[The Sons of Lily Moreau 02] - Taming the Playboy Page 2

  Georges focused only on what he considered to be liabilities. “Those are complicating factors.”

  The blonde pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. She continued holding her grandfather’s hand. “Are you a doctor?” He smiled. “I’m a fourth-year resident.” He thought of John LaSalle, the attending physician that he was currently working under. LaSalle regarded residents as lower life forms only slightly higher than lab rats. “In some eyes, that makes me an ‘almost’ doctor.”

  The blonde looked back at her grandfather and, for a moment, watched the way the man’s chest rose and fell in grateful silence. She was aware that she might not be watching that if it hadn’t been for the efforts of the man beside her.

  “There’s nothing ‘almost’ about you,” she replied softly.

  It took Georges a second to realize that those were not bells he was hearing in his head but the sound of an approaching siren.

  Chapter Two Oneof the paramedics, Nathan Dooley, a tall, black, muscular attendant who seemed capable of carrying the patient with one hand tied behind his back, recognized Georges the minute the man climbed out of the passenger side of the ambulance’s cab. He flashed a wide, infectious grin at him, even as he and his partner, a somber-faced man in his thirties named Howard, swiftly worked in tandem to stabilize the old man.

  Doubling back to retrieve the gurney from the back of the vehicle, Nathan returned and raised a quizzical eyebrow in Georges’ direction. “What, you don’t work enough hours in the E.R., Doc? Going out and trolling the hills for business now?”

  “Coincidence,” Georges told him, carefully watching the other EMT work. The other man knew it, too, Georges thought, noting the all-but-rigid tension in Howard’s shoulders.

  “Destiny,” Nathan corrected. He was still grinning, but it sounded to Georges as if the paramedic was deadly serious. He moved back as the two attendants transferred the old man onto the gurney and then snapped its legs into place.

  His mother believed in destiny. In serendipity and fate, as well as savoring the fruits of all three. As for him, Georges still didn’t know what he believed in. Other than luck, of course.

  He supposed maybe that was it. Luck. At least, it had been the old man’s luck in this case. Georges was fairly certain that if he hadn’t been on this road, right at this time, traveling to see his latest—for lack of a better word—love interest, if he’d given in to the weary entreaty of his body, he would have been home in bed right now. Most likely sleeping.

  And the old man on the gurney would have been dead. He and his granddaughter would have been trapped in a fiery coffin. It was satisfying, Georges thought, to make a difference, to have his own existence count for something other than just taking up space. Moments like this brought it all home to him.

  Again, he had Philippe to thank for that. Because, left to his own devices, he had to confess he would have been inclined to sit back and just enjoy himself, just as his father had before him, making the rounds on an endless circuit of parties. His father’s money had assured him that he could spend the rest of his life in the mindless pursuit of pleasure.

  But Philippe had had other plans for him. At the time, he’d thought of Philippe as a humorless bully. God, but he was grateful that Philippe had happened into his life. His and Alain’s.

  Otherwise, the petite woman beside him would now be just a fading memory instead of very much alive. “I want to go with him,” the blonde was saying to the other attendant, who, as uptight as Nathan was relaxed, clearly acted as if he were in charge of this particular detail.

  Her grandfather had already been lifted into the back of the ambulance, his gurney secured for passage. Nathan was just climbing into the vehicle’s cab and he nodded at the woman’s statement. But Howard was in the back with the old man, and he now moved forward to the edge of the entrance, his thin, uniformed body barring her access.

  When she tried to get in anyway, Howard remained where he was and shook his head. “Sorry. Rules.” Reaching for both doors simultaneously, he began to close them on her. But the action was never completed. Coming up from behind her, Georges suddenly clamped his hand down on the door closest to him. It was apparent that Georges was the stronger of the two.

  It was also very apparent, especially from the scowl on his face, that Howard did not care for being challenged.

