Island Fling with the Surgeon
Autor:in
Ann McIntosh
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CHAPTER ONE
THE FIRST TIME Dr. Genevieve Broussard operated with the assistance of surgical nurse Zachary Lewin she was cautious, as was normal when working with new personnel. But the main difference, in that circumstance, was how aware she was of him. His presence alone put her on high alert in a way she didn’t imagine she’d be if he were a woman.
Of course, it was hard not to be aware of Zach. Although he wasn’t exceptionally tall—perhaps three or four inches above her own five foot six—he was barrel-chested and solid; the muscles in his arms and legs seemed set to tear open the seams of his scrubs.
He was also very good-looking, his skin the color of café au lait with a sprinkle of light freckles across his nose and cheeks, making her wonder if he had any elsewhere. Not conventionally handsome by any means, but striking in a serious, no-nonsense type of way. The lovely British accent didn’t hurt either, adding a rather exotic flair to an already interesting package.
And he had a direct, interrogative way of looking at her, as though his dark brown gaze was trying to ferret out her every secret.
He was also quiet and—she later came to learn—rather solitary, with an air of distance that forestalled any impertinence or overtures of friendship.
Not that, at the time, she was considering fostering any kind of camaraderie. She hadn’t come to St. Eustace to make friends, especially of the male persuasion. All she needed to know was whether he was competent in the operating room or not. Especially since the anesthesiologist she’d been assigned was one of the new doctors who’d traveled to St. Eustace to gain extra experience.
She’d been assured the young anesthesiologist was capable, and all she had to do was keep an eye on him and write a report afterward, but the teenage patient on her operation table was her first concern. Kingston Matthews had been stuck by a car in downtown Port Michael and suffered life-threatening internal injuries. As trauma surgeon on duty when he came in, Gen had gotten him into the operating room as quickly as possible.
He’d needed a partial splenectomy, and ahead lay the surgical splinting of a couple of severely fractured ribs, but that had to wait until she was able to stop all the internal bleeding.
“Suction,” she said, realizing as the word left her lips that the tube was already almost in place, Zach anticipating her request.
Blood trickled back into view.
She waited for an update on BP and O-sat from the anesthesiologist, as she carefully retracted the exposed organs, looking for the bleeder, but it was Zach who supplied the information.
Glancing up, Gen was just in time to see the anesthesiologist give the nurse a glare, but when he glanced her way and she raised her brows, all the doctor did was look away.
Even being very new—to the hospital, and to his duties—she’d expected better. This called for a talk with him later, to make sure he recognized the importance of communicating necessary information.
Kingston Matthews’s blood pressure had risen since the splenectomy and the repair to a damaged minor artery, but it still wasn’t up to where it should be. And wouldn’t get there until she found the other bleed.
She’d already checked the liver and stomach for damage, surprisingly not finding any, but maybe she’d missed something?
The suction tube appeared again and, as she watched, Zach moved it slowly, clearing away the blood and revealing where the first trickle reappeared.
It was at that point she realized the extent of his experience and knowledge.
There were some surgical nurses who actively, if unobtrusively, used know-how gained over many years to be a surgeon’s other pair of eyes and hands.
Some surgeons pretended it didn’t happen, or feigned being oblivious, but Gen wasn’t one of them. When the life of the patient was on the line, she’d take every advantage she could get to keep them alive, and be grateful.
“Thank you,” she said. “I see it.”
As she was about to cauterize the small blood vessel, the vision in her left eye blurred slightly.
Dammit.
She was usually more aware of when her eye was becoming dry, but she’d been so intent on finding the source of the bleeding, she’d left the mitigating exercise too long.
Her eye problem was a lasting effect of the Bell’s palsy she’d suffered just after qualifying as a surgeon, causing the lid to noticeably droop. Unfortunately, the nerve damage also meant that her left eye didn’t blink as efficiently as the right. At first, she’d been terrified that it would scotch her career, especially when it became clear she’d never fully recover, but over time she’d learned how to live with it and still operate.
“One second,” she said, using the muscles above her eyebrow to force the offending eye closed, allowing lacrimal fluid to lubricate the eyeball. At any other time, she’d have simply used her finger to manipulate the eyelid, but she’d had to develop a different method of dealing with it when at work.
Especially in the sterile environment of the operating room.
After getting her eye open, she looked up, blinking to make sure her vision was clear, and caught Zach watching her.
In the past, it would have made her angry, or exacerbated the embarrassment that had followed her for a long time. Even now, she felt a rush of heat rise into her face, but she lifted her chin, daring him to say anything.
But those dark eyes just surveyed her, seemingly impassive and infinitely patient.
When she was studying, one of her instructors had told the class, “A surgeon must exhibit complete confidence at all times. You’re like the captain of a ship. Everyone is looking to you to steer through the rocks and make safe harbor.”
Bearing that in mind, she said briskly, “Okay. Here we go.” She heard the defensiveness in her own voice, but hoped no one else did.
Zach simply nodded, but before he turned his attention back to the patient, she thought she’d seen a flash of something in his eyes, although she wasn’t sure what it was.
