No Regrets. JoAnn Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ Molly helped Reece remove the sequined dress, he stared in momentary puzzlement at the flat brown nipples. As comprehension crashed down on him he lifted the sheet he and Molly were pulling up over the patient’s chest and viewed the penis nestled in the curly dark hair.

      He’d learned in medical school never to make assumptions, and he assured himself that the only reason he hadn’t realized he was treating a man was because he’d already been working for twenty-four hours. Now, as he managed to keep a straight face and examine the patient’s breathing, Reece reminded himself again why he was hooked on the ER.

      He enjoyed the action, the constant surprises. There was nothing worse, he reminded himself as he referred the patient to neurology for a CAT scan, than being bored. Fortunately, that damn sure wasn’t going to happen tonight.

      The driver of the car that had struck the cross-dressing dancer was still pacing the waiting room when Molly came to assure him that the patient was going to survive with a minimum of injuries.

      “Thank God.” He took both her hands in his. “I’ve been so worried.”

      “I can certainly understand that.” Molly smiled her professional caretaker’s smile. “But you can go home now and sleep easy.”

      “Sleep.” He thrust his hands through his hair. He was a good-looking man in his mid-thirties. “Lord, I doubt if I’ll sleep for a week, after this.”

      “If you’d like, I can ask the physician on duty to prescribe a sleeping pill for you. Just for tonight.”

      “No.” He shook his head. “I’ll be all right.” He took another deep breath. “I want to thank you, Nurse…” He glanced down at her name tag, which, due to security measures lobbied for by the female employees of the hospital, had only her first name along with the alphabet soup of initials representing her numerous professional credentials.

      He tilted his head and studied her. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look much like a Margaret.”

      “My friends call me Molly.”

      “Molly.” He considered that a moment. “That’s much better. Do you have a last name?”

      “McBride.”

      “Ah.” He nodded. “I can see the emerald isle in your face, Molly McBride. My mother, Mary Keegan, was black Irish. I should have recognized those lovely blue eyes and dark hair right away.”

      “You had other things on your mind.”

      “True. But the day I fail to notice a beautiful woman is the day I need to reassess my priorities. My name is Patrick Nelson.”

      The conversation was getting more than a little sticky. Molly pulled her hand out of his grasp. “Well, it’s a very busy night, Mr. Nelson, and I’d better get back to work—”

      “Would you have a drink with me when you get off shift, Molly?”

      “I’m sorry, but—”

      “A cup of coffee, then. Or a glass of eggnog. It’s Christmas,” he reminded her. “I transferred down here from San Francisco last month and don’t know many people. I’ll also admit to being so desperate for company that I’m throwing myself on your mercy.”

      Patrick Nelson seemed sincere. And nice. Which left Molly feeling a bit like the Grinch about to steal his Christmas. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

      “If you’re involved with someone, that’s all right. I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t find you very attractive, Nurse Molly, but if you just want to share some friendly, platonic conversation, that’d be great, too.”

      From the flirtatious, masculine gleam in his eyes, she suspected he was looking for more than mere conversation. “Mr. Nelson—”

      “Patrick,” he reminded her.

      “Patrick.” She decided the best way to handle this was to just go straight to the point. “I’m a nun.”

      “A nun?” His gaze swept over her, from the top of her unruly dark hair down to her shoes, stained with blood spatters. “Jesus—I mean, jeez,” he corrected quickly, “talk about a waste.”

      This was not the first time Molly had heard that statement. She understood that much of the world found women who’d chosen to sacrifice worldly pleasures mysterious. What she’d never figured out was why so many men seemed to take a woman’s decision to live a celibate life personally.

      “I’m afraid we’re in disagreement about that, Mr. Nelson.” She patted his arm. “Have a happy holiday.”

      Two hours later, the shift had finally come to an end. After assuring Reece that she’d be at their house for Christmas dinner, Molly retrieved her coat from the nurses’ locker room and left the building.

      Unlike the previous night, the street was quiet and empty in the midnight hour. A huge white galleon of a moon soared high in the sky, illuminating the men wrapped in sleeping bags, blankets or newspapers, sleeping in doorways, all their worldly possessions piled into purloined shopping carts.

      Molly stopped in front of the crèche. As she’d feared, the towels intended to represent the baby Jesus had been stolen. One of the lambs and an angel were also missing and someone had painted gang signs on Joseph in seasonal red and green paint. A lingering scent of spray enamel blended with the aroma of garbage from the overstuffed Dumpsters and diesel fuel from the trucks that roared by overhead on the freeway.

      As she continued walking to the bus stop, Molly thought it sad that those truckers were having to work on Christmas, the one day of the year they should be home with their families.

      Families. As content as she was with her life, there were times Molly found herself wondering what would have happened if things had been different? If the police could have convinced her father to surrender, that long-ago Christmas Eve? Or if Tessa hadn’t been taken away from them and adopted by some unknown family. Not a day went by that Molly didn’t think about—and pray for—her missing sister.

      She was standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change so she could cross the deserted street, when she became aware of someone coming up behind her.

      She reached into her coat pocket, intending to give the poor beggar her usual referral to the mission, when a gloved hand came over her mouth and she was dragged backward, toward the alley.

      She fought the man, flailing out with her arms, digging her heels into the sidewalk, trying to slow him down long enough to allow someone to come to her rescue. But he was strong. And so determined.

      Her breath was trapped in her lungs, blood drummed deafeningly in her ears. Molly tried going limp, but all that did was earn a vicious curse and cause her hips to hit the pavement with a painful thump.

      Her assailant tossed her onto a pile of boxes as if she were a rag doll.

      Molly lay on her back, the man standing over her. She couldn’t see his face because of his garish black-and-purple ski mask. His clothes—camouflage printed shirt and pants topped by a faded army denim jacket—were ragged and filthy. His hair was long and stringy and unkempt.

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