Hardball (3 page)

After twenty minutes, Holly figured Morris would have long since completed his examination and gone home. She worked her way back through the maze of corridors to the trauma center. Canizaro sat at the nurses’ station, engrossed in paper work. Holly nodded and headed into bed six, drawing the curtains tight to completely enclose the cubicle. She pulled the lone metal chair closer to the bed and sat.

The intubation tube had been withdrawn and Tyler, asleep, was breathing fairly comfortably without assistance. She glanced at the monitor. His temp remained the same, which she’d expected. The rest of his vitals—pulse-ox, heart rate, blood pressure—were in the acceptable range for his condition. She let out a tight breath of relief.

Her professors and mentors had drummed it into her head that she couldn’t afford to let herself get too invested in her patients. She knew it was sensible advice—a survival tactic. But even after years of med school, residency, and surgical practice, Holly couldn’t easily swallow the realization that all her skills, and all the technology the best hospital could offer, sometimes weren’t enough to prevent a child’s death. Her mind acknowledged and accepted the cold, clinical reality, but her heart and her gut always rebelled.

She stretched in the uncomfortable chair. Her neck ached, and she knew she should go home and get some sleep. But she decided to stay right there. She had nothing to rush home to, no one waiting for her. For now, all she could do was hold this little boy’s hand, and that was exactly what she planned to do.

Nate liked to sleep until noon or later on an off day. For baseball players, off days were practically rare gems. They averaged just three a month—usually Mondays—during the long major league season. That was it. Every other day it was up early and nose to the grindstone.

He loved Mondays.

The flight home following the L.A. game had arrived late last night, getting into Philadelphia after one A.M. His body had ached with pain and fatigue from pitching a complete game shutout, but his brain had been in overdrive since the meeting with Buddy Baker. There’d been no hope of falling asleep right away. He’d wound up channel-surfing almost until dawn before finally collapsing into bed. His sixty-inch, wall-mounted HDTV had been on all night, but he’d barely noticed what was on.

Nate had initially thought his friend was screwing with his head, but quickly concluded otherwise. Buddy was clearly speaking for the Dodgers’ front office, and the message was clear: the L.A. team wanted him, and they were willing to pay big bucks to pry him loose from the Patriots. No way was he going to rush into that kind of life-altering decision, though. He’d let Buddy know that the Dodgers would get what they were looking for, but only when he was good and ready.

He threw back the covers and sat up. Taking a quick glance at the digital clock on the night table, he had to blink and look again until the glowing green numbers finally registered in his brain. One-fifteen. He sighed and rolled out of bed.

So much for a leisurely breakfast.

Clicking on the bedroom TV to ESPN, he threw the remote on the bed and headed for the bathroom. His visit to the Children’s Hospital was scheduled from two to four o’clock, and he wasn’t going to disappoint the kids by cutting it short just because he couldn’t get his lazy ass out of bed on time.

Still, one thing he wouldn’t rush was his shower. Stretching his sore muscles, he ambled into the condo’s state-of-the-art bathroom, crossed to the marble-lined shower enclosure, and turned the temperature control to hot. As he eased his frame under the spray, he welcomed the tingling needles of water from the multiple showerheads digging into his shoulders and upper back. The plane’s cramped seats had intensified the stiffness and ache that always followed his pitching starts. He soaped up and massaged the tight soreness in his arms and shoulders, then let the hot water pound down on them for a few more minutes.

Stepping out of the shower, he briskly toweled off, taking a moment to glance at the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. He turned his left side to the mirror and ran his hand over the big, multi-colored tattoo covering his left upper arm and shoulder.

It was shallow of him, but God, he loved that tattoo.

The idea had come to him after one of the
USA Today
baseball beat writers had dubbed him “The Tornado,” likening his blazing slider to a tornado rushing toward home plate. Despite the ribbing of his teammates, Nate had thought the nickname was kind of cool. He’d hired the best body artist in Philly to design a dark, menacing-looking twister sucking a hapless batter up into its vortex. It still made him chuckle every time he caught a glimpse of it.

