Laura Iding - A Knight for Nurse Hart

She didn’t have time to fall apart. Not when there was a serious trauma on the way. Car versus train, and the train always won in that contest. She took several deep breaths, pulling herself together with an effort.

She couldn’t think about this right now, she just couldn’t. It was possible she had flu, nothing more. She had to stop jumping to conclusions. She’d been through a lot of stress lately. Far more stress than the average person had to deal with. There were plenty of reasons for her period to be late. And it wasn’t really late. She could get her period any day now.

But the nagging fear wouldn’t leave her alone.

She used the facilities and then splashed cold water on her face in a vain attempt to bring some color back to her cheeks. She stopped in the staff lounge to rummage for some crackers to nibble on as she made her way back to the trauma bay.

The pager at her waist beeped. She glanced at the display. Thirty-five-year-old white male with multiple crushing injuries to torso and lower extremities. Intubated in the field, transfusing four units of O negative blood. ETA five minutes.

Five minutes. She took another sip of white soda and finished the cracker. She couldn’t decide if she should be upset or relieved when the cracker and white soda combination helped settle her stomach.

“What’s wrong?” Caleb demanded when she entered the trauma bay a few moments later. “You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks so much,” she said sarcastically. “I really needed to hear that.”

“I’m sorry, but I wanted to make sure that you’re okay to work,” Caleb amended. “The trauma surgeon has requested a hot unload. We need to get up to the helipad, they’re landing in two minutes.”

“I’m okay to work,” she repeated firmly, determined to prove it by not falling apart as she had last night. Every day was better than the last one—hadn’t her counselor stressed the importance of moving forward? She was living proof the strategy worked. “Let’s go.”

She and Caleb took the trauma elevators, located in the back of the trauma bay, up to the helipad on the roof of the hospital. At first the confines of the elevator bothered her, but she inhaled the heady scent of Caleb’s aftershave, which pushed the bad memories away and reminded her of happier times. When they reached the helipad, they found the trauma surgeon, Dr. Eric Sutton, was already standing there, waiting. Lifting her hand to shield her eyes against the glare of the sun, Raine watched as the air-rescue chopper approached. The noise of the aircraft made it impossible to speak.

When the helicopter landed, they waited until they saw the signal from the pilot to approach, ducking well below the blades. The Lifeline transport team, consisting of a physician and a nurse, helped lift the patient out of the back hatch of the chopper.

“He’s in bad shape, losing blood fast,” the Lifeline physician grimly informed them. “In my opinion, you need to take him directly to the OR.”

“Sounds like a plan. We can finish resuscitating him there,” Dr. Sutton agreed. “Let’s go.”

In her year of working Trauma, she’d only transported a handful of patients directly to the OR. They all squeezed into the trauma elevator around the patient, Greg Hanson. She kept her gaze on the portable monitor, trying to ignore the close confines of the elevator as they rode back down to the trauma OR suite located on the second floor, directly above the ED.

The elevators opened into the main hallway of the OR. The handed the gurney over to the OR staff who were waiting, taking precious moments to don sterile garb before following the patient into the room.

“Caleb, I need a central line in this guy—he needs at least four more units of O neg blood,” Sutton said.

They fell into a trauma resuscitation rhythm, only this time the trauma surgeon had taken the lead instead of Caleb. As Eric Sutton was assessing the extent of the patient’s crushing leg wounds, she and Caleb worked together to get Greg Hanson’s blood pressure up to a reasonable level.

She didn’t know the circumstances about why Greg Hanson’s car had been on the railroad tracks and as she hung four more units of blood on the rapid infusor, she found herself hoping this hadn’t been a suicide attempt.

Being in close proximity to Caleb put all her senses on alert. But when his shoulders brushed against hers, she didn’t flinch. She tried to see that as a sign she was healing.

“Here,” she said, handing him the end of the rapid infuser tubing once he’d gotten the central line placed. “Connect this so I can get the blood started.”

Caleb took the tubing from her hands, his fingers warm against hers. Eric and the OR nurse were prepping the patient’s legs to begin surgery and the anesthesiologist was already putting the patient to sleep, but for a fraction of a second their gazes clung, as if they were all alone in the room.

“Great. All set,” Caleb said, breaking the nearly tangible connection. “Start the blood.”

She turned on the rapid infuser, rechecking the lines to make sure everything was properly connected. She took four more units of blood, confirmed the numbers matched, and then set them aside to be hung as soon as the other four had been transfused into their patient. She could see by the amount of blood already filling the large suction canisters that he was going to need more.

“Draw a full set of labs, Raine,” Caleb told her.

She did as he asked, handing them over to the anesthesia tech, who ran them to the stat lab. She began hanging the new units of blood when the current bags were dry.

“I think we have things under control here,” the anesthesiologist informed them a few minutes later. Taking a peek over the sterile drape, she could see Dr. Sutton was already in the process of repairing a torn femoral artery.

She was loath to leave, feeling as if there was still more they could do. But now that the anesthesiologist had put the patient to sleep, he’d taken over monitoring the rapid infuser, along with the anesthesia tech.

They really weren’t needed here any longer.

Caleb put a hand on her arm, and she glanced up at him. The warmth in his gaze made it seem as if the last four weeks of being apart hadn’t happened. “Come on, we need to get back down to the trauma bay.”

“All right,” she agreed, following him out of the OR suite. Outside the room, they stripped off the sterile garb covering their scrubs.

“Good work, Raine,” Caleb told her, as they headed down to the trauma bay.

“Thanks. You too,” she murmured, sending him a sideways glance. From the first time she’d met Caleb, there had been an undeniable spark between them. An awareness that had only intensified as they’d worked together.

His kisses had made her head spin. There was so much about him that she’d admired. And a few qualities she didn’t.

Working together just now to save Greg Hanson’s life had only reinforced how in sync they were. They made a great team.

Professional team, not a personal one, she reminded herself.

The nauseous feeling returned and she glanced away, feeling hopelessly desperate.

Impossible to go back and change the mistakes and subsequent events of the past, no matter how much she wished she could.

Caleb couldn’t seem to keep his gaze off Raine. The adrenalin rush that came from helping to save a patient’s life seemed to make everything around him stand out in sharp definition. Especially her. Raine’s dark red hair, her pale skin, her bright blue eyes had beckoned to him from the moment they’d met.

She was so beautiful. His fingers itched to stroke her skin. Memories of how sweetly she’d responded to his kisses flooded his mind. Along with a stab of regret. If only he’d have handled things differently, they might have been able to make their relationship work.