The MacGregor Brides (18 page)

The paramedics hustled the boy in on a gurney, with Gwen rushing beside them, filing away the shouted information on vital signs and treatment that they snapped out at her. She yanked on gloves and gown while a nurse strapped goggles over her eyes. In seconds her hands were covered in blood.

The kid wore a Bruins’ line jacket, Branson noted, black high-tops. A man and woman rushed into the room behind the gurney, both of them crying, both of them shouting demands, pleas, questions.

“You can’t be in here,” Gwen snapped out as she slid the endotracheal tube into place. “We have to help him now. Wallace,” she ordered, jerking her head at an orderly. “Get me six units of O-neg, stat. He needs whole blood.”

“He’ll be all right. Won’t he be all right?” The woman fought against the orderly on the way to the door. “He was just walking home from a friend’s. He was just walking home. My baby. Scotty.”

The smell of grief and terror hung in the air, overriding even the blood.

“Scotty’s in good hands now,” Wallace said as he urged the parents away from the door. “Dr. Blade’s the best. You have to let her do her job.”

Her hands moved quickly, her mind remained cold. A stream of blood shot out, striking her across the breasts. “We’ve got a pumper. Clamp.”

“BP’s dropping. I’m losing the pulse.”

She ordered IVs, tests, a type and crossmatch on the victim’s blood. Her words punched the air even as her hands fought to heal. But in her mind, in the cold, clear logic of it, she already knew it was useless.

“Irrigate this, I can’t see what the hell— I found the exit wound. Somebody get out and push for the pictures. I want to know how many bullets went into this boy. Come on, Scotty, come on, stay with me.”

She fought for him, sweat sliding down her back unnoticed. Her eyes were fierce and warrior-bright. Sometimes, she knew, death could be beaten. Or, if not beaten, cheated.

So much damage in such a small body. But she didn’t allow herself to think of that, only to focus on each step, each need, each answer.

Time sped by with gowned staff rushing in and out of the doors.

When he coded, she never broke rhythm. “Let’s zap him. Now!” She snatched the pediatric paddles, waited for the tone. “Clear.” His body jerked, but his heart didn’t respond. “Again. Come on, damn it, come on.” With the second shock, the monitor registered the beat.

“Slow sinus rhythm.”

“Get him a bolus of epi. That’s the way.” It was only the two of them now in her mind, just the two of them challenging the inevitable. “Just a little longer. Is the O.R. ready for him?”

“Standing by.”

“BP dropping. No pulse.”

She swore now and hitched herself onto the table to straddle him. “Bag him. Hurry up,” she ordered as she began CPR. “We’re losing him.”

His hair was glossy black curls, he had the face of a sleeping angel. Gwen ordered herself not to notice, not to think, just to act. “I need another two units of blood. Get it in him. Let’s go, move, let’s get him upstairs.”

They shoved the gurney through the doors with Gwen still atop it, working the boy’s chest. Even as the parents rushed up, tried to cling to the gurney, she never took her eyes off the boy’s face.

The last glimpse Branson had was of the fierce determination in her eyes before the elevator doors closed.

* * *

And when they opened more than two hours later, he saw her eyes again, and the boy’s death in them.

“Gwendolyn—”

She only shook her head. She walked past him to the lobby desk. Very deliberately, she picked up her charts, completed her notations and clocked out. She said nothing, simply walked into the lounge and to her locker.

“I’m sorry,” Branson said from behind her.

“It happens. He was gone when they brought him in. He was gone when the bullet cut into his heart.” She pulled off her scrubs, took out a wool blazer. “You shouldn’t have waited, Branson. I’m too tired to socialize tonight. I’m going home.”

“I’ll take you.”

“I’ve got my car.” She took out her coat, her purse.

“I’m not leaving you alone when you’re churned up this way.”

“I’m not churned up. This is hardly the first patient I’ve lost, or the last I will lose.” She shrugged into her coat, found her gloves in the pocket where she had tucked them hours before. “We did everything we could. We used all of the skills available to us. That’s all we can do.” Her fingers were numb and stiff as she pushed open the door.

He waited until they were outside, until the light snow whirled around them and clung to her hair. “I’m driving you home.”

