Fated Love (3 page)

Despite herself, Honor laughed. "Well, considering that you passed your
practical exam
this morning with high marks, I'd have to say yes."

"Good, because I've already put down first and last months' rent on an apartment."

Honor caught herself as she was about to ask where Quinn was living. For some reason, she couldn't seem to keep her mind from wandering from professional into personal areas, which was distinctly unusual for her. She was friendly with all of her colleagues, but, for the most part, her time was spent on administrative responsibilities or patient care. She didn't socialize very much with any of her colleagues other than Linda, and she almost never saw her fellow attendings outside of work except at departmental functions.
I'm probably curious because she just appeared out of nowhere. It's not like there's really any great mystery about her. So, I'll just get this little introductory talk out of the way, and we can all get back to routine."

"The Monday morning rush is going to start very soon," Honor began, "so let's go over the ground rules before that happens. We try to see patients on a first come, first served basis as much as possible. Obviously, if there's an acute case, that takes priority."

Quinn nodded, watching Honor unconsciously turn the wedding ring on her left hand as she spoke. The ER chief had beautiful hands—narrow, supple, and long fingered. Those hands appeared very much like the woman herself—graceful and lithe and strong. With a start, Quinn realized that she had missed the last thing that Honor had said. "I'm sorry? What?"

Honor regarded her quizzically. "I said that I don't have a problem with you selecting out the patients with complaints that seem to be surgical in origin, because that just makes sense. But if there's a patient with a critical condition or someone who has been waiting a long time, you'll need to see them even if their complaint is a medical problem."

"I expected to do that," Quinn said evenly. "I've been boning up on my emergency medicine the last few weeks." She lifted a shoulder and shrugged. "I'm not that far out of medical school that I don't remember how to handle medical problems. I'm a little behind on the latest drug treatments, but I'll catch up."

"I'm sure you will." Honor stood. "Don't be afraid to check with one of us if you're not sure about something—-just until you're a little more comfortable with the kinds of conditions you'll be seeing down here. I'm sure it will be very different from what you were used to at St. Michael's."

For the first time, Quinn averted her gaze, and a faint flush rose up her neck. Until four months ago, she had expected to be the newest trauma attending at St. Michael's right about now, not a green ER doc at the bottom of the totem pole. "Yes, I expect it will be."

As they walked back toward the main work area, Honor concluded by saying, "There will be at least four attendings scheduled to work during each twelve-hour shift. I put you on days the first few weeks so you can get your bearings. For the time being, you'll basically be on two days and off one, with some variation to accommodate personal days and the like."
The same shifts I work, at least until I can trust you alone.

"Fine." Since Quinn had no close friends in the city and had nothing planned, she didn't really care when she worked. She just wanted to be busy, because alone time meant too much time to think.

"Okay then. I'll be around if you have any questions."

"Thanks." Quinn took a deep breath, walked to the counter, and picked up the first patient chart. Chief complaint: abdominal pain.

That sounds like something I can handle.

Twenty-five minutes later, Quinn found Linda recording the vital signs on an elderly woman whose chief complaint was low back pain present for five years. As was so often the case in inner-city hospitals, the emergency room frequently served as a primary care clinic for neighborhood people who either had no health insurance or were without a family doctor.

Linda looked up at Quinn and smiled. "How's it going?"

"Okay. Thanks. Uh...how do I get a pediatric surgeon?"

Linda patted the elderly woman's arm. "Somebody will be by to see you in just a few minutes, okay?" Then she motioned for Quinn to follow her back to the nurses' station. Once there, she pointed to a series of lists that were tacked to a corkboard behind the counter. "Here you go—these are the names and beeper numbers for the on-call docs in the various specialties this month. Some change every day, some every week, and some cover for the entire month. What do you have?"

"Acute appendix."

"The nine-year-old with the bellyache?"

"Yep. Peri-umbilical pain localizing to the right lower quadrant, elevated white count, low-grade temp, and guarding on physical exam."

"That was a fast diagnosis."

