editor, Flo Nicoll, for your wonderful suggestions and fast turnaround times.
My agent, Michelle Grajkowski, for your fierce negotiating skills and answering my many questions.
My friend, Nas Dean, for helping me with promotion and all things requiring computer savvy,
Some special writing friends, Christine Glover, Joanne Coles, and Lacey Devlin, for your supportive e-mails and blog comments.
And, as always, to my family, for putting up with all the time I spend on the computer and accepting, without complaint, that I didn’t cook dinner. Again.
CHAPTER ONE
WITH a few adept keystrokes, 5E Head Nurse Victoria Forley shot next week’s schedule off to the nursing office and closed down her computer. Today she would leave on time. She straightened her already neat desk then scanned her tiny utilitarian office to make sure everything was in its place. The memory of her son’s tear-filled eyes made her heart ache. “Why am I always the last kid picked up from afterschool program?” Jake had asked last night at dinner. “My teacher gets so mad when you’re late.”
Mad enough to put Victoria on parental probation. Three more late pick-ups and Jake would be kicked out of the program. Then what would she do?
Victoria hated that the promotion she’d fought so hard for, a bullet-point in her ten-year plan to provide her son a future filled with opportunities rather than financial constraints, significantly impacted the wide-awake hours they spent together. Although, to be honest, it wasn’t actually the job that was the problem; it was her obsessive compulsive need to achieve perfection at it. To show everyone at Madrin Memorial Hospital who thought a twenty-five-year-old wasn’t experienced enough to be the hospital’s newest head nurse that she was up to the task.
She grabbed her lab coat from the hanger hooked to the back of her door and slipped it on. A final check of her H-shaped unit and she’d be ready to go. Exiting her office, Victoria inhaled the familiar, disinfectant fresh odor of pine and scanned the white walls and floors to assure they were in pristine condition. She closed the lid on a laundry hamper and rolled two unused IV pumps into the clean utility room.
When she crossed over to the hallway of odd-numbered rooms she saw it, sitting quietly outside room 517. A shedding, allergy-inducing, pee-whenever-the-urge-hits golden retriever with a bright red bandana tied around its neck.
So, the elusive Dr. K., oncology rehabilitation specialist extraordinaire, finally deigned to put in an appearance on 5E, two hours late for their scheduled meeting. Well, now he’d have to wait for her to make herself available. And she was in no hurry to listen to him spout the merits of his program and, she was sure, begin lobbying for her support to make his dog’s position permanent.
Not likely.
While she was all for an in-house staff member coordinating a multidisciplinary approach to the rehabilitation of cancer patients and administering daily bedside physical therapy to chemo patients too exhausted or too immunosuppressed to attend PT down in the department, she didn’t see why Dr. K. needed a four-legged companion to do it. Victoria walked past the animal, who didn’t budge from his position, the slight wag of his tail the only indication he’d noticed her. Okay. So it obviously wasn’t a threat to visitors. Still. She was not a fan of unsanitary animals besmirching her unit. Unless it benefited her patients, which was why she’d agreed to hold off on casting her negative vote until after the four-week trial.
“We’ll swing by tomorrow morning,” a male voice said from inside the room. The rich, deep timbre and his words “swing by” caused a jolt of recognition.
Unease sauntered up her spine. It couldn’t be. She looked into the room anyway, had to catch a glimpse to be sure.
A man stood at the foot of bed two. The blinds closed and the lights off, she could just make out was his height: Tall. Shoulders: Full. Arms: Big. Longish, dark hair curled haphazardly over the tops of his ears, reaching the collar of his lab coat in the back. As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned to face her. An unruly swag of bangs hung at an angle, obscuring part of his forehead. Despite his unkempt appearance he was handsome in a rugged, untamed sort of way.
Great. He’d caught her staring.
“Victoria?” the man asked, and started to walk toward her.
That voice. His stride. Please, God. Not him. Victoria felt flash frozen in place. When he emerged from the darkened room into the well-lit hallway, her eyes, the only body part capable of movement, met his. A blue so pale they’d look almost colorless if not for an outer ring of deep ocean blue. Eyes she’d loved and hated in equal measure, familiar eyes in an unfamiliar face, a man’s face with a slightly crooked nose, obviously broken at some point, and strong cheek bones. A scar bisected his right eyebrow, another spliced the center of his chin.
But she’d know him anywhere.
Kyle Karlinsky.
Before she could stop it, concern flitted across her mind. What’d happened to him in the nine years he’d been gone? She mentally slapped it back. It didn’t matter, couldn’t have been worse than what she’d been through because of his irresponsible carelessness. “Victoria?” he asked. “What are you doing here?” He scanned the nametag clipped to the breast pocket of her lab coat. “You’re a nurse?” He hesitated, digested his discovery and with narrowed, taunting eyes asked, “What happened? Couldn’t hack it at Harvard?”
He’d happened. She resisted the urge to lunge for his throat and squeeze until his lifeless body collapsed to the floor. Instead, she stood tall, well, as tall as a woman of five feet two inches could, threw back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I’m a head nurse. 5E is my floor.”
“You’re the 5E bitc—?” He held up both hands. “Sorry.”
He didn’t look sorry.
She knew what some members of the staff called her. She’d been the victim of name-calling since high school. Snob. Suck-up. It no longer bothered her. “Just because a woman is motivated to succeed and has high expectations for herself and those around her, people feel it necessary to call her demeaning names.” She waved it off. “There’s nothing I can do about it. But I’ll thank you to keep your profanity to yourself while in my presence.”
He looked her up and down. “Still dressing for success, I see.”
For as long as she could remember, up until the time he’d turned his back on her, her father had impressed, “If you want respect, dress and act like you deserve it.” Which was why, when she’d had little money to spare, she’d scoured consignment shops and tag sales to find quality designer pieces to complement the carefully selected clothing she’d been forced to purchase at a discount store.
Victoria took notice of Kyle’s black pocket T, faded blue jeans, and black leather biker boots. “Still dressing for a monster truck rally, I see.” Except his clothes were covered by a lab coat. Dr. Kyle Karlinsky’s lab coat.
Kyle was Dr. K.? No way! Not possible. Before she’d started tutoring him, she a tenth-grade honor student, him an unmotivated junior, his highest aspiration had been to snag a third-shift job at the frozen pizza manufacturing plant outside town, because the night shift received a $2.00 per hour pay differential.
“You’re a few
