rolled her eyes. “How did I get myself into this?”
“You didn’t. I did,” Helen smiled.
“Remind me to thank you later,” Shannon replied. Making no further comment, she walked down the hall toward John’s room, closing the door behind her.
“Good day, John,” she said cheerily, opening the miniblinds. “Sunny. That’s good.”
She smiled at her patient. “You look better already without your ICU attachments.”
She looked at him closely. The cuts on his face were healing well after only a week in the hospital. There was a remarkable change almost overnight as the swelling had gone down due to Shannon’s trick of placing frozen peas inside the fingers of plastic gloves and laying them across his eyes and cheeks. The edges of his bruises had altered from black and blue to a muddy yellow. She passed her hand over his cheek. “I think Mozart has had a hand in this.” Shannon had continued to play him classical music each day. She leaned over him, putting her face close to his.
No response, not even the flutter of an eyelash.
“Looks like you could use a shave, my friend.”
She prepared water, towels, soap and a plastic disposable razor. After thoroughly washing his face, she smeared a small amount of shaving cream on his left cheek. “Nasty cut on the other side. Better not risk it.”
She carefully shaved his cheek, sliding the razor over abrasions with skilled ease. She applied more shaving cream. “I’ve never shaved a man with such a deep cleft in his chin. How many times did you cut yourself when you first started shaving? Did your father teach you? Did he have a cleft, too?”
She smoothed a clump of hair from his forehead and gazed at him. She was seeing an almost normal-looking man.
“Or was it your mother you inherited it from?”
She looked at him, but not as a nurse looking for signs of health. In some part of her mind, she knew she was projecting herself onto her patient. Patients projected their emotions onto their healers all the time. It was so common it was a cliché in the medical world. In this case, though, Shannon believed that John was a mirror of herself—a person alone, wounded and waiting.
“Like Sleeping Beauty,” she whispered.
Impulsively, she leaned toward him, her lips pursed.
“Do you believe in magic, that a kiss will awaken you?”
She stopped herself midmotion. She straightened up and blinked.
“Stupid. What was I thinking?”
I’ve never done anything like that. Never. Professionalism is my middle name.
Quickly, she gathered up the shaving utensils. “That is the last time I pull three shifts in a row!” she exclaimed and walked out of the room.
5
Shannon couldn’t get used to Ben or his gun. It hung in his holster like a living menace. There were days when it took every ounce of her self-control to keep from lecturing Ben about his gun, though she knew that he had no choice but to carry the weapon.
Only four days after John Doe was moved to Room 505, Shannon discovered that Ben’s presence was more than critical. It was crucial.
Dr. Scanlon took John off the respirator. The heart monitor was removed as well. “The monitor is desperately needed in ICU,” he explained to Shannon.
“I understand.”
“He’s doing fine.”
Shannon glanced at John. “Except that he’s still comatose.”
“There is that,” the doctor replied, walking out of the room. “I’ll be back later. You’ll see to the monitor?”
“Yes, Doctor. After I change the IV bag.”
Ben questioned the short, Hispanic orderly who came to take the heart monitor upstairs. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve come to get the equipment. That’s all I know,” the man said.
“Okay,” Ben said reluctantly, rubbing the back of his neck. This was the first break in the regular routine. Something bothered him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Moments later a tall, blond orderly appeared.
“I’m here to take the respirator to the ER.”
At that moment, the registered nurse, Chelsea Sikeston, rolled a stainless-steel cart down the hall toward John’s room. “Hi, Ernie,” she nodded to the blond orderly.
“Hi, Chels,” he said, then turned to Ben who was keeping everyone outside the room. “Look, man. Let me in. I gotta lot to do.”
“Hi, Ben.” Chelsea smiled seductively. “You’re looking mighty fine today.”
Ben ignored her.
Hearing the commotion outside the room, Shannon opened the door. “What’s going on?”
The Hispanic orderly pushed past her and efficiently unhooked the respirator. He tapped his foot, waiting for her to remove the chest tube from the patient.
Ernie, the blond orderly, walked into the room.
“Mr. Richards, what are these people doing?” Shannon asked.
“Ben,” he corrected her with a smile.
Chelsea’s smile vanished as she looked at Shannon and then at Ben.
Shannon didn’t miss the glint of jealousy in Chelsea’s eyes. “I’m following Dr. Scanlon’s orders, Shannon,” Chelsea said. “I can see you have other things that are more important.”
“I’m John’s nurse. I can handle this. You needn’t have brought all these people. After all, Dr. Scanlon just left here,” Shannon retorted with a distinct territorial edge to her voice.
“The doctor said he needed the monitor, stat,” Chelsea said. “As in, now. Here’s the new IV bag, linens and sterile gauze.” Chelsea’s eyes were chastising as she moved toward Shannon. “I’m not about to get written up on your account.”
Shannon returned Chelsea’s glare. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” She stood back as Chelsea wheeled the cart into the room, then removed the chest tube. The orderlies left the room with equipment.
Chelsea sailed icily past Shannon.
Ben chuckled, watching what had nearly become a fight. He found it interesting to be involved in part of its instigation. Cockily, he rocked back on his heels.
Shannon’s fury burned crimson on her face.
“Your temper is showing,” Ben baited her.
“I’m