All she knew was that it filled her with a different kind of warmth. One that had lasted the rest of the successful operation and even carried over for a couple of days.
Now, five months later, as she sat in the doctor’s lounge with her fingers pushed into her hair, distractedly pulling at the short strands, she was sure it was then she’d told her mother the whopper.
The biggest, silliest lie of her life, which now had her contemplating whether it was too late to apply for another job.
Maybe in Nepal, or somewhere like that?
Far, far away.
Too far for her mother to fly to from New Orleans.
“Coo-calloo-calloo,” she muttered to herself, using the expression she’d made up when she was eight, right after her father washed her mouth out with soap for cursing.
“What was that?”
The amused question from the doorway had Gen straightening to see orthopedic surgeon Mina Haraldson coming into the room. The grin on the other woman’s face had Gen smiling too, although she felt anything but amused by her predicament.
“It’s the strongest curse word I know. I made it up myself, so I could use it in front of my parents and not get in trouble,” she admitted, making Mina laugh.
“Now, what on earth has you cursing so horribly?” the other woman asked, once she’d stopped chuckling.
Even though she liked Mina, and they’d developed a nice rapport, Gen hesitated. After what had happened with her so-called best friend, Loren, she’d gotten out of the habit of confiding in others.
Not that she expected everyone in her life to be a backstabber, but the experience, although occurring years before, had left her cautious.
So instead, as she watched Mina pour herself a cup of coffee, she asked, “Is that a new prosthesis?”
Mina shot her a sideways glance, before looking back to reach for the creamer. “Yes. Arrived two days ago. I’m still getting used to it, but I have to admit it’s pretty badass.”
They’d spoken about Mina’s accident, when she’d lost her hand, and her previous resistance to getting a prosthesis. It had seemed a waste of time getting one, she said, when it wouldn’t enable her to operate on patients. But eventually she’d come around, realizing she could do so much more with one. And, once the prosthetic company she’d approached about making the hand for her realized the possibilities, they’d asked her to become one of their main testers.
“It looks it,” Gen replied, admiring the realistic appearance and the movement of the fingers as Mina picked up her cup with it, while stirring the coffee with her right.
As she walked over to the table and sat across from Gen, Mina replied, “The action is unbelievably smooth. Almost as smooth as that change of subject you just did.”
Gen couldn’t help the little groan that escaped her throat, even though the other woman’s comment made her smile too.
“Clearly not smooth enough,” she replied, letting amusement color her words.
Mina held up her hand. “Hey, I’m not trying to pry, but you sounded pretty upset. I’m here, if you need an ear.”
She was smiling as she spoke, but Gen saw how serious Mina’s eyes were, and a pang of loneliness made her chest ache. Suddenly, she went from reticent to wanting to tell the other woman the whole sorry story.
Hopefully, Mina wouldn’t think her nuts.
“My younger sister called to warn me that Mom is planning to come to St. Eustace in a couple of weeks to surprise me.”
Mina’s gaze sharpened. “Warn you?”
Something in her tone had Gen hurrying to continue, not wanting to give the wrong impression.
“Mom’s amazing, and I can’t wait to see her, but...” She realized she was pressing the knuckle of her index finger into the numb space at the left-hand corner of her lips, and forced herself to stop.
Mina took a sip of her coffee, obviously giving Gen a chance to continue. When the silence stretched on, she said, “But?”
Embarrassed, Gen dropped her chin to her chest for a moment, then sighed as heat rose into her cheeks.
Best to just get it over with.
“I went through a rough patch after I got sick, and it threw Mom into hyper-nurture mode, and she hasn’t come out of it since. It’s really only seemed to get worse once I decided to come to St. Eustace.”
She shook her head, not wanting to go into details about the Bell’s palsy, and her then-fiancé’s painful defection, which Gen would be the first to admit she hadn’t handled very well. And now how hard it was, knowing her mother was fretting about Gen’s mental and emotional health, and that she was too far away to do anything, should her daughter need her.
Meeting Mina’s sympathetic gaze gave her the impetus to continue.
“Mom’s hell-bent on my going back to New Orleans. She seems to think I’m here hiding, not getting on with what she calls my ‘real life.’ So, I spontaneously came up with an idea to make her feel I was having a great time here and was extremely happy.”
“Oh?” Mina’s eyebrows went up. “What did you tell her?”
Taking a deep breath, Gen replied on a rushed exhale, “That I was seeing someone. Then, to make it worse, I built an elaborate fantasy about the guy and our relationship.”
“Uh-oh.” Mina put her cup on the table and actually leaned forward, as though in anticipation. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” She tried to sound adult, but the ridiculousness of it was hard to ignore. “It sounds so juvenile when I say it out loud—like when a teenager tells their friends they do so have a boyfriend, but he goes to a different school.”
Mina’s eyes were wide as she said, “Yeah, but that’s when you’re a kid and you lie to your friends. This is your mom, and if she’s anything like mine, heads could roll.”
“Tell me about it,” Gen said, the words coming out more like a groan. “She’ll kill me if she finds out.”
“If?” The skepticism in Mina’s voice was unmistakable. “How could she not?”
