Bedside Manner
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Kelsey Roberts
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19
Chapter One
Dr. Chance Landry was in his office dictating notes about the patients he had seen that morning. In spite of the tedium of his chore, he couldn’t stop smiling.
One of his patients had been his sister-in-law Savannah. It had been his great pleasure to tell her she was carrying his brother Seth’s child. Savannah had made him promise not to say a word. She knew that Jasper, Montana, was a small town and she didn’t want some gas station attendant telling Seth first.
His very large family was getting very much larger. Earlier in the year, his oldest brother, Sam, and his wife, Callie, had welcomed a baby boy, Samuel Sheldon Landry. He was their second son. The baby was called Sheldon. No one would dare refer to the baby as Junior, in Sam’s and Callie’s presence—or out.
His cousin Cade and his wife Barbara had a seven-month-old, Jackson Prather-Landry. Chance tensed when he thought about Jack’s birth. Apparently, the boy was as impatient as his father, because he had come into the world almost three months early. Luckily, the neonatal unit in Helena was able to nurse him through those first few difficult months.
Speaking of nurses, Chance checked his watch. He had a date with a particularly fetching redheaded nurse this very evening.
He picked up another file and tried to decipher his own scripted notes. It was no wonder Valerie was always on his case. His handwriting had become atrocious in his thirty-five years on Earth. He set the file aside. He’d have Val translate it for him later.
His mind conjured a picture of his assistant, Valerie Greene. She’d been with him for six years, but he really didn’t know much about her. Except that she had a killer body and an incredibly exotic face. He knew she was part Native American, which wasn’t all that uncommon in Montana. He knew she had completed medical school and then bailed after her internship. But he didn’t know why. He knew she believed in holistic medicine and some of the tribal cures she had learned as a child.
Val’s homemade remedies were basically harmless, so he didn’t care that she often handed them out along with his traditional advice to his patients. She was a puzzle to him. He wasn’t being vain when he said she was the only woman who had never come on to him. Thanks to the wonderful Landry genes, Chance was a pretty good-looking man. That, coupled with the fact that he was a doctor, seemed to draw women to him without requiring much effort on his part.
And he did love women. All women. Well, all except for one. She was the reason he’d go to his grave single and without a family. Some part of him still felt the pain of her abandonment deeply. The other part was afraid that he would repeat her actions.
Val stuck her head in the door. Her eyes, which he noted were an incredible kaleidoscope of colors that included greens, golds and browns, appeared troubled. He hoped it wasn’t an emergency walk-in.
“Is someone here?” he asked.
She shook her head as she entered the office. “Stop turning the ringer off on your phone,” she chided as if he were some delinquent child.
Funny, she was the only one in the office who spoke to him with such candor. Maybe that was why he liked having her on his staff.
“The hospital is calling—pick up line one. You’ve got a major problem.”
“What kind of problem?” Chance asked, annoyed. The small, local hospital just outside of town often classified something as simple as a hangnail as a dire emergency.
“The kind that can end your career as a doctor.”
SEVEN and a half minutes later, Chance turned sideways to race through the glass doors of Jasper Community Hospital’s emergency room. Val was at his side as he jogged to the nurse’s station.
“Kent Dawson?” he asked.
“Exam area three.”
Val reached the room ahead of him, shoving back the curtain, revealing a chaotic scene.
Chance muffled a curse as he pushed his way to his patient’s bedside. In a matter of seconds, he had assessed the readouts on the machines, as well as the general condition of Mr. Dawson.
“When did you start the epinephrine drip?” he barked at no one in particular.
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“Speed it up,” Chance instructed. Dawson’s pulse and respiration weren’t good. He was covered in large red welts and his tongue was dangerously swollen. Chance met the man’s frightened eyes and offered a reassuring glance.
Val took hold of Kent’s hand and began to stroke it gently. As usual, her touch had a calming effect on his patient.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Dawson,” he heard Val soothe in her soft, mesmerizing tone. “You had an allergic reaction. Dr. Landry will have you comfortable in no time.”
Chance hoped that was true. Dawson’s anaphylactic shock was one of the worst cases he had ever seen.
The stench of Dr. Harold Benton’s designer knock-off cologne battled the antiseptic smell of the examination area. Chance swallowed a groan. He wasn’t in the mood for what he knew would be an unpleasant exchange between himself and Benton. The animosity they had shared in medical school had never abated. Chance had bested Benton in almost every rotation during their residency, and Benton held a grudge. It was ludicrous. Chance was happy in general practice. There wasn’t any good reason for Benton to continue the childish air of competition.
Benton grabbed up the chart and began rifling through the pages. “What the hell were you thinking, Landry?” Benton challenged.
