With a Little Help (9 page)

As if in answer, the atmosphere shifted and first one, then another of the night staff approached, wanting to know how they could help. “Keep this woman away from me,” he suggested, jerking his head at Grace.

“I was going to ask the same favor,” Grace snapped.

The sparring continued as she led the way past a suite of rooms with Nate's name and a string of letters after it on the door, steering him by his good arm when he made noises about stopping in for a few minutes. “X-ray first, then you can practice your putting in your office.”

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?”

“Oh, sure, I love being back at work in the middle of the night. I hope you realize I wouldn't do this for anyone else.”

He turned to Emma, his expression sobering. “How are you holding up?”

There was little point pretending, when she probably looked as bad as she felt. “I've had better days.”

“You didn't have to stay.”

She didn't want to admit how much she needed to be at his side. “I've come this far, I'll stick it out.”

Grace intervened. “Now you're here, I'd like to get you checked over, too, Emma.”

“What for? Nate caught the force of the trolley. I wasn't even grazed.”

“You took on one of the thugs,” Nate said. “Grace is right. While you're here, it's a sensible precaution.”

Of course he would be sensible. Not because he felt anything for her, but because it was sound medical advice. She suspected she'd have her share of bruises from grappling with the gangster, but they didn't account for the one blooming in the region of her heart. No doubt Nate would have a medical explanation.

What would he diagnose if he suspected the strength of the need gripping her whenever she was close to him? Or prescribe to make the desire go away? She'd never know because he wasn't going to find out.

She wasn't falling in love with a doctor. Or with anyone in the medical profession. Her mother's injunction came back to her,
If you can't be a doctor, you might as well marry one.
What an admission of failure that would be.

 

N
ATE FELT A PANG AS HE HANDED
Emma over to a colleague. She looked so fragile that he almost pulled rank on Grace, and insisted on waiting until Emma had been examined. But Grace was in no mood to humor him, and he did want to find out the full extent of the damage to his wrist.

He hid his concern for Emma in a doctorly assurance. “This won't take long. We'll drive you home as soon as we're done.”

Walking away was harder still. “Who's on duty tonight?” he asked Grace.

“Amy Lester. Pity she's only x-raying your arm.”

Had he missed something? “What?”

She opened the door into a waiting room. “A scan of your heart might show a hairline fracture.”

In the entrance, he froze. “What the devil are you talking about?”

She ushered him through. “Emma's getting to you, isn't she?”

“She's the daughter of a friend. And a spectacular cook.”

“Not to mention walking companion, and special enough to put your career on the line for her.”

No use telling Grace he'd have done the same for anyone. They went back a long way, and she knew how important practicing surgery was to him. Before he undertook any physical activity, he assessed the risk to his hands. So his actions tonight had been a dead giveaway. But he was in no mood to discuss his
feelings, even with a good friend. “Can we get this over with?”

Dr. Lester did a double take when she recognized her patient. She heard Grace's report of the accident, then examined Nate's entire arm and hand while he tried not to grit his teeth.

“No, I don't have any numbness in my hand,” he anticipated her question. “And there's no history of previous injury to hand or wrist. Satisfied?”

She took his sour mood in her stride. “My tentative diagnosis is a grade two sprain with some tearing of the ligaments. The X-ray will tell us more.”

Shortly afterward, he joined her to look at the film clipped to a board. A wet read wasn't always conclusive, but was enough to convince him her diagnosis was accurate. “See, no problems other than the sprain.”

Dr. Lester frowned. “Based on your level of pain, amount of swelling and restriction of movement, I'm concerned about an occult fracture. I'll immobilize the injury with a Velcro splint tonight, then we'll do a repeat X-ray in five days. In the meantime, keep up the ice therapy every few hours for the next day or so.”

She fitted and adjusted the splint. “There. Try and keep the arm elevated, and above all, rest your hand for at least two weeks.”

He had a feeling she knew which treatment he'd find hardest to endure. Resting wasn't his favorite
activity at the best of times. But he of all people knew that if he used the hand too soon, he risked further injury and a longer recovery time.

