Doctor, Soldier, Daddy. Caro Carson
“All right, guys, enough. You’re being mean to the poor thing,” one of the gossiping harpies cut in to defend the absent Kendry—about damned time. Jamie could tell they’d been revving up to pick her to shreds.
“She probably can’t afford a decent haircut,” the woman defending Kendry said. “She’s can’t be making more than minimum wage.”
“If I made minimum wage, I’d still work a couple hours extra, cut a coupon from the Sunday paper and at least get my hair done at one of those walk-in places. I think she just doesn’t care.”
“If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t have cut her bangs at all, would she?”
“Well, of course she cares about Dr. MacDowell. You can’t be female and not notice him. Could you imagine them together, though? It’d be like a Greek god and a street urchin in bed.”
“You’re so mean!”
The nurse made it sound like a compliment.
“Maybe she turns him on, and we can’t see why.”
Listening to this crap was getting plain painful. True, Kendry didn’t turn him on. But she didn’t look like a street urchin, for God’s sake. She wasn’t homely. Who gave a damn about her haircut?
“Men have stooped lower. Look at some of the prostitutes we get in the E.R.—I can’t believe men pay money to sleep with them. I’d say our soldier-doctor is on a mission to take that orderly on a pity date. Maybe an army buddy dared him to—”
“Yes. Maybe that’s why he always looks so angry at the world. He got dared into giving that girl a mercy f—”
The nurses shrieked, literally shrieked, hysterically.
They were comparing Kendry, baby Sam’s Kendry, to a prostitute. Jamie used the toe of his cowboy boot to give the door a nudge. It opened slowly as he remained where he was, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest.
“Oh, crap,” said the nurse who saw him first. The other two audibly sucked in their breaths.
“Wanna know why I look so angry all the time, ladies?” Jamie asked in a deliberate, deadly serious drawl.
“Dr. MacDowell, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you—”
“I’m angry that three nurses are taking a break at the same time. That leaves patients lying out there, unattended.”
“Yes, sir. We’re done now.”
Jamie wasn’t done with them, however. “I’ll tell you what else makes me angry. I’m angry that you’d take time away from patients in order to do nothing except trash a fellow employee at this hospital.”
No one said a word to that.
“Her name is Kendry, and she’s brilliant with sick kids. Next time you admit a child to the pediatric ward from the E.R., you watch real close if she’s the orderly who comes to take them to their room. Watch and learn something about patient care, because she’s one of the best we have at West Central. But right now, there are people out there who came to this E.R. for help, so put down your damned coffees and go.”
“Sorry.”
“Bye.”
Jamie didn’t move for a moment longer. He was angry, yes. Angry as hell, but also something else, some knot in his chest that made him want to punish something.
Himself.
That was it, damn it, he was mad at himself. For exactly what, he didn’t know, but it had something to do with Kendry, with the woman his son loved.
Chapter Five
“Is this seat taken?”
The bass voice sounded soothing in the cacophony of the cafeteria lunch rush. It never failed to send a pleasant shiver down Kendry’s back.
“Hi, Dr. MacDowell.”
“It’s Jamie.”
“Hi, Jamie.”
The exchange was becoming a little tradition between them. Kendry didn’t want to make more of it than it was, but it was nice to have their own private routine, wasn’t it?
She smiled at Dr. MacDowell as he sat across from her.
“Soup again?” he asked.
Kendry willed herself to look nonchalant. For whatever reason, Jamie treated her like an equal. Like she had brains. Like her opinions mattered. When she spent all day being ordered to change linens and fetch ice, it was a relief to have a man like him to talk to. She wasn’t going to shatter the illusion of equality with Jamie by confessing that soup was all she could afford. “Tomato’s my favorite. I always get soup when it’s tomato.”
“I’ll have to try it sometime.”
The words were bland, ordinary, but he was looking at her...differently.
“Is something wrong?” she asked. Speaking used up air, naturally, so she breathed in again and caught a hint of his aftershave, that delicious, woodsy scent she’d noticed since the first time he’d sat with her.
She snatched a napkin in the nick of time as she turned away and sneezed. At least she’d cut her bangs so she didn’t have to push them out of her eyes every time.
“You know,” he said, “if I were a doctor, I’d probably give you a diagnosis of allergic rhinitis.”
She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled so he’d know she wasn’t upset. “I don’t think I need to pay for an office visit to find that out.”
“I take it that none of the over-the-counter pills are working for you. Do you need a prescription antihistamine?”
“No.” Why was he asking about her personal health? They usually talked about other patients’ health, not hers.
“I’ll write you one.” He already had a script pad out of his pocket and was writing away.
“Please, don’t bother.” She’d never be able to afford it, but she couldn’t tell him something so embarrassing.
“It’s no problem.” He tore off the paper and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” She reluctantly took the prescription. Why was he looking at her so strangely? Today’s lunch was just...off.
She looked at the paper, so she’d stop trying to analyze his expression. His handwriting was amazingly legible for a doctor, maybe because he wrote in large letters, using up the blank space, filling it with dark ink. No faint scribbles for her to squint at hopelessly. She only had to narrow her eyes a tiny bit to read his writing without her glasses.
This time, when she looked back up at him, he dropped his gaze to his plate. As if she’d caught him in the middle of—something.
“Did you hear something bad today?” she asked.
He looked up at her in surprise, as if she’d guessed right, but he didn’t say anything.
“Myrna’s not back in dialysis, is she? Or David?”
“No.”
She hesitated before a burning need to know made her ask, “It’s not about Sam, is it?” Her heart would break if anything happened to that little guy. Please let it not be something about Sam.
“No, nothing like that.” To her surprise, he reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Thanks for asking.”
She took her hand off the table, grabbed another napkin, turned her head and blew her nose again. It would be nice to sit through a meal with the man without a runny nose.
Because then he’d notice how beautiful you are?
No, but