him and realized he still held the woman’s arms. Removing his hands, he made to turn once more and escape.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Wentworth, I’m in the middle of rounds right now,” he said.
“That’s not going to get rid of me this time, Ian,” she said, stressing his name as if to emphasize the fact that he refused to call her by her first name—which just made him want to pull her chain some more.
“Dr. Wentworth, I’m sure whatever you have to say is important,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice, “but I have surgery in the next hour and I need to finish my rounds.”
“We need to discuss what just happened in there,” she said.
“You mean me getting my patient to start eating?” he asked. “I think it went pretty well.”
He watched those deep brown eyes narrow and almost laughed. Did she think he could be intimidated with a look? If she really wanted to scare him she’d have to take lessons from his ex-wife, Lydia. Now, that woman had been scary—even before their marriage had collapsed.
“I’ve been working with Danny for two days now. As you know, his girlfriend is still in critical condition. Though he knows that the car accident wasn’t his fault, he still feels a lot of guilt over it—and he’s also feeling a lot of anger right now. He needs to work through those emotions and I’m working with him and his parents on a daily basis. Threatening him with the placement of a feeding tube only gave him another reason to be angry. He needs to feel like he’s in control of something right now, and taking away more of his control is not going to help.”
Ian looked down at the psychiatrist. It was as if the woman could just magically see which buttons to push on him. Working through emotions. Yeah, he’d heard the same psychobabble from his marriage counselor. He’d paid a hefty price for the hours he’d spent “working through” his emotions with his wife after the death of their son—and that wasn’t even counting the ridiculously large check he’d written every month. And what had that gotten him? A painful divorce and a scarred reputation.
“Good morning,” said a voice behind him.
Turning, Ian saw the hospital’s Chief Medical Officer approaching them. From what he’d learned since relocating to New Orleans, Dr. Richard Guidry had been on the staff here since he had started in practice. Now white-haired, and a little round about the middle, the man led his staff with a firm but gentle hand, and with his top concern always for the care of the patient.
Ian admired the man, and had always found him easy to work with. He actually found it easy to work with all the staff here—the only exception being this psychiatrist who was hounding him right now. He couldn’t say what it was about her that sent him running whenever she came around, but his fight-or-flight instinct always kicked in, sending him hurrying away from her.
“Good morning.”
He and Dr. Wentworth replied at the same time, then looked at each other. He wondered if she knew just how forced the smile on her face looked.
“Am I interrupting anything?” the older man asked, and then gave the two of them a disapproving look, letting them both know that he had witnessed at least part of their conversation.
Ian knew that one of the man’s strictest rules for his staff was that there must be no confrontations between them. His expectations were high, but they all tried to meet them.
Now, after the trouble Lydia had caused for him in Atlanta, Ian tried especially hard to avoid any trouble, and for the two and a half years he’d been here he’d had no problems with Richard Guidry. It would be the department’s resident shrink that got him in trouble.
“We were just trying to set a time when we can get together to discuss a mutual patient,” Ian said, then looked over at Dr. Wentworth, aiming for a smile that would at least look less painful than the one she wore. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Wentworth?”
The woman gave him a look that started out as disapproving and then turned sly as she tilted her head and smiled up at him.
“That’s right, Dr. Guidry. Ian was just agreeing with me that we need to get together today to discuss this patient. Your office this afternoon around five, right?” she asked. “I’ll see you then.”
She walked off before giving him an opportunity to reply, leaving him with no doubt that he had just been outmaneuvered.
“I’m glad to see that y’all are working so well together,” Dr. Guidry said as he turned back to Ian. “Frannie’s an excellent psychiatrist, and she’s very passionate about the work she’s doing here on the pediatric floor. I wouldn’t want there to be any issues between the two of you”
The man gave Ian a pat on the back, then continued on his way down the hall. Ian had no doubt that their performance hadn’t fooled the older doctor—the man was too sharp for that—so he would have no choice but to meet the psychiatrist as he had agreed. Which was the last thing he wanted to do.
IAN FINISHED HIS NOTES for the monthly department heads’ meeting scheduled for the next day. He’d hoped to be setting up the education on new robotic equipment in the OR by next month, but the cost of the newest model had increased above his approved budgeted amount, and now he was stuck with going back to ask the finance board for more money.
He ran his hands through his hair and stood. It was ridiculous that he was continually having his hands tied by upper management, who wouldn’t know a scalpel from a pair of forceps. The new equipment would help cut down on the invasiveness of so many surgeries—which in turn would decrease recovery time and complications. It shouldn’t have to be so hard to get the tools his team needed to take better care of their patients. How was he supposed to operate his department like this?
Ian opened the drawer in his desk and pulled out a pamphlet on the new equipment. The advances they had made in robotic surgery had quickly made their current equipment outdated. He knew the city had struggled for years after Hurricane Katrina to replace the older equipment, and this would be a big start in that direction if he could only get the budget increase he needed.
Under the pamphlet he spotted the unopened letter he had received from his ex-wife weeks before. The plain white envelope glared up at him. It sat there accusing him, as Lydia had, of being cold, heartless and uncaring. He feared the envelope contained more of the hurtful words she’d spat at him in front of their counselor. Words that had cut him to the bone and severed any feelings he’d had for her. Had Lydia always been that cruel? That heartless? They’d had problems, sure—what couple didn’t?—but he would never have guessed that the woman he’d loved since high school could turn on him that way.
But then, hadn’t he deserved it? At least some of it? Like she said, if he’d been at home maybe he would have been able to save his son. He glared at the envelope and slammed the drawer shut. No, he would not be dragged back to that pit of hell where he’d lived after the loss of his son.
He looked down to his watch. There were only minutes before his meeting with Dr. Wentworth and he was determined not to show any of his weaknesses. The last thing he needed was the woman with those soul-searching eyes of hers trying to pry into his personal life.
Picking
