Between You and Me. Susan Wiggs

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      “They said he needed surgery. I already signed the papers.”

      Hadn’t anyone bothered to explain things to this man? Reese’s irritation returned. “The trauma team stabilized him, and he was taken up to the surgical unit. It’s in a different part of the hospital. If you like, I’ll show you to the waiting area.”

      “Yeah,” he said. “Okay. I’ll wait there for as long as necessary.” As he spoke, she noticed two things about him. He maintained a curious stillness in the way he held himself. And when he looked at her, his gaze was rock steady, never wavering.

      She walked with him to the elevator. People glanced at him and some did a double take, noting his height, his bloodied clothes, the hat of woven straw he held in his large hand. He was wildly out of place here. But then, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to be out of place in an emergency ward.

      She pressed the button for the elevator and a moment later the doors cranked open. She thought he might hesitate before stepping inside, but he didn’t. She pushed the fourth-floor button and the car glided upward.

      At a loss for words, she cast a surreptitious glance at him. He had put his hand against the wall as if to steady himself, and his gaze focused on the lighted buttons. She knew very little about the Amish, but their clothes were distinctive—flat-front trousers, a plain shirt with rolled-back sleeves, suspenders, a brimmed hat, and work boots.

      Reese felt something she didn’t recognize. Surprise, maybe, and a funny warm sense of compassion. He was absolutely striking. He had a face she knew she would never forget, as perfectly made as a sculptor’s masterpiece, with square jaw, high cheekbones, piercing eyes.

      He caught her staring, and she felt a flush rise in her cheeks. “My colleague told me you’re Amish.”

      “That’s right.”

      Amish. What did she know about the Amish? Quilts and bonnets, the Plain people. “Where do you live? Over in Lancaster County?” The area was known for its Amish population. People from the city took weekend trips to poke around the markets and craft shows there, to sample the homemade goods and stay in cozy inns. Reese had never visited. Her spare time was mostly devoted to studying or networking with people her parents thought she should meet. Every once in a blue moon, she found time to go on a date.

      She’d read somewhere that a blue moon occurred twice a year.

      That was about right.

      He shook his head. “Not Lancaster. We live north of here and a little west, in a place called Middle Grove.”

      “So, um, the flight nurse said you came in the helicopter,” she ventured. “Was that your first time to fly?”

      “It was. The Amish have rules against flying in the air,” he said. “I understand that. But I have rules against a little boy bleeding to death.”

      Reese winced at the anguish she heard in his voice. “I’m sure everyone would agree you made the best choice for Jonah.”

      “I’m not sure of that at all,” he said, sending her a dour look.

      The conversation was going brilliantly, thought Reese. Well, she had better things to do than make small talk with this guy. When the elevator whispered to a stop at the fourth floor, she led him past the nursing station and to the waiting lounge, furnished with green sofas, low tables, hopelessly dog-eared magazines and books. A large monitor displayed coded updates of the ongoing procedures.

      “You can have a seat here,” she said. “I’ll let them know at the nursing station that you’re here for Jonah.”

      “Okay. Thanks.” He made no move to sit down.

      “Well,” she said, backing awkwardly away. “I know they will take excellent care of Jonah. The surgeons here are the best in the country.”

      He sent her a curt nod. She couldn’t blame him for being skeptical of such a common platitude. Ask anyone at any hospital, and the likely answer was that this was the best in the country, and the patient was in good hands.

      She hurried to the nursing station. The three nurses present were lined up at the counter, all staring drop-jawed at Caleb Stoltz. Under different circumstances, Reese would have laughed at their transparent lust.

      “That man is—”

      “—grade-A eye candy,” said one of the nurses.

      “Mr. Stoltz,” she said, lowering her voice. “Caleb. He’s the uncle and legal guardian of Jonah Stoltz.”

      One nurse, whose name tag read ALICE, glanced at a monitor. “The boy is in OR seven.” She gave Reese a dismissive glance. Med students were distinguished by their short white coats and afforded no special privileges.

      “So somebody keep him filled in, okay? I found him still waiting around in the ER, lost. Show him how to track his nephew on the big monitor board.”

      “Will do.”

      She turned quickly to head back to the elevator and nearly collided with Caleb Stoltz. He was so close that she caught his scent of sweat and blood and sunshine, and the intensity of it flustered her.

      “Um, the staff here can answer any—”

      “I want to give blood,” he said quietly. “For Jonah, in case he needs it.”

      They had already given him many units in trauma. The attending had declared him stable, but anything could happen in surgery. She glanced at the nurses, each of whom sent her an I’m busy look.

      “I can show you to the blood bank,” she offered.

      “Thank you,” he said. “I’d appreciate that.”

      On the way back to the elevator, she hesitated. “Wait here a moment. I’ll get you some clean clothes to put on.”

      She went to a supply room and found a set of scrubs, size extra large.

      “You can wear these for now,” she said, gesturing toward the men’s room. “Put your clothes in this bag.”

      He hesitated. Then he stared down at the hopelessly soiled shirt and pants. “I reckon I look like I just slaughtered a pig.”

      “I wouldn’t know about that, but you’ll be more comfortable in these.”

      While he was changing, she checked her messages. A reminder about dinner tonight with her parents. Study group at nine—Step Two of the medical licensing exam was right around the corner, a test of her medical knowledge and diagnostic and clinical skills. If the ER stayed quiet, she might be able to grab a quick nap in the on-call room.

      Caleb emerged from the men’s room. In the borrowed scrubs, he looked only slightly less like a fish out of water. She took the plastic bag marked Patient Belongings, which contained his bloodstained clothes. “I’ll have these cleaned for you.” The offer just popped out of her, as if she were his valet. It would be a kindness, though, she told herself. Given what was happening to his nephew, he had more important things to deal with.

      So do you, said an СКАЧАТЬ