“Ever been to San Juan Hospital?” he asked.
“I was in the E.R. a few years ago when Miles had a run-in with barbed wire and needed stitches.”
“Ouch.”
Violet smiled. “That’s not exactly what he said.”
At Peter’s chuckle, she asked, “Do you know my brothers?”
“I met Steven at one of Ryan and Lily’s New Year’s Eve parties. Your other brothers in passing.”
“Were you at Steven and Amy’s wedding?” Her brother had found the love of his life. When they had gotten married about a week ago, she hadn’t seen Peter among the guests.
“I had just arrived when I got a call from the hospital. I had to leave before the wedding even got started. I heard your brother Clyde got married, too.”
“Yep, he sure did. They’ll be back from their honeymoon next week. Steven and Amy only took a few days because they want to get his new ranch in order for the party honoring Ryan.”
“I heard he’s receiving the Hensley-Robinson Award. He deserves it.”
Peter turned into the hospital’s parking lot. Instead of heading for the parking garage, he veered toward the side of the building where signs marked the slots for physicians.
A few minutes later a security guard at the sliding glass doors nodded at Peter and gave Violet an interested glance. Her long gown obviously wasn’t a usual sight at the hospital. As Peter guided Violet through the deserted lobby, he nodded to an older woman sitting at the information desk.
“Good evening, Myra.”
“Good evening yourself, Dr. Clark. Spiffy getup. I’m glad to see you’ve been somewhere other than this hospital. He works too many hours,” she confided to Violet as if she’d known her all her life.
“I hear doctors have that problem,” Violet responded with a straight face.
“See you later, Myra,” Peter said with a wave as he cupped Violet’s elbow and guided her toward the elevators.
His touch sent electricity up her arm, and she wondered what he looked like under that tuxedo. When her cheeks grew hot, she banished the thought. She didn’t know what had gotten into her since she’d met Peter Clark, but she didn’t like it. Since she was a teenager, her head had ruled her life, not hormones, not her heart, not any other part of her. That wasn’t going to change now.
When the elevator doors swished open, they stepped inside. Peter pressed the button for the third floor. Seconds later, they were there, exiting the elevator, turning left toward the sign that directed them to the pediatrics wing.
As they walked down the white-and-tan tiled floor, Violet had to ask herself what she was doing here with Peter. What had made her say yes to his invitation without even knowing whom they were going to see?
Instead of heading down the hall toward the general pediatrics unit, he took another turn and was suddenly in Peds ICU. Bright fluorescent lights glowed above the nurses’ station, though the hall lights were a bit dimmer. The ICU rooms, directly across from the nurses’ desk, were fronted with glass.
Peter’s hand grazed the small of Violet’s back. “I want to check a chart. I’ll be just a minute.”
While she was still trying to compose herself from the brush of his hand, he stepped behind the counter, greeted the nurse on duty, took a chart from the rack and examined it.
A few minutes later he was by her side again. “We’re going to see Celeste Bowlan. She’s six and doesn’t have anybody to care about her except a social worker…and me. She was in an accident with her foster father who was driving drunk. Needless to say, she won’t be going back to that couple. When the ambulance brought her in, she had a collapsed lung and a fractured back as well as abdominal bruising. I couldn’t do surgery immediately. I’ve got it planned for Monday morning. She’s stable now, but I have her sedated.
“When she looks at me with her big brown eyes, she about breaks my heart. She needs somebody to care about her, maybe visit her. Until after her surgery, it’s only fifteen minutes on the hour, but it’ll be something. I thought maybe since you have time on your hands—”
Violet felt herself going cold all over. She stood stock-still when Peter moved to one of the cubicles.
He glanced over his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m…I’m not sure you should have brought me here.”
“Why not?”
“Because maybe I don’t want to get involved.”
Quizzically he studied her. “Because of the patient you lost,” he guessed perceptively.
“That’s part of it. Since then I’ve…pulled back.”
“You mean you’ve detached yourself from your patients,” he guessed.
“I haven’t seen that many patients since it happened.”
“Celeste is six years old and she’s all alone,” he said simply. “Reading a story to her now and then, just talking to her could do her a world of good.”
“The mind-body connection?” Violet asked, knowing some doctors believed in it and some didn’t.
“Absolutely.”
Peter was obviously a doctor who did.
He was studying her with far too much intensity. She felt turned inside out and didn’t like it, but she knowingly couldn’t walk away and somehow he’d guessed that.
“Where is she?” Violet murmured.
He gestured toward cubicle number two. When he pushed the button on the wall, the glass door slid silently open. He crossed the threshold first and Violet hesitated only for a moment, then she stepped inside, too. The door closed behind them.
Equipment beeped and buzzed—monitors, the dispenser for the IV, the blood pressure cuff.
“Dr. Clark?” a small voice asked.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he scolded gently as he went to the head of the bed and switched on a small night-light.
“Read me a story?” Celeste asked in a sweet, childlike voice that wrapped itself around Violet’s heart.
“I think it’s too late for a story, but I brought someone to meet you.”
Stepping up beside him, Violet looked down at Peter’s small patient. Her eyes were dark brown and huge under her bangs. Her shoulder-length hair was absolutely straight. Violet longed to brush it for her, to soothe her, to somehow make it all better. But that was the problem. Doctors couldn’t always make it all better. She’d found that out the hard way too many times.
Leaning close, Violet laid her hand on the little girl’s, the one that didn’t have an IV line. “I’m Violet,” she said softly. “Dr. Clark tells me your name is Celeste. That’s a beautiful name.”
“My mommy and daddy picked it out,” the little girl said proudly. Tears came to her eyes. “Mrs. Gunthry told me they’re in heaven. I want to go to heaven, too.”
A lump formed in Violet’s throat and her heart felt as if it were cracking.
From behind her, Violet heard, “Mrs. Gunthry is Celeste’s social worker.”
Leaning a bit closer, gently brushing Celeste’s bangs aside, Violet said, “I’ll bet your mommy and daddy are very proud of you.”
Celeste’s eyes grew a little more focused. “Why?”
“Because you’re being a very brave little girl. I’m sure they’re watching over you and