no one had ever seen her without her leg; plenty of people had at the VA. But this was Logan, who was not only a coworker, but also the woman she was strongly attracted to, despite her best attempts to ignore it.

  Knowing that Logan was waiting, Dale moved to the side of the bed and plopped down. She pulled up her pant leg and released her prosthetic, unable to hold back a sigh of relief as the pressure on the stump eased. She removed the stump sock and liner, then shoved her pant leg back down. As she stared at the empty pant leg, her breathing began to accelerate at the thought of facing Logan like this. A mental picture of Logan, her eyes brimming with warmth and understanding, filled Dale’s mind. She latched onto the image and fought the rising panic attack.

  After several long moments, Dale took a shuddering breath, then some deeper ones. That had been the closest she had come to a panic attack in almost two years. She didn’t miss the irony of the fact that the same person who caused her to have the attack was the same one who had stopped it. Enough of this. She needed to either do this or let Logan leave.

  Dale reached under the bed and pulled out her forearm crutches. Mentally squaring her shoulders, she padded out of the room.

  The open architecture of the apartment allowed her to see Logan standing next to the dining room table. She looked up as Dale approached.

  “Have a seat, and I’ll grab the pancakes from the oven,” Logan said. But instead of going into the kitchen, Logan headed her way.

  Dale stood straight and tall, waiting for Logan’s reaction. When Logan put her hand on Dale’s arm, just below the cuff of her crutch, she forced herself not to recoil.

  “Thank you for letting me make breakfast. I really love to cook, and I haven’t gotten a chance to do that in over two years. I’ve only got a microwave in my motor home.”

  That’s it? I’m standing here with no leg, and she’s talking about cooking. Logan never ceased to amaze her. The tight knot in her stomach released its grip. “Bring them on. I’m starving.”

  Logan smiled. “You got it.”

  Logan leaned against the kitchen counter and blew out a breath hard enough to ruffle her hair. That had gone better than she expected. After seeing the shame and vulnerability on Dale’s face, she had almost backed off on her insistence that she remove her prosthetic. She knew it was asking a lot, but there was no way that she could stay otherwise. Her admiration of Dale continued to grow. And your attraction.

  Shoving away the unwelcome reminder, she grabbed a hot pad off the counter and pulled the pancakes from the oven. The nutty, sweet scent rising from the platter made her stomach growl. She snagged the bottle of syrup she had warming in a bowl of hot water from the sink.

  “Ta-da.” Logan set the pancakes and warm maple syrup on the table with a flourish.

  “They look great. Mine always fall apart.” Dale took a deep breath. “They smell even better.” She forked two of the pancakes onto her plate and smothered them in syrup.

  At the first bite, her eyes closed, and she let out a moan that sent a flush through Logan’s body. “These are incredible. What did you do? My mom’s are really good, but they never tasted this fantastic.” She took another bite.

  “Family secret.” Logan smiled at the memories of her grandmother. It was the first time since Emily’s death that she had allowed herself to remember any of the good times with her family.

  Dale polished off the first pancake before replying. “Well, if these are the only ones I’m going to get…” She tugged the plate of pancakes over to her side of the table. “Mine!”

  Logan laughed, something she never thought she would do again on Christmas. “Give me one of those.” She mock-threatened Dale with her fork before stabbing one of the pancakes and flipping it onto her plate.

  Dale grinned as she quickly forked a third pancake onto her own plate.

  A short while later, Logan put her fork on her empty plate. While there had been no conversation during the meal beyond “pass the syrup, please,” it had been a comfortable silence. Now that she was warm and pleasantly full, she was getting sleepy.

  “You want the last one?”

  Logan glanced up. Dale already had the last pancake halfway onto her plate. “Go ahead.” She smiled when Dale didn’t offer even a token resistance. Guess she really does like them.

  Dale downed the last pancake with the same enthusiasm she had the previous five. She pushed her chair back and patted her stomach. “Those really were excellent. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Logan stood and began to gather up the dishes. Her fatigue was beginning to weigh her down. She still had at minimum a half-hour drive home, probably more with the continuing rain.

  Using the table, Dale pushed herself into a standing position. “You cooked. I’ll clean up.”

  It was on the tip of Logan’s tongue to protest. The stubborn jut of Dale’s chin made her stifle the words. She had already pushed her as far as she dared today. After all, Dale had her pride, and Logan respected that. “Okay.”

  Dale’s eyebrow arched, then her eyes narrowed. “But?”

