“What’s this nobody got that Dr. MacDowell likes?”
She’s kind. She respects children.
“I can’t imagine. She’s pitiful-looking. I swear, she wears the same scrubs every day.”
“Oh—that girl. I think she decided to make herself over for the new doc. Did you notice she cut her bangs?”
Jamie glared at the door. He’d count to twenty, then he’d leave this little jail cell whether those women were still here or not. He was feeling decidedly less considerate of their feelings.
“Ohmigod, yes. She had to have cut those bangs herself. With children’s safety scissors.”
“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.
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