Marta Perry - Hearts Afire

“I know.” Stop making him angry, you idiot. “Next time anything comes up, I’ll call the hospital first.”

“No, call me. You have my cell number, don’t you?”

She nodded. “But you weren’t on duty tonight. Wouldn’t you rather we call the E.R.?” And now she’d let him know that she was keeping tabs on his schedule.

“That doesn’t matter. I’d prefer to be called, so I know firsthand what’s happening here. The welfare of the patients and the staff are my responsibility.”

That almost sounded as if he cared about the clinic, instead of finding it an unwelcome burden foisted on him by the hospital administration.

“I’m glad you feel that way. It’s good to know we can count on you.”

She glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead he was frowning at the cement block wall, as if he saw something unpleasant written there.

“My responsibility,” he repeated. Then he focused on her, the frown deepening. “Look, it’s just as well you understand this. Anything that goes wrong at the clinic is going to reflect on me in the long run. And I don’t intend to have my position jeopardized by other people’s mistakes. Is that clear?”

Crystal clear. She nodded.

It really was a shame. Just when she began to think Jake was actually human, he had to turn around and prove he wasn’t.

“Dr. Landsdowne, may I have a word, please?”

The voice of the hospital administrator stopped Jake in his tracks. It felt as if William Morley had been dogging his steps ever since the migrant clinic program got off the ground. He turned, pinning a pleasant look on his face, and stepped out of the way of a linen cart being pushed down the hospital hallway.

“I’m on my way down to the E.R., Mr. Morley. Can it wait until later?”

Morley’s smile thinned. “I won’t take much of your time, Doctor. Have you read the memorandum I sent you regarding cutting costs in emergency services?”

Every department in any hospital got periodic memos regarding cutting costs from the administrator—it was part of the administrator’s job. Morley did seem to be keeping an eagle eye on the E.R., though.

“Yes, I’ve been giving it all due attention.” How did the man expect him to assess cutting costs when he’d only been in the department for a couple of weeks?

Morley frowned. “In that case, I’d expected an answer from you by this time, detailing the ways in which you expect to save the hospital money in your department.”

Jake held on to his temper with an effort. He couldn’t afford to antagonize the man. “It’s important to take the time to do the job right, don’t you agree? I’m still assessing the needs and the current staffing.”

“Perhaps if that were your first priority, you’d be able to get to it more quickly.”

He stiffened. “The first priority of the chief of emergency services is to provide proper care for the patients who come through our doors.”

“Well, of course, I understand that.” Morley said the words mechanically and leaned a bit closer, as if what he had to say was a secret between the two of them. “However, the hospital has to make cuts if it’s going to remain solvent. We can’t afford to have money bleeding out of the E.R. every month. We need an E.R. chief who can make it run efficiently. I hope that’s you.”

Money wasn’t the only thing bleeding in the E.R., but it seemed unlikely Morley was ever going to understand that. The threat was clear enough, though.

“I’ll work on it. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

Morley caught his arm. “Another thing—I’m sure you’re spending more time than you’d like dealing with this migrant clinic.”

Jake nodded. The need to approve every step taken by trained nurses and paramedics was tedious, but he couldn’t see any other way of dealing with the situation.

“It occurs to me that something might come up—perhaps has already come up—that the board would find a logical reason to postpone this effort until another time.”

The man was obviously fishing for any excuse to shut down the clinic. Jake’s mind flashed to the incident two nights earlier when Terry had gone to the migrant housing, clearly breaking his rules. If he told Morley about it, the daily hassle of supervising the clinic might be over.

But he couldn’t do it, no matter how much the clinic worried him. He’d promised Terry another chance. His mind presented him with an image of Terry’s face, stricken and pale when he’d lit into her team, accusing them of negligence in failing to save Meredith.

No. He owed her something for that.

The wail of a siren was a welcome interruption. He gave Morley a perfunctory smile. “There haven’t been any problems there yet. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m on duty.”

This time he escaped, pushing through the swinging door into the E.R.

The paramedics wheeled the patient in just as he arrived. Terry and her partner. He’d just been thinking of her, and here she was.

Terry gave him a cool nod as her partner reeled off the vital statistics—an elderly woman complaining of chest pain and difficulty breathing. He focused on the patient, who looked remarkably composed for someone brought in by paramedics.

He nodded to the nurse. “We’ll take it from here.”

Terry patted the elderly woman. “You listen to the doc now, Mrs. Jefferson. Everything will be fine.”

“Thank you, dear. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t count on you.” The woman beamed at the paramedics.

He flashed a glance at Terry, who was fanning her flushed face. Her red curls were damp with perspiration and her neat navy shirt was wrinkled. “Stick around for a few minutes. I’d like to speak to you.”

She nodded, and he helped push the stretcher back to an exam room.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes to determine what he’d already suspected—there was nothing wrong with the woman that merited a trip to the emergency room. The fact that the nurse also knew Mrs. Jefferson well enough to know she’d like grape juice just confirmed it. He left the woman happily drinking her grape juice and went in search of the paramedics team.

He caught up with Terry in the hallway. “Where’s your partner?”

She swung toward him, resting a frosty water bottle against her temple. “Jeff’s restocking the unit. Do you want me to get him?”

“Not necessary. I can say what I need to say to you.” And he shouldn’t be noticing how those damp red curls clung to her skin. Terry didn’t mean anything to him except an obstacle to be overcome. “That woman shouldn’t have been brought to the E.R. There’s nothing wrong with her.”

“That decision isn’t really up to the paramedics, is it? We don’t practice medicine.”

He glanced around, but no one was in earshot. “Are you throwing my words back at me?”

Terry’s face crinkled into a sudden smile. “Sorry. It’s just that we all know Mrs. Jefferson is a frequent flyer.”

“Frequent flyer?” He understood, all right, although he hadn’t heard them called that—those people who called the paramedics when they got lonely or needed attention.

“Look, she lives alone in a third-floor walk-up and her air conditioner just broke. I suppose she got a little scared. Anybody might in this heat. It happens.”

“I know it happens, but it shouldn’t.” This was exactly the sort of thing Morley had been talking about. “It wastes the hospital’s resources.”

Terry looked unimpressed. “I don’t work for the hospital, I work for the city.”

He planted his hands on his hips. It was probably a good thing, for Terry’s sake, that she didn’t work for the hospital.

“That’s not the point. We have to cut costs in the E.R., and every patient that’s brought in here for no reason eats into our budget.”