and The Boston Globe in the other. And the biggest grin.
The early morning sun dappling his gray hair, he’d led her through her little backyard, with its grand old maples, to the garage, saying he needed a ride to the hospital because he’d cabbed it to her house to wish her a happy birthday.
And there sat the little blue Yaris.
Ah, Daddy. I hope you know I miss you like crazy.
Sighing, she hit the remote for the garage door before climbing from the car with a sack with homemade clam chowder from Prudy’s Menu, a deli she frequented when she worked overtime.
Tugging her wool-lined coat tight around her, she headed across the snowy, moonlit backyard for the rear door of her small Cape Cod house, the one her maternal grandmother had lived in for sixty-two years and bequeathed to Ella and Anna three years ago. From the start, Anna hadn’t wanted the house, but Ella vowed to buy out her half by setting up an account and depositing monthly increments in her sister’s name.
As she stepped inside her quaint country kitchen, a squeaky meow greeted her before a three-legged bundle of gray fur came around the corner. A year ago, Ella had found the wounded kitten on the side of a highway, and brought her home to heal.
“Hey, Miss Molly.” She cuddled the animal close. “Smell the soup, do you? Let’s find you some nice tuna instead.”
At nine, she turned out the kitchen lights and headed down the hall to take a bath. Oh, but she was tired.
Today had been a grueling one. Ice on the highways resulted in two traffic accidents, causing broken legs, a shattered shoulder and a fractured spine. Then there was the man shoveling snow off his roof who’d fallen to a cement patio, smashing both heels.
And of course, J. D. Sumner with his damaged knee.
She had popped into his room before leaving the hospital. Why she’d left him until last on her evening rounds, she couldn’t say. Normally, she checked each patient room-by-room, ward-by-ward.
But she’d gone to check the roof faller first before backtracking to room 239—one of only three private rooms in the hospital.
Nothing but the best for the executive of Northeastern HealthCare, she thought wryly.
Eyes on the small muted TV, cell phone attached to an ear, he’d been resting comfortably when she entered the room.
Finally, I get some attention, he’d grumbled after ending the call. His sensual lips quirked and between his lashes there lay a gleam. Heard you in the corridor, he’d gone on. Either you were afraid to come into my room or I’m your favorite patient and you saved the best till last.
At that, she laughed. She couldn’t help it. Despite his helplessness in that hospital bed, the man had an impossible ego. She explained that his room was near the exit—at which he’d chuckled and called her a fibber.
The banter continued for several moments before she examined his surgery, checked his blood pressure, pulse and temperature. And then he asked, Why are you doing the nurse’s job?
Why, indeed? she thought now, letting herself slide beneath the steamy water for a moment before rinsing out her hair.
How could she characterize her father’s legacy to a man geared to implementing the type of corporate practices armed to decimate the care of WRG? Practices that filed a patient under a number rather than a name, that sent patients home with little more than a fare-thee-well.
So the rumors went.
James Wilder was the reason she’d gone into medicine. His compassionate teachings were entrenched in Ella. She would not give them up. Not even if the hospital board decided to accept NHC’s takeover bid, should it come to that. Which she desperately hoped would never happen.
The water grew cool and she pulled herself lethargically out of the tub. Molly offered a squinty-eyed look from the mat by the sink.
Ella laughed. “Yeah, I know. Nothing riveting.” No, Anna was the family beauty queen. Elegant, lovely and gifted. Oh, Anna. I miss you.
With a sigh, Ella pulled the tub’s drain. Maybe one day they would be close again—as sisters should be.
The phone rang. The nightstand clock read nine twenty-eight and caller ID indicated the hospital. Although she wasn’t on call, she became immediately alert, and lifted the receiver. “Dr. Wilder.”
“It’s Lindsey, Doctor.”
The night nurse.
“Your patient, Mr. Sumner, is reacting to the Demerol, I believe. Heart’s pounding, sweats, woozy.”
She climbed from the bed, reached for her clothes. The symptoms definitely sounded like a reaction. “Temp and BP?”
“Fifty-two, and seventy over sixty. Feels as if he’s about to pass out.”
Damn. His admission form hadn’t signified any allergies. “Get two liters of saline into him, flush it out. Now. And get Doctor Roycroft in to check his stats.” Roycroft was on night call. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She hung up, rushed into her jeans and a sweatshirt. She didn’t stop to think why she needed to race to his bedside. The nurses and on-call doctors were there.
They’re competent, Ella. You’re not dealing with an alcoholic nurse who wouldn’t acknowledge her own problems.
Still, she couldn’t take the chance. This time she was responsible, not a scrub nurse. She had prescribed the meds.
In her car, she shivered, although the vents blasted hot air. At the hospital, she half-jogged up the stairs to the second floor.
A male nurse inputting computer data sat behind the counter of the floor station. “Is Lindsey with Mr. Sumner?” she asked.
The man glanced up from the screen. “No, but the patient is okay, Doctor. We got him settled. Changed his nightshirt and the sheets. Sponged down his skin.”
Ella scanned Sumner’s chart. Heart and blood pressure back to normal. Saline doing its work. “Thank you. I’ll check on him while I’m here.” She headed down to the room.
A nightlight glowed from the opposite wall, casting a dim hue across the bed and J.D.’s form under the blankets. His leg had been propped on several pillows. He was still awake.
“Hey, Doc,” he said, voice deep and raspy. “You come all the way back just to see me?”
Sick as he’d been, she heard the grin in the tone, pictured his grass-green eyes in the dark.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, automatically checking the pulse along the arch of his elevated foot for circulation. Steady.
“Wasn’t feeling so hot a while ago.”
“You reacted to the Demerol. Were you aware about the symptoms before, by chance?”
“No. Never bother