He pulled on jeans and a silk shirt, grabbed his Patriots’ sports bag from the table by the door, and headed down to his car.

Today’s visit was going to be his first of the season to the Cardiac Center. Along with the Cancer Center, Nate found it to be the toughest facility in the Children’s Hospital complex to work. While the kids inspired him with their courage, it hit him hard whenever he learned that one of them didn’t make it home from the hospital. Still, if he could continue to bring them even a few minutes of fun, he’d keep doing it forever.

Getting off the elevator, he strode quickly toward the 5 North nurses’ station. The two nurses seated in front of computer monitors looked up when they heard the ping of the elevator bell.

“Nate Carter!” The younger one jumped up from her chair with a star-struck grin on her face. “It seems like such a long time since we had you here.”

He peered at the laminated card hanging from the lanyard around the woman’s neck. From the way she’d greeted him, he knew he must have seen her before. But he met a lot of people, and had never been great on remembering names. Maybe he should have paid a little more attention. This Florence Nightingale’s knockout body sent a little zing to his tired brain, even though its lushness was partly shielded by the baggy-looking, flower print outfit.

Nate believed nurses should still be in crisp, tight white dresses, with funny starched caps pinned into their hair. Like the nurses in old movies.

He leaned against the counter. “Glad to be back. It’s great to see you ladies again, too.”

“I have to ask you a question, though,” he continued in a drawling voice, turning the charm dial up a notch. “Is it true there’s a rule that only beautiful women can get admitted to nursing school?”

The older nurse, still seated, replied without missing a beat. “Sure it’s true. And so is the rule that all ballplayers are full of hot air.”

Nate grimaced dramatically, pretending to stagger back from the counter as he clutched at his chest. As the younger nurse laughed, he gave them a quick wave and strode off down the hall.

The first room on the left was empty, so he glanced toward the one directly across the hall. Glimpsing a little red-haired girl sitting up in bed, half-hidden by the door, he approached and put on his biggest smile.

“Hey, young lady,” he called out, stopping just outside the doorway, “would it be all right if I visited with you for a while?”

For a few seconds the child stared at him wide-eyed and puzzled, as if some fabled, friendly giant had materialized in her doorway. Then, spotting his Patriots ball cap and catching his smile, she broke into a dazzling grin and bobbed her head up and down. Her mop of red curls jiggled.

Grinning back, Nate entered the room. Two steps inside, he stopped short, brushing up against a woman in a white lab coat. She must have been standing at the foot of the bed, fully hidden by the door.

The woman took a small step backward, clearly startled by the brief physical contact. As their eyes met, Nate felt all the air sucked from his lungs in one whoosh.

Sweet Mother of God.

He had to pull in a deep breath. What a babe.

The woman’s brow creased. “I’m Dr. Bell. Can I help you?”

He couldn’t stop his gaze from quickly traveling the full length of her body, from her face to her ankles and all the way back again. Though not nearly as tall as he was, this doctor was one seriously long drink of a woman. Close to six feet, he reckoned. Her unbuttoned lab coat revealed a lean but curvy figure, and long, elegant legs. She had a naturally beautiful face, too, with big, hazel eyes, a full, sexy mouth, and a peaches and cream complexion. Still, he suspected she tended to hide her light under a bushel. She wore no makeup that he could see, and her auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Glasses were perched on the end of her nose, secured by a fine gold chain around her neck. They added to her unadorned, resolutely professional look.

The doctor extended a slender hand. Her fine eyebrows arched as she waited for him to find his voice.

Her outstretched hand finally registered in his brain and jolted him into action. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I was a little surprised for a moment. You were hidden by the door.”

He took her hand and held it a few seconds. It was long and fine-boned, but her firm grip told him it was strong, too. The kind of hand he’d like to have doing surgery on him. In fact, he mused, he wouldn’t mind that hand doing all sorts of things to his body.

He introduced himself. “I’m Nate Carter. I come around whenever I can to visit with the kids.”

