Healing Touch Read online

  Healing Touch

  Copyright © Brenda Rothert 2015

  Published by Silver Sky Publishing Inc.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.

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  Healing Touch

  Books By Brenda Rothert

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  HEARTBURN.

  I learned all about it in medical school—it’s caused by the abnormal relaxation of the lower esophageal sphincter allowing stomach acid to flow back up into the esophagus.

  But that definition seemed like bullshit when I saw my now ex-husband nuzzling his voluptuous nurse/girlfriend inside a hospital doorway (and, yes, it was the broom closet). That–the crushing feeling lodged behind my ribs, the sick feeling that made me want to crawl under the covers for the rest of my life—that was heartburn.

  But I had to get used to this, especially since we all worked at the Tulane Medical Center. The only saving grace was that my ex Dean and his bodacious nurse worked in ER, so I rarely saw them. Unfortunately, tonight was one of those times when it was too late to avoid them.

  I pressed my back to the wall and rolled my eyes skyward. Right now, I needed a signature from Dr. Portia Reed to authorize the OBGYN research project I was expanding tomorrow. Trouble was, she worked in the ER, just like Dean and Nurse Nipples.

  When my husband left me almost a year ago, my friends on the OB floor had immediately pointed out that his new girlfriend, Amanda, had freakishly large nipples that were usually visible through her thin bra and scrubs. And they also told me that she snorted really loudly when she laughed.

  He’d taken a lot from me when he walked out the door. The new flat screen TV, the best coffeemaker I’d ever owned . . . my pride. But Dean wasn’t taking this research project, too.

  With a deep exhale, I put on my game face and emerged from my hiding spot. Of course, there was only one way to the part of the ER I needed to get to, and of course Dean and Nurse Nips had chosen that precise location to canoodle in. Who used the word ‘canoodle’ anymore, anyway? Just grouchy senior citizens and me—the oldest twenty-nine-year-old in the world.

  Dean had his hand on Amanda’s waist and he was whispering something in her ear. I looked straight ahead as I walked by, hoping to pass unnoticed. I had almost run the gauntlet, unscathed, when instinct made me turn my head at the sound of a snort.

  “Joss,” Dean said, dropping his hand from Amanda’s tiny waist. “What are you doing down here?”

  I plastered a smile on my face and wished to hell I’d combed my hair. “Oh, just getting a signature from Reed.”

  “Oh.” He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, his sheepish expression making me want to kick him in the junk. Because seriously. He’d been screwing around on me for three months before I found out, and the entire hospital had known weeks before me. Dean, apparently, had no shame, and I didn’t appreciate him suddenly acting like he did.

  Amanda leaned her hip into Dean’s and shot me a coy smile. I wanted to give her a dirty look, but that wasn’t me. I just ignored her and walked on, hoping the entire ER wouldn’t see my flaming cheeks.

  Portia Reed was deep in a conversation at the main ER desk, but she did a double take when she saw me coming.

  “Joss.” Her grimace held an apology. “I never signed off on your project. I’m sorry.”

  I waved a hand and smiled. “No big deal. I’ve got it right here for you.” I passed her the clipboard.

  “I would’ve come upstairs,” she said, reaching for a pen, her implication as obvious as my embarrassment. I hated seeing the pity in her big brown eyes. Portia was a mentor to me, and I’d been reduced to a scorned woman in her eyes. Just like I had been for everyone else who knew about my failed marriage.

  People really don’t know what to say when your husband leaves you for the woman he’s been banging in the break room. I’d gotten lots of awkward looks and mumbled apologies at first. Now, it was old news up on my floor. But I guess whenever Dean, Amanda and I were in close proximity the history would always create a stir.

  “Anything else you need?” Portia eyed me over the top of her glasses.

  “Nope. Thanks.” I took the clipboard she held out to me. “I’m not actually working tonight. I’m just here to set up for tomorrow.”

  “Set up? For the research meeting? I can get some help sent up for that.”

  I waved a hand. “I like doing it myself. That way I’ll know right where everything is for tomorrow.” Plus, it’s not like I have anything else to do. The words were unspoken, but their truth still rang in the air between us.

  “Dave and I would love to have dinner with you soon,” Portia said.

  I smiled and turned back toward the dreaded hallway, glancing over my shoulder at her. “Sounds great. Let me know when. Have a good night.”

  “Good luck tomorrow,” she called. “You’ll be great.”

  I waved and walked double-time down the hallway. Mercifully, Dean and Nips were nowhere to be seen. The elevator doors were open and I stepped in, relief washing over me when the doors closed and ER disappeared from view.

  When I got back to the main desk area of my floor my friend, Hattie, looked up from the computer she was working at.

  “You run into Nurse Wretched?”

  “Yep.”

  She gave a disgusted look and shook her head.