Chance ignored him long enough to be satisfied that the intervention was counteracting the symptoms. Dawson’s respirations and pulse were returning to normal levels.
“It says right here on the chart that the patient is allergic to iodine,” Benton continued.
Assured that his patient was stable, Chance ripped the chart away from Benton and scanned the contents. “This isn’t right,” he murmured. “I ordered a GI workup, not a contrast angiogram.”
Benton crooked one finger and tapped the signature line. “You ordered an angiogram, Dr. Landry.”
Chance was staring at his signature. He couldn’t believe he had made such a potentially life-threatening mistake.
“Why don’t you two take this outside,” Val suggested.
Chance was more than willing. The last thing he needed was a lawsuit.
He leaned close to Val. There was something comforting about the way her long, dark hair smelled. Fresh and floral. He had no idea what herbs and berries she had smashed together to create the scent; he only knew that it had an oddly calming effect on his nerves.
“You could have killed that man!” Benton hurled the challenge like a gauntlet before they even reached the hallway.
“I didn’t. And I didn’t order the contrast angiogram.”
Benton gave him a malevolent smile.
Chance wanted to give him a violent punch in response. But that wasn’t an option.
“It must have been some sort of computer glitch,” he guessed.
“Well, perhaps in the future you should review your orders before your laxness nearly kills someone.”
“Perhaps,” Chance steeled his eyes on Benton’s narrow, ferretlike face, “you should go to hell.”
AN HOUR LATER, Chance and Val were back at his office. Actually, it was an old Victorian house that Doc Gibbs had converted into a first-floor office with living quarters above. The place was much like Doc had left it years earlier, except for the computer system Val had insisted Chance install.
She followed Chance to the second floor. Val kept her eyes fixed on his broad shoulders and the way his well-worn denims hugged his impressive rear. As usual, she swallowed the desire to reach out and squeeze his buns. Chance didn’t think of her in those terms. According to him, she was his co-worker, friend, buddy, trusted confidante.
In other words, she mused, he thinks of me as a pal or a pet, not a specific gender.
After climbing the narrow staircase, Val found herself in the inner sanctum. At least that’s what it had been dubbed by her fellow workers. Val thought of it more as a love nest. Chance Landry was an active dater. No, she thought, a very active dater. He had pretty much worked his way through the eligible females in Jasper. He’d probably have to widen his search area now. And Val wondered, for the umpteenth time, why he had never once so much as asked her out for a cup of coffee. Six years and nothing more than a few working lunches and dinners.
It was annoying and something of a slap to her self-confidence. She was basically attractive. Had a sense of humor. Kept herself in good shape. Still, Chance looked right through her.
“Drink?” he asked as he gathered newspapers and journals off the round oak kitchen table, tossing them into a pile on the floor.
“Sure. What do you have?” She studied his profile while he studied the contents of his refrigerator. His thick, black hair was neatly trimmed. There were a dozen or so premature silver hairs gracing each temple. His face was simply a work of art. There was no denying that he had grown up in the harsh climate of Montana. Faint lines were etched into his deeply tanned face. She knew without looking that his best feature was those eyes. Eyes that could melt her to the core in less than thirty seconds. They were a beautiful mixture of blue and gray. She could only liken the color to that of a swift-moving, violent summer storm.
His eyes were a stark contrast to his welcoming, crooked smile. A smile only offered with his head slightly bowed. It was an odd quirk. But it somehow made the smile more appealing.
Chance held out a beer for her. She took it, then braced the top against the counter and smashed down hard to release the cap.
Chance laughed. “One of these days you’re going to have to teach me to do that.”
“Nope. A woman has to have some secrets.”
“Except for you,” Chance opined, turning those incredible eyes on her. “Though occasionally you annoy me, you are my closest friend. We don’t have secrets between us.”
Except for that minor little one about me lusting for you. Val forced a smile and lifted her beer in a salute before taking a swallow.
Chance leaned against the counter. Pensively, he took a sip of his drink. “How in hell could I have screwed up so royally?”
Val stayed glued to her spot. It was a safe ten feet from Chance. “I’m sure it was some sort of computer thing.”
“Computer or not, my signature was on the order.”
“Then let’s check the computer,” she suggested.
Chance led her into the living room. It was an odd juxtaposition. Very masculine Chance surrounded by very delicate period furniture.
“This room is soooo you,” Val teased.
“I lack redecorating initiative,” Chance countered as he brushed off, then opened the notebook computer on the coffee table.
“You’re supposed to use a computer, Chance, not dust it.”
“I lack computing skills, too.” He patted the spot next to him on the dainty, velvet-covered settee. “Come here and help me.”
