DR. DEVASTATING Page 12

  He watched her set it on top of the TV. Then he actually smiled—a gorgeous, rueful, Dr. Devastating smile. "Thank you. For everything, this week. You were terrific."

  Her throat felt tight. "Um. You're welcome." She headed for the door.

  Just before she reached it, he said her name. She turned back to him. He said, "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

  "I won't."

  He only shrugged.

  She turned again and kept going until she'd walked out the door.

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  « ^ »

  The weekend was awful.

  Lee tried to keep her mind off thoughts of Derek. She picked up her bridesmaid's dress at the bridal boutique and visited Lenora and Maria.

  And she tried not to obsess about work on Monday, tried not to long for the sight of Derek—at the same time as she dreaded the thought of having to spend her working day at his side.

  No matter how it turned out, it would have to be difficult.

  What if he began treating her harshly again? She imagined all kinds of slights and cruel attacks. She worried that she would be forced to go to Dr. MacAllister and complain, after all.

  But then she would remember how he'd sworn he would change. She would recall the week of friendship they'd shared, all the things he'd told her about his childhood, about himself. She would remember the way he'd smiled at her and thanked her for taking care of him, in spite of the fact that she'd just rejected his advances and told him she could never be any more than his friend.

  Thinking of that, of their week of friendship, she knew in her heart that he wouldn't go back to harassing her again.

  But it didn't really matter. However he treated her, working with him was going to be difficult.

  When she arrived on Monday morning, Jack told her that Dr. Taylor was expected in at last. The two residents had been relieved of their temporary clinic assignments.

  "Maybe things'll get back to normal around here, now," Jack said.

  Lee looked at him doubtfully. "Normal. What's that?"

  Jack chuckled. "Good question."

  When Derek made his appearance, Lee was standing at the front desk scanning the charts that had come up from records for the day. She heard the door to the waiting room close and she knew, though she couldn't see at first from where she stood, that it would be Derek.

  She heard footsteps—slightly halting ones. And then he came into view, walking tall and proud without a cane or crutches, hardly limping at all.

  "Welcome back, Dr. Taylor," Jack said.

  Fabulous teeth gleamed. "It's good to be back." He held up his cast. "Slightly handicapped, but we'll work around it."

  "You bet," said Jack.

  The blue gaze swung her way. "Lee." He was still smiling. Cordially. Pleasantly. Warmly even. "How was your weekend?"

  She forced air through ridiculously stiff vocal cords. "Uh. Fine. It was fine."

  "Well, good." He gave a brief, the-doctor-approves kind of nod and then went down the hall toward his office, pausing at the nurses' station to exchange greetings with both Terry and Paul on the way.

  The day that followed could almost have been called uneventful. Yes, one of the geriatric patients wandered out to the waiting room without remembering to put her clothes back on. Also, a three-year-old boy got away from his mother, causing a minor panic until they found him crouched in a corner of the copy room. And, as always, they got behind on the patient load around two and didn't get back on schedule until after four.

  But such incidents were par for the course. As a whole, the clinic ran that day like a well-oiled machine. Everyone mentioned more than once how good it was to have Dr. Taylor back.

  It was the same on Tuesday. And Wednesday, too.

  Lee was absolutely miserable.

  Derek treated her with respect and a strictly professional friendliness. He was calm and collected and unerringly fair. He never shot her a single hard look for the way she indulged her patients; he said not a word about her sticky notes or the occasional chart that somehow found its way into her area of the nurses' station.

  Lee should have been content. She knew it. He had kept his word to her. He wasn't letting the things that had happened between them affect their working relationship in the least.

  Everything had turned out for the best.

  And still, she was miserable.

  She spent every day at his side—and yet she missed him as if she never saw him at all.

  On Thursday, just doing his job, he saved the life of an eight-year-old girl.