  “I think Dean’s lost more hair since the last time I saw him,” I said.

  “Hopefully it’s all gonna fall out of his head and sprout on his back and in his ears,” Hattie said. “Lousy bastard.”

  Her Southern accent still made me smile. Anything Hattie said came out sounding sweet, even if she was talking about Dean, whom she never said anything nice about.

  I was a transplant to New Orleans. Dean had been assigned here during med school and I’d followed. It was very different from my native city of Detroit, but damned if the place hadn’t grown on me. And my research project on maternal blood sugar got started here. Coupled with my work at this hospital, NOLA was my life.

  And that meant I’d never be far away from Dean and Nips. Surely they’d break up soon and get jobs somewhere else. Then I could stop being gossiped about, stop being the scorned ex-wife. And I sure didn’t want him back. Absolutely not. Never
. Nada. Just the mere thought of it sent a shiver up my spine.

  “You okay?” Hattie asked.

  “Yeah.” I sighed. Was I okay? Pretty much. Other than still feeling stupid once in a while, and being mad at having been taken advantage of, and worrying about not ever turning a man’s head again, yeah, I guess I was okay. Damn Dean. He’d also walked away with my confidence.

  I BLEW ONTO the small, flat panel I’d pulled from the furnace. Dust particles flew into the air. Did anyone ever clean the fucking furnaces in this place? I’d been told when I started work here almost a month ago that this furnace was haunted. No matter what anyone did, it was unreliable. Apparently cleaning it hadn’t occurred to the brain trust.

  Ah, well. I’d take a look at it. Replacing an industrial furnace of this size would cost a ton of dough. Fixing it would score me points with my boss John. Like me, he was an Army veteran, so I’d felt an immediate loyalty to him.

  I set to work cleaning and checking sensors, losing myself in the work. I was qualified to do police work since being honorably discharged from the military after serving my time, but I hadn’t felt any desire to go down that route. This job was a better fit for me. I was a night owl who loved fixing things. And not worrying about getting my ass shot at for the first time in two years was a nice bonus.

  My work phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out to check the message.

  Hi! It’s Tracy in Ambulatory Surgery. My printer is going bonkers. Can you fix it??????

  I knitted my brows together skeptically. I was supposed to refer all computer issues to the IT department, but the guy on call tonight was a douche nozzle. And Ambulatory Surgery had kickass coffee. I packed up my tools and headed for the stairwell.

  Tracy was grinning at me as I approached the desk. “Hey, sugar,” she said, winking. “Thanks a bunch.”

  I nodded silently and she started chattering about the printer, re-enacting its malfunction even though I could see the blinking red ‘feed error’ message on the screen.

  “I smacked it real good, which usually works, but not this time,” she said. “That damn thing gives me fits.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  “You are such a doll.” Tracy sat down at the desk and turned her chair to face me. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “Uh . . . ?”

  “Oh no, I’m not asking for me!” she said, laughing so hard her ample bosom shook with each note. “I’m married, sugar. And I’m old enough to be your mama. I’m asking for my daughter Shayla. She’s nineteen. Goin’ to college, gonna be a fashion major.”

  How could I tactfully tell this woman I had no interest in dating her daughter? Tact wasn’t my strong suit. Neither was dating.

  “I’m twenty-six,” I said dismissively. “Nineteen’s too young for me.”

  Tracy was about to respond when someone called her name. Thank fuck. I was disassembling the printer, and I had to stay focused so I could remember how to put it back together.

  “Duty calls,” she said with a sigh.

  I said nothing, hoping to discourage further conversation. All I wanted was to get this printer working again and get back to the furnace problem.

  A FAINT LEMON smell greeted me when I opened the door to the room I’d commandeered as my new research hub. I closed my eyes and smiled. It was nice and clean. I’d had two dozen gourmet cupcakes delivered to Domestic along with my request that they fast-track the cleanup of this former storage room, and they’d come through.

  I flipped on the light switch and a bright glow filled the room. This was going to work out after all. I’d had my doubts when I first checked out the dusty space crammed full of outdated equipment, but it was perfect. Now I just needed to set things up for tomorrow.

  When I stepped further into the room, the lemon smell got stronger and the warm, stuffy air made me wrinkle my nose. The place needed some air. I checked all four plain white walls for a thermostat but couldn’t find one.

  Well, hell. It didn’t matter how clean the room was if it felt like a jungle.

  Stepping back into the doorway, I took a deep breath and collected my thoughts. My patients wouldn’t be here until ten tomorrow morning. Maybe a simple check of the air vents would fix this. I needed to page Mechanical Services.

  OB was quiet tonight. We didn’t have anyone in labor, and that always created a more relaxed mood. And we tried to keep our floor quiet anyway because new moms and babies needed their rest.