Gen just dropped her head back into her hand, unwilling to answer the question, or even tell Mina the rest of the story.
She hadn’t just told her mother she was seeing someone; she’d said she was seeing Zachary Lewin.
Named him, specifically.
And Marielle Broussard was no shrinking violet. Even if Gen told her the relationship hadn’t worked out, she’d want to know why. And she’d be on the lookout for the man in question the entire time she was on St. Eustace, inclined to glare, or outright ask what had gone wrong.
Not to mention, Gen would be right back where she started, with her mother all up in her business and pushing for her to go back to the States.
“I have two choices,” she muttered toward the floor. “Pretend to have broken up with the man, or set up a fake relationship well enough to fool my mother.”
Mina blew out a breath, then asked, “What was that word you used, when I walked into the room?”
“Coo-calloo-calloo.”
“Yeah,” Mina replied in a rueful tone. “Coo-calloo-calloo.”
Zach Lewin closed his locker, then snapped the padlock into place, but instead of heading straight out the door as he usually would, he stood there a little longer, lost in thought.
Normally he easily compartmentalized work, and once he was finished a shift rarely let his thoughts stray back to anything to do with the hospital. But today was different, and it wasn’t a patient he was worried about, but one of the surgeons.
Dr. Genevieve Broussard.
They’d worked together earlier in the day, operating on a patient who’d come in with volvulus. While Dr. Broussard had performed with her usual calm competence, Zach was sure he sensed a difference in the way she’d spoken and behaved toward him. A certain coolness that hadn’t been present the umpteen other times they’d worked together.
He wasn’t given to flights of fancy. In fact, he’d been described as unimaginative and detached. If memory served, daft and oblivious had been tossed about too, but who was counting? Yet, he was sure he’d sensed something strange in Dr. Broussard’s manner during and after the operation.
And it irked him.
He admired her skill as a surgeon. They’d always got on well, and had a cordial relationship. She had an effervescent personality, although mixed with firm professionalism. It was a combination that worked well for her, as he hadn’t heard one murmur of complaint about her the entire time he’d been at the hospital. She seemed universally liked and never appeared to have any problems with anyone, which made her change in attitude toward him all the more noticeable.
Normally he’d brush it off and leave it alone. His time in the military and as a nurse had taught him not to expect everyone to like him and, if someone didn’t, not to take it to heart or even care. But the sudden shift in their previously easy working relationship gave him pause, and made him want to know if it was because of something he’d done. If he’d inadvertently caused the change, it made complete sense to make it right, since they’d be working together for at least the foreseeable future.
Another thing he’d learned was to nip problems that had the potential to become career threatening in the bud. While unsure whether this could be classified that way or not, he wasn’t willing to take the chance.
He’d come to St. Eustace to get away for a while and get his head on straight. Although he didn’t plan on staying forever, this was, after all, his father’s homeland, and he wanted to maintain the family’s good name while he was here.
Yet, did it make sense to bring it up at all, at this early stage? Maybe she’d just been having a bad day, and he’d presented an easy target?
He bent to pick up his kit bag, still unsure of what to do but leaning toward letting things remain as they were, just to see what would happen when next they worked together. That wouldn’t be for at least three days, what with their overlapping days off.
Right, then.
Decision made, Zach headed out of the changing room, only to see the object of his ruminations standing just down the hall, looking at her phone. She was still in her scrubs, but her bag was on the bench next to her, and he knew from the schedule that, barring emergencies, she was now off duty.
So, why was she hanging about?
And, even with the decision he’d only just made, he was tempted to stop and speak to her about what had happened earlier. In fact, he found himself heading right toward her, but before he’d taken more than two strides, a door on his right opened and Dr. Kiah Langdon stepped out.
Kiah immediately stopped and said, “Hey, cuz. On your way to the gym?”
From the corner of his eye Zach saw Dr. Broussard turn her head toward them, before he gave his full attention to Kiah.
“Going down to Coconut Beach for a run,” he replied.
“How’s the house coming?”
Kiah knew Zach was refurbishing his grandfather’s home, which had sat mostly empty since the old man died, and always took a moment to ask about the progress being made.
“Good. Finished the veranda and just about to start upgrading the kitchen.”
And by the time they’d finished chatting, Genevieve Broussard was gone, leaving him no option but to revert to his prior plan of letting things ride and seeing what would happen.
The drive over to Coconut Beach took only about fifteen minutes, but Zach found his thoughts repeatedly going back to Genevieve, no matter how he tried to keep them on other matters. So much so that, on turning into the car park next to the beach, he thought perhaps his eyes, following the lead of his brain, were playing tricks on him.
That couldn’t be Dr. Broussard sitting on the bonnet of her car waving to him, as he pulled into a nearby space, could it?
It most certainly was, and as she hopped down from her perch and made her way toward his car, bemusement had the muscles in his neck tightening.
What the heck was going on?
He had hardly closed the car door behind him before she started speaking.
“Hey, I’m sorry to stalk you like this, but I really needed to talk to you, and the hospital wasn’t the best place to do it...”
Although she stopped to take a breath, Zach didn’t have a chance to utter even one word before she asked, “Would you be my boyfriend?”
