Falling For The Sheik. Carol Grace

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СКАЧАТЬ the lobby she noted a few patients in wheelchairs who glanced at her with curiosity and a lady in a hospital gown demanding something from the receptionist. The familiar smell of disinfectant was in the air causing her to feel apprehensive. Amanda had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. While she had never considered escaping from caregiving, from doctors and nurses, or from the gossip and the back biting in a hospital, she had thought she could possibly escape from her own fears and her own mistakes. She’d needed a change, but maybe this was not the place for the change. She had to get away from Chicago, but maybe she’d come too far. Or not far enough. She tried to imagine working here, but she couldn’t.

      Instead of joining the hospital staff, maybe this sheik business was the way to go. It was a short-term job, no breach of contract if this wasn’t the right place for her. No obligations. The more she thought of it, the better it sounded.

      Amanda told the receptionist whose name tag said Carrie who she was.

      “You’re the nurse from Chicago,” Carrie said with a friendly smile. “How do you like it here?”

      “It’s…it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen the Sierras before.”

      “People call it paradise,” she said modestly. “You gonna take the job with the sheik?”

      “I don’t know.”

      “He’s a handful. Cute, though. He doesn’t like being laid up, I can tell you. No patience. None whatsoever.” Carrie turned to the nurse’s aide who stopped to say hello and be introduced to the new nurse. “Am I right, Amy? The sheik in 34C. Isn’t he something else? Phone calls, visitors, flowers, people coming and going. But nothing seems to cheer him up. He’s got everything money can buy, but that’s not what he wants. He wants to walk out of here and he wants to leave today. Determined, wouldn’t you say, Amy?”

      Amy agreed wholeheartedly. Amanda had had all kinds of patients, passive and easygoing, rich or indigent, willful, determined and obstinate. Some had visitors, some got flowers. Some were ignored. Those were the sad cases. It seemed to her the determined, stubborn types got well the fastest. It wasn’t based on anything scientific, it was just her observation. Someday she’d do a study on personality types and healing.

      “You won’t believe this guy,” Carrie continued enthusiastically. “I don’t think I’ve seen him smile once. ’Course maybe I wouldn’t be smiling, either, with a tube between my ribs and a broken ankle. I felt so sorry for him I let him talk me into driving into town to get him the San Francisco newspaper and a pizza after I finished my shift. Says he can’t stand hospital food. I asked him, Well, who can? So he shrugs and says then buy enough for the whole floor. So I did after I checked with Dietary to see if it was okay. What could I say when he looked at me with those big brown eyes? Oh, he’s irresistible, if you like the long-suffering, rich, handsome type who use their charm to get their own way.” She giggled and waved her hand toward the hallway to her right. “Room 34C. Right down the hall.”

      The more Amanda heard about the sheik the more she was sure he was just the type she’d have no trouble resisting at all. The type who used his money and influence to get more attention from an overworked staff. Not that Carrie seemed to mind, still…

      Room 34C was almost dark. Only a small amount of late-afternoon sun filtered through the slanted blinds. A small table lamp glowed softly. Amanda didn’t expect anyone stuck in the hospital with multiple injuries to radiate happiness, but she didn’t expect such sadness. The somber expression on the face of the man in the bed and the sorrow in his deep dark eyes gave no hint of the man she’d heard about—the man possessed with only one thought, to get out of there or the extravagant rich guy who’d sent out for pizza for the whole floor.

      She stood there in the doorway of his private room for a long moment studying him before he noticed her. He had a bandage around his forehead that contrasted with his dark hair. One large bandaged foot was propped up at the end of his bed. There were no visitors, no blaring TV as from the other rooms, no music, nothing. He was sitting up in bed staring straight ahead, lost in thought or perhaps semiconscious or in pain. Where were the visitors, the family, the friends?

      At last he turned his head and saw her. He stared at her for at least as long as she’d stared at him. Steadily, unblinking. She wasn’t prepared for this. She was there to evaluate him, but she had the feeling he’d turned the tables on her. She balled her hands into fists. Her fingers were icy. What was he thinking? What was going on behind that bandaged forehead, what emotion lurked in the depths of those eyes?

      She ought to say something. Introduce herself. Ask how he was. But she couldn’t speak. Her lips wouldn’t move, her throat was clogged. She told herself he was just a patient like every other patient she’d seen before. If she took him on he’d be just another patient to assess, evaluate, change bandages, check blood pressure, breathing, etc., etc. But standing there locked in this endless, wordless gaze with him, she knew deep down he was not like any other patient she’d ever had.

      He was the one who finally broke the silence.

      “Who are you?” he asked. His voice was deep and uneven. In the silence of the room it reverberated and struck a chord in her soul. His eyes narrowed. Before she could answer, he continued. “Don’t just stand there. Get in here. Open the blinds so I can see you.”

      Like a mindless robot, she walked to the window and opened the blinds just slightly. He had the manner of one who gave orders and was used to having them obeyed. But she was not used to taking orders from patients and she wasn’t about to start now. She straightened her shoulders and found her voice. Not only her voice but her professional demeanor.

      “I’m Amanda Reston. I’m a nurse.”

      “Rahman Harun,” he said. “Forgive me for not getting up. May I say without insulting you or your profession that you don’t look like a nurse. Much too young. Much too beautiful.”

      There it was. The so-called charm she’d expected. Next he’d tell her he was ready to go home and would she call a cab. If not, then he’d ask her to run into town for a six-pack and a hamburger. If he did, he’d soon find out she was not a messenger girl.

      “I’m not on duty,” she said stiffly. If she was going to work for him, which was not at all certain at this point, she’d have to establish that she was in charge. That she could not be used or manipulated. That if he wanted to get well, he’d do what she said. She was a professional and she was accustomed to respect. At least from her patients.

      “So what brings you by, Nurse Reston?” he said, his voice husky and breathless. “To see what a sheik looks like? To watch how the mighty have fallen?” He choked on a mirthless laugh and reached for a glass of water. She automatically handed it to him. He wrapped his blunt fingers around hers. Amanda felt a shock travel up her arm. Despite the need to remain professional, she almost dropped the glass. He was breathing hard. So was she.

      “Are you okay?” she asked, setting the glass firmly in his hand. She should have asked herself the same question.

      “I’m fine. Just great.” He gulped some water and pointed to the foot of his bed. “Read my chart there if you don’t believe me. Don’t be fooled by this bandage on my head, or the torn ligament in my ankle or that tube between my ribs. I’m really fine. So fine I’m going home as soon as I can get a…hey, that’s you, isn’t it? You’re the hotshot nurse who’s going to go home with me.

      “I heard all about you. They thought I was asleep, but I wasn’t. Ten years in ICU as a trauma nurse. I thought you’d be about fifty pounds heavier, have gray hair and thick ankles.” СКАЧАТЬ