driving, he fished in his pocket and handed it to her. She looked in her purse for the business card. “Hello, Mrs. Adams? This is Carey Spencer. Yes, hi. About that apartment, I am so grateful for the rent voucher and the offer of food stamps, but I have decided to stay where I am.”
Not another word was spoken on the drive home, but Carey could have sworn the built-up tension in the car had instantly dissipated as if she’d rolled down the window and let the Santa Ana winds blow it all away.
* * *
The following Monday Carey started her new job as a substitute ward clerk and couldn’t hide her elation over working again. More importantly, the California Board of Registered Nurses assured her she’d get her RN license in a couple more weeks, just in time to apply for another job, this one as an RN, after the vacationing ward clerk came back. Life was definitely looking up.
The evening shift on the medical/surgical unit was nonstop with admissions and discharges, and she was grateful she’d spent a couple of afternoons learning the computer software and clinic routine with the current ward clerk the week before she’d left.
Joe had offered to rent her a car, but she didn’t feel ready to drive the streets of Los Angeles, especially those winding roads in the Hollywood Hills, just yet, so Joe had reworked things and scheduled himself on evening shifts so he could bring her to work and back.
She sat transfixed before the computer at the nurses’ station, deciphering the admitting orders from Dr. Rothsberg for a twenty-eight-year-old starlet who’d been intermittently starving and binging herself then herbal detoxing for the last several years, until now her liver showed signs of giving out. She’d been admitted with a general diagnosis of fever, malaise and abdominal tenderness. Though bone thin everywhere else, her abdomen looked to be the same size as Carey’s, but the actress wasn’t pregnant.
Carey had arranged for the ultrasound and CT studies for the next day, and had moved on to requesting a low-sodium diet from the hospital dietary department, which had a master chef. She could vouch for the great food with a couple of memorable meals she’d had during her stay. The patient would probably never notice the lack of salt amidst a perfect blend of fresh herbs and spices. Then she reminded the admitting nurse that her patient was on total bed rest. She went ahead and read Dr. Rothsberg’s analysis and realized therapeutic paracentesis was likely in the petite Hollywood personality’s future.
Deep in her work, she glanced up to find Joe smiling at her. “I brought you something,” he said, then handed her a brown bag with something inside that smelled out of this world.
She stood to take the bag over the countertop, inhaled and couldn’t resist. “Mmm, what is it?”
“Your dinner. I was on a call in the vicinity of Fairfax, so I got you one of those deli sandwiches you gobbled down the last time we were there.”
“Turkey salad, cranberries and walnuts with bread dressing?”
“Yup.”
“Including the pickle?”
He nodded, as if offended she’d even suggest such an oversight.
“Well, thank you. I’ll be starving by the time my dinner break rolls around.”
“You’re welcome.” He got serious and leaned on his forearm, making sure to hold her gaze. “I’ve been thinking. We’ll have to get more organized now that you’re working and pack a lunch for you every day. We can still use Gabriella’s guidelines.”
“Sounds good.” Totally touched by his concern for her well-being, she fought that frequent urge to give him a hug. Fortunately the nurses’ station counter prevented it this time. “But please let me splurge on things like this once in a while.” She held up the deli bag.
He winked, and it seemed a dozen butterflies had forced their way into her chest and now attempted to fly off with her heart. Since she’d decided to keep living with him, he’d changed. He’d become easier to talk to, and though he still hadn’t opened up he’d quit grinding his teeth so much. Truth was, the man could only suppress his wonderful nature for so long. Now she was the lucky recipient of his thoughtfulness and loving every second of it.
“See you later,” he said, making a U-turn and heading off the ward. The perfectly fitting light blue polo shirt showed off his broad shoulders, accentuating his trim waist, the multi-purpose khaki cargo pants still managing to hug his buns just right, and those sexy-as-hell black paramedic utility boots... She guiltily watched his every move until he was out of sight. Wow, it looked like she didn’t have to worry about her sick relationship with Ross at the end before she’d run away, and ruining her natural sex drive. She’d faked interest and excitement with him for her safety. Now, with Joe, without even trying, the most natural thoughts of all had awakened some super-hot fantasies. Like the desire to make love and really mean it. What would that be like with Joe?
“Uh-huh. Nice.” One of the other nurses in the area had joined her in staring at the masculine work of art as he’d swaggered out the door. How could a guy not swagger, wearing those boots?
Getting caught ogling Joe made Carey’s cheeks heat up, especially after what she’d just been thinking, so she tossed a sheepish look at the nurse then delved back into the admission packet for the actress.
* * *
Joe went straight to the clinic’s paramedic station just off the ER to check on the EMT staff. He knew the emergency nurses sometimes got upset if the guys didn’t help out when things got busy. Joe was always prepared to intervene and explain that wasn’t their job, and the RNs didn’t need to get all worked up about the EMS guys sitting for half a minute, waiting for the next call. On the other hand, he’d insisted to his guys that if a nurse said she needed more muscle, and they weren’t doing anything at the time, they should jump to it and help out with lifts and transfers. Keeping RNs happy was always a good idea. He’d also taken to suggesting the guys hang out in their truck on downtime rather than at the tiny desk with two computers designated as their work station, so as not to complicate things in the ER.
Not taking his own advice, he took a seat and brought up the evening’s schedule, and in the process sat in the vicinity of James, who was conferring on the phone about a patient he’d just admitted to Carey’s floor with liver issues. James nodded and smiled at Joe, and Joe returned the courtesy.
Soon James hung up. “How’s that scar doing? Any more tearing with your workouts, you beast?”
Joe laughed. “I’m all healed. Thanks.” Joe saw James’s sister, Freya, appear across the ER, obviously looking for someone.
“There you are,” she said over the other heads, immediately making her way toward James.
James ducked down in an obvious fashion. “Oh, boy. Here we go,” he said jokingly in an aside to Joe. “What does she want this time?” He raised his voice to tease his younger sister.
Knowing from their rocky history that the brother and sister’s relationship had never been better since Freya had come to The Hollywood Hills Clinic as a sought-after public relations guru, Joe chuckled at James’s wisecrack.
“There you are,” Freya said, her dark blue eyes sparkling under the fluorescent ER lights. “I know you’ve been avoiding me, but I need a firm date for when you’ll visit the Bright Hope Clinic. Here’s my calendar, I’ve highlighted the best days and times for me and them. What works for you?” She shoved her small internet tablet calendar
