Lightning Strikes. Mary Lynn Baxter
mind and talented hands.
“Come on in,” Amanda said, “although I was about to head for the lounge and grab a quick cup of coffee.”
Dr. Stanley opened the door wider, than stepped aside with the sweep of his arm. “Let’s go. I could use a cup myself.”
Once they were in the large room, replete with a refrigerator and microwave plus a metal table and chairs, and an uncomfortable-looking cot, they didn’t speak until they each had a cup of strong coffee in hand and were seated at the table.
“By the way, thanks for doubling.”
“No problem,” Amanda answered.
“I wish all my staff were as eager and accommodating as you.”
“For the most part, they are.”
Carl was quiet for a moment, rubbing his beard. “How would you like to be my assistant?”
Amanda gasped and her eyes widened. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Vanderbilt’s on the verge of getting a huge grant that will make that possible, both professionally and monetarily.”
“Well, I’m flattered, of course.”
“But—”
Amanda flushed, but she didn’t shift her gaze when she said, “You’ve heard, haven’t you?”
“That you want to leave ER and go into private practice—into sports medicine, to be exact. You’re right, I’ve heard. And I’m not happy.”
“So this is your way of keeping me chained to Vanderbilt?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, actually, it’s very flattering and I’m honored.”
“So, just say yes.”
Amanda stood and walked to the window, though she continued to sip on her coffee. Like Carl, she needed the punch from the caffeine. For a moment, she seemed mesmerized by the rain slashing against the pane.
“I can’t imagine this hospital without you.” He paused with a cough. “Don’t leave. Please.”
Amanda swung back around. “I can’t make any promises. Going into sports medicine has been and is my ultimate dream. But what I can promise is that I won’t be leaving anytime soon.”
“Thank God. I thought maybe Noah’s return—”
Amanda shook her head, cutting him off. “He has nothing to do with my decisions.” Her tone was as cold as the sudden drop in her body’s temperature.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to imply that—”
“You didn’t,” she responded matter-of-factly, yet her tone remained chilly. “At this point, I feel I need more experience before I go it alone, which means I’ll definitely give your offer serious thought, if the grant pans out.”
The director drained his cup, then stood, a smile once again in place. “Trust me, it’ll happen. Meanwhile, I’m outta here. If things get hairy, I’ll try and come back.”
“For heaven’s sake, be careful on those slick roads.”
“I’ll be fine. I wouldn’t go, except I’m about to fall asleep on my feet, which means I’m not safe to touch any patient.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Fatigue was a special no-no in ER as fast, critical decisions had to be made by clear minds and steady hands. Miraculously, she still had both.
“Take care,” Amanda called to his back. He waved and closed the door behind him.
For a moment, she dickered as to whether to remain in the break room or return to her cubbyhole. She opted to stay where she was as long as it was quiet. But then, quiet was not what she needed; it gave her too much time to think.
Damn Carl for mentioning Noah Howell.
She peered at her watch and noticed that the wedding was about to take place at Squaw Creek Lodge. Noah’s sister, Randi, was getting married, and everyone who was anyone would be there. Everyone except her, that is, she thought with a smirk. But that was all right. Squaw Creek was the last place she wanted to be.
She preferred being right where she was, doing her job. More to the point, she preferred not to think about weddings—anyone’s wedding. Still, she couldn’t help but think about tomorrow and its significance. It would have been her first wedding anniversary, if Noah hadn’t practically jilted her at the altar.
Amanda’s breath caught in her lungs and she squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to ward off her errant thoughts. Her tactic backfired. Noah’s ghost seemed to haunt the room. Why did she have to think about him now, when she was alone? To do so made her crazy, crazy with anger and frustration.
His return to Vanderbilt had been like a blow from behind. Out of all the area hospitals that needed top-notch surgeons, some much more prestigious than Vanderbilt Memorial, why had he chosen to return home? Why had the board taken him back? That latter question was easily answered—he was the best at what he did. His hands were the consummate surgeon’s. He was the consummate surgeon. Too bad that talent didn’t spill over into his personal life.
After he had left, Amanda prayed that by some miracle she wouldn’t ever have to see him again. She had almost begun to feel secure in that prayer being answered when she’d received word he had returned. Her knee-jerk reaction had been to resign on the spot.
Then common sense and pride had come to her rescue. No way was she going to let him get another shot at ruining her life, not when she was beginning to mend her heart and find happiness again.
To hell with him then and to hell with him now.
“Grrrh!” she muttered, gritting her teeth, determined to corral her runaway thoughts. No such luck. Her mind had homed in on the past and wouldn’t let go.
Noah had appeared at her door that fateful day just as he had a million times before. They had committed themselves to a hamburger cookout given by another doctor and his family. Neither had wanted to go but felt they had to. So when Noah arrived, she had been dressed and waiting.
The instant she had opened the door and looked at his face, she’d known something was wrong. Another dead giveaway was that he hadn’t jerked her into his arms and kissed her, hot and hungrily as was his habit when he hadn’t seen her for several days. At that particular time, he’d just returned from a surgical seminar.
“What’s the matter?” she had asked without preamble.
He pushed past her, walked to the center of the room, then whipped around, his features contorted. Her heart skipped a beat. Even after he’d lost a patient, she had never seen that tormented expression on his chiseled features. Her heart skipped several more beats.
“Noah,” she said in a breathless tone.
“I don’t know how to say this.”
“Say what?”
Silence.
“For heaven’s sake, you can tell me anything.” Somehow the words managed to get past her dry lips.
“I can’t marry you.”
At first, she merely blinked, followed by a shake of her head as if she hadn’t heard him right. “What did you say?”
“Our wedding’s off.” His voice was so strained and low that she could barely understand him.
Still, she staggered back as though he’d slapped her. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious, all right. Dead serious.”
“But why? I mean—” Amanda couldn’t go on. The words dried up in her throat.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know. In fact, you’re better