“I hear you,” he said, lacking the fire to argue. Pain and fatigue were taking a toll. He'd done twelve-hour surgeries without feeling this wrung out. Picturing Emma so close to being crushed by the trolley didn't help, but he couldn't get the image out of his mind.

He found Grace in the waiting room. “While you were with Amy, I used the time to rearrange the surgery schedule, sharing your cases between me and the rest of the team. Did you know you're due over six months of accumulated leave?”

“Don't sound so pleased about it. I always suspected you wanted my job.”

She waved away his complaint. “You can have it back as soon as you're ready. In about four weeks.”

“Two.”

“Three.” She threw up her hands. “Why are we negotiating your recovery? You wouldn't stand for this from a patient.”

“True, I wouldn't.” His capitulation earned him a sharp look.

She took his good arm. “If you're admitting it, you're feeling worse than you look. Emma's been cleared of anything but some nasty bruising. She's waiting in the car.”

“Then let's get the hell out of here.”

 

A
S SHE WATCHED
N
ATE APPROACH
, Emma's heart did a little skip. His arm was splinted and angled in a sling against his chest, and he still looked more attractive than any man she'd ever known. From his conversation with Grace, he was continuing to give her a hard time.

She had opened the car door when his pager beeped. Adroitly, Grace relieved him of it and tucked it into her bag. “I'll take care of this. You're off duty for at least three weeks.”

“I can still work, even if it's patient assessments and paperwork. And I can answer a pager, damn it.”

“So can a lot of other people. You need to take more time off, and this is as good a reason as you're going to get. So start planning how to spend this windfall of time.”

He maneuvered himself into the car and slammed the door. “Fat lot of good it will do me like this.”

From the driver's seat, Grace threw Emma a look of frustration. “Remind this man that there's life outside of medicine.”

He wouldn't believe her anyway, Emma knew from long experience with her own family. His injury wasn't her fault, so why did she feel so responsible? Because she was doing the one thing she had vowed not to do, let herself care about him.

The deserted streets echoed Emma's feelings as Grace headed down Parramatta Road toward
Lewisham. What traffic there was at this hour moved swiftly, the traffic lights favoring the main artery. Emma spoke almost without thought. “Would you like me to stay the night?” His head jerked up. She'd startled him. She'd startled herself, as well. “I mean, should you be alone in the house?”

“My parents are there,” he reminded her.

“At the party, your mother said they're leaving on a cruise tomorrow. Today, I mean.” Dawn was already streaking the sky with crimson.

“And they won't be canceling on my account. You're confusing a sprain with concussion. I don't need a nursemaid.”

Grace spoke quietly. “Emma might be able to help. If you do have a fracture—”

He didn't let her finish. “I'll deal with it when I have to. All I need now are a couple more painkillers and a decent night's rest. Emma isn't a doctor. There's nothing she can do that Joanna can't when she arrives in the morning.”

Emma isn't a doctor. There's nothing she can do.

In a handful of words, he'd dismissed her as thoroughly as her family had done. Except that she had never felt this wounded before. As if everything she was and did counted for nothing.

As if she counted for nothing with him.

“My street is next on the left,” she told Grace, hiding the hurt under a layer of composure. She'd
long ago adjusted to her family's attitude, but Nate's felt a whole lot worse for some reason. The aches from her bruises paled into insignificance.

“Will you be all right?” Grace asked as she pulled up outside Emma's terrace.

“How would I know? I'm not a doctor,” she said, unable to hold back the retort.

The quaver in her voice alerted Nate. “Hell, Emma, I didn't mean anything by that.”

But he'd said it anyway. “It's true, though.” For a brief time, she'd forgotten where she fitted into his life, and let herself start to imagine where he might fit into hers. His dismissal had been the reality check she needed.

Before she could go inside, he joined her outside her building. How had a man with an injured arm managed to undo a seat belt and get out so swiftly? Or else she was moving more slowly than she realized. He reached for her shoulder. “I hurt you.”

His touch burned through her uniform shirt though she managed not to flinch. “Don't be silly.”

“Look at me, Emma.”

Her gaze slid unwillingly upward. “You need to go home and rest.”