She still looked puzzled. It dawned on him that she had absolutely no idea who he was. It didn’t bother him, though. Actually, it felt like a nice change of pace from the constant fan recognition.

“I’m a pitcher with the Patriots,” he said. “You know, baseball.”

Her mouth relaxed into a half-smile. “Oh, I see,” she replied. “You’re one of our celebrity visitors.” Her crisp tone told him she was far from awed by his presence. Looking down at the little girl, she said, “Mr. Carter, this is Morgan McDaniel.”

Morgan shyly put her little hand in his big one.

“Dr. Holly,
I
know who Nate Carter is,” she said in a whispery voice. “He’s the Patriots’ best pitcher.
Everybody
knows that.”

Dr. Bell seemed to hold back a smile as Morgan skewered her. “I don’t think I’ve told you yet how new I am to the city, Morgan,” she said, her serious voice at odds with the amusement in her eyes. “If I’d been here for more than just a few weeks, I’m sure I would have recognized a man as famous as Mr. Carter.”

Nate smothered a chuckle. What a perfect response. She validated what the little girl had said, and made him feel good at the same time.

“That’s why I didn’t recognize you, either,” he said. “I’ve met most of the doctors here over the past few years, and I know I would have remembered if I’d ever seen you before.” He made no attempt to keep the appreciation out of his voice.

“Well, then, I suppose we might run into each other again.” Her smile was hesitant but intriguing. “Since you’re a regular visitor here.”

“You bet,” he said.

As if he didn’t already have enough motivation to keep doing this
.
“Doctor Bell,” he continued, wanting to keep the conversation going, “do you mind my asking where you’re from? I detect a bit of a southern accent.”

She sighed, her expression conveying rueful resignation. “You’re probably hearing the north Florida in my voice. I grew up in Jacksonville. But for the last nine years I’ve been studying and working at the University of Virginia.”

“You’re from Jacksonville? No kidding? I’ve got a condo in Ponte Vedra Beach, and I’m in Jax all the time when I’m down there.” He looked over at Morgan, staring at the adults with big, round eyes, and winked. The little girl giggled.

Nate glanced back at the doctor. “That’s got to be some kind of karma, right?”

Dr. Bell registered his flirtation, and her eyes widened in surprise. A slight blush colored her smooth cheeks. He could feel his smile broaden as she somewhat defiantly returned his look, and it occurred to him that perhaps the good doctor was issuing a challenge.

Well, he’d be more than happy to oblige her. He knew without a shadow of a doubt he was going to find out just what this lovely doctor was all about.

* * *

Holly’s pulse had jumped when she looked up at the imposing man who’d nearly barged into her. In fact, she’d had to stifle a gasp at the sight of him.

She wasn’t used to seeing a man’s chin as high as her eye level. This guy had to be six-five, or maybe even more. And he wasn’t just tall, he was built. Not like the proverbial Mack truck. More like a sleek, expensive sports car. Maybe a Ferrari, she mused, thinking back to her father’s expensive auto collection.

Despite his deep, hooded eyes and dark masculine stubble, she guessed Carter might be a couple of years younger than her. He radiated youthful vitality and off-the-chart testosterone. As soon as he had entered the room, she instantly sensed the power coiled in his long, whipcord body. Instinctively, she had taken a small step backward to preserve her personal space.

It didn’t surprise her that he was an athlete. His hard, agile-looking body fit the part. What
had
surprised her was how the normally shy Morgan had immediately warmed to him, and how he interacted with her in such an easy, gentle way.

Carter was obviously a natural charmer with kids, and she would have bet a month’s salary that his charm would be just as effective on women.

Still, charming was one thing. Steaming hot was something else entirely. Nate Carter put the two together, and it made for a dazzling combination. When he sat down next to Morgan’s bed, Holly had opened her mouth to make her goodbyes. But the words had died in her throat and her feet had remained glued to the floor. She stood silently by for several minutes as the big man and the little girl happily chatted away like best friends.