Helping him wasn’t the top choice on her list, but she’d long ago learned to settle for friendship. Okay, maybe in her heart of hearts she didn’t quite savor playing the role of his trusted pal. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it.
Val’s fingers flew over the keyboard. What she did in seconds would have taken Chance the better part of an hour. He respected her abilities. He also respected the fact that her thigh was touching his.
He felt like the worst kind of pig. She was working on his behalf and all he was focused on was the heat where her leg touched his. Chance shook his head, dismissing the thoughts in order to concentrate on the blue screen in front of him.
“This is too weird,” Val said under her breath.
“It’s a bunch of numbers,” Chance commented.
He heard Val sigh deeply.
“It’s codes,” she explained. “I coded every procedure so that all that needs to be done is enter a patient name and the correct code and the printer spits out the appropriate order or prescription. I can even order office and medical supplies direct from the vendors.”
“Do we have a screwup code?”
“No,” Val continued to work feverishly on the machine. “This doesn’t make sense,” she murmured.
“My feelings exactly.”
“No, look at this,” she said, tapping the screen with her oval shaped fingernail.
Chance ignored the part of his brain that was focused on the pale peach polish. It was a stunning contrast to her olive-tinged skin. He read the information on the screen. “Dawson, Kent. Ulcer, pre-ops ordered, EKG, Chem. 7, GI Upper and Lower.” He stroked the stubble on his chin. “That is what I ordered.”
“Now look at this,” Val said as she hit a couple of buttons on the keyboard. “Dawson, Kent, yada-yada, preop tests and a contrast angiogram.”
“Why two orders?” Chance asked.
“Hang on,” Val said, doing some more things on the computer. Her brow wrinkled and she turned her head, meeting his eyes. “According to this, you cancelled the original and substituted the second two nights ago.”
“That’s crap,” Chance scoffed. “I could not have gone into the system to change orders. Hell, I haven’t even mastered playing solitaire yet.”
Val rubbed her temple. “According to the network logs, the change was made at seven forty-five. from your desk terminal.”
“Two nights ago at seven forty-five I was on my way to pick up a long-legged blonde.”
“What’s her name?” Val asked.
“Gretchen something,” he replied. “Pretty as a picture and dumb as a stump.”
“Your favorite qualities in a woman.”
Chance heard the tinge of disapproval in her tone. “I wasn’t asking her to marry me.”
“No details, please. I’m sure I can guess what you were asking her to do.”
“Lighten up, Val. I’m a healthy, single male. Not some crazed rapist. Besides, I never lead women on. I let them know from the start that I’m not a long-term guy.”
“Commitmentphobic,” Val corrected.
“Whatever. The point is, I couldn’t have changed the orders. I wasn’t even here.”
“We’ll verify it with your damsel du jour, then I can contact the tech people to fix this glitch.”
“This glitch could have cost Kent his life.”
“Just like anonymous sex could cost you yours.”
Chance poked her in the ribs. “I do not have anonymous sex. I have brief, consensual, mutually gratifying physical relationships.”
“Only because you choose to keep women at arm’s length because you have never dealt with your issues concerning your mother.”
“Yes, I have, and even if I haven’t, I sure don’t need your input on the subject.”
“Fine. Spend your life afraid of commitment. Once your looks go, you’ll be the lonely old guy sitting on the porch, pathetically cackling at disgusted young women on the street.”
“I would not cackle,” Chance insisted. “I plan on being a heartthrob forever.”
“So did Marlon Brando,” she quipped. “Back to work. We know there were two orders. How did your signature get on the bogus one?”
Chance shrugged. “I have no clue.”
“You don’t recall signing substitute orders?”
“I may not be computer-literate, but I do pay attention to what I sign.”
“Which brings me back to—how did your signature get on the order?”
“I saw it,” he said. “It was clearly on the chart in the hospital. My signature was at the bottom, in blue ink.”
“This means you signed it.”
“But I’m telling you that I didn’t.”
Val gave him a warning smile. “A heartthrob who also thinks he’s perfect isn’t a pretty combination.”
“You think I did it? You think I screwed up?”
“I think it is possible that you made a simple mistake. It happens, Chance.”
“Not to me.”
“Well, the bottom line is that Mr. Dawson is fine.”
“I know that,” Chance admitted. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I know I didn’t order the contrast study. I’ve been treating Kent Dawson for years. I am fully aware of the fact that he has a potentially fatal allergy to iodine.”
Val patted his leg. “And I am fully aware of the fact that you’re human, Chance. Perhaps you had better cozy up to that idea.”
CHANCE WAS slowly emerging from his foul mood by the following week. Val and Nancy Halloway, his nurse, had made a point of not mentioning the Dawson mistake. Especially since Chance had verified that he was with the blonde of the day at the time the second order was written. How his signature got on the second order was still a mystery.