  “Let her go with him,” Georges told the paramedic. It was an order even though his voice remained even, low-key. “She’s been through a lot.” Howard’s frown deepened. This was his small kingdom and he was not about to abdicate so easily. “Look, there are rules to follow. Nobody but the patient, that’s him, and the attendant, that’s me,” he said needlessly, his teeth clenched together, “are supposed to be riding back in—”

  Georges’ smile was the sort envisioned on the lips of a cougar debating whether or not to terminate the life of its captured prey—if cougars could smile.

  “Have a heart—” his eyes shifted to the man’s name tag “—Howard. Let the lady get into the ambulance with her grandfather.” Nathan twisted around in his seat, looking into the back of the ambulance. “Listen to the man,Howie ,” he advised with a wide, easy grin. “Someday he could be holding a scalpel over your belly.”

  It was obvious that Howard didn’t care for the image or the veiled threat.

  “If you get any flack,” Georges promised smoothly, “just refer your supervisor to me. I’ll take full responsibility.” “Yeah, easy for you to say,” Howard grumbled. Drawing in a breath, he blew it out again, clearly not happy about the situation. Clearly not confident enough to back up his decision. His small black eyes darted from the woman’s face to the doctor’s. Survival instincts won over being king of the hill. “Okay.” Howard backed away from the entrance and returned to his seat beside the gurney. “Get in.”

  “Thank you,” the blonde cried. It wasn’t clear if she was addressing her words to Howard or her Good Samaritan, or the man in the front seat behind the steering wheel. Possibly, it was to all three.

  Taking her hand, Georges helped the woman get into the back of the ambulance. But once she was inside, she didn’t let go of his hand. She held on more tightly.

  “I want you to come, too,” she said to him. When it looked as if he was going to demur, she added a heartfelt, “Please?” There was no more that he could do. The ride to the hospital was fast enough and once there, there would be doctors to see to the man. Besides, he still had a date waiting for him.

  Georges began to extricate himself from her. “I—” Her expression grew more determined. “You said you worked at—Blair Memorial, is it?” Georges nodded. “Then you’re one step ahead of everyone else there. You saw what my grandfather went through. You treated him. Please,” she entreated. “I don’t want to risk losing him. I don’t want to look back and think, If only that doctor had been there, that would have made the difference between my grandfather living and—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

  It was the sudden shimmer of tears in her eyes that got him. Got him as surely as if handcuffs had been snapped shut on his wrists. Georges inclined his head, acquiescing.

  “I never argue with a beautiful damsel in distress,” he told her. Then he glanced up at the frowning Howard who looked like a troll sitting beneath his bridge, protecting his tiny piece of dirt. “Don’t worry, I won’t crowd you in the ambulance,” Georges promised. He jerked his thumb back at his presently less than shiny sports car. “I’ll follow behind in my car.” Georges shifted his glance toward the woman. “That all right with you?”

  Vienna Hollenbeck pressed her lips together to hold back the sob that materialized in her throat. She was a hairbreadth away from breaking down, and it bothered her. Bothered her because it clashed with the strong self-image she carried around of herself.

  Surprise, you’re not invulnerable after all.

  Nodding,Vienna whispered, “Yes, that’ll be fine with me.”

  Georges gave her hand a warm sque
eze before withdrawing his own. “He’s going to be all right,” he promised.

  With a huff, Howard leaned over and shut both doors in his face. Firmly. Georges turned away and hurried over to his vehicle. Buckling up, he turned the key in the ignition. The car purred to life as if it hadn’t come within inches of being crushed.

  He’d just broken cardinal rule number one, Georges thought, waiting for the ambulance to pull away. Not the one about doing no harm. That was the official one on the books, the one that was there to make people feel better about going to doctors. He’d broken the practical one, the one that was intended to have doctors safeguarding their practices and their reputations. The one that strictly forbade them to make promises about a patient’s future unless they were completely, absolutely certain that what they said could be written in stone and that their words couldn’t somehow return to bite them on the part of their anatomy used for sitting.