“Leave me alone.” She shoved his hand from her arm, rounded on him. The pressure in her chest was hideous, unbearable. “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself anywhere I want to go. I don’t want you, I don’t need you. I don’t—”

Appalled at herself, she stopped, pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. No, please.” She shook her head quickly before he could touch her again. “I need to walk.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets. “Then we’ll walk.”

The breeze was brisk, the snow a whirl of white flakes. In silence, they walked toward the river with the sound of traffic a steady whoosh. Streetlights gleamed, Christmas bulbs glowed. On the near corner, a streetside Santa rang his bell monotonously as pedestrians hustled by.

Christmas, Gwen thought, was a time for children’s laughter, for family, for secrets and for joys. But to fate—if one believed in it—one day, one season, was the same as the next.

“You can’t let it inside you,” Gwen said at length. Her hands were so cold and so tired. She tucked them in her pockets instead of taking the effort to pull on her gloves. “If you do, you lose your edge, you start to doubt yourself, your instincts, your abilities. Then, the next time, the next patient, you’re not focused. You can’t let it in. I know that.”

“But if you don’t let any of it inside you, you lose your humanity, what makes you care enough to fight the next time, for the next patient.”

“It’s a difficult line,” Gwen murmured in response. “No matter how straight you try to walk it, you end up teetering over one side or the other at any point.” She stopped to look out over the water.

She loved this place, this city, with its insane traffic, its lovely old buildings, its graceful waterways. She loved its history and its pride. But just now she found no comfort in it. It was part of a world that could be cold and cruel to the defenseless.

“I didn’t want to lose him. In my head I knew I would, the minute I saw how badly he was damaged. But sometimes you get a miracle. And sometimes you don’t.”

She closed her eyes, grateful that Branson said nothing, that he understood she needed to get it out. “I can take it. I can take the hours, the stress, the pressure. I wanted it. I trained for it. I can take the paperwork, the bureaucracy. The rude patients, the drug addicts and the self-abusers. I can take the wasted lives. You see so many of them, you almost stop noticing. And then, suddenly …”

Her voice shuddered, and she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “He was only twelve years old.”

He spoke now, saying the only thing there was to say. “You did everything you could do.”

“That doesn’t seem to matter when it’s not enough.”

“You know better than that.” He turned her to face him, could think of nothing but her as he watched a tear spill out of those soft lavender eyes. “How many lives did you save today, this week, this year?”

“I know when I see people in pain or distress that I can fix it, most of the time—I can fix it, or at least help.”

“And you do,” he said quietly. “Whatever it takes out of you, that’s what you do.”

“That’s what I need to do. And I know that sometimes, no matter what you do, or how hard a team works, you’ll lose. That’s rational, that’s real, and still part of me just can’t accept it. I know that only this morning, that little boy got out of bed, ate his breakfast. Maybe he ran for the school bus and daydreamed in class. Then, because he walked down the wrong street at the wrong moment, his life is
over. Everything he might have done won’t be done.”

She turned to walk again. “I had to call it,” she continued. “He was my patient, and I had to call it. You have to decide to accept the moment when there’s nothing else to be done. You look at the clock and note the time. Then it’s over. I had to go out and tell his parents.”

“Gwendolyn, what you do is courageous. It’s miraculous.” He took her hands, rubbing and warming them instinctively. “What you feel is courageous. And miraculous.” He brought her hands to his lips. “It takes my breath away.”

With a sigh, she let herself be gathered close, let her head rest on his chest. “I’m sorry I snapped at you before.”

“Shh.” He lowered his lips to her hair.

Here, she thought, was comfort. A man to lean on. Needing him, she lifted her head, found his mouth with hers and soothed herself. The warmth he gave back eased the ache, smoothed the raw edges.

“Branson.” She tried to smile when he brushed tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. “If you want me, I’ll come with you now.”

His stomach muscles knotted tight. The hand on her cheek stilled, and with an effort, he made it slide down to stroke her shoulder. “Of course I want you. But I can’t ask you to come with me now.”

“But—” She closed her eyes when he pressed his lips to her brow.