After a very busy morning, there was finally a lull in patients.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Val suggested.
“I can go,” Tara Bishop suggested.
Val and the nurse swiveled in their chairs to face the part-time billing clerk. Tara was very quiet. In fact, Val had dubbed her “the nontalker” about six months earlier. Well, that was true of her interactions with women. Whenever Tara was within ten feet of Chance, she became a babbling blob of stammered sentence fragments.
She seemed sweet, but she was so shy that Tara rarely—if ever—looked anyone in the eye. Needless to say, her unexpected offer to make a run for food was something of a surprise.
“Works for me,” Val said, grabbing her purse from beneath the reception counter.
“Thanks, Tara,” Nancy added. “Turkey on rye toast, no mayo—I’m watching my waistline.”
“Veggie pita for me,” Val said. “And get Chance a rare roast beef with horseradish on a kaiser roll.” Val pulled some crumpled bills out of her wallet. “That should cover it.” She handed the money to Tara.
“Here is mine,” Nancy added. “Throw in one of those gourmet chocolate chip cookies, too.”
Val arched on brow. “No mayo but a thousand-calorie cookie?”
Nancy just shrugged. “So I’m watching my waistline expand.”
“I’ll be right back,” Tara said. She slinked out of the office, barely making a sound.
“So, how was your weekend?” Nancy asked. At fiftyfive and happily married, Nancy lived vicariously through her younger co-workers.
“Boring,” Val admitted.
Nancy gave her a pitying look. “In a dating slump?”
“The well in Jasper has run dry. And I’m running out of ideas.”
“What about a personal ad?”
Val laughed. “How many creeps do you think would respond? I can see the ad now… ‘Date wanted, non-smoker, noncriminal, nonugly.’”
“You’re just too picky,” Nancy sighed. “I have a wonderful nephew in Helena if you’re interested.”
“I have a ‘no blind date’ policy. Sorry.”
“For heaven’s sake, Val, how are you ever going to meet Mr. Right if you limit your options?”
“I consider it limiting my revulsion. The last time I was set up, the guy spent most of dinner admiring himself in his reflection on the back of the spoon. I spent two hours listening to him drone on about animal husbandry. Then, and only then, did he insist we split the check since his wife back in Utah might get suspicious.”
“Ouch.”
“Yuck,” Val corrected. “I’m ready to decree that there isn’t a normal single man in Montana.”
“It’s a big state,” Chance interjected. “Keep looking.”
She playfully offered him her tongue. “Right, maybe I should start using the Chance Landry rules of dating. What are those again?” she teased. “He has to have the IQ of a houseplant, has to have the looks of a GQ cover model but most of all, he must agree to a no-strings-attached liaison.”
A strange look passed across Chance’s face. It was gone before she could put a name to it.
“Those are guy rules. You need girl rules,” he said.
“How double standard is that?”
Chance stroked his chin down to his throat. “I’m not being sexist, I’m being practical. You’re a nurturer, Val. The scariest kind of woman, I might add. You need a guy who will appreciate you and your commitment to your community.”
“Thanks, you make me sound like a mayoral candidate.” Val sighed. “Come to think of it, I am the unofficial mayor of the Friend Zone.”
“The Friend Zone?” Nancy asked.
“Sure. Every man I’m remotely close to thinks of me as one of the guys. They never look at me and think romantic thoughts. At this point, I am totally willing to consider a leer as a compliment and a potential step in the right direction.”
“Men will never leer at you,” Chance said.
Val’s annoyance rose a notch or two. “Am I coyote ugly or something?”
“To the contrary,” Chance answered. “You’re exotically beautiful. Exotic beauty scares most men.”
Exotically beautiful? She was glad she was seated. Hearing him say that about her made her weak-kneed and sent a shiver through her system.
“S-so that’s your theory as to why my dating pool is shrinking?”
“You’re beautiful and you’re in the Danger Zone, not the Friend Zone.”
Val looked at Nancy. “I can’t wait to hear his explanation for this.”
“It’s true,” Chance insisted. “You’re entering the biological clock years. There’s nothing worse for a guy than hearing that ticktock when you’re lip-locked.”
“Chance,” Val groaned. “Not only am I not thinking about my biological clock, I’ve already hit the Snooze button on it. I’m not looking for Mr. Right. I’d be happy to settle for Mr. Right Now for the time being.”
“And you say I’m the commitmentphobic in this group?”
Val hated having her words tossed back at her. “The difference between you and me is that I’m content with conversation and a nice meal. Apparently you, on the other hand, allow the conscienceless part of your anatomy guide you.”