  But he found that he couldn’t look into those blue eyes of hers and not give the woman the assurance that she was silently begging for.

  “So I made her feel better for a few minutes,” Georges murmured out loud to no one in particular. “What harm could it do? Really?”

  Besides, from what he could ascertain, the old man didn’t look as if he’d sustained extensive bodily injuries.

  Appearances can be deceiving. How many times had he heard that before? How many times had he learned that to be true? The old man could very easily have massive internal injuries that wouldn’t come to light until after he’d been subjected to a battery of tests and scans.

  Still, Georges argued silently, why make the woman worry? If there was something wrong, there was plenty of time for the man’s granddaughter to worry later. And if it turned out that there wasn’t anything wrong, why burden her needlessly? He always tried to see things in a positive light. It was an optimism that he had developed over the years and which had its roots in his mother’s lifestyle and philosophy: never assume the worst. If it was there, it would find you soon enough without being summoned.

  Georges realized that he was gripping the steering wheel a great deal more tightly than necessary. He consciously relaxed his hold. It didn’t, however, keep him from squeezing through a yellow light in the process of turning red.

  He kept pace with the ambulance, all but tailgating it until it reached Blair Memorial. The hospital was an impressive structure that was perched at the top of a hill and that seemed, according to some, to be forever under construction. Not the main section, which only underwent moderate renovations every ten to fifteen years, but the outlying regions.

  Beginning as a small, five-story building, over the last forty-five years,BlairMemorialHospital , originally called Harris Memorial, had tripled in size. It owed its name change and its mushrooming growth to generous donations from the Blair family, as well as from myriad other benefactors. None of it would have been possible, however, if not for its glowing reputation, attributed to an outstanding staff.

  No one was ever turned away from Blair Memorial’s doors and the poorest patient was given the same sort of care as the richest patient: excellent in every way. Its physicians and surgeons thought nothing of volunteering their free time, both at Blair and in outlying regions, rendering services to people who otherwise could not afford to receive the proper medical attention that often meant the difference between life and death, permanent disability and full recovery. Georges was proud to have been accepted at Blair to complete his residency.

  The ambulance made a left turn at the light, then an immediate right. Easing around the small space, it backed up to the emergency room’s outer doors. Georges was right behind it. As he brought his car to a stop beside the vehicle, a volunteer valet came to life behind his small podium and quickly hurried over toward the red sports car.

  “I’m sorry, I’ll have to park that for you in the other lot. We need to keep this clear for emergency vehicles.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before he saw the hospital ID that Georges held up for his perusal. The valet flushed. “Oh, sorry, Doctor. I thought you were with them.” He nodded at the ambulance. It wasn’t unusual for family members to accompany ambulances.

  “I am,” Georges replied amicably. “There was an accident on PCH. I just happened to be there in time to lend a hand.”

  Nodding meekly, the valet faded back to his podium.

  The back doors of the ambulance were already opened. Georges waited for the gurney to be lowered. Once it was, he offered his hand to the blonde to help her out of the vehicle. Her fingers were icy, he noted.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes meeting his and holding for a long moment.

  Georges knew the woman wasn’t referring to his helping her out of the ambulance. She was thanking him for coming.

  “Part of my job description,” he told her.

  “Trolling for patients?” she asked, repeating the words that Nathan had used earlier. She tried to force a smile to her lips.

  The small, aborted attempt hinted at just how radiant her smile could be once fully projected. He found himself looking forward to seeing it in earnest.

  “Helping where I can,” he corrected. The gurney was pushed through the electronic doors that had sprung open to admit it and the attendants. Georges placed his hand to the small of her back, guiding her in behind the gurney.

  Warm air came rushing at them, a contrast to the cool night air outside. The next moment, the on-duty E.R. physician was coming toward the paramedics and their patient.