  I sat down in front of a computer and typed out a message to Mechanical Services. Hopefully, whoever was on call could come right away. I wanted my first research meeting to go well tomorrow, and I didn’t want my patients fainting with the heat. Pregnant women were always hot, even under the best of circumstances.

  Since I was sitting at the computer, I couldn’t resist the urge to check my e-mail. Not surprisingly, there was nothing exciting there. A shipment notification for some shoes I’d ordered, several ads, and a reminder from my gynecologist that it was time for my annual pelvic exam.

  I shook my head and blew out a breath. That was going to be the most action I’d had between my legs in quite a while. More than ten months, but who was counting? And even then, it’d been perfunctory sex with Dean and I hadn’t even gotten off. It’d been well over a year since I’d had decent sex.

  “Dr. Drake?”

  The sound of a deep voice made me look up. Was the clenching of my lady parts due to my thoughts about sex, or him?

  Him, I decided as my gaze wandered from his dark, close-cropped hair to his chiseled cheekbones and dark eyes. He wore a gray button-down shirt with short sleeves that gave me a view of the lines of his biceps. On one pocket was a patch that said ‘TMC Mechanical Services.’ And on the card hanging from his lanyard I scanned the letters of his name: Carson Stephens. He wasn’t smiling in his hospital ID photo.

  “I’m Dr. Drake,” I said, clearing my throat. “How can I help you?”

  His brow furrowed. “I’m here to help you. You paged me? Something about a stuffy room?”

  My cheeks warmed. “Right, sorry. I got wrapped up in something here and . . . anyway, it’s this way.”

  I led the way to my reclaimed storage room at the end of the hallway, where I’d left the lights on. Carson followed me in, glancing around wordlessly.

  “It’s hot in here, don’t you think?” I said. “And no windows in here or anything. Could the thermostat be broken?”

  He ignored me, instead getting on his knees to look under some chairs. When he stood, he pushed a filing cabinet aside like it was full of feathers.

  “Yeah, there’s no return in here. I don’t see any vents, either. So there wouldn’t be a thermostat.”

  “No return? So that’s bad?”

  He shrugged and looked at me. “The air’s stagnant because the air conditioning’s not reaching this room.”

  Helplessness set in, morphing into panic within seconds. “But I have people coming tomorrow for interviews and tests.”

  “Might need to find a different spot.” This guy was a man of few words.

  “No, there is no other spot. This is my spot. Any other location in the hospital would require a request to administration, and I don’t have time for that.”

  He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “Maybe if you leave the door open it’ll help.”

  My lips parted as I looked at him. “I can’t leave the door open. I need quiet and privacy for my interviews. It can get loud out there when patients are in labor.”

  Carson shrugged and looked down at the screen of a cell phone he’d pulled from his pocket.

  “Look, I’ve gotta go,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t have better news for you.”

  “No! No, no, no.” I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Can you maybe catch up on the text chat later and help me? This is very important.”

  A flicker of aggravation passed over his face. “The text was from Radiology. They’ve got a bulb out and I need to go change it
.”

  “A bulb?” My voice was high-pitched with stress. “As in, a light bulb? Can’t they change it themselves?”

  He gave a single, low note of laughter. “You’d think.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Alright,” I said, looking up at him. His eyes were the color of milk chocolate, framed by long dark lashes. Under different circumstances, I might have been stumbling over my words right now. “I’m sorry for anything I said that wasn’t nice. Truly. I’m super stressed out. This research project means so much to me. And I know you’re busy, and I know it’s asking a lot, but is there anything you can do to help me?”

  He knitted his brows together. “Uh . . .” He sighed. “Some vents and a return would need to be cut in. It can be done, but it doesn’t need done right this second, does it?”

  “It kind of does. I’m interviewing fifteen patients in here starting at ten tomorrow morning. I need to be able to run a few tests on them, too.”

  His eyes widened.

  “It’s not possible,” I said, looking down. “Not all in one night anyway. I understand.”

  He sighed again, more deeply this time. “Yeah. I think I can do it. As long as I don’t get called away on an emergency.”

  A warm, powerful wave of happiness flooded my chest. “You can? You can get this room air-conditioned?”

  “As long as I find what I’m expecting to find,” he said, fixing his eyes on me seriously. “I think there’s a duct on the other side of that wall. I won’t know for sure ‘til I get in there. If there is a duct, I can patch into it and bring some AC in here. If not, I can’t help you.”

  “Of course,” I said. “If you’re willing to try, I’d be so . . . so grateful. Thank you, Carson.”

  The praise didn’t seem to do anything for him. His brooding expression remained firmly in place. “I’m gonna go to Radiology and then to get some tools. I’ll be back.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He shook his head and turned to go.

  Friendly fellow, this Carson. But I didn’t care if he didn’t feel like talking. It didn’t matter. I didn’t need to make friends with him as long as he could fix my problem.