Wild Honey. Veronica Sattler
She paused briefly outside the ER. Not only to drum up courage, but to say a small prayer that he’d already been taken upstairs. It really wasn’t like her at all to cave in this way when something went wrong; that was part of what made her a good ER nurse. But coping with medical emergencies was a far cry from having a hidden part of your past come up and hit you in the face!
Taking a slow deep breath, she again tried to make herself relax by thinking of her son. Adorable, wonderful, bright and loving Matt, who’d come into her life like a shining beacon of pure sunlight four years ago and given it meaning. Purpose. A future where there was safety and hope. And dreams that didn’t turn into nightmare.
Feeling a little like the young mother who’d just gone into the delivery room, Randi took another deep breath. She stepped toward the door just as it swung open in front of her. It was her assistant. Martha Pierson had had years of ER experience and hardly ever looked ruffled, no matter how hectic things got. Right now the look on her face hovered somewhere between exasperation and…amusement?
“Better come quick. That hunk’s refusin’ to cooperate, and the good doctor wants your help. Yours, and nobody else’s,” Pierson emphasized.
Randi didn’t need to ask who the “hunk” was. Yet she did take a second to wonder why Ames would specifically ask for her. More than wonder. Worry, to be exact. Had McLean made the connection she’d been dreading? Was he refusing to cooperate until he got some answers she wasn’t prepared to give? Her knees suddenly felt like jelly.
Pierson had been right about his refusing to cooperate. She could see that much from the single glance she risked as she made her way across the room.
McLean was still sitting up on the gurney. He was wearing an expression that reminded her inexorably of Matt. His pose said he wasn’t budging.
Nearby stood an orderly with a wheelchair. Hospital regulations said wheelchairs must be used to transport even ambulatory patients from one ward to another. Unless they were so incapacitated they had to be taken by gurney.
Travis’s pose said he was taking neither. Well, that was what he thought!
“What’s the problem now, Doctor?” Randi placed her hands on her hips and managed to glare at their patient, figuring the best defense was a good offense. “Don’t tell me this one’s still giving us a hard time.”
Ames’s face bore none of the amusement she’d glimpsed in Pierson’s. The resident looked at Pierson now as she came up behind Randi. “You tell her, Nurse!” And then Ames rushed off toward a stretcher they were just bringing in.
Pierson complied. “Seems Mr. McLean’s not willin’ to cooperate until you give him some information, Nurse Terhune.”
Randi’s apprehension must have shown on her face. McLean unfolded his arms and traded the stubbornly locked jaw for a reassuring smile. “Hey, beautiful, nothin’ to get all hot ‘n’ bothered about.”
He reached out to give her nose a playful flick with his finger. At the unexpected touch, Randi jumped.
“Whoa, now, honey, settle down.” The smile widened, became the lazy grin she remembered all too well. “All I’m askin’, before I agree to let these turkeys trot me off upstairs like a good little patient, is what the M stands for, remember, sugar? Seems these, uh—” he glanced at Pierson “—co-professionals of yours aren’t allowed to tell me. Said you were the only one who could.”
Randi glared at him, more annoyed with the man for the scare he’d given her than his outrageous demand. The scare, which she couldn’t even admit to. Not to mention that unexpected touch. It had sent an unfamiliar current shooting straight to her toes.
“You’re pretty used to getting your way, aren’t you, Mr. McLean?”
The teasing light that entered his eyes had her wishing she could recall her words. “When I go after somethin’ I really want—” his eyes roamed lazily over her face—”yeah, I reckon you could say that.”
Randi drew herself up to make the most of her five feet, seven inches. Despite her height, she knew that if Travis McLean stood up, he’d dwarf her. She fixed him with her most formidable look. Her I’m-the-one-in-charge-here glare. “Mr. Mc—”
“Ah-ah,” he warned, wagging his finger teasingly at her. Behind her, Pierson snorted.
“I beg your pardon?” Randi was doing her best to retain a professional demeanor, but it was getting harder by the minute.
The grin was wider than ever. “It’s Travis, remember?”
He had to know how his grin did devastating things to any woman foolish enough to be in the vicinity.
A muffled sound had her glancing behind her. Martha Pierson was grinning, too. Foolishly, Randi thought. Solid no-monkey-business Pierson, who was happily married with five kids.
Damn the man! The sooner she got out of the ER, the better.
She faced him squarely, gave a curt nod. “Very well, Travis—”
“Hey, Randi!” A small boy with a baseball cap worn backward waved at her from the doorway to the waiting room. The rest of his attire consisted of a pair of cotton pajamas decorated with Berenstain Bears and severely battered high-tops, unlaced and minus socks.
“Robbie Spencer, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Robbie was the son of her next-door neighbor, and Matt’s best friend.
Robbie’s smile split his freckled face. “Mom’s havin’ our new baby, an’ Daddy couldn’t get holda Grandma in a hurry, so I got to come!”
Just then, a slender, pleasant-faced man put a hand on Robbie’s shoulder and bent to whisper something in his ear. Bob Spencer, Robbie’s father. After the brief exchange Bob glanced up. He saw Randi and waved.
Randi gave him a thumbs-up. Then father and son withdrew and the door closed behind them.
“Randi, huh?” Travis McLean’s drawl drew her attention back to him. He eyed her speculatively, but a teasing light still lingered in his eyes.
“Now, I do know Demerol does frightenin’ things to a body’s wits,” he continued, “but I believe I’m still lucid enough to recall that ‘Randi’ begins with an R. ‘Course, the boy could be dealin’ with a minor speech defect, I suppose, meanin’ to say ‘Mandy,’ when he really—”
“It’s Miranda! You lunkhead! Miranda, and Randi for short! Now are you satisfied?”
The blue eyes remained speculative as the grin she was beginning to detest reappeared. “Satisfied? My, my, sugar, you do ask the most interestin’ questions.”
Randi went beet red.
The grin broadened, and she took a step backward as he slid off the gurney and towered over her.
Lord, how tall was he? Six-four? Six-five? Too tall for her own comfort, she decided as he leaned over to whisper in her ear, “the thing is, darlin’, are you ready for the answers?”
Randi felt perspiration dampen her uniform. He was toying with her, she was sure of it. Toying like a cat with a mouse. But why? Had he recognized her, after all? Was he using this ridiculous banter to draw her out in some way?
Steady, she reminded herself as her knees again began to feel as if they wouldn’t support her. He doesn’t know anything, remember? Even if he does recognize you, he can’t suspect a thing beyond that.
She stiffened her spine, pointed authoritatively at the wheelchair waiting beside the patient orderly. “In!” she commanded. “Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Travis gave her a cocky salute and sauntered over to it. A stain of fresh blood had penetrated the gauze of his dressing; it would have to be removed and the sutures checked. Demerol or no, it had to be hurting him a great deal, yet he moved