  “What have we got?” Alex Murphy asked, pulling on plastic gloves as he approached. The next moment, he stopped, looking at Georges in surprise. The two men had crossed paths a couple of hours ago, with Murphy arriving as Georges was leaving.

  “Friend of yours, Dr. Armand?” Murphy assumed. Georges shook his head. “Hit-and-run,” he replied. “Accident happened right behind me onPacific Coast Highway . Driver of the car never even stopped.” He didn’t add that he had almost been hit by the same driver. Dramatics were his mother’s domain; they’d never interested him. “The man had a cardiac episode. His heart stopped for less than a minute,” he added when Murphy looked at him sharply. “I

  applied CPR.” Georges rattled off the rest of the man’s vital signs. When it came to his blood pressure, Georges glanced toward Howard, who supplied the missing piece of information. The paramedic looked annoyed that he had been reduced to the role of a supporting player.

  Taking it all in, Murphy nodded. “Okay, we’ll take it from here.” Georges felt the woman’s eyes on him, as if silently urging him to take the lead. There was no need. Murphy was an excellent physician, but to allay her fears, he turned to the doctor and said, “I’d appreciate it if you did an angiogram on him right away. He has diabetes and a heart condition.”

  “And this is a stranger, you say?” Murphy glanced from him to the young woman beside him. And then nodded knowingly. “Angiogram it is.” Murphy turned toward the nurse and orderly who had taken the two paramedics’ places. “You heard Dr. Armand.” They began to wheel the old man away, but Murphy stopped them. “I want a full set of films done, as well.” He fired the names of the specific scans at them. Finished, he backed away.

  The nurse and orderly resumed pushing the gurney down the hall, passing through another set of double doors. The blonde began to follow behind them. Hurrying to catch up, Georges placed a restraining hand on her arm.

  Startled, she looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “You can’t go there,” he told her, then added with a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, they’ll bring him back as soon as they’re finished.”

  Murphy stripped off the plastic gloves and crossed his arms before him. “Anything else?” he asked, mildly amused. Georges nodded. He knew how territorial some doctors could be. It was always best to ask permission rather than assume. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hang around.”

  Murphy glanced at the woman, who in turn was looking down the hall. Georges Armand’
s reputation had made the rounds and he, like everyone else, was well aware that the young surgical resident attracted women like a high-powered magnet attracted iron. “Hang all you want, Georges.” He smiled wistfully. Married five years, his own romancing days were well in his past. “I’ll keep you apprised,” he promised.

  Murphy addressed the words toward the young woman, as well, but for the moment, she seemed oblivious. With a shrug, the physician left to attend to the next patient on his list.

  “Thanks. I appreciate that,” Georges called after him. Turning toward the blonde, he caught himself thinking that she seemed a little shaky on her feet. Small wonder, considering that she’d been in the accident, too.

  “You know,” he began, moving her over to one side as another gurney, this time from one of the E.R. stalls, was pushed past them by two orderlies, “you really should get checked out, as well.”

  If she stopped moving,Vienna thought, she was going to collapse. Like one of those cartoon characters that only plummeted down the ravine if they acknowledged that there was no ground beneath their feet. She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just shaken. And worried,” she added with a suppressed sigh, looking over toward the double doors where her grandfather had disappeared.

  “In that case, maybe we should get your mind on other things.” He saw her eyebrows draw together in silent query. “There’s an anxious administrative assistant over at Registration eager to take down a lot of information about your grandfather. Here.” He offered her his arm. “I can take you over to the Registration desk so you can talk to her.”

  Viennanodded, feeling as if she was slipping into a surreal dreamlike state. She threaded her arm through his in what seemed like slow motion, and allowed herself to be directed through yet another set of swinging double doors.

  She tried desperately to clear the fog that was descending over her head. “You know,” she said, turning to look at the doctor, “I don’t even know your name.” The other doctor had called him by something, but she hadn’t heard the man clearly. “What do I call you?” She smiled softly. “Besides an angel?”