“You’re right, Doctor. It’s best to be safe.”
“Cover our butts,” he replied, moving toward the curtain. “Page me when you’re back down from Radiology. And don’t let him sleep any more than two hours at a time.”
She chuckled. “That won’t be a problem. This is a hospital.”
* * *
BY SATURDAY MORNING, Sophie was wired on too many cups of bitter break-room coffee and a late-night cafeteria meal that didn’t sit well. The ER had been calm after the turmoil of the car accident. That alone was a blessing, she thought. Most of the staff went about their paperwork and duties with solemn faces, their thoughts easily readable in their anguished eyes. Sophie wasn’t sure how many people died on ER tables typically. She’d only been working in the ER for a little over six months, but in a small town where everyone knew everyone else, or at least their business, death touched them all
Bart, who had just come back on duty, scurried from bay to bay, reviewing Donna and Bob’s documentation in patient charts and checking in with the pharmacy about orders he’d placed. Though Bart appeared to have put the tragedies behind him, Sophie suspected his actions were all a cover-up.
She’d spent nearly the entire night with Jack Carter. She took his vitals every hour. Woke him up and forced him to drink water. She helped him to the bathroom and helped him back to bed. Jack shirked off her assistance at first, but when he realized he was dizzy and his legs were still wobbly, he insisted Sophie get him another nurse. Sophie tried to grant his wish, but she was told they were short-staffed. He was stuck with her.
Now Sophie was bringing Jack his dismissal papers, a list of follow-up appointments and home-care instructions, prescription Tylenol for the headaches he complained about and fresh gauze and bandages for his lacerations.
He was sitting up with two pillows behind his back. “Who put me in this gown?” he demanded roughly.
Sophie smiled. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Was it you?”
“Yes.” She wouldn’t let him intimidate her with his sour expression. His dark stubble enhanced his good looks, even though his eyes were still so swollen and bruised he could easily be mistaken for a boxer who’d lost a match. She stopped abruptly.
She thought he was handsome? Where had that thought come from?
Don’t go there, Sophie.
Jack Carter was her patient. That was all. He was certainly not the type of guy she would have had a fling with in the past. He was very, very different. For one, he despised her right now. And two, it was unethical to date patients. And she was done with flings, anyway.
Jack bristled. “Where’d you put my clothes?”
“In the closet. What’s left of them, that is. I didn’t have time to send them out to the laundry if that’s what you want to know. But I did go down to the gift shop to buy you a T-shirt.”
She opened the plastic bag and pulled out a pink breast cancer T-shirt with the looped ribbon logo on the front. “It was all they had. I got a large.”
“It’s pink.” He reached out and snatched it from her hand, his lips twitching. “My mother says I look good in pink.”
“I’m sure you do.” Sophie smiled. “I’ll help you get dressed.”
Jack threw his hands up. “No thanks! I think you’ve seen enough. Who knows what you checked out while I was sleeping.”
“Mr. Carter, I’m a nurse. It’s my job. I stayed with you most of the night to make sure you didn’t slip into a coma.”
“Coma?” His eyes widened as much as they could with stitches and swelling. “You guys were afraid I would fall into a coma?”
“We had to take precautions, yes. Several times you, er, fell asleep on us.”
“Passed out. I remember,” he said, touching his forehead and wincing. He patted the dressings around his eyes then made a face. “I bit my cheeks, as well.” He hugged himself, his muscular arms flexing.
Sophie dragged her eyes off his battered face. She was drawn to his vulnerability. She’d always prided herself on her professional yet empathetic care, but something about this man made her heart ache more than usual. She glanced at the papers in her hand. “You’ll need plenty of rest once you get home. You should tell your wife—”
“I’m not married,” he interrupted.
She looked at him. She knew that. Nate had told Sophie who Jack was. When Sophie had asked him earlier if he wanted her to call Katia, he’d refused. Katia and Austin were out of town for the weekend. No girlfriend had come to see him last night. His emergency contact was his sister, Ava, but she lived in Illinois and Jack told Sophie he’d make his own phone calls when he was up to it. He hadn’t asked for anyone but Aleah. Jack had been so confused and out of it, and Sophie knew from experience that victims sometimes couldn’t even remember their own names. She had to be sure.
But why, Sophie?
Habit. That’s all it was. Her reaction to Jack was habit. She’d been a man magnet for so long, she didn’t know how to meet an attractive man on any other basis.
Ugh. She had a real problem.
“Well, someone needs to see you through the next twenty-four hours to make absolutely certain there are no complications from the concussion. You’ll need to see Dr. Hill in his regular hours to have the stitches removed. And we suggest that you see an ophthalmologist immediately about your eyes. You were asleep, but we had Dr. Mason come in and give you an exam. He’ll see you Monday afternoon. The rest of your instructions are the usual. Hydrate. Eat properly. Get rest and no sports for two weeks.”
“What? No sports?”
Was he serious? Sophie cocked her head. “Is there a problem? Are you on a summer baseball league or something?”
“No, but I run. A lot. Every day. I can’t live without running.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You have a sprained ankle. It won’t let you run for at least ten days.”
“I can handle that. A week or so. Fine,” he harrumphed.
“So,” she probed, unable to stop herself. “Where do you run?”
“Around the lake. That’s where I live. Running is my life.”
She shook her head emphatically. “You’ll have to live without it for two weeks. In addition to the sprain, you could risk a second concussion. If you aren’t fully healed from this first one, a second could increase the chances of swelling in the brain. Most concussions are not terribly dangerous, but a second one could be fatal.”
“Fatal?”
Sophie cringed, realizing the word would remind him of Aleah’s death. But since she couldn’t take it back, this was as good a time as any to test Dr. Hill’s theory that it had been shock and irritability alone that had made Jack accuse Sophie of abandoning Aleah in favor of another—and in his opinion, less deserving—patient.
“A concussion sometimes takes months to heal. Our advice is that you take it easy the next few weeks to a month. Don’t push. There will be plenty of time for running in the fall.”
Jack’s eyes fell away from Sophie’s face as he turned his head to the window. She followed his gaze to the fully leafed maple trees outside.
“A month would be torture,” he said quietly, as if accepting his defeat. “But I’ll try.”
“Excellent.” She went to the closet and pulled out his ripped but wearable pants, shoes, socks and underwear. His tattered shirt she’d put in a plastic bag.
“Where’s my