The Nurse's Brooding Boss (6 page)

“No.” Brock sank into a chair, his shoulders slumping
in defeat. “I spent my entire day off yesterday looking for him, but no luck. I ended up hiring a private investigator to find him.”

Wow. It seemed he’d been busy. And concerned. No wonder he’d looked so exhausted earlier. As much as she wanted to avoid him, she realized she couldn’t walk away. Hesitantly she took a seat across from him. “You can’t force him to be a father.”

“I know. But it’s not fair for Lacey and Tucker to suffer either.”

He was right. She couldn’t argue that one.

“Lacey keeps telling me that Tucker is better, that he’s not crying as much, but I think she’s fooling herself,” Brock continued. “He really is colicky; the poor kid cried for nearly an hour straight before he finally fell asleep in his swing.” He raised his resigned gaze to hers. “I’m worried about her.”

“Lacey isn’t going to end up like Ariel,” she said softly. “We won’t let her.”

“We?” Brock arched a brow. “You’ve done more than enough, Elana. Lacey and Tucker are not your problem, they’re mine.”

“She was my patient in the clinic,” she reminded him. She didn’t add how much Lacey reminded Elana of herself at that age. Chloe had saved her, but who was going to save Lacey? Elana wasn’t sure Brock even understood what the poor girl needed. His trying to hire a nanny was proof of that.

No, she refused to abandon Lacey.

“Lacey trusts me. I’d like to help.”

“You already have been a huge help to her,” Brock agreed. “I owe you for that. I guess I can understand why Lacey finds it easier to talk to you than to me.”

“I don’t mind.”

There was a moment of companionable silence. The animosity she normally felt toward Brock seemed to have vanished. She was amazed at how easy it was to discuss Lacey’s issues.

Much easier than discussing her own thoughts and feelings, that was for sure.

“I guess I should get going,” she murmured, feeling a little like the traitor who’d consorted with the enemy. She rose to her feet and headed for the door.

“Elana?” Brock’s voice stopped her.

“Yes?” She turned back towards him.

“Thank you. I know I don’t deserve your kindness, but I want you to know how much I appreciate your help.”

She shrugged, shaken by his sincere gratitude. He seemed so different from the man she’d hated for all those years after Felicity’s death.

“If I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?” she asked.

His eyes widened in surprise. “Of course,” he said gruffly.

She gathered her courage. “There were rumors about you speeding that night,” she said in a rush before she could change her mind. “That your father, the cop, covered for you so you wouldn’t go to jail.”

She didn’t have to explain what night she was talking about: he knew. “I wasn’t. I swear to you, Elana,
I wasn’t speeding. If you knew my father, you’d understand the last thing he’d ever do is cover up for me.”

She hesitated, wishing she could believe him. “No matter how difficult your relationship with your father, I’m sure he wouldn’t be so cold as to put you in jail.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “Don’t bet on it. Elana, do you know why I had to move back home to Milwaukee?” When she shook her head, he continued. “Because my father lashed out at Joel after he got Lacey pregnant. Our old man basically threw him out onto the street with nothing but the clothes on his back. Joel called me in a panic because the cheapest apartment he could afford didn’t allow kids. I came home because my father refused to give him a dime.”

Elana didn’t know what to say. The stark statement rang true.

“I wasn’t speeding, Elana. But I also know that there’s nothing I can say to make up for what happened. You have no idea how much that night has haunted me.”

Yes, she did. Because that night haunted her too.

“I tried to save her. I had a broken clavicle—the bone was poking right out of the skin—but I still did CPR at the scene until help arrived. The image of your sister’s face will be ingrained in my mind for the rest of my life.”

Tears burned in her eyes, her throat clogged with regret. She’d loved her sister. Yet it was just as clear that Brock hadn’t escaped unscathed. He looked at her expectantly, but she couldn’t say the words he wanted to hear.

I forgive you.

Blindly she turned away, but Brock was there, grasping her hand to stop her.

“Don’t cry, Elana,” he said in a low, husky voice. “Please don’t cry.”

When he reached up to wipe her tears away, her breath caught in her throat. The brush of his fingers against her skin was like an electrical shock, sending a tingling wave of awareness dancing down her spine.