“I need to get something straight first. I meant what I said—I don't need another doctor.”

“You made the point very clearly.” She started to turn away, wanting him to go before she revealed too much of her feelings. She jerked her arm free of his
hold and unlocked the door, keying the alarm off. “We should both get some sleep.”

As she closed the door, she heard him say, “This isn't finished by a long shot.”

She let the closed door support her until she heard the car drive away, then walked through the darkened café to the kitchen, the one place where she felt in control. Some control. Her hand shook as she brewed chamomile tea. She couldn't believe how much a thoughtless remark was getting to her, when she'd shrugged off similar comments from her family countless times.

The difference was hearing it from Nate.

“H
OLY CRAP, WHAT HAPPENED
to you?”

When Sophie arrived at ten-thirty, Emma was having breakfast, if a slice of toast and a cup of tea counted. A shower had helped her to wake up, but she'd averted her eyes from the mirror image of her neck and shoulder, black-and-blue from last night's misadventure. Keeping the tale short, she explained how the evening had ended.

“You sure you're okay? I haven't seen bruises that lurid since I pulled a pile of baking pans down on top of me in catering college.”

Emma forced a smile. “Probably felt much the same. I passed the hospital check with flying colors. And speaking of which…”

Sophie's color rose. “I aced the oral exam. Top of the class.”

“I knew you would.” Emma got up and gingerly hugged her friend. “You rock.”

“I do, don't I?” She pulled on her uniform apron. “We only have one booking today, the boardroom lunch. Easy peasy. I have study group at three, but
before that I can scoot over to Nate's place and bring back our gear, or what's left of it.”

“I'll do it.” Realizing she'd spoken a shade too quickly, Emma added, “I called the insurers. They're going to assess the damage before we move anything. But I'd appreciate a ride on your way to class.”

 

L
ETTING
S
OPHIE CALL ON
N
ATE
would have been the smart thing to do, except that Emma wasn't feeling smart. Aches and stiffness hampered her movements, and her head buzzed as she approached his door.

He opened it as soon as she rang the bell. “I thought it might be you.”

No clue as to whether he welcomed her presence or not. Probably not. He'd made his feelings toward her abundantly clear last night. Better to keep this on a businesslike footing. “I made arrangements with the insurance agent to meet him here.”

“Been and gone.” He ushered her in. “He was in the area on another call. Inspected the damage to your van and equipment. Said there should be no problem with your claim, and left a stack of forms for you to fill in.”

This close to Nate, the spacious hallway felt crowded. Her heart pounded in her ears and warmth flooded through her. “Then I don't need to take up your time. I'll take the forms and be on my way.”

“Are you in a hurry?”

To stop feeling so off balance, yes.
“I have things
to do.” If she hadn't known better, she would have said he looked lonely. He was unaccustomed to having time on his hands, and a visit must be a welcome diversion. This had nothing to do with her as a person. “If there's anything you need, I could…”

 

N
ATE COULDN'T STAND
this much longer. The only need he had right now was for her. When he'd finally gotten to sleep, he tossed and turned as he imagined the trolley crushing her against the wall. She was so damned delicate, she'd have sustained broken ribs, possibly punctured a lung. None of that had happened, but he'd woken in a cold sweat. If he hadn't involved her in his life, which included Luke and his problems, she wouldn't be hurt.

If there was one thing Nate detested, it was feeling helpless, and he was feeling it in spades. The contusion darkening the side of her neck and disappearing under her shirt made him ache to mend the damage marring her lovely skin.

At the same time he wanted to banish the anxiety clouding her green eyes, fix her kitchen, do whatever it took to make things right in her world.

Knowing he couldn't gnawed at him, bringing up memories he'd buried long ago. Thoughts of a baby sister turned waxen in her cradle, Nate's mother panic-stricken as she tried to locate his father, who'd been out on a call. The tempest of emotions that Nate
couldn't fathom or fix after his father rushed home to find the baby beyond help.

None of that had anything to do with Emma, except the helpless part. Something he'd vowed never to let himself experience again. Reaching the highest levels of his profession in record time had helped him keep that promise to himself.

