Caro Carson - Her Texas Rescue Doctor

The door opened after the most timid of knocks. “Excuse me, Dr. Gregory. I’m so sorry to bother you.” The assistant stuck her angel face in the crack and smiled at him hopefully.

Speak of the devil.

“This area is employees only.”

She bit her lower lip with perfect white teeth. “I know, I’m sorry.”

He set down the empty mug. So, she was appealing. They had nothing in common and would never see each other again after another sixty minutes, give or take, so he called upon his medical experience to act dispassionately and moved to the door.

“I really need to talk to you,” she said.

“There is nothing you can say that will change how this hospital operates.”

You stay in your world, I’ll stay in mine. He put his hand on the doorknob to shut it.

“Wait.” The angel had more determination than he’d expected. She thrust her whole arm and shoulder in the door. “There are no stairs in her house.”

He knew, instantly, that she was not telling him about Sophia Jackson’s house. Surprise kept him silent.

“I heard her say so. I’m talking about the woman next to us. The man that was with her hurt her.” She was breathless in her anxiety to tell him what she knew.

Alex opened the door and ushered her in with a gentle touch on her arm, a brief brush of her soft gray sweater under his hand. He shut the door in an automatic move to protect patient privacy. Still, it seemed intimate to be alone with this woman in this little bit of an inner sanctum. “I understand. That’s why I arranged to have him removed from her treatment area.”

She didn’t seem reassured. “He’s only filling out paperwork. Spousal consent forms.”

She really had heard every word, then—and remembered them. “Spousal consent forms are a code in this ER. It means the spouse has to leave the treatment area. I’ve seen enough patients who have fallen down stairs to recognize the hallmarks of that type of injury.”

“And she didn’t have them?”

He shook his head silently. He was bound legally and ethically not to describe a patient’s medical condition to a stranger. The assistant obviously knew some details already, but he couldn’t tell her more.

“How long does it take for him to fill out the forms? He’ll be back any minute.”

“Security will explain that he can’t reenter the treatment area. Doctor’s orders. When the next room with walls and a door opens up, the patient will be moved there. I can’t tell you more than that, but I assure you, she will have a chance to talk to me in private.”

“She won’t tell you anything.”

Sadly, the assistant was quite possibly right. Victims of domestic violence were often silent in the hope that the situation would improve if they helped their abuser. “I hope you’re wrong about that, but we’ll give her every chance, every safety net we have available. You and I need to end this conversation now, because—”

Because of patient confidentiality, of course. But he didn’t finish the sentence, because what had popped into his head was because you’re already too appealing. Her compassion toward a stranger only increased his regard for her.

It didn’t matter. He had no interest in pursuing a woman when no relationship was possible. Flirting was something else he’d never quite understood. It was a waste of time to indulge an attraction to a woman who lived in another state, let alone a woman who built her life on the shaky ground of fame.

The assistant furrowed her brow, determination stamped on her lovely face. “You can get her alone in a private room, but she won’t tell you anything. She has children. He told her he would kill them if she talks.”

The kitchenette door started to open beside them. He stopped it with the palm of his hand. “A moment, please.” Without looking to see who it was, he pushed the door shut. All his attention was for the assistant. “You heard this? He actually said he’d kill her children?”

“He was inches away from me on the other side of that curtain. I heard every word. He said if he goes to jail, he’ll kill the children as soon as he gets out.”

She looked up at him with fear and worry—and something else. Hope. She was looking at him as if she hoped he would be able to fix this terrible situation. The desire to touch her again, to physically soothe her, was completely inappropriate. That wasn’t how a doctor helped.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you willing to relay this to the police?”

“I hadn’t thought about police.”

This protective streak was strong. He didn’t want her involved in what could become a volatile situation. “The injuries are already enough to trigger social services, and that will include removing the children from his custody. I appreciate everything you’ve told me, but you don’t have to do anything else.”

“No, I’ll talk to the police. That poor woman. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to help.”

“Not everyone feels the same. You’re very brave.” He felt a little sloppy bit of tenderness toward her, despite the way he was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, scowling at her. He cleared his throat and tried for a more neutral expression. “What did you say your name was?”

“It’s Grace.”

“Grace.” Of course it was. Grace was a blessing one did nothing to deserve, milost’ in his mother’s language. He’d done nothing to merit its presence in his emergency department today, but Grace was here, being an ally for a stranger in a dangerous situation.

She tugged the hem of her soft sweater an inch lower. “Well, thanks for your time.”

A brave princess had shown up in his ER after all—just not the one he’d expected.

He liked this one much better. “Thank you for being so persistent. I apologize for being so curt. I can tell you’re worried, but you’ve done the right thing. I’ll take it from here.”

“What about the police?”

“If they need your statement, we’ll do that with as much privacy as possible, I promise. I don’t want you to risk anything if you don’t have to.”

“Thank you.”

Grace left, slipping easily around the nurse who was waiting outside the door.

“Loretta asked me to tell you that we’re taking Mrs. Burns down to X-ray now. Room three is ready to go, if you could discharge him. The social worker is on her way over.”

Alex would have to get his coffee later. As he headed down the hall toward room three, Grace was about twenty feet ahead of him on her way back to the curtained area. Her plain clothing allowed him to enjoy the feminine shape of her. He knew firsthand that her sweater felt very soft, and her slacks were tailored over the curve of her backside.

The voice of Princess Picasso came shrieking down the hall. “You have got to be kidding me! Why is that woman getting an X-ray before me?”

Grace broke into a jog.

Alex shook his head as he entered room three. How could an angel who was so brave subject herself to a celebrity who was so selfish?

* * *

“Here’s your macchiato.” Grace hiked her tote bag a little higher on her shoulder and held up the cup of coffee she’d spent fifteen minutes locating, ordering, paying for and bringing to her sister.

Sophia was talking on her phone, and waved her into silence. The part-skim half-caff macchiato with the shot of regular caramel syrup and sugar-free vanilla syrup which she’d just had to have was not quite as important as her phone call, apparently.

Grace was tempted to place it on the bedside table and leave the table where it was, at the foot of the bed. Sophia would need her then. She’d have to interrupt her phone call with Deezee to ask Grace to roll the table closer.