“Good as new,” Mac promised Tommy again as Jolene walked out, knowing that a child’s retention ability numbered in the seconds when it came to fear.
His sister Carrie had gone on to marry a successful stockbroker and along the way had provided him with two nephews and a niece. Mac had instantly evolved into a doting uncle. The trio had given him a broad learning spectrum from which he’d picked up a great deal more insight into dealing with kids than he’d gotten from either his child psychology courses and even his short rotation in pediatrics.
Tommy wrapped his small fingers around Mac’s hand and nodded, his eyes if not trusting, at least a little hopeful.
For now, it was the best Mac could ask for.
Wanda stuck her head in just as he was finishing up his work. She’d observed Jolene entering the room with a suture tray earlier. It was Wanda’s custom to stay on top of the new personnel—be they doctors or nurses—when they joined her E.R. team until she was sure that were they were well integrated into the whole.
“Everything okay in here?” she asked cheerfully. And then her milk-chocolate complexion seemed to blanch when she saw the patient. “Tommy?”
Mac stripped off his gloves, tossing them into the trash. He flashed a wide smile at the boy. “You know this trooper?”
“Sure I know him. This is Tommy Edwards.” There was an infinite amount of compassion in her eyes as she looked at the boy. “His mother, Jane, was a nurse here. One of my best.”
That would explain why the boy had turned up here, Mac thought. He moved away from the boy and closer to Wanda. “Was?”
Wanda lowered her voice. That was a whole other story. “I’ll tell you later.”
“Mom died,” the boy said with the on-target honesty of a child.
Wanda came closer to the bed. She threaded her hand through the boy’s silky dark hair. Her heart ached just to look at him. “What happened, Tommy?”
“He sustained a laceration,” Mac said simply for the boy’s sake, avoiding technical terms that he knew would only frighten him. “He said Hugo did it.” Turning his back to the boy so he couldn’t hear, Mac took Wanda aside. “That his father?”
Wanda shook her head. It was a sad story all around. “He doesn’t have a father, he’s got a stepfather. His father left before the boy was born. Stepfather’s name is Paul Allen.” She’d heard that the man wasn’t happy being saddled with Tommy’s welfare now that the boy’s mother was dead. Wanda stopped to think. “I think Jane mentioned a dog named Hugo. A Doberman. Said she didn’t like having the dog around, but that Paul was adamant about keeping it.”
The man’s exact words had been that he’d sooner get rid of the boy than the dog, but that wasn’t something Wanda was about to repeat around Tommy.
She turned around again and looked at Tommy. He looked pale, even against the fresh bandage that was covering his sutures. “Honey, why didn’t you come to me when this happened?”
“Tried,” he mumbled to the tips of his sneakers as he looked at them. “Couldn’t find you.”
“Well, now you found me,” Wanda declared. “And we’re going to find your stepdad.” Even if she had to haul him out of whatever hole he was residing in, Wanda added silently. About to pick up the boy, she looked at Mac. “Are you through with him, Doctor?”
“For now.” Turning his head, he lowered his voice, “He’s going to need reconstructive surgery on that once the wound heals.”
Wanda nodded as she pressed her lips together. “Getting Allen’s consent isn’t going to be easy. Especially not after I strangle that dog of his with my bare hands.”
“My money’s on you, Wanda,” Mac told her, grinning.
Wanda merely laughed in response. “C’mon, Tommy. Let’s see if there’s any ice cream in the refrigerator for a brave boy.”
She scooped the boy up into her arms, holding him to her ample chest. The boy curled up against her, responding to the maternal warmth he felt emanating from his mother’s friend.
His eyes met Mac’s over Wanda’s shoulder just before he was carried out from the room.
“Bye,” he said solemnly.
“Not bye,” Mac corrected him. “‘So-long.’ I’ll be seeing you again soon. Sure you don’t like being called Nameless better?”
The boy giggled and shook his head slightly. “I’m sure.”
Mac grinned at him. “Okay.”
As Wanda stepped out of the room with his patient, Mac peeled off the yellow paper gown he’d put on and turned to toss it into the wastebasket where he’d thrown away his gloves. He could feel the other nurse’s eyes all but boring into him.
That woman was a knockout, but she could definitely stand to have an attitude adjustment. Too bad he was too tired to do anything about it right now. “Something you want to say to me, Nurse DeLuca?”
She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or distant. In either case, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t here to strike up friendships with the doctors. But she was big enough to admit when she was wrong. And she had been, at least as far as this went.
“You were good with that little boy.”
He turned to face her squarely. “Why, did you expect me to torture him?”
She was already regretting her mellower stance. “No, I just expected you to be a doctor.”
Mac stood studying her for a moment, trying to make sense of what she’d just said. He failed.
“Is that some kind of code? Because I was being a doctor. Stethoscope, sutures, Novocain,” he went down the line of things he’d used in cleaning out, then stitching the wound. “The works.”
“No, I mean you were kind to him.” Most of the doctors she’d worked with were interested in doing their job, applying their knowledge, and then moving on. After four years, she’d begun to believe that was the nature of the beast.
Still lost, Mac could only stare at her. “Just what kind of doctors do you know, Nurse DeLuca? Dr. Frankenstein and his crowd?”
He was making fun of her. She might have known. Served her right for entertaining charitable thoughts about him. “Never mind.”
“No,” he caught her arm as she began to leave the room. “You started this, I’m curious.”
Blowing out a breath, Jolene resigned herself to remaining where she was until the doctor heard what he wanted to hear. “I’m accustomed to doctors who treat the wound, not the patient.”
He was watching her eyes. She looked directly at him. People who fabricated things looked away. Either she was very, very good, or she was telling the truth.
When you hear hoofbeats, he reminded himself, think horse, not zebra.
He thought zebra.
“So that’s why you transferred.”
Jolene had learned that being closemouthed was a great deal safer than sharing bits and pieces of yourself. Because bits and pieces could be reconstructed to be used against you, or tossed away carelessly. She wasn’t sure which was worse.
But she’d just witnessed him being exceptionally gentle with the boy, the way she would have been had MacKenzie acted like a typical doctor in her mind toward the boy.
So she shrugged and gave him an answer of sorts. “Among other reasons.”
She was mellowing, he thought. And he had to admit that he liked it. His initial