Yet here was Emma, unwittingly dredging up his worst fears. Making his thoughts go places he'd walled off, into rooms in his mind he'd never meant to revisit. Strain made his voice harsh. “Joanna went shopping for whatever the household needs.”

The sudden tightening around her eyes made him curse himself. Why was it every time he opened his mouth he said the wrong thing? He could manage a team of surgeons and a huge patient workload without spreading this much discord.

“Well, if you have everything you need, I'll take those forms and call a cab.”

“No.”

Her gaze turned liquid, as if she were barely holding herself in check. “What?”

“No, I don't have everything I need.”

“But you just said Joanna…”

“What I need now, Joanna can't provide.”

Emma combed her hair with her fingers, tousling it and making him think of bed. “Nate, I'm not up to guessing games today.”

He stepped closer. The carotid pulse at her neck
fluttered. Gently he lifted two fingers of his undamaged hand and positioned them between her larynx and the muscle bordering her cricoid cartilage. Instantly his fingertips detected the increased rhythm that spoke of excitement. Or anxiety. He was betting on the former.

Her eyes went round as saucers. “What are you doing?”

“Checking my effect on you.”

“You don't have an effect.”
None she would admit to.

He took her hand. “Warm and trembling lightly. Definitely affected.”

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “This is totally unfair.”

“No doubt.” He didn't move, but felt his own pulse gather speed as he saw her pupils dilate. “In the Middle Ages, a physician would take your pulse at the same time as listing the names of the eligible men in your village. When a certain name made your pulse quicken, he'd make a diagnosis of lovesickness.”

“We've come a long way since the Middle Ages.”

“Only technically. The body itself is still the best indicator of many conditions.”

“Look, whatever you think you're diagnosing, it's the fault of a scary experience last night, and too little sleep since then.” Was she protesting too much? “I only came to see how you are, because I…”
Did she care about him?
“…I owe you for saving me from
injury. I know I'm not a doctor, but there must be some way I can help.”

“That stupid comment really got under your skin, didn't it?” He didn't wait for an answer. “It wasn't meant to push any buttons.”

“You didn't push any. Well, yeah, you did. But I overreacted, too. Hell of a night we had.”

“You want some coffee? I have real chamomile if you prefer.”

Emma was confused. What exactly had just happened here? A second ago, she would have sworn he was getting ready to kiss her. Now he was offering tea? “I'd like some chamomile,” she heard herself say and could have bitten her tongue off. She should be getting out of here as fast as she could organize a cab.

He led the way into the kitchen, which someone, presumably Joanna, had restored to perfect order. “Your stuff is packed in those containers,” he said, pointing as he moved to the coffee machine.

“Can you manage with your hand?” she asked.

“This machine is mostly automatic. Shame it can't perform surgery.”

He tipped beans into the grinder and got it going using his left hand. Then he brought out a package of fresh chamomile leaves. “I'll need your help with this.”

“You have good taste in tea.” What did it mean for him to buy one of the most expensive brands
specially for her? She spooned leaves into the filter of the one-person pot he handed her. If her pulse was as betraying as he'd suggested, this would calm her down. She added boiling water. “This has to brew for a few minutes,” she said, and went in search of a teacup.

He was in the way. When she sidestepped, he was still in the way. This was a large kitchen, for goodness sake. Why were they doing this silly dance? So he could corner her against a cupboard, she realized with a rush of panic. The kiss she'd thought was coming in the hallway had simply been deferred. She still wasn't ready. Would never be ready with him. That her damned pulse had reached a record high was pure coincidence.

Anxiety raced through her. He'd as much as told her she didn't belong in his world. Why would he want to kiss her then?

“You're thinking again,” he murmured.

“I don't know how to stop.”

“Then it's up to me to treat the condition.”

If this was his standard treatment, heaven help his patients, she thought as his mouth closed over hers. Then his prescription took effect and she wasn't thinking at all, only feeling. Getting close wasn't easy with the splint and sling hampering his movements, but he compensated by easing her over to his good side, his arm slipping around her until she was cradled against his shoulder.