  Logan smothered a smile. “But nothing. Seems fair to me.” She picked up the plates and silverware and took them into the kitchen. She’d tried to keep the mess to a minimum while cooking, but there were still utensils, bowls, and the griddle that needed cleaning. While it bothered her, she forced herself to leave it to Dale.

  The tap of Dale’s crutches announced her arrival. She set their glasses onto the kitchen counter.

  A huge yawn caught Logan unaware. She scrubbed her hand
s over her face, trying to push away the encroaching grogginess. “I’ve got to get going. I’m beat.”

  Dale glanced out the storm-drenched kitchen window. “The storm has really gotten bad. Are you okay to drive?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You could stay.”

  Logan met Dale’s gaze. The warmth in her blue-streaked gray eyes drew her in. It surprised her just how much she wanted to say yes. But she couldn’t. It was too outside her comfort zone. “Thank you, but no.” She smothered another yawn.

  Dale sighed. “Okay.”

  They walked together to the front door. The tap of Dale’s crutches on the hardwood floor filled the silence between them.

  Logan grimaced as she slipped into her wet shoes.

  “Dang. I forgot to put the clothes in the dryer.”

  “No problem. You can bring them to me tonight.”

  They stood together for several moments, neither seemingly eager to part.

  This time it was Dale who yawned.

  Logan shook herself. “I’m out of here. I’ll see you tonight.” She opened the front door. Before she gave herself a chance to really think about it, she turned back to Dale and placed a kiss on her cheek. Her lips tingled at the brief contact. She forced herself to step back. “Thank you for today.”

  When Dale reached out to touch Logan’s cheek, her crutch clanked against the doorframe. Her face flushed. “See you tonight. Bye.”

  Logan found herself staring at the closed door. She touched her still-tingling lips. With a sigh that was part sadness and part relief, she headed for her SUV.

  CHAPTER 26

  As she approached the counter, Dale scanned the nurses’ station for Logan. When she realized she was stroking the cheek that Logan had kissed, heat flooded her face, and she jerked her hand away. The kiss had been totally chaste, but that hadn’t stopped arousal from coursing through her veins. Then, of course, her damn crutch had hit the doorframe and doused her ardor like a bucket of cold water. Worry had nagged at her after Logan left, but finally, exhaustion had won out, and she’d gotten some much-needed rest. She hoped Logan had done the same.

  “Merry Christmas, Dr. Parker,” Molly said from her spot at the computer workstation in the otherwise deserted nurses’ station.

  “Merry Christmas.” It was technically still Christmas Day for several more hours. Usually, she enjoyed the holiday, but this year, she would be glad when it was over. As she pulled off her jacket, she glanced at the intake board. There were currently only four patients in the department. “Has it been this quiet all evening?”

  “I’ve only been here since six, but it’s been dead the whole time.”

  “Good. Keep your fingers crossed it stays that way.” After yesterday’s disaster, everyone could use a break.

  Molly nodded. “I’m with you on that. Last night was…” She roughly shook her head. Something behind Dale caught her attention. “Hey, Dr. Logan.”

  “Good evening,” Logan said.

  Dale wasn’t surprised that Molly didn’t wish Logan a Merry Christmas. While Logan was usually careful about keeping her emotions to herself, her complete disregard for the holiday had been unmistakable. With what Dale now knew, she was amazed that Logan coped as well as she had during the holiday season.

  Dale turned to face Logan, an automatic smile tugging at her lips. “Hi.”

  Logan returned the smile and held up a plastic grocery bag. “Come on.” She motioned down the hall toward the conference room.

  Dale glanced at her watch. With only four patients, changeover wouldn’t take long, so they still had plenty of time before the official start of their shift. She couldn’t see what was in the bag and didn’t much care as long as it allowed her to spend time with Logan.

  The ambulance bay double doors swung open with a whoosh before Dale got half a dozen steps from the nurses’ station.

  Sighing, she turned back. Logan did too.

  A pair of EMTs pushed a gurney through the open doors. “Forty-four-year-old white male. Facial trauma. Heart rate one-thirty-five, BP ninety over sixty-two, diaphoretic, and complaining of chest pain. Second ambulance is right behind us with the girlfriend.”

  Another EMT pushed a second gurney into the ER. When the woman strapped to the stretcher spotted her boyfriend, she spewed a string of curses and struggled against the restraints. “Twenty-three-year-old white female. Multiple BB pellets in the neck. Possible fractured hand.” He reeled off the rest of her stats, ignoring her continued ranting.

  Dale exchanged a look with Logan and then headed for the woman, while Logan took the man.

  Karen Armstrong, a former resident and now an attending, came trotting down the hall. “What have we got?”