  The mother had brought her in thinking it was some kind of flu. The child felt shaky, craved liquids and candy, was cranky and hard to manage. Jack had the mother filling out the history form when the little girl suddenly went completely out of control, falling to the floor, making loud nonsense noises, twitching and gasping like someone in the throes of an epileptic seizure.

  Everyone came running, but no one could get her settled down enough even to take her vitals.

  That was where Derek stepped in. He scooped the moaning, twitching little body against his broad chest, wincing a little as her slight weight put pressure on his bad wrist. She vomited all over him. Gently he smoothed her hair away from her small, sweating face. He looked up, and into Lee's eyes. "Come on." He turned for the examining rooms, Lee right behind.

  Between them, he and Lee managed to get a blood pressure reading, heart rate and temperature.

  At one point, as they worked over the thin body with fierce and mutual concentration, Derek had looked up. "Do you smell it?"

  The strongest odor in the room right then was the vomit splattered all over his shirt and lab coat. It was hard to get beyond that.

  "Her breath," Derek instructed.

  Lee brought her head down close to the child's mouth. Right then, the child exhaled strongly. And Lee caught it: that sweet, fruity smell, of a body exuding the sugar it couldn't absorb.

  They said it in unison: "DKA." Diabetes ketoacidosis.

  "Let's get a normal saline going," Derek said then.

  "And oxygen. Then call for a gurney. We'll get her over to ER."

  They wheeled her down the hospital halls together. She was unconscious by then.

  Results from the crash lab showed glucose at 800. But of course, by that time, they already had her on an insulin drip.

  The child woke up fifteen minutes later. She stared at Derek. He smiled. And, very faintly, she smiled back.

  Lee returned to the clinic and the rest of their patients, while Derek lagged behind to study the lab results more thoroughly. When he came back himself, he went into his office, got himself a fresh shirt and a clean lab coat and disappeared into the staff rest room.

  A few minutes later, he emerged wearing the clean shirt and lab coat, with the dirty laundry clutched in his left fist. Lee saw him come out and couldn't help thinking of the way the child had smiled at him, with such shy, exhausted trust. She didn't realize she was staring at him until he caught her eye and winked at her.

  Lee shook herself. She lifted an eyebrow.

  He took her meaning and nodded. She read the nod as if he'd spoken aloud. The little girl would pull through.

  It occurred to her that sometimes, lately, they didn't even have to talk. A lift of an eyebrow, a gesture, the slightest movement of a hand would do to say all that needed to be said.

  They both moved on to the next order of business.

  That night, Lee dreamed of him. She dreamed he came to her bed and made love to her.

  She dreamed it was wonderful.

  And in the morning, when she woke, she remembered all of it.

  In detail.

  She picked up the phone beside her bed. And set it back down quickly, before she actually let herself punch out his number.

  That day, Friday, the fantasies came back.

  They all centered around the simplest thing. In them, she would approach him. She would say, "I was w
rong," or "Give me another chance," or "Let's start again. Please."

  And each time, he would slowly extend his hand.

  Twice, he caught her staring, in the middle of one of those fantasies.

  Both times he inquired, "Something the matter, Lee?"

  Of course, he knew. She could see it in his eyes.

  And she almost believed that if she said, "Yes, I'd like you to make love to me, please," he would have instantly replied, "Fine," and then added without missing a beat, "But right now, would you take the vitals on the congestive heart failure in Room 1?"

  She'd say, "Of course." They'd go right back to working with the eerie mutual precision they seemed to have developed lately. And then, when the day was over, she would go home with him.

  But in reality, all she said was, "Nothing's the matter. Nothing at all."

  And he simply shrugged and turned away.

  At a little after three, Lenora Hirsch came flying into the clinic as if the devil himself was after her.

  Lee was seated at her computer in the nurses' station when she heard Lenora speaking frantically to Jack. "Lee. Where's Lee? I need to see Lee…"

  Lee shot to her feet and ran toward the other woman's voice. The minute Lenora spotted her, she burst into terrified tears. "Oh, Lee. You have to help me. Otto's following me. He's been following me all day. He was outside the market when I got off my shift."