Heat ripped through her and her pulse hammered. She didn't care if he felt it or not. The beat was keeping time with her heart, just as his mouth was matching the rhythm of her lips, exploring and tasting in a way she'd never known before.

The kitchen tilted, the gleaming surfaces throwing back multiple images of her against his chest. Her hand had fluttered up to his shoulder, whether to fend him off or press him closer, she didn't know. She let her palm rest against him, feeling the hardness, the unsteadiness, the desire. She rocked him as much as he rocked her, came the dazed awareness. What was that all about?

One thing was certain—he'd done away with conscious thought. As she opened her mouth to let him explore more deeply, she was all feeling, all sensation, all wanting.

“Nate,” she whispered against his mouth. Then she opened the eyes she hadn't been aware of closing, and saw his face. He looked out of sorts, as if kissing her hadn't worked the way he'd wanted. She pulled her head back, refusing to ask what was wrong.

 

N
ATE SAW THE HURT FLARING
in her eyes as he made himself release her and step away. He'd gone further than he'd consciously intended. What about unconsciously? Was there a part of him that wanted this in spite of having no time or energy for the kind of relationship Emma was entitled to expect?

Never mind that his thoughts were consumed by the notion of dragging her out of this damned kitchen and into his bedroom, where he could finish what they'd started. The need sang like a fire in his blood. But he was in no shape for this, and even if he had been, she was the wrong woman.

That she'd felt right in his arms couldn't be allowed to blind him to reality. She probably wouldn't last as long in his world as his mother had in his father's. It would be a complete disaster. He couldn't do that to her or himself. He should be grateful the splint was keeping him from making a mistake they'd both regret.

“I'll get those insurance papers.”

“Yes, you should.” She sounded out of breath. And out of sorts.

He couldn't leave things like this. “Emma, I stopped for a good reason.”

“I know, because I don't belong in your world.”

“That isn't it. I mean it is, but it isn't why I stopped.” Lord, he was articulate enough at the hospital. Why were words deserting him now? “I don't want to hurt you.”

She retrieved her cup and cradled it in both hands, as if welcoming the warmth. “You think I can't enjoy a kiss without reading too much into it?”

He was making things worse, but was in too deep to stop. “When I was a kid, something happened.”

“Your mother left your father. If you're trying
to tell me it made you gun-shy, I did the research, remember?”

He wasn't happy to be reminded. “Everything isn't in the research. My parents had a baby after me.”

Surprise flickered in her eyes. “I thought you were an only child.”

He resisted the urge to pace and started to cross his arms until the sling got in the way. “I grew up as one because my sister, Annelie, died two weeks after birth. The finding was crib death.”

Emma's hand lifted as if to touch him, then dropped again. “Nate, I'm so sorry.”

Unable to stand this close without touching her himself, he moved to the coffee machine and added a dash of cream to his cup, but let it sit. “My mother struggled with the hours my dad put in. He was—still is—the only doctor in a rural community of five thousand people and was on call at all hours. The night Annelie died, he was delivering someone else's baby and couldn't be reached. By the time we got a message to him, it was too late.”

“What about an ambulance? The police?”

“Both were out on calls. They came as soon as they could, but there was nothing anyone could do. My mother believed if Dad had come home sooner, he'd have made a difference.”

Steam from her cup drifted across Emma's face like a cloud. “What do you believe?”

“It was probably too late by the time my mother
found Annelie. We'll never know for sure. It was the beginning of the end of my parents' marriage.”

“What about you?”

The softly voiced question made him lift his head. All he saw in Emma's face was concern for him. More than he wanted to see. But he needed to make her understand why they could never be good together, no matter how strong the temptation.

“I've never felt so helpless as I did the night my sister died.” Even now, he could recall his sense of desperation, the wish to do something, anything to help. To bring his baby sister back to life, and take away the agony on his mother's face. He'd died a little himself that day, and only felt as if he truly mattered when he was in the operating room.

“So you became a doctor.” It wasn't a question.

Settling his back against the counter, he picked up the cup and drank thoughtfully. “If such a thing happened again, I wanted to be sure there was something I could do.”