Once Beck stepped back after his part was finished, Gavin took over. He’d located the superficially lodged bullet and removed it, then plopped it into a plastic specimen container held by Jan.
“Fantastical,” she mumbled as she studied the bloody ball of metal while Gavin stabilized the patient and readied him for surgery.
Had she just said fantastical? That was it. The missing link. In the midst of chaos and saving a life, quick memories popped into his mind of the only other person he’d ever heard say “fantastic” that way. If he hadn’t been sure before, he definitely was now.
But this person was nothing like that girl.
Still reeling from the notion that he’d stumbled on his first love, he watched Gavin proceed with a secondary survey head-to-toe assessment for more subtle injuries.
While consciously avoiding any thoughts about his ex-girlfriend, he waited for the chest X-ray films. Beck leaned against the wall and observed the team hovering over the patient, whose vital signs were already improving. He lifted the protective goggles from his eyes where perspiration had started to bead and steam them up, resting the glasses on his forehead. He glanced around the gurney from person to person, with everyone intent on what they were doing. Excellent teamwork.
Beck noticed a second pile of discarded clothing on the floor next to Jan’s feet. He moved to kick it aside and couldn’t help but notice something out of character for the subdued nurse. Completely out of place on her seriously sensible shoes were bright pink satin laces. A telltale sign of who she really was. So she hadn’t dumped all her flash. His gaze traveled up to her face carefully hidden behind dark, thick-framed artsy glasses. He looked more closely. Her eyes were as bright a blue as they had been thirteen years ago.
How had he not recognized her mouth right off? In high school she’d carefully outlined those soft, well-shaped lips with liner before she’d applied the brightest shades of pink he’d ever seen. It had driven him crazy. She was the last person in the world he’d ever expected to run into here.
For a woman who wrapped herself in the loosest scrubs possible, it was hard to imagine her as once dressing like a birthday present in loud patterns over a curvaceous figure. Short skirts had never looked better than over those legs. But today her legs were covered in baggy, faded scrubs, making it impossible to compare. Yet there were those pink satin laces shining up at him. And she had said “fantastical”.
It all added up to one person. January. And he was still as mad as hell at her.
She caught him looking at her and quickly glanced away. Could she tell that he’d just figured out who she was? Years before, she’d trampled over his heart without so much as a backward glance. He’d joined the army intent on seeing the world and had expected her to wait for him. Maybe it had been a lame plan, but it had been the best he could come up with at eighteen. When he’d gotten out of bootcamp, she’d disappeared. When he’d tracked her down, she’d broken up with him. Over the phone!
The skittish nurse shoved something toward him. He jumped back from sorting through memories to the present. She gave him a kit, avoiding his eyes. It was a Foley catheter kit.
“Make yourself useful,” Jan said, jabbing the plastic-covered box at him then quickly turning away.
He glanced at the naked patient lying on the gurney. The young man was in and out of consciousness, and Beck hoped when he catheterized him, for the patient’s sake, he’d be out of it.
As he opened the sterile package and started to set up, he glanced back at Jan, who was completely wrapped up with hanging a unit of blood. She chewed on her lower lip, like she used to whenever she’d concentrated on anything. How had he missed it? All the parts were there, though skewed a bit by time.
Thirteen years had made some major changes to both of them.
Before inserting the catheter, he looked at her one more time. Sure enough, it was January Stewart…the biggest love and the worst heartbreak of his life.
Jan had managed to avoid Beck after the gunshot-wound patient had been prepped and awaited transfer to surgery. She’d passed him off on a younger nurse who was already captivated by his strikingly handsome looks and who gladly agreed to assist him. As long as Gavin didn’t find out and he got emergency practice, it would make no difference which nurse assisted Beck.
He didn’t react or seem to mind.
Anyhow, there was a group of needy residents with an assortment of patients to keep her busy. And she was.
She’d spent thirteen years putting her life in order. Just because Beck had been her big love in high school it didn’t mean they had anything to reminisce about. Their horrible ending tugged at Jan’s conscience. But now was not the time to relive the past. It couldn’t be changed.
She tamped down the memories and tried not to cringe. Not today. Not when the emergency department was crawling with patients.
Jan escorted her next patient into the last available ER room and handed the young man a gown. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I think I have an infected spider bite, and now it’s spreading.”
He showed her his thigh. She put on a disposable glove and gently touched a red, raised, angry-looking boil. It was warm and definitely infected.
“How long have you had this?”
“About a week now.”
She noticed little pimple-like satellite areas budding around it. “Any fever?”
The patient shook his head no. “But it keeps getting bigger.”
Before she could put the digital thermometer into his mouth, a shadow fell on her.
“Looks like MRSA.”
She glanced over her shoulder and found Beck. Methecillin-resistant staph aureus was a perplexing condition, cropping up in and out of hospitals. How he could make a snap diagnosis like that astounded her. And blurting it out right in front of the patient showed poor judgement.
“I’ll have Dr. Riordan take a look,” she said, dismissing Beck.
“You play team sports?” Beck walked around her and faced the patient.
“I’m on a football team.”
“Anyone else have ‘spider bites’?”
“You know, a couple other guys might, come to think of it. We thought we got ’em on our last away game.”
Beck glanced at Jan. “Trust me, its MRSA. If we don’t treat it properly now, he runs the risk of developing myositis. Rather than wasting time treating with the wrong antibiotic, I’d lance and drain it, get a culture tonight. Save the cost of an expensive antibiotic and a return visit to the ER.”
“We’ll be right back.” Jan strained a smile at the patient, excused herself from the bedside and escorted Beck out of the room by his elbow. “What are you doing?” she said, once in the hall. “The kid hasn’t even been examined by a doctor yet, and you’re already diagnosing and treating him?”
“I’ve been in the military for years and I’ve seen MRSA all over the place. Believe me, it’s a waste of time treating him with antibiotics alone, especially if the staph infection is resistant to it. He’ll just be back in here next week with more of those boils, and they’ll be ten times worse.”
Jan glared at him, until he gave her a sarcastic smile. She hated it when he grinned so smugly like that. Just like the time standing by the lockers in high school after art class when he’d first figured out how much she’d liked him. She spun around and strode down the hall to Dr. Riordan’s office. He’d obviously figured out who she was. Her only line of defense? Avoid him!
“Dr.