The Rebel Doc Who Stole Her Heart. Susan CarlisleЧитать онлайн книгу.
chest and fallen to the floor of the mall. She could still hear the yells to call 911 and the running of feet, but mostly it was the sound of her own crying that she remembered.
At the funeral, as she’d sat beside her mother in the front pew of the church, she’d vowed that she’d help ensure that as many children as possible never experienced what she had. Her answer had been to study and work hard to become a heart surgeon. Her personal experience had taught her there was no room for humor here. This was serious business.
Michelle was in the process of closing when a soft hum, which began at the head of the table, distracted her. During the operation she hadn’t looked at the new guy. Instead, she had given Mr. Martin her complete attention, even when her surgical resident had been making the opening incision. She glanced toward the head of the table to find Dr. Smith busily studying a monitor. The others around the table shifted restlessly. As far as she was concerned, the OR was no place for music. She wanted nothing to distract their concentration. She’d always seen to it that any noise remained at a minimum.
Tension as thick as the polar icecap and just as cold filled the space. She didn’t miss the covert glances directed her way or towards the humming man.
The new guy looked up, his gaze meeting hers. The lines around his eyes crinkled. “You can join in if you wish.”
The man was too disrupting to her OR. He had to go. She’d see that he wasn’t assigned to her cases again. “How’s the BP?” she asked in a crisp voice.
“Holding steady,” he responded.
“Then let’s finish this up and get him to CICU. And no more humming.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He sounded like a mischievous fourth-grade boy who’d just gotten into trouble for pulling a girl’s hair. Not very sincere and determined to do it again.
Ty rubbed the back of his neck to ease his strained muscles as he stepped out of the OR. Having traveled most of the night to arrive on time, he was tired. The car accident he’d assisted with at the city limits hadn’t made the situation any better. He didn’t like being late but it couldn’t be helped. He’d been the first one on the scene and it had been necessary to stay. He took his oath as a doctor seriously.
Moving from one place to another didn’t bother him. Heck, he’d done it all his life. That had been one of the problems. His parents had been follow-the-band, sixties wannabe hippies who’d had no business having children but they had. Joey, his younger brother by six years, had needed to stay in one place and have stable medical care but that hadn’t been for his parents. They had sought help from this guru here, a herb there or “If we only lived in the desert climate” Joey could breathe better—get better. They had been wrong. Dead wrong.
His parents had said it was just how it was supposed to be. For him, Joey being alive and pestering him about wanting to follow him somewhere was how it should have been. Sitting on the ground in the middle of the moaning and groaning and incense-smoke rising, Ty had decided that he couldn’t live like that any more.
He hadn’t been able to accept that his parents had refused to take Joey to a traditional doctor. That he’d not done so himself. He’d let Joey die. That had been when he’d made the decision to leave the community and go and live with his grandparents.
He was intelligent enough and with excellent grades he’d decided to attended med school. Maybe by helping others he could make amends for what had happened to his brother. Just out of med school he’d been offered a job by a friend who had been starting up a company supplying fill-in doctors to hospitals. He’d taken it. As a supply doctor he’d gone wherever he’d been needed, normally only staying a few weeks in each place. He was familiar with that type of lifestyle. But right now all he wanted was to find the apartment he’d been promised and fall into bed.
“Dr….”
“Ty Smith.” He offered his hand to the woman surgeon he’d shared the OR with.
She was a looker. Shiny brown hair, rosebud lips, and creamy skin. Too bad she had such an abrasive personality. She was a stuffed shirt if he’d ever met one. He’d met a number of them over the years, but this one took the prize. “We haven’t been formally introduced. I go by Ty. What may I call you?”
“Dr. Ross.”
Brr … a cold wind. Even the color of her eyes fit her attitude. Normally he was a sucker for a woman with clear blue pools for eyes, but not this time. He’d worked with others who hadn’t been completely comfortable with his less than “buttoned-up” ways but she was the iciest to date. No warm welcome here.
“May I speak to you a moment? Privately,” she said, in one of the primmest tones he’d ever heard.
“Certainly.” He stepped towards a quiet corner and she followed.
Finding his best professional voice, he said, “Well … Dr. Ross, it is a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you.”
“That isn’t going to happen again. I don’t think we’re right for each other. I expect my anesthesiologist to be punctual.”
What had happened to put such a chip on this woman’s shoulder?
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I wasn’t intentionally late. And the resident was more than capable of putting the patient under. Our patient was in no danger. So, no harm. No foul. See you around, Dr. Ross.” He wanted her to understand that just because he was new to the hospital it didn’t mean he couldn’t stand his ground.
She sputtered in her effort to respond.
Ty didn’t wait to hear what she came up with. He turned and headed towards the locker room to change his clothes.
Two hours later, Ty sat behind the nurses’ station in the CICU. He’d not managed to get away as soon as he’d hoped. Busy making notes on the latest patient’s chart, he looked up to see Dr. Ross enter, along with a woman and a couple of teenagers. Dr. Ross led the way to Mr. Martin’s bed.
The nurse sitting to his left muttered to the clerk on her right, “Well, I see the ice queen has arrived.”
So he wasn’t special. She was cool to everyone.
“Yeah, but the woman sure can dress,” the clerk responded. “Too bad she isn’t as nice as her clothes.”
These women were jealous.
He couldn’t blame them. Dr. Ross was a stately woman with regal bearing. Dressed in a form-fitting pale pink suit jacket and skirt that left no curve untouched, she was eye-catching. He sat up taller in the chair. From his vantage point he could see her from head to toe. He perused her trim calves, following their well-defined length until he stopped at heels that perfectly matched her suit. He’d bet his motorcycle that they were designer, hand-made shoes.
His gaze returned to her dark sable-colored hair. It was pulled back and held by a large silver clasp, which added to the woman-in-control look. She had certainly been hiding some fetching bends and turns under that surgical garb. Too bad that if you touched her with a wet finger it might stick because she was so cold.
She spoke with gracefully arcing hands, pointing and gesturing to pumps and machinery encircling the patient’s bed. She must be explaining what they were and how they worked. To his surprise, occasionally she gave the small group a reassuring smile. So there was some warmth under that freezing exterior. She just didn’t choose to share it with him.
She glanced toward the desk and for a second her gaze met his. Did he see anxiety in those eyes?
No, that would be the last emotion he’d attribute to Dr. Ross. Self-confidence oozed from her.
Sliding back the chair, Ty continued to watch the family as they hovered around the patient. Dr. Ross no longer stood in the center of the group. She now blended into the background as she answered an occasional question. Standing, Ty came around the desk, planning to leave the unit. When she looked in his direction again he