As a nurse tied a yellow disposable gown over Brooke’s white coat, Brooke called for the right drugs at the right doses. Once morphine had eased the panicked and pained patient into unconsciousness, she quickly dressed the broken leg as a stopgap measure before the cardiac cath team arrived to rush the patient to their artery-opening, lifesaving theater.
After the patient and his bed had been rolled away to the cardiology floor, there was a moment of silence, of inactivity. As if the bed were still there, no one walked through the empty center of the room as they snapped off their gloves and discarded protective gear.
Brooke was the first to use the sink as she scrubbed her hands for the millionth time that day, the smell of the soap and the sound of the water bringing her back from that intense state of mind. She thanked her team for their work, making eye contact and nodding at each person, the equivalent of a handshake in an environment where hygiene procedures made real handshakes problematic.
Zach was not in the room. Brooke had been so very alert through it all. How had she missed his exit?
The image of Harold clinging to Zach’s hand was vivid in Brooke’s mind. When Harold had lost consciousness, his hand had slipped from Zach’s. Brooke could remember thinking, Now Zach can administer the oxygen. Brooke had ordered him to do just that, and he had, of course.
When had he left the room? It was curious, how moments that were crystal-clear became hazy. As more and more of her regular team had entered the room, Zach must have stepped out, no longer needed and making room for those who were. He was a good paramedic that way.
He was a good paramedic in every way. Sharp and smart in matters of medicine. Comforting in his cocky way. Patients loved him. Her staff loved him. And Brooke—well, she needed to at least thank him as she had the others.
He was probably out by the nurses’ station, filling out his own paperwork. Brooke would go out there to dictate this patient’s chart. She’d ignore Zach, he’d ignore her and just before he left, he’d lean in, ready to murmur some outrageous line in her ear. But this time, she would speak first.
She would thank him for a job well done. Even if he did leave a disturbing wake of feminine fluttering everywhere he went, it was a pleasure to work with someone as good at his job as he was. After eight months of frowning at the man, it was time she thanked him for being part of the team.
It was professional courtesy. Nothing more—but he’d probably be so surprised, he’d forget to deliver whatever corny line he had ready.
The thought nearly made her smile.
Zach scowled at the coffeepot, too damned frustrated with himself to wait for her in the hallway.
He’d transferred his patient, Harold Allman, to the care of the hospital. No cause for frustration there. The handoff had gone smoothly. It had been done in the nick of time, too. The poor guy had coded right there in the treatment room. Since a heart attack probably had been lingering on the horizon for months, Harold’s heart had chosen the best possible place to succumb to the inevitable. He was in good hands here, with Dr. Brooke Brown and the rest of the West Central team.
Zach should go now. There was nothing to wait for. No one to wait for.
Yet he couldn’t seem to make himself leave this emergency room, not without a chance to tease Dr. Brown first, and that was the problem. That was no laughing matter.
As a fireman and paramedic, Zach belonged out in the city of Austin, first on the scene, providing initial care. Or he belonged back at the firehouse, waiting for the next call. He belonged with his crew, Murphy and Chief, who were outside, under the portico that marked the ambulance entrance. Undoubtedly, they were sitting on the chrome running boards of Engine Thirty-Seven right now, shooting the breeze with other first responders as they waited for him.
Zach should be walking out those glass doors right this second. Instead, he was in the ER staff’s kitchenette, leaning against the counter, lingering against his better judgment.
Go. Just leave. You don’t need to see her one more time.
Her. Dr. Brown. He was waiting around for the chance to say what? One lousy sentence. That was all he ever said, one dumb line to see if she’d smile, but damn if he didn’t look forward to those stolen moments.
Dr. Brown had become something of a favorite with him, which was idiotic. She had a sharp mind and a beautiful face, true, but so did a lot of women in the world. Heck, so did a lot of women right here at West Central. Zach always enjoyed working with this hospital staff. Lighthearted conversation and playful smiles were a welcome break during an intense job.
He got neither from Dr. Brown. They weren’t her style, which meant she wasn’t his style. Zach pushed himself away from the kitchen counter that held the industrial coffee machine. His crew was waiting on him. He needed to get back to the engine. He’d catch Dr. Brown next time, see if he couldn’t make her smile.
The coffeepot was nearly empty, sitting on the burner, dangerously close to being boiled away entirely. Before he left, Zach could show some appreciation for the friendly folks at West Central. If there was one thing a fireman knew how to do, it was make a gallon of coffee. He opened the cabinets until he found the white paper filters, and made himself useful.
Go. You’re stalling. It could be another hour before she’s done with Harold. She’s hated you from day one, anyway.
Maybe she had, but he hadn’t felt the same. Hate was not how he’d describe that first impression. He and his crew had brought in a patient during shift change. She’d been leaving, he realized now, which was why she hadn’t been wearing her white doctor’s coat.
The patient hadn’t been critical. They’d been wheeling him in at a sedate walk, but even if they’d been coming in at a run, Zach would have noticed Dr. Brown. Her dark hair had been pulled back tightly, and she’d been wearing a crisp white button-down shirt and a pinstriped pencil skirt. She’d only lacked the black-framed eyeglasses to complete the look of a guy’s fantasy librarian or schoolteacher. Smart. Controlled. Sexy.
She hadn’t noticed him at all. As he and the crew had wheeled the patient in, she’d merely stepped aside, unimpressed and perhaps slightly bored, as if firemen surrounding a gurney were an everyday sight for her. He’d wondered who the sexy librarian was. Zach was used to crowds gathering to watch him work, not to being ignored.
Go. Quit hanging around for another glimpse. She didn’t notice you then; she ignores you now.
But he’d never really convinced himself that she hadn’t noticed him that first day. As he’d passed her, their eyes had met for the briefest second. Met and held just a moment longer than strangers do. When Zach had turned back for a second look, she’d been turning away to head out the door. There was something about that quick turn that made him suspect she’d been staring at him after all.
True, she ignored him now. It was a very aware kind of ignoring, however. She had to know exactly where he was in order to stand with her back to him. She had to intentionally remain silent when the nurses chatted with him as she wrote in her charts. And he would have sworn on more than one occasion that she’d deliberately stood in his path, making it easier for him to deliver one of his teasing pickup lines before he left the ER.
Those
