Radclyffe - Turn Back Time

"We're still expecting the transfer from Harrisburg that was supposed to come in yesterday morning. If the bed situation has eased up, she'll probably show up this afternoon."

"The one with the leaking anastomosis?"

"Right."

Wynter looked down at her list. "She's coming to your father, right?"

Pearce nodded.

"Do you think he'll want to operate tonight?"

"It depends on how she looks." Pearce finished her coffee and rolled the cup between her palms. "He's got five cases scheduled for tomorrow. If it looks like she's going to need to go, he'll do it tonight so as not to back up tomorrow. If she looks like she'll hold off a couple of days, he might wait until Tuesday."

"If her surgery was six days ago and they think she's leaking, she's not going to hold for another couple of days. I'll get another CAT scan as soon as she arrives and get started on the preop tests."

"Page me when she comes in."

"It's not necessary. You're off today and--"

"She's a new admission to the service. I have to see her." Pearce set her cup down. "You can call him with your assessment. I won't get in your way over it."

"I know," Wynter said gently. "I just thought I could give you a break."

"It's okay. I feel fine."

"I guess you're used to all-night recreational activities," Wynter said with the barest hint of sarcasm. She couldn't help thinking of the appreciative looks cast in Pearce's direction by more than one woman.

Pearce studied Wynter, her expression placid. "It's probably good that we're sitting in the cafeteria on opposite sides of the table.

Otherwise, I'd be tempted to kiss you. You're very sexy when you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous!"

Pearce grinned.

"I'm not ." Annoyed because it was true and Pearce had noticed, Wynter retorted without thinking, "I suppose you think I've never stayed up all night screwing before?" The instant she said it, she regretted it, especially when she saw Pearce's eyes darken and her jaw set hard.

"Pearce--"

"I'll be on my beeper if you need me." Pearce pushed her chair back and stood.

"Please don't go. I'm sorry. That was thoughtless."

"No, I'm sure it's true. I do know where babies come from."

"Damn it," Wynter seethed, looking around the room, aware of their fellow residents everywhere. She couldn't chase her without creating a scene. "Please. Five minutes."

Pearce wanted to walk away. Wynter was like no woman in her experience. She was used to wild sex with wild women who were unfettered or, at the very least, unconcerned about their attachments.

She'd never been jealous of who else they were sleeping with and definitely had never cared about anyone in their past. Since the moment she'd learned that Wynter was married, she'd steadfastly refused to think about it. Now that she'd touched her, held her, made love to her, thinking about her being with someone else incensed her. She knew it was crazy, and she couldn't stop. She took a breath. "Look. It's okay.

You don't have anything to explain to me."

"If you don't sit down, everyone in this room is going to hear that you're the best lay I've ever had."

"Uh..." Pearce coughed and her mind went blank. She did the only thing possible. She pulled out the chair and sat back down.

Wynter leaned forward, her eyes fierce. "Do you remember what I said to you this morning? About how I felt when you touched me? When I touched you?"

Pearce swallowed. Her head was buzzing. "Wynter--"

"Be quiet and listen. I can't think of any way to say this that doesn't sound like a cliché, but it's true. I've never been so present , so much myself, as I was with you last night. That means everything to me."

Me too. Pearce knew it, and she had no idea what to do with that fact. She shook her head, barely recognizing herself. "You must think I'm nuts, going off about something that's already over."

Wynter smiled. "No, not really. I think you're sexy when you're jealous."

"Ha." Pearce felt the tightness in her chest ease. That means everything to me. She'd been told some pretty outrageous things by more than a few women after a night of passion, but nothing anyone else had ever said to her had made her feel quite so good. "So how about I drop by later on today, see the new admission, and take you to din--"

"Damn," Wynter muttered as she looked down at the readout on her beeper. She looked up as Pearce's beeper went off and when she saw the grim set of her face, she knew. "The chief?"

"Yeah." Pearce stood. "You too?"

Wynter nodded. "You don't think--"

"There's no way he'd know, and even if he did, as long as it didn't interfere with work, it wouldn't be a problem." She smiled and wished she could take Wynter's hand. "Come on. Let's go see what he wants."

Taking a breath to settle herself, Wynter nodded. "Aye aye, Chief."

At Pearce's grin, she added, "And don't get too used to that."

v The surgery offices were deserted at 8:00 a.m. on Sunday. The door to Ambrose Rifkin's personal office stood open beyond the large partitioned area where his secretary usually protected his domain.

Despite the open door, Pearce knocked.

"Come."

Ambrose Rifkin, dressed in scrubs, reclined behind his desk with his leather chair tilted back and a file folder balanced on his knee.

Despite his casual demeanor, neither Pearce nor Wynter spoke until he finished making a note in the margin of one of the chart pages, closed the folder, and dropped it onto his desk. He sat forward and looked from one to the other.

"Please sit down."

Pearce and Wynter took the adjoining chairs in front of his desk.

"I just spoke to Tom Larson in Harrisburg. The patient's on her way and should be here within the hour. Let's get her directly to CAT scan from the ER. The OR is standing by."

"I could've taken care of that, sir," Pearce said quietly.

"I was here." His tone of voice implied that Pearce should have been as well.

She said nothing.

He leaned back slightly and regarded Wynter. In a conversational tone of voice, he said, "Fifty years ago, there were very few general surgical subspecialties. At the time, Isaac Rifkin was the chairman of surgery, and one morning he assembled his senior residents in his office." He glanced at a framed photo on the far wall that showed six men in white lab coats standing in front of one of the older buildings in the hospital complex.

Wynter followed his gaze. She didn't recognize any of them.

"He had evaluated his people, and he not only recognized their talents, but he predicted the future of surgery. He sent one to France to study with a noted cranial-facial surgeon. That resident would return and become the first chief of plastic surgery. He sent another to St.

Louis to work with a very gifted general surgeon whose practice was all pediatric in nature. That resident would return to establish the Children's Hospital. He named another to train in vascular surgery, another in cancer, and so on." He moved his hand across his blotter, as if indicating the world beneath his fingertips, and then he looked at Wynter. "Tom Larson tells me that his chief resident just took six months' leave for...health reasons. The slot is open, and he doesn't have anyone experienced enough to fill it."

Wynter's stomach clutched and her heart raced wildly in her chest.

She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn't prevent her hands from fisting around the wooden arms of the chair. She'd heard of residents being sent to other programs with no choice in the matter.

"It's an excellent opportunity for the kind of experience a resident needs to move into an academic position." He studied her. "I'd like you to go."

"For how..." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "For how long, sir?"