Wow, she didn’t pull any punches, did she? But he couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips. “Want to test that hypothesis sometime?”
Liz just shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “I’d kick your butt.”
“No doubt,” he replied, making no attempt to stop her this time when she moved away. “I’ve no doubt at all.”
And it occurred to him, as he watched that delectable body disappear around the corner, she could do a great deal more than just kick his butt physically.
If he was stupid enough to let her.
“I SHOT HIM,” the patient moaned, her voice distorted not just by the oxygen mask but also her severe facial injuries. “I shot him.”
It was all she’d said since she’d been brought in, over and over again, no matter what Liz asked her. She’d barely reacted to any of the procedures they’d done to try to stabilize her condition, despite the additional pain they must have caused her.
“Kaitlin, where hurts the most?”
“I shot him. I shot him.”
“Any word from Trauma?” Liz asked the room at large.
“I’m here.”
Cort Smith dumped a bloody surgical gown into the bin by the door, and paused to drag on a fresh one. “What do we have?”
Even as focused as she was on her patient, Liz’s heart did a little dip when she heard his voice.
I’ll get used to having him around.
That was what Liz had been telling herself repeatedly since the day Cort strode back into her life but, a month on, she still had a visceral reaction every time she saw him. Having to work with him presented another layer to her problem, since she found herself sometimes having to fight to concentrate.
The movements of his hands, the calm, soothing quality of his deep voice when he spoke to patients, did things to her insides. They brought to mind the way he’d touched her so masterfully as he’d murmured in her ear that night so long ago, telling her to come.
It was extremely annoying and she once more resolved to ignore it. The badly beaten and stabbed woman in front of her deserved all her concentration.
“Twenty-four-year-old Kaitlin Hayle, facial trauma and multiple penetrating wounds to thorax and abdomen, both anterior and posterior. Limited lung sounds on the right when brought in; chest tube inserted.”
As she continued to bring him up to speed, she chafed at the delay having to do so caused. It was information she’d already transmitted to Dr. Yuen, and she was surprised that Cort had attended. Normally the doctor she’d spoken to initially would be the one to come down. Something had caused the change in procedure, and therefore the delay, and she wasn’t happy about it.
One thing Liz could readily admit to with Dr. Smith, though, was how thorough he was.
“Hey, Kaitlin,” he said, in that deep, calm voice, while checking her pupils. “My name is Dr. Smith. I’m going to be examining you, okay?”
“I shot him.”
Cort continued his methodical examination, working his way down to the two penetrating wounds on Kaitlin’s thorax.
“They look to be at least two inches deep,” Liz said, as he started palpating the area around the first wound. “And that one seems to angle downward.”
Having examined both the anterior wounds, he merely said, “Roll her,” so he could examine the posterior one.
Once he was through, he moved back to the head of the table and leaned over the patient. “Kaitlin, I’m going to have to operate. You have internal injuries that have to be repaired. We’ll take good care of you, okay?”
Kaitlin’s gaze flickered to Cort’s face, and stayed there for a moment. Then, surprisingly, she said, “Okay. Okay.”
“Good girl,” he replied, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze.
The shock must be wearing off, thanks to the drip, Liz thought a little sourly. How else to explain his ability to get through to their patient when she hadn’t been able to at all?
With a little jerk of his head, Cort beckoned Liz to the far side of the room, out of Kaitlin’s earshot.
“I want her to have a CT scan before I go in. She seems stable enough to take the time, and I’ll have a better idea of what I’m facing before I open her up.”
“I’ll call up to Radiology right now,” Liz replied. “And I’ll go up with her.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a half smile. “I’ll keep an eye on her vitals while you’re gone.”
As she turned away to go to the phone, Liz was annoyed with herself all over again.
Why was it his smiles, even half ones, made her want to smile back? She wasn’t the smiling type at all, and yet something about him made her almost wish she were.
She’d been careful to keep him firmly at arm’s length and act with the utmost professionalism toward him, determined to eventually exorcise the hyperawareness she experienced around him. It was aggravating in the extreme that the rest of the Hepplewhite staff seemed equally determined to keep Cort in the center of the gossip mill, and she could hardly move without hearing someone say his name.
Just that morning, when she’d been in the line at the cafeteria, there had been a couple of nurses in front of her talking about him, as though there was nothing else of any interest to chat about.
“He’s been here for a while, what have you been able to find out about him?”
Liz knew who Marcie was talking about even before Trisha answered.
“Nothing but what I was able to find in the Cramer General website archives. Served in the army and got his training through it. Honorably discharged about five years ago and went straight to Cramer.”
“That’s it? Do we even know if he’s married or not?”
Trisha shook her head, disgruntlement clear in her tone when she replied, “He’s real nice, but a clam when it comes to talking about himself.”
“Even with you, Miss Southern Charm?” Marcie snickered. “I’m surprised you don’t have him spilling his guts over some sweet potato pie and a mint julep.”
“Ha-ha-ha,” Trisha replied, as she elbowed her friend and they both laughed.
Liz too was surprised that Trisha hadn’t had any luck. The nurse was petite, almost elfin, with the most beautiful dark mocha complexion and the face of an angel. Plus, she had the kind of voice Liz remembered, as a teen, wishing she had. It was as sweet and light as fresh whipped cream, not low and raspy, like its owner subsisted on a diet of rusty nails and rye whiskey. Mind you, a voice like Trisha’s would sound pretty stupid coming from her, who was almost a foot taller and nowhere near petite.
As she relayed Cort’s request to Radiology, she resolved once more do something about how often she thought about him, dreamed about being with him in Mexico. She was loath to admit it, even to herself, but he’d turned her inside out that night, given her an experience she’d never had before.
Maybe because of her forthright nature, men seemed to assume she’d be demanding in bed and, since it was the best way to get the satisfaction she deserved, she usually was. However, Cort Smith had taken masterful control of her body, coaxing her to new erotic heights and making her have to reevaluate what it was she truly desired. When she’d snuck out of his room in the early hours of the morning, it hadn’t just been because she’d had a flight