  Logan waved her off. “I’m taking this one.” She grabbed the side of the gurney. “Let’s go,” she said to the EMT.

  “You just wait, you bastard,” the woman yelled as her boyfriend was taken away.

  Molly joined Dale next to the woman’s gurney.

  “Get her into an exam room, and I’ll be right there.”

  When Molly grabbed the gurney, the woman bucked hard against the straps. “What the fuck are you…ten? I want a real doctor.”

  Molly started and took a step back.

  Dale glared at the woman. “Knock it off.” She motioned for Molly. “Go on, get her in a room.”

  Molly reached for the railing and flinched back when the young woman began to curse in earnest.

  “Let’s go.” One of the EMTs took a firm hold of the stretcher and shoved it down the hall. Molly docilely followed him.

  Dale shook her head. So far, Molly wasn’t impressing her. She was almost six months into her residency and still way too tentative with patients.

  “Give her a chance. She’ll toughen up,” Karen said.

  Dale nodded. She hoped Karen was right. “Go ahead and sign out. Logan and I have this covered.” She loped after the gurney.

  Dale walked up to the nurses’ station with Molly in tow. “You can’t let a patient get to you like that. It’s not personal. Especially as an ER doctor, you’re going to see people at their absolute worst.”

  The woman with the fractured hand and BB pellets lodged in her neck had continued to harangue Molly during the exam and removal of the BBs. Molly had tried to turn over the procedure to Dale several times.

  Molly sniffed back tears. “I know. But—”

  “No buts. Learning to deal with all types of people is part of our job. You have to do your best to ignore bad behavior while remaining calm and professional. We have a legal obligation to provide emergency care regardless of how unlikable or disruptive a patient is. You need to toughen up.” It didn’t help the situation that Molly did look extremely young or that her demeanor was meek at the best of times.

  “Okay. I’ll try.”

  Dale forced a stern expression onto her face. Several times she had seen other residents cover for Molly when she couldn’t cope. That had to stop. They weren’t doing her any favors. “I understand that it’s hard, but you need to do more than try. Stop asking other people to take on the difficult patients for you. Not everyone is cut out to work in the ER. If that’s the case, you need to find that out now—not later in your residency.”

  Molly’s shoulders slumped, and her eyes filled with fresh tears. “Okay.”

  Dale blew out a breath. She hated being so hard on the resident, but Molly’s behavior was becoming a pattern. As she turned away from Molly, Dale spotted Logan bent over, looking at one of the computer monitors. She took a moment to lament the fact that Logan was wearing a baggy lab coat that hid her ass. She mentally slapped herself on the back of the head.

  As if sensing the regard, Logan looked up.

  A blush heated her cheeks. Dale glanced away, hoping Logan wouldn’t notice.

  “Got a question
for you,” Logan said.

  “Sure.” Dale stepped over to the monitor. X-rays of a facial series were displayed on the screen. “That the chest pain guy?”

  “Yeah. Mr. Arron’s cardiac enzymes came back normal, and his EKG was unchanged. I think the chest pain was brought on by stress. I guess getting repeatedly punched in the face could do that to you.” Logan shook her head. “What’s the procedure here for reporting domestic violence?”

  “You need to call in a report to the local authorities. Unless it’s an imminent threat type of situation, it’s best to wait until the end of shift. Police rarely come out at night. Then you have two days to file a written report. I’ll show you the forms. Is he going to press charges?”

  “I tried to convince him to, but no luck. He swears this is the first time it happened.”

  Dale arched an eyebrow. After dealing with the girlfriend, she found that hard to believe.

  “I didn’t believe him either,” Logan said. “Is she going to file against him for shooting her with the BB gun?”

  “He said he shot her? That’s not the story she told. According to Ms. Bishop, her boyfriend’s twelve-year-old son shot her accidentally while trying to break up the—in her words— ‘disagreement’ between them.”

  “What do you suggest, then? The shooting has to be reported. But do we additionally file domestic violence reports on both of them?”

  Dale nodded. “I think it’s the best way to go. Let the police and social services sort it out.”

  “Okay.” Logan motioned toward the grocery bag she had abandoned on the counter earlier. “Things have quieted back down. How about we head for the conference room and have our snack?”

  “Sounds good.” As they headed down the hall, Dale asked, “What did you bring?”

  “Well, most places were closed because of—” She clearly couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

  Dale reached out and squeezed Logan’s shoulder in silent understanding.

  “Anyway, wasn’t much open, but I found a grocery store, and it had a surprisingly big bakery inside. So I picked up an assortment of rugelach and some bowls of cut-up fruit that looked really fresh. And I have a thermos with hazelnut coffee.”