Quinn shrugged. "Like I said. Classic."

"Does it bother you, that you won't be the one operating on her?" Linda still couldn't figure out why someone who could do what she had seen Quinn Maguire do that morning would want to give that up. And her motto had always been "If you want to know something, ask."

Quinn absently rubbed an annoying itch on the left side of her chest above her shirt pocket, her expression remote as she thought about how much fun it was to do an appendectomy. "Yeah. It does." She blinked and dropped her hand, suddenly self-conscious, and studied the posted lists. "So it's...Baker, right?"

"Yes. I'll page him for you and give you a call when he answers. Or, if you want, I can just read him the vital statistics and tell him what you think."

"Sure, do that. If he has any questions, just come find me. And thanks." Quinn was about to reach for the next chart when she turned back and held out her hand. "By the way, I'm Quinn Maguire."

"Linda O'Malley."

Quinn nodded in acknowledgment of the greeting and pulled the next chart from the rack. She winced when she read the presenting problem: headache. She contemplated sliding it back and looking for something a little more exciting, and then she remembered the first come, first served rule. I
can probably manage to figure this out.

With a sigh, she tucked the chart under her arm and headed off to cubicle eight.

At 6:45 that evening, Honor finished signing off on her last chart and glanced around the emergency room. There were three new patients waiting to be seen, none of whom had a critical problem. Two patients were waiting for beds to become available upstairs and would be admitted as soon as their rooms were ready. Four were in the process of being evaluated with x-rays and laboratory tests, but they would be nearly ready for discharge when the new shift came on duty. All in all, her ship was tidy. Except for the fact that Quinn Maguire was leaning against the wall outside one of the patient cubicles, staring at her PDA with a frown on her face. With a tired sigh, Honor got up and walked over to her.

"Problem?"

Quinn looked up, surprised. "No, not really. I can just never remember the dosage of Augmentin in kids."

"Sore throat?"

"Earache."

"Ah." Honor told her the dosage of the antibiotic. "That's one you'll be getting very familial' with very quickly around here."

"I'm sure." Quinn rubbed her forehead, suddenly realizing that she was beat. She'd been on her feet the entire day, which in the past hadn't been all that unusual. Nevertheless, it was a different kind of work than she was used to doing in the intensely focused operating room, and it had been quite a while since she'd worked a full shift. And even more than that, she wasn't used to feeling just a little bit behind all the time.

"How did it go today?" Honor found herself feeling slightly sorry for the young surgeon. She'd kept an eye on Quinn throughout the day and noticed that she had worked steadily, barely even stopping to eat. She didn't slack off, and to her credit, she'd also seen her fair share of routine medical complaints. She might be a surgeon, but she wasn't flaunting it or expecting special treatment.

"Fine, I guess. I only had to holler for help a couple of times." Quinn smiled wryly, remembering a time when
she
had been the one making all the calls. The one in charge. "I haven't felt quite so ineffectual in a long time."

Honor couldn't help but hear the frustration and, surprisingly, the hint of sadness in Quinn's voice. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the surgeon why she had chosen to take this job, but it was none of her business. It
would
have been within her province to ask for an explanation, had she had the opportunity to interview Quinn before she'd been hired. But not now. Now it was done. "You're allowed a lunch hour, you know."

"I'm not used to a formal schedule. I'd rather just work."
At least then maybe I'll feel useful. Like maybe the last ten years haven't been for nothing.

"Your call. See you tomorrow."

"Right. Tomorrow."

Quinn gave the child's mother the prescription for antibiotics along with instructions to follow up with her pediatrician in two days. After filling out the paperwork, she dropped the chart into the Completed bin and headed back to the locker room. She packed up her gear, stowed the bloodied jeans in her backpack, and headed out.

She ran into Honor and Linda as the two women were leaving together.

"Need a ride somewhere?" Linda asked as the three of them converged on the outer doors.

Quinn couldn't help but notice that Honor looked slightly perturbed by her friend's offer. She shook her head. "No, thanks. I've got my bike."