He was close. Too close. The male scent of him, a hint of aftershave mixed with honest sweat, enveloped her. For long moments they stared deeply into each other’s eyes, as if held by an invisible string that was slowly tightening, drawing them together.

She was shocked by the abrupt desire to throw herself into his arms, seeking comfort.

“I have to go,” she said in a strangled whisper, breaking out of his grasp. As she hurried away, she could feel his intense gaze boring into her back.

And it took every ounce of willpower to keep on walking.

B
ROCK
took several deep breaths, realizing he’d nearly crossed the line with Elana, big-time. He’d wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms. Would have offered her comfort and anything else she’d needed.

Shaky, as if he’d shot-gunned a six-pack of the highest octane energy drink, he scrubbed his hands over his face. The enticing vanilla scent of her lingered in the air, messing with his head.

It was crazy. Completely insane. But there was no point in lying to himself.

He wanted more than her forgiveness.

He wanted her.

Even knowing how much she hated him, would do anything to avoid being with him, he still wanted her.

Pathetic. Self-destructive. Hopeless. He shook his head at his own foolishness.

All this time she’d thought he was speeding the night her sister had pulled out in front of him. No wonder she’d been so upset. He clearly remembered the insults she’d screamed at him when he’d shown up at Felicity’s
funeral. Now he understood a little better why she’d been so angry.

He’d told Elana the truth. He hadn’t been speeding. But he had no way of knowing if she believed him or not.

And even if she did, what did it matter? The end result was the same. She wouldn’t forgive him. Hell, he didn’t forgive himself.

He’d thrown himself into his work, sacrificing his personal life to save others. Trying to make up for losing Felicity.

So why was he longing for a relationship now? With the one woman he could never have? He needed to stay away from Elana, now more than ever. For one thing, he wasn’t sure he could trust himself around her: his body didn’t listen to logic. And there was always the extremely remote possibility that if she ever did want more from him, he’d succumb. He’d never deny her.

Which would be bad since his track record with women sucked. He’d indulged in the occasional one-night stand, hating himself afterwards. Elana deserved someone better. Someone who could offer her a life. A future. He needed to get the turmoil of wanting Elana out of his head, and fast.

Before he managed to hurt her all over again.

The next morning, Brock dragged himself out of bed early because Tucker was crying louder and longer than usual.

Yeah, the kid had colic, but even after a few days with his nephew, Brock could tell the difference between his colicky cry and this sharper, desperate one.

Bleary-eyed, he shuffled into the kitchen, searching for coffee. Lacey jumped when he walked in, spilling her cup of tea. As she hurried to wipe up the mess, he squelched the urge to apologize for walking through his own house, trying to smile at her reassuringly. “Hey, Lacey. Seems like Tucker’s having a rough morning.”

The baby was propped in his infant seat on top of the kitchen table. Her face immediately crumpled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” she wailed brokenly. “I carried him around for an hour, tried feeding him and changing him. I just don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re a great mom, honest. This isn’t your fault. Here, I’ll take a look at him, okay?” He made a rash promise, forgoing the need for coffee as he unhooked Tucker from his seat and lifted him in his arms. “We can always take him back to the clinic too if needed.”

“Okay.” Her puffy, reddened eyes filled with hope. Not good, since he was hardly a miracle worker: there was no magic touch to make the baby stop crying.

Tucker didn’t quiet down for him either, the wailing much louder with the baby on his shoulder, close to his ear. Tucker felt warm, his nose and throat far more congested than they’d been a few days ago. Carrying Tucker into his bedroom, Brock fished out his stethoscope, wishing he owned a pediatric ophthalmoscope.

Setting Tucker on his bed, he did his best to examine him with the limited equipment he had. He’d bet Tucker’s ears were red and inflamed, but he couldn’t
prove it since he didn’t have a pediatric scope. The baby’s lungs definitely sounded a bit congested too.

He doubted Lacey had given Tucker any over-the-counter medication but Brock thought the baby could benefit from getting a decongestant into his system. Tucker also seemed to be a bit dehydrated.

“We need to take him back to the clinic,” he told Lacey, bringing Tucker back into the kitchen. “He might have an ear infection, and, if so, he’ll need a course of antibiotics.”

“All right.” She reached up for the baby, the sleeve of her right arm sliding up a bit to reveal two thin cuts on her forearm, somewhat scabbed over but still looking fairly recent.