  Lee reached Lenora. "Shh. Settle down. It's all right—",

  Lenora grabbed Lee and held on tight. "Lee, he won't leave me alone. I know how he is. He's not sorry anymore. Now, he's going to try to—"

  Right then, from the waiting room behind them, someone let out a loud gasp. And a woman screamed.

  At the same time, a man shouted, "My God. He's got a gun!"

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  « ^ »

  The man standing just inside the waiting room door was overweight and balding. He wore a short-sleeved white business shirt, rumpled and stained with sweat at the armpits. His slacks were blue and his shoes were brown wing tips. He'd pulled his red-and-white striped tie loose and undone the top two buttons of his shirt.

  The silver gun in his hand wasn't very big. But it looked pretty deadly to Lee.

  He pointed it at Lenora. "Come on, Lenora. We need to have a little talk. Right now."

  Lenora cowered against Lee.

  Lee said, "Mr. Hirsch—"

  That was as far as she got. Otto Hirsch swung the gun on her. "You shut up, you bitch. You've done enough. I ought to—"

  "Put the gun down."

  It was Derek. His voice came from behind Lee. Lee didn't turn to glance at him. She kept her eyes forward—on Otto Hirsch and his little silver gun.

  Otto Hirsch was clearly a man at the frayed end of a short emotional rope. Dark circles ringed his eyes. His skin had a gray cast. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and trickled down the side of his face. And the hand that held the gun was shaking.

  "Put it down," Derek said again.

  Hirsch shook his head. With his free hand, he wiped his brow, then the beads of sweat on his upper lip. "That's my wife and this is a family matter. Lenora, you come on now. I've got a few things to say to you and I—"

  Lenora actually spoke up then. "No." Her voice trembled, but Lee could hear the stark determination in it. "I'm not going with you, Otto. I'm not going with you ever again."

  "Don't talk back to me." The gun in Hirsch's hand shook even harder than before. "Don't you ever, ever talk back to me." He pointed the thing, as best he could, at Lenora's heart.

  And then Derek stepped forward.

  Lee breathed the word, "No…" but Derek paid no attention to her. He put himself between Lee, Lenora—and Otto Hirsch's little silver gun.

  "Get out of the way," Hirsch growled. "Or I'll shoot you first."

  "I don't think so," said Derek. And he started walking—right toward the gun Hirsch held in his hand. He didn't stop until the short, silver barrel touched his chest. And then, very gently, he lifted his good hand and wrapped his fingers around the barrel. "Let go," he said. "Just let go now. Give yourself a chance for a life someday."

  "No. No, I can't do that. That's my wife over there."

  "Not anymore. It's over. Let go."

  "I can't."

  "You can."

  "No…"

  "Yes."

  Sweat ran into Hirsch's eyes. It seemed to Lee that no one—not a single patient in the waiting room, not herself, Lenora, Jack, or Terry, so much as breathed at that moment.

  "Let it go," Derek said, so softly, one more time.

  Lee couldn't look. She closed her eyes. She waited for the sound of that gun going off.

  It didn't come.

  Lee dared to look again.

  And could hardly believe the evidence of her own eyes.

  Otto Hirsch had let go.

  Hospital security arrived in minutes. They took Hirsch away. Not long after that, two representatives of the Honeygrove Police Department appeared. As soon as they'd taken statements from everyone, Lee drove the shaken Lenora back to the shelter.

  Miraculously, by the time Lee returned to the clinic, things seemed to have gone right back to business as usual.

  "We're even on schedule, more or less," Terry announced. "Can you believe it?"

  Lee gave her a quelling look. Anyone who worked in the medical field could tell you: never mention things like being on schedule or how quiet it is. Disasters inevitably occur if you do. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

  Terry chuckled. "Sorry. I take it back."