"Ooh." Linda made an excited sound. "You've got a motorcycle?"

Laughing, Quinn replied, "No. A Fuji road bike."

"A bicycle?" Honor questioned, surprised once again. Thus far, Quinn Maguire had managed to dispel almost every preconception she'd had about her. She'd even been forced to make allowances for her arrogance.

"I'm only a couple of miles from here on Morris," Quinn supplied.

"Hey! We're all practically neighbors." Linda beamed. "Honor and I are a couple of houses apart right around the corner from you on Schoolhouse Lane."

"That's...nice. Well," Quinn put her hands in her pockets, aware that Honor Blake was slowly edging away toward the adjoining parking lot. "Good night, then,"

Quinn watched the two women walk quickly away and then turned in the opposite direction toward the bike rack. Clearly she hadn't been wrong in her impression that morning that the chief of emergency services was less than thrilled to have her. Ordinarily, she didn't care what anyone thought of her—except for her previous chief, Saxon Sinclair. But she had cared about what Sinclair thought because she had wanted to be like Sinclair.
Every
trauma fellow to pass through St. Michael's wanted to be like Sinclair. She was a surgeon's surgeon —the best hands, the quickest mind, the ultimate in cool command.

The reasons that Quinn wanted Honor Blake to think well of her were a little more complicated than simply desiring professional respect. Sure, she wouldn't mind if the chief of emergency services was impressed with her skills or thought well of her clinical acumen. But Honor wasn't just her chief, she was also an attractive and intriguing woman. During moments when Honor hadn't been aware of her scrutiny, Quinn had noticed how Honor's eyes softened when she smiled and the way her lips curved upward when she laughed. Those events seemed rare, but worth the wait. She wouldn't mind being the one to make Honor smile that way.

Yeah, right. Remember your own number one rule. Never ever get involved with a married woman.

Quinn shouldered her backpack, straddled her bike, and headed off into the gathering night. The last thing she needed at this point was an involvement with anyone, especially her boss, and her very obviously
unavailable
boss at that.

* * * * *

"Jeez, could you have been any more rude?" Linda turned her six-year-old Volvo wagon onto Wissahickon Avenue and headed north out of Germantown into Mount Airy. The neighborhood along the way was comprised mostly of large three- and four-story stone homes, many of which dated back over a century. More than a few had been subdivided into apartments over the years, but a fair number of affordable single-family dwellings still remained. The northwestern section of the city had gradually become populated by an eclectic assortment of young professionals, artists, blue-collar workers, and a large percentage of the city's lesbian population.

"What do you mean, rude?" Blushing, Honor realized that she sounded defensive and tried to subdue her tone. "Just because I wasn't falling all over her like some people I know?"

"I most certainly was not falling all over her." Linda harrumphed. "I was simply being polite. And
welcoming.''

"Oh, sure. If that bicycle had been a motorcycle, I think you would've climbed on behind her and ridden off into the sunset."

Linda looked pensive. "I don't think I could have tonight. Robin and the kids should be getting home from soccer practice right about now, and it's my turn to cook dinner."

Honor laughed. "Honestly, why are you so interested in her?"

"Aren't you?" Linda pulled to the curb and parked. "You have to admit that she's really good looking, she seems pretty smart, and she's nice. And there's no good reason that I can think of that she ought to be working in our emergency room. So I'm curious."

"My point exactly. There is no reason for her to be here. No
good
reason." Honor grabbed her briefcase and opened the car door. "So I'm reserving judgment."

Linda made an exasperated sound as she climbed out, too. "About what? The good-looking part?" .

"All right, I'll give you that much." Honor had to admit even to herself that no one would argue
that
point. Quinn Maguire was disturbingly good looking in an intense, Black Irish way. "As to how smart she is or exactly how well she's going to work out in this position, we'll see."

"Okay, fine." Linda could tell when she 'd run into a stone wall. It was the kind of immovable object that could only be altered by chipping away one tiny flake at a time. "You want to round up your clan and come over for dinner?"