He froze.

Should he call Elana? He wanted to. He felt out of his depth with Lacey’s cutting behavior. Yet was this bad enough to bother Elana with on a Saturday? After all, Lacey’s cuts weren’t bleeding or anything. At least not the ones he’d caught a glimpse of. He’d almost pulled out his phone before he realized he didn’t have Elana’s number. He’d have to call the ED to get it.

Tempted, he hesitated. He forced himself to think rationally. Did he want to call Elana for Lacey’s sake? Or for his own?

To make himself feel better. Disturbed, he stuck the phone back in his pocket and handed Lacey the baby. He fetched his wallet and car keys as Lacey put Tucker into his infant carrier.

He could handle this crisis without Elana’s help. He
drove to the New Beginnings Clinic, telling himself that leaving Elana out of his problems was the right thing to do. He could always mention the cuts on Lacey’s arm the next time he saw her at work.

The clinic was packed, and he did his best to wait patiently in line until it was their turn, even though he wanted to march in there, demanding Tucker be seen next.

“Lacey and Tucker?” the petite receptionist called out. “You’re next. Follow me.”

Surprised that they were taken so quickly, although it was possible the receptionist behind the desk couldn’t take Tucker’s crying any more than he could, he gratefully followed Lacey and the baby into the tiny exam room.

A nurse turned to face them when they came in.

His jaw dropped to his chest in surprise when he saw Elana.

“Lacey!” Elana looked just as surprised to see them. Her gaze skittered over him and landed on Lacey and Tucker. She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Tucker’s crying again, but it’s different this time, Elana.” Lacey shocked him by speaking up for herself. “Honest, it’s not the same colicky cry as before.”

Brock felt the need to stick up for Lacey. “She’s right, you can definitely tell the difference.”

“I believe you, Lacey,” Elana assured her, barely glancing at him.

“I examined him at home, but I didn’t have a pediatric ophthalmoscope,” Brock explained. “So I couldn’t
look at his ears. The way he’s acting, though, I’m betting he has bilateral ear infections.”

This time, she didn’t ignore him. “Thanks, Brock. I’ll take a quick look, and then I’ll get Dr Liz in here right away.”

Feeling unusually useless—normally he was the one in charge within a medical situation—he stepped back and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Elana was focused on Tucker, using the pediatric ophthalmoscope to peer into his ears. With her silky dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, he found it difficult to tear his gaze away from the graceful curve of her neck.

“Brock’s right,” Elana murmured a few minutes later. “Hold on to Tucker, Lacey, while I get Dr Liz.”

Dr Liz Jacoby was a statuesque woman who took charge the minute she entered the room. Impressed with her gentle, yet no-nonsense manner, he was pleased when she quickly concurred with his diagnosis.

“This little guy needs a full course of antibiotics,” she announced. “Good thing you brought him in when you did.”

“Maybe I should have taken him straight to Trinity Medical Center’s ED, where I work. I’m Dr Brock Madison,” he introduced himself belatedly.

“Personally, I’m glad you came here.” Liz’s wide gaze sharpened on him. “You’re the new guy, aren’t you? Recruited from Minneapolis? I’ve heard you’re a good addition to the emergency department team.” Liz Jacoby flashed a brilliantly white smile. “So what do you
think of my little clinic, hmm? If you’re interested, we’re always looking for new doctors to volunteer their time.”

There was a loud crash as Elana dropped a tray of instruments she’d been carrying to the sink. He couldn’t help but notice the flash of horror on her face. Obviously, Elana didn’t want him anywhere near the clinic.

“I’ll think about it,” he hedged, unwilling to flat-out refuse when he knew that clinics like this depended on volunteers to stay afloat. “At the moment, I’m pretty busy helping Lacey and Tucker.”

Liz frowned, casting a quick glance at Elana, who had knelt to pick up the instruments from the floor. “I understand, but it’s an open invitation if anything changes. Even one or two shifts a month would help.”

“Sure thing,” he said, unable to refuse.

Elana took the tray to the sink, her back stiff, radiating disapproval.

Liz handed him the prescription for Tucker’s antibiotics.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

They were making their way out of the exam room when Raine rushed in.