  Lee kept thinking about Derek, kept seeing him in her mind's eye stepping right up to Otto Hirsch's little silver gun. "Where is Dr. Taylor?"

  "With a patient. You want me to—"

  "No. I'll catch him later."

  At five, when things seemed to actually be winding down, Lee gathered all her courage and went to knock on Derek's door, behind which he'd vanished about twenty minutes before.

  He didn't answer.

  Terry walked by. Lee jumped back from the door as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't. "I was just—"

  Terry shrugged. "He left already."

  "He did? But I thought—?"

  "Uh-uh. He's gone." Terry kept walking, sending the rest back over her shoulder as she went. "Took off to do rounds about ten minutes ago. Said he'd see us on Monday."

  "Monday?" Lee called after her. "Are you sure?"

  Terry called back, "That's what he said."

  Lee left the hospital at five forty-five. Overhead, the sky was silvery-gray. There was rain on the way. Her car just seemed to point itself in the direction of Derek's condo and didn't stop until it got there. She pulled into the guest parking area, not too far from the steps that led up to his front door. Jumping right out, she headed for the stairs and took them two at a time, knowing she didn't dare slow down or she might never let herself get there.

  She rang his doorbell. He didn't answer. She rang again.

  Nothing. A pair of long, skinny windows flanked the door, but both had curtains over them, so she couldn't see if he was in there. And really, she knew he'd gone somewhere. He would have answered if he was inside—even if only to tell her to get lost.

  Lee turned and ran down the stairs, pausing to glance at his parking space before she got into her car. It was empty.

  She climbed in her car and slammed the door and felt awful. She kept thinking of blondes. Beautiful blondes. Of how he was probably out with one right now.

  No reason he shouldn't be.

  In fact, there was every reason in the world that he should. A man liked to go out with a beautiful woman. Especially if the woman said yes now and then.

  Lee started up the car and drove home. She watered her philodendron and opened the refrigerator and looked at the chicken she'd planned to skin and broil that night. The phone rang just as she was carrying the bird to the counter.

  It was Dana. "Hi. Just checking in. What are y
ou up to?"

  "Getting ready to broil a chicken."

  "I heard about the excitement at the clinic today. Apparently Dr. Taylor was a hero."

  "Yes. He was."

  "So tell me, how's your love life?"

  Lee leaned against the counter and began wrapping the phone cord around her index finger. "If there's one thing I admire most about you, it's your subtlety."

  "Come on. Katie and I have left you alone for almost two weeks. But now I can't stand it anymore. How is it going with him?"

  Lee had no idea where to begin, so she only sighed and continued looping the cord around her finger until she'd covered the entire digit.

  "Hmm," Dana said. "Sounds like the friendship thing pretty much ran its course."

  Lee pulled her finger free of the cord. "You could say that."

  "Are you … ready for the next step?"

  Lee turned around and studied the fryer she was" about to dismember. "Even if I was, it wouldn't matter. He's not home. Probably out with some beautiful blonde or other."

  "Wrong."

  Lee stood up straighter. "How would you know?"

  "Because I know where he is."

  Lee understood then. "Blue Moon Lake."

  "Very good. My future father-in-law just happened to mention this afternoon that Dr. Taylor was giving the cabin another try."

  Lee smiled, thinking of a certain raccoon—and then she frowned. "Maybe he took someone with him."

  Dana let out a ladylike snort. "Oh, come on. Have a little faith."

  "In what?"

  "Him. Yourself."

  Lee began wrapping the phone cord again. "You're a fine one to talk about faith." She referred to how Dana had had no faith at all in Trevor, back a couple of months before.

  Dana said, "We're not talking about me right now—and besides, I got smart. I got past my fears."

  "So you think I should go up there? Just get in my car and—"

  "Lee."

  "What?"

  "Do you want to go up there?"

  She sucked in a big breath. "Yes."

  "Then put the chicken back in the fridge, dig that old fishing pole of yours out of the hall closet and get moving."