Amy Ruttan - It Happened In Vegas

The hospital board had backed him. After all, he’d been a surgical rock star, a god in their eyes, and he’d bring in lots of money.

Jennifer had been a nobody, as far as they were concerned. Just an easy, replaceable trauma surgeon.

So she’d given them the proverbial finger and left, leaving their trauma department to be run by a moron.

All Saints Hospital in Las Vegas had offered her everything to come and run their trauma department. And they were building a state-of-the-art facility better than that at Boston Mercy. So that was a plus. Even though it felt like she was returning home with her tail between her legs, she wasn’t. No, she was going to make All Saints Hospital shine like a star, like a supernova.

She smiled to herself as she slipped on the disposable yellow isolation gown over her dark green scrubs. The dark green scrubs marked her as an attending, while the interns and residents ran around in orange.

Jennifer shuddered. It wasn’t even a nice orange. Maybe she could have a talk with the chief about changing the color scheme of scrubs at the hospital.

Why the heck are you thinking about color schemes at a time like this?

She sighed. She didn’t need to be having this weird internal dialogue with herself. Ever since David had jilted her, people hadn’t treated her the same. They’d pitied her and she’d retreated a bit into her head.

That was another reason she’d had to get away. Though she knew the people at All Saints knew about her past. She could see it in their eyes, but she didn’t care. She was going to hold her head high.

She was not some screwball, crazy, jilted-bride-type person. She was a surgeon. A fine one.

No. A damn good one.

A neutron star.

Okay, your obsession with astronomy really needs to stop now.

“Dr. Mills, the ambulance is seven minutes out!” a nurse shouted as Jennifer walked into the triage area.

“Thanks.” She headed outside to the tarmac to await the arrival of the ambulance, craning her head, listening for the distant wail. It was a quirk of hers to know exactly how far away an ambulance was by the siren. Only with All Saints being right near the strip, Jennifer couldn’t drown out the rest of the noise to hear anything.

“What do we have coming in?”

She spun around to see Dr. Rousseau in an isolation gown standing next to her.

Damn.

“I thought you were on a break, as in napping in the on-call room?”

“Disappointed that I’m not?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes. “Hardly, but I heard it’s something minor. Something coming from one of the casinos. It’s probably just a myocardial infarction. You know, too much excitement at the slots.”

Nick cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I think it’s something a bit more than a minor myocardial infarction. Though I doubt you could call any myocardial infarction minor.”

“You know something. Don’t you?” she asked, scrutinizing him. “What do you know?”

“If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you. I want to see the look of surprise on your face when the ambulance comes in.”

“That’s unprofessional.”

Nick grinned. “Hey, it’s Vegas and what happens in Vegas …”

“Stays in Vegas. I know. I’m from Nevada.” She crossed her arms and stared up at the sky. The buildings from the strip loomed from behind the back of a casino. You could see the top of the Eiffel Tower if you craned your head a certain way.

“It’s priceless. Trust me. It’s a great initiation.”

“I’m the head of trauma. We’re not supposed to be initiated or hazed.”

Nick shrugged. “Come on. It’s fun. Think of it as a morale booster.”

Jennifer was going to say a few more choice words when the ambulance came roaring up. The paramedic jumped out and opened the back door.

“Jack Palmer, a twelve-year-old male who has a three-inch laceration to his forehead.”

As the paramedics were bringing down the stretcher, Jennifer leaned over to Nick. “How is a three-inch lac supposed to be an initiation?”

Nick just grinned. “You’ll see.”

The little boy groaned as the stretcher was placed on the ground. His head was bandaged, there was blood coming through the gauze and the boy was hiccuping between groans. Jennifer stepped beside it and heard a tinny hum of “Happy Birthday.”

“What’s that noise?”

Jack hiccuped. “It’s my birthday card.”

“Where is it? I can hold your birthday card for you.” Jennifer looked on the gurney, while a paramedic was stifling a chuckle and Nick was grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat.

“No, you can’t.” Jack hiccuped again.

“Why not?”

Jack shook his head and his face flushed. Jennifer looked at the female paramedic. “What’s going on?”

“The card is the reason he got the head injury. He swallowed the music player from the card.”

Jennifer’s eyes widened and she looked down at the patient. “What?”

Nick signed off on the patient and the paramedics mumbled “Good luck” before leaving. Jennifer and Nick wheeled the boy inside.

When they got Jack in a triage room with the door shut, he hiccuped again, playing that annoying tune. Jennifer turned away residents because it was just a simple head lac and as Jack was obviously embarrassed about his situation, she wanted to give him some privacy. For the time being, anyway. The news would get around the hospital and she would need to take a couple of residents in when she surgically removed it.

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

“Jack, please tell me the paramedics are joking.”

“Would I be here if they were?” Jack winced again, hiccuped another verse of “Happy Birthday.” “Darn.”

“How did this happen?” she asked.

“It was a dare. I swallowed it, choked and hit my head on the table.”

“Order a CT scan. Stat,” Jennifer said to Nick.

“I’m on it,” Nick said, rushing out of the room.

“They’re all going to laugh at me now. Aren’t they?” Jack asked.

“No one is going to laugh at you, Jack. Not on my watch.” Though it was very hard not to laugh just a little, but she kept it together. She peeled off the gauze and began to inspect the head wound, getting it ready to clean and stitch.

Nick had the feeling he was being watched. Intently. He had a sixth sense about when he was being watched. Actually, when he was being studied.

“More suction, please,” Nick said to the intern who was working with him.

“Yes, Dr. Rousseau.”

It was in that brief moment when the intern was suctioning that Nick snuck a glance up at the gallery. There was only one person in the gallery, watching his routine appendectomy, and that was Jennifer.

Not Jennifer. Don’t call her by her first name. She’s your boss.

She was Dr. Mills.

Only he couldn’t think of her as Dr. Mills. She was Jennifer, and he watched her sitting in the gallery, watching his surgery, her arms crossed in a very serious pose.

So different from when they’d been on the beach at Lake Tahoe.

What he wouldn’t give to be back there again. Right now.

Then again, that was a dangerous thought.

One he didn’t particularly want to think about because he couldn’t indulge it, and he so wanted to indulge it, which was bad.

Nick tore his gaze away from her and focused back on the appendectomy. He tried to ignore the fact she was in the gallery. He’d known there was someone in there, watching him. Other surgeons and interns had watched him before. It didn’t faze him, but the moment he’d glanced up into that gallery and seen it was her, it was different.

And it irked him.

Why was she affecting him so much?