won’t work.
“I know they’re here somewhere.” His gaze dropped quickly from her eyes to the pavement at his feet. “Unless I’ve grown a hole in my pocket. Ah—there.”
With a flourish he produced his keys and held them up for her to see. She nodded and began to move away. “Wait a moment, Nurse Wilkes,” he said, unlocking the car door. “I’d like a word with you.” His words sent alarm bells ringing within her. Was this about Megan? Mrs. Baldovino? Against her will, she stopped while he opened the door, tossed his briefcase into the backseat, then came around the car to stand beside her.
Instinctively, she turned to face him head-on, ready for whatever attack he might launch. This could not be good. In five years of nursing she had learned that doctors did not request “a word” unless they had a complaint.
Great job, Jacquelyn. First day back at work and the new guy already despises you.
“Yes, Doctor?” She folded her arms and tried to steady her voice. “Have I done something that doesn’t meet with your approval?”
He stepped closer, thrust his hands in his pockets, and for an instant a thoughtful smile ruffled his mouth. “That’s funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”
His nearness was so male, so bracing, that for a moment her mind refused to function. She could only stare blankly at him, struggling with the sense of confusion his presence elicited. The other doctors never affected her like this—and neither did Craig. Why should this man?
He didn’t seem to notice that bewilderment had stolen her voice. “You see, Nurse Jacquelyn,” he went on, his eyes raking boldly over her, “though men are decidedly less intuitive and sometimes blind to the others around them, in the few hours of our acquaintance I have sensed that you harbor a profound dislike for me. And since we really have no choice but to continue working together, I need to know if this dislike will impede our working relationship. If you don’t like me personally, well, I suppose we can rise above our personality differences and concentrate on the work ahead. But if you have a problem with my professional conduct, my evaluations, or my practice, perhaps we should make arrangements for you to work solely with Dr. Kastner’s patients.”
All traces of amusement faded from his blue eyes as he regarded her. Jacquelyn had been ready to protest whatever he said, but his words were so unexpected she snapped her mouth shut, stunned by his insight and bluntness. He had just voiced her exact complaint about him.
She took a half step back, giving herself a stern mental shake. His complaint, if she could call it that, had nothing to do with her conduct, her evaluations, or her work. For an instant, relief flooded her heart, then her smoldering resentment flared. Why did he care what she thought of him? If this was just a ploy to help him appear generous and understanding, some trick to win friends and influence patients…
“If you’ve gathered the impression that I don’t like you, I must apologize,” she answered, calling on reserves of grace and tact she didn’t know she possessed. “I’m sure that you’re a wonderful doctor. The patients seem to adore you, and the other nurses respect your judgment. Dr. Kastner seems to think you’re the best oncologist in the country.”
“But not you.” His twisted smile sent her pulse racing.
“I don’t share your sense of humor, Doctor. Mrs. Baldovino was very ill this afternoon, yet you joked with her, making light of her condition.”
His expression stilled and grew serious. “I assure you, I am never more serious than when I am with a patient. I don’t make jokes about cancer. What I did, if you had cared to see, was lift the cloud of gloom that surrounded that woman. She was worried sick that her husband no longer found her attractive. And she may have to undergo a mastectomy if this protocol fails to achieve remission—”
“We have a video to cover the self-esteem issue. We have videos to cover everything from hair loss to mastectomy scars. We’d have even more videos if I had my way, because it is inefficient for us to give the same speech twenty times a day—”
“A video.” Temper flared in his eyes. “I’m afraid a video would not help Mrs. Baldovino. She needed assurance—calm, competent, masculine assurance—”
“Which is not your place to give,” Jacquelyn interrupted, setting her chin in a stubborn line. “What gives you the right to interfere in your patients’ personal lives? You are a doctor, a professional. One thing I learned from Dr. Winston is that a physician shouldn’t worry about trying to make his patients like him. There’s something seriously wrong with the personality of a doctor who cares too much about seeking his patients’ approval. A good doctor should only care about doing the right thing for his patient. If you do the right thing, your patients will like you. And if they don’t, well, at least you’ve done what’s right.”
“Are you saying—” a silken thread of warning vibrated in his voice “—that my personality is seriously skewed?”
A pair of doctors walking through the parking lot glanced curiously in their direction. Jacquelyn closed her eyes, horrified to think she might be overheard arguing with a doctor.
Jonah Martin hadn’t finished. “You’ve worked eight hours with me—how can you know I’m only seeking my patients’ approval?” His voice was low, like velvet, but edged with biting steel. “It must be wonderful to have such insight into other people’s characters.”
“I only wish I had your flair for sarcasm.” Jacquelyn’s face burned with humiliation and she looked abruptly away, unable to face the blue flame of cynicism in his eyes. “I don’t know you well, but I know doctors.”
“You should spend more time learning to know patients.” His accusing gaze remained riveted on her. “You forget, Nurse Wilkes—” he stepped closer and lowered his voice “—that unlike any other medical condition, to patients like Mrs. Baldovino, breast cancer is an intensely personal affair.”
“You don’t have to tell me—”
“Apparently I do. A refresher course in basic patient relations is obviously in order. Let’s say, for the moment, that Mrs. Baldovino had come to me with appendicitis. That course of treatment would be pretty straightforward once she found a competent surgeon. She wouldn’t have to concern herself with her surgeon’s philosophy of appendectomy. She wouldn’t have to worry about which type of surgery he’ll perform. Her chances for survival after the operation would be excellent. And she would have little or no concern about the small scar on the side of her abdomen. The loss of her appendix would have virtually no impact on her physical or social well-being, nor would it pose much of a threat to her self-image.”
Jacquelyn bit down hard on her lower lip, recognizing the point of his illustration.
“But Mrs. Baldovino came to me because she has breast cancer,” Jonah Martin finished, his straight glance seeming to accuse her of unspeakable ignorance. “And if you have a brain in that pretty little head of yours, I should not have to say anything more.”
Choking on the words she wanted to fling at him, her lower lip trembled as she returned his glare. A black veil moved painfully at the back of her mind, stirring memories of herself as a sixteen-year-old girl who had just learned that her mother would never get well; that the surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy had failed….
She turned away, her thoughts racing. He didn’t know about her mother or about the careful camouflage she had placed over her own pain. For an instant she was tempted to fling
