Mary J. - First-Time Valentine

That gossip mill was why Ella chose a counselor who practiced in Springfield, twenty miles away. The last thing she needed was her past—those dreaded few days during her years of internship in Boston—sifting down WRG’s corridors. Not even her family knew of the deep-seated guilt Ella harbored due to that one incident, or of the nightmares that still galloped into her sleep. Yes, she understood the fault of the incident was not hers. That the scrub nurse with her in the O.R. had been an alcoholic, had neglected to sanitize one of the instruments. And, yes, the woman lost her job over the whole awful situation.

But a little boy nearly died as a result of that nurse’s disregard—a child under Ella’s care, and on whom she’d operated with an instrument she trusted and believed to be sterile.

And though she still fought to regain the confidence she’d once possessed as a doctor, it was returning, growing stronger day by day within the walls of her beloved Walnut River General.

Picking up J.D.’ s chart and ignoring Lindsey’s comments, Ella headed for 239.

His glassy green eyes fastened on her the instant she stepped around the door. “Finally,” he said.

Taking the ophthalmoscope from her pocket, she went to his side, turned his face toward her, checked his pupils. “You’re not my only patient, J.D.”

“You called me J.D. again.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“There’s a lot I want.”

She ignored his look as she reached for the blood-pressure cuff hooked on the wall above his head.

“And,” he added, voice indistinct with fever, “I usually get it.”

Ella pumped the cuff. “Not all of us are so lucky.”

A corner of his mouth worked. “We talking about the same thing, Doc?”

Oh, she understood precisely what he meant. What surprised her was his ability to tease while a fever warred inside his body. He was a determined man. “Well, there’s one thing you won’t get,” she said, releasing the cuff.

“You?”

“Since you’ve elevated your blood pressure and contracted a second fever, there will be no discharge until tomorrow.”

His mouth sobered. “You’re keeping me another night?”

Ella curled her hands around the guardrail and pulled it up. “How many times did you exercise today?”

“A few.”

“More than the physiotherapist’s recommendation?”

He looked askance; she noticed his chapped lips. “J.D.,” she said, offering the bottle of ice water to him, “do you know what it means to rest?”

“’Course. I do that at night.”

“Not just at night. During the day, too. After any surgery your body needs time to heal, to redefine itself, so to speak. There’s a lot going on inside you that requires your patience—and rest. In other words, I want you to empty your mind of work and whatever else is on your BlackBerry. While exercising prevents clots—” his eyes, she noticed, sharpened “—going beyond the recommended sessions has aggravated your injury. It’s not going to get you back to your office quicker. And while your fever isn’t off the charts, it is high enough to tell me your body has put up a red flag. So, until we get it down and stabilized for at least twenty-four hours, I can’t discharge you.”

During her speech, he sipped the water.

“Do you understand?” she asked.

He handed her the bottle. “I understand.”

“Good.” She set the water on the table and picked up the lip balm. “Keep your lips lubricated,” she said, handing him the tube.

Fevered as his eyes were, the lightheartedness returned.

“To keep them from bleeding,” she informed him, removing the ice packs. The swelling was there, more than she liked, but not as bad as she’d envisioned. By morning, he should be on the mend.

She assessed his circulation on the arch of his long narrow foot, and behind his anklebone where his skin was hairless and smooth and vulnerable.

“What’s the rate?” he asked when she was done.

“Eighty-eight—normal with a fever.”

“My resting pulse is fifty-four,” he lamented.

“It’ll be back once your temp decreases and you’re healing.” She gave him a smile. “You’re in excellent shape.” And he was. His calves were defined, his shoulders broad and solid. She’d noted the muscles in his forearms and biceps. No doubt another gym advocate. Juice monkey was Peter’s description.

“Are you a member of a gym?” she asked.

“Hate gyms. I run, hike and row in the summer, snowshoe in the winter.” He frowned at his leg. “I’d hoped to do some trails around here, maybe follow the river a few miles.”

“No other sport injuries?”

“Nope.” His eyes kept hers. “Maybe I should sue,” he added, smearing his lips with the balm she’d given him. “For lack of viable fitness and fresh air—never mind my more, um, basic needs—all of which I’ll sorely miss this month.” His brows jumped twice and Ella suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

“You are one predictable patient, Mr. Sumner.”

He hissed. “Doc, Doc. How’m I to rescue my self-esteem after that comment?”

“I’m sure your self-esteem will hold out. I’ll get Lindsey to change these ice packs in thirty minutes and then redress your leg.”

From a narrow cupboard in the corner of the room, she retrieved a fresh, plump pillow.

“Meanwhile, I’ll send up some soup so you’ll have something in your stomach for the night. Lift up on your elbows.” When he did, she removed the old pillow and tucked in the laundered one. “Better?” she asked when he’d resettled.

Something grazed his expression—like a butterfly’s fleeting touch to a flower—and it curled around her heart the way the pillow she held wrapped his body’s warmth around her hands. “I’ll see you in the morning, J.D.”

“Ella.” Her name was soft on his chapped lips. “Thank you.”

She touched the big hand resting on his chest. “You’re welcome.” Before she could draw away he gripped her fingers. “Can I see you?”

She pretended to misunderstand. “I need to finish my rounds.”

“I meant after. Once I’ve left the hospital.”

Carefully, she withdrew her hand from his clasp. “I seldom go to New York.”

“I’ll be staying in Walnut River for a couple weeks.” “Oh? So you do have family here?” Would he admit it now?

“Trying to get me offtrack, Doc? I’m asking if you’ll have dinner with me once I’m discharged.”

“Not offtrack. We just want to ensure—”

“Will you?” he asked, his throat so raspy she handed him the water bottle again.

“Let me think about it.”

“Better than no, I suppose.” He took a sip of liquid, eyed her. “I’ll call you tonight.” He flashed a smile. “You’re in the phone book. I checked.”

She shook her head. “I wonder how many other female nurses and doctors you’ve wooed.” For NHC .

He didn’t blink. “Not a one.”

She huffed a laugh. “And I’ll bet not for lack of trying.”

“Don’t have to try, Doc.”

“Ah. Women drop like flies at your feet, then?”

A wicked grin. “Something like that.”

“Good to know. Well, then.” She lifted her chin. “Don’t let me get in their way.”

His laughter followed her out the door.

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