“You inspire me to play by certain rules. You’re shaky and you’re vulnerable. It would be easy to convince myself I’d be comforting you, taking your mind off things.”

“Wouldn’t you be?”

“I’d also be taking advantage of the moment. I won’t do that with you.” Couldn’t do that with her, he realized, because he wanted much more than just the moment with her.

“I don’t understand you. I thought you’d prefer having the advantage.”

“Not this way. Our first time together isn’t going to happen because you’re unhappy, or feeling grateful because I listened. When I touch you, when you let me, it won’t have anything to do with anything but the two of us.”

“If you’re being careful because I haven’t been with a man before …”

“I’m being careful because it’s you. You matter, Gwendolyn.” He touched his lips to hers again. “You very much matter. That’s why I’m going to see that you have dinner, then I’m taking you home and, if necessary, I’ll tuck you into bed myself to make sure you sleep.”

Now she did smile. “I don’t need to be taken care of, Branson.”

“I know. That’s what makes taking care of you so appealing. Tonight I’m not going to give you any choice in the matter. You’re cold,” he added, and slipped an arm around her shoulders before walking back toward the hospital.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I’m all right now. And I do have my own car, so—”

“You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ll eat,” he said simply, just as he caught sight of the little restaurant a half block from the hospital. “Right here is just what you need. Solid, simple, American food.”

“The service is surly here, and the food quality spotty.”

“Good. That’ll add a bit of adventure into it.” His hair glinted gold in the dark as he swung her toward the door. “Dr. Blade, I believe we’re about to have our first date.”

She looked up at him as he pulled open the heavy smoked-glass door. Scents and warmth rushed out over her. Foolishly garish Christmas balls dangled from the ceiling and cheered her. “All right. Why not?”

They were three deep at the bar, and voices were a flood of noise in the overheated room. She didn’t hear what Branson said to the hostess, but she did see a folded bill pass from his hand to hers. And they were seated in the dining section, in a corner booth, in under ninety seconds.

“This isn’t the kind of place where you bribe the maitre d’,” Gwen told him as she slid over the worn leather seat.

“Worked, didn’t it?” His dimple winked. “You needed to sit down, and you needed to do it as far away from the meat market in there as possible.”

“It’s a popular singles spot,” she said, and let her head rest against the high seat. “A lot of the hospital staff comes here to flirt or cruise for action.” She laughed at his lifted brow. “And no, I don’t come in often, because I rarely have the energy to flirt or cruise.”

“It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you put a little effort into the first part of that tonight.” He took Gwen’s hand firmly in his and looked up as the waitress wandered over. “We’ll order drinks and dinner now,” he told her, and rattled off his choice of wine, appetizers and entrees while the waitress scrambled to pull out her pad.

“Medium rare on the steak,” he repeated, “and we’ll need a bottle of mineral water for the table. What did you say your name was?”

“Crystal,” she muttered, brows knit, as she noted down his order.

“Crystal, we’d appreciate it if you’d snag a basket of rolls from the kitchen when you bring the drinks by. The lady’s had a rough day, and she’s tired. You’d know how long, rough days go.”

He beamed at her, looking so sympathetic that Crystal’s irritated scowl smoothed away. “I’ll say I do. Sure, I’ll take care of that for you.”

Gwen waited until the waitress walked off, then drew in a breath. “Branson, did you just order for me without consulting me?”

“It won’t become a habit,” he said easily. “Your brain is tired and it’s too overworked to be asked to make decisions. You need relaxation, red meat, and time to recharge. I’m providing them. And to show my heart’s in the right place, next time we have dinner, you can order for me.”

“Really?” She smiled blandly. “How do you feel about sweetbreads?”

He grimaced. “I could probably live my entire life happily without sampling internal organs.”

“Remember that the next time you decide what I’m going to have for dinner.”

“Deal. When’s your next day off?”

“I’ve got a half day Saturday and all of Sunday.”

“Will you go out with me Saturday night? You pick the when, you pick the where.”

She arched a brow. “
The Marriage of Figaro
is playing at the Conservatory. How do you feel about opera?”

“I feel very warmly toward opera.”

She blinked twice. “You do?”