“Thanks for covering for me, Elana. See, I told you I’d be here in plenty of time for you to go visit your mom at the nursing home.”

Visit her mother? Brock ushered Lacey and Tucker toward the lobby, stealing a quick glance back at Elana. He wished he had the time to reassure her he wouldn’t volunteer at the New Beginnings Clinic if she didn’t want
him to. But she was busy talking to Raine, and Tucker needed his medicine sooner rather than later, so he left.

He wondered if Elana’s mother was still in the same nursing home as she had been eight and a half years ago. Chances were good she was.

When Lacey mentioned she needed more soy-based formula, Brock headed to the nearest pharmacy instead of going to the hospital for cheaper antibiotics. As they waited for the script to be filled, he decided it would be best to stock up on some needed supplies. Rehydration solutions to help keep Tucker hydrated, lung decongestant medicine, a case of soy-based formula, a pack of diapers and, last but not least, the antibiotics.

Eighty-three dollars and ninety-six cents later, he grimly acknowledged that caring for an infant was far more expensive than he’d ever realized, and the antibiotics were the cheapest item in the cart.

No wonder Joel had felt overwhelmed.

The New Beginnings Clinic offering free medical care was only a drop in the bucket of what a new mother needed to provide for a baby.

He wished he could help at the clinic. But he wouldn’t risk causing Elana any more distress. Surely there was some other way he could donate his time. Some cause that would still benefit people like Lacey and Tucker.

Brock dropped Lacey and Tucker off at home, making sure they had everything they needed. He reinforced with Lacey that the liquid antibiotic needed to be kept in the refrigerator between doses.

Glancing at his watch, he decided he had a couple of hours before he needed to get to the hospital for his shift. Before he fully realized his intent, he found himself heading for the Cottage Grove Nursing Home.

He’d hang around outside until Elana finished visiting with her mother. Surely she’d feel better once he’d convinced her he had no intention of encroaching on her work at the clinic.

No matter how much it pained him, he’d promise to stay out of her way from this point forward.

Elana bypassed her usual stop at the nurses’ station for an update though her mother’s condition rarely changed. Outside her mother’s room, she took a deep breath and pasted a cheery smile on her face to buoy her spirits before walking in.

The aides had gotten her mother up out of bed and seated in her rocking chair by the window. They’d also taken pains to dress her up in her favorite bright pink housecoat in honor of Elana’s visit.

“Hi, Mom, it’s so good to see you.” Elana crossed over to give her mother a hug and kiss before taking a seat beside her. She took her mother’s hand in hers and captured her mother’s gaze. “How have you been? Are they still taking good care of you here?”

Her mother held her gaze and tightened her grip twice in their communication code. One squeeze meant no but two squeezes meant yes. Her mother’s emotional status had been extremely fragile: her first nervous breakdown had occurred right after their father had
taken off. After Felicity’s death, her mother had retreated further, hiding from everything painful in a world of silence.

The doctors had been wonderful; they’d made a little progress over the years, getting her mother to make eye contact and respond to verbal commands, but the process seemed to go so slowly.

She longed to hear her mother’s voice.

“I’m glad things are going good, Mom.” She forced herself to sound cheerful. “You know, I think it’s time to get you some new pictures. These prints have been up for almost three months now. Well past time for a change in scenery.”

Her mother glanced at the splashy, colorful prints Elana had put up on the wall, but then turned away. Her mother’s fingers tightened around hers once. No.

“Come on, Mom. You love art, remember?” Elana imagined her mother was feeling as if she shouldn’t bother, but, in reality, buying new pictures for her mother made Elana feel as if she were doing something, even if it was something as simple as buying new prints. The medical staff had used art therapy to encourage her mother to stay connected to the world. So far, her mother had made several watercolor paintings, so she liked to think the new therapy was working.

Her mother looked away, and Elana wished she knew what was going on in her mother’s mind. Carrying on yes-and-no conversations were heart-wrenchingly difficult.

“Don’t you think new pictures would be a nice change?”

After what seemed like forever, her mother squeezed her hand twice. Yes. Elana relaxed, hoping this was a sign of more progress.

She went through her usual conversation tidbits, telling her mother about her work at the clinic and some of her patients, keeping the stories as upbeat as possible. Her mother answered the occasional question with yes or no hand squeezes.