Step into the world of NYC Angels

Looking out over Central Park, the Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital, affectionately known as Angel’s, is famed throughout America for being at the forefront of paediatric medicine, with talented staff who always go that extra mile for their little patients. Their lives are full of highs, lows, drama and emotion.

In the city that never sleeps, the life-saving docs at Angel’s Hospital work hard, play hard and love even harder. There’s always time for some sizzling after-hours romance …

And striding the halls of the hospital, leaving a sea of fluttering hearts behind him, is the dangerously charismatic new head of neurosurgery Alejandro Rodriguez. But there’s one woman, paediatrician Layla Woods, who’s left an indelible mark on his no-go-area heart.

Expect their reunion to be explosive!

NYC Angels

Children’s doctors who work hard and love even harder … in the city that never sleeps!

Dear Reader

Have you ever known a people-pleaser—someone who will do anything to keep others content? Perhaps you are one. If so, you know what a huge undertaking making everyone happy can be. Impossible, even. Yet Polly Seymour, RN, plods ahead with her challenging life, insisting upon sprinkling seeds of joy everywhere she goes, whether a person wants those seeds of joy tossed their way or not.

On the other hand, we might all also know the proverbial curmudgeon. A person who has been kicked in the teeth by life once too often—someone who has forgotten what it’s like to be a part of the huddled masses, yearning for something better. Most observers would give up on him and his sour moods. But someone astute at reading people, like Polly, recognises a man with a big heart even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Because any man whose day isn’t complete until he’s said goodnight to each of his hospitalised paediatric patients can’t be all bad, right? Meet Dr John Griffin.

Throw these two most unlikely people together on a busy orthopaedic hospital ward, let them duke it out—her killing him softly with her charm, him coming off gruffer than he intends—and watch the sexual sparks fly. It just goes to show you never know which small gesture or innocent invitation might reach inside another person’s heart and start the healing.

Now imagine running into someone your first day on a new job—someone who will change your life—but all you feel is annoyed. Imagine being the newest employee on the ward and still having the nerve to approach the head of the department with a grand idea. Imagine two damaged people, struggling to make it through each day, using completely different coping mechanisms. Meet Polly and John, two people I hope you’ll root for as they stumble and fumble their way towards that often elusive prize—their very own happy-ever-after.

Welcome to NYC Angels—the hospital that won’t turn anyone away.

Happy reading!

Lynne

Lynne Marshall loves to hear from readers. Visit www.lynnemarshall.com or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

About the Author

LYNNE MARSHALL has been a Registered Nurse in a large California hospital for over twenty-five years. She has now taken the leap to writing full-time, but still volunteers at her local community hospital. After writing the book of her heart in 2000, she discovered the wonderful world of Mills & Boon® Medical Romance™, where she feels the freedom to write the stories she loves. She is happily married, has two fantastic grown children, and a socially challenged rescue dog. Besides her passion for writing Medical Romance™, she loves to travel and read. Thanks to the family dog, she takes long walks every day!

To find out more about Lynne, please visit her website: www.lynnemarshallweb.com

Recent titles by this author:

 DR TALL, DARK … AND DANGEROUS?

 THE CHRISTMAS BABY BUMP

 THE HEART DOCTOR AND THE BABY

 THE BOSS AND NURSE ALBRIGHT

 TEMPORARY DOCTOR, SURPRISE FATHER

These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

NYC Angels:
Making the
Surgeon Smile
Lynne Marshall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Many thanks to Mills & Boon® for the opportunity to participate in this wonderful Medical Romance™ continuity. Special thanks to Flo Nicoll for creating Polly and John, two characters I grew to think of as friends by the end of this book.

CHAPTER ONE

MONDAY MORNING POLLY SEYMOUR dashed into the sparkling marble-tiled lobby of New York’s finest pediatric hospital, Angel’s. The subway from the lower East Side to Central Park had taken longer today, and the last thing she wanted to do was be late on her first day as a staff RN on the orthopedic ward.

Opting to take the six flights of stairs instead of fight for a spot in one of the overcrowded elevators, she took two steps at a time until she reached her floor. As she climbed, she thought through everything she’d learned the prior week during general hospital orientation. Main factoid: Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital never turned a child away.

That was a philosophy she could believe in.

Heck, they’d even accepted her, the girl whose aunts and uncles used to refer to as “Poor Polly”. It used to make her feel like that homely vintage doll, Pitiful Pearl. But Angel’s had welcomed her to their nursing staff with open arms.

Blasting through the door, completely out of breath, she barreled onwards, practically running down a man in a white doctor’s coat. Built like a football player, the rugged man with close-cropped more-silver-than-brown hair hardly flinched. He caught her by the shoulders and helped her regain her balance.

“Careful, dumpling,” he said, sounding like a Clint-Eastwood-style grizzled cowboy.

Mortified, her eyes shot wide open. Sucking in air, she could hardly speak. “Sorry, Dr….” Her gaze shifted from his stern brown eyes to his name badge. “Dr. John Griffin.” Oh, man, did that badge also say Orthopedic Department Director? He was her boss.

She knew the routine—first impressions were lasting impressions, and this one would be a doozy. Without giving him another chance to call her “dumpling”—did he think she was thirteen?—she pointed toward the hospital ward and took off, leaving one last “Sorry” floating in her wake.

At the nurses’ station, she unwrapped her tightly wound sweater, removed her shoulder bag and plopped them both on the counter. “I’m Polly Seymour. This is my first day. Is Brooke Hawkins here?”

The nonchalant ward clerk with an abundance of tiny braids all pulled back into a ponytail lifted his huge chocolate-colored eyes, gave a forced smile and pointed across the ward. “The tall redhead,” he said, barely breaking stride from the lab orders he was entering in the computer.

Gathering her stuff, and still out of breath, Polly made a beeline for the nursing supervisor. Brooke’s welcome was warm and friendly, and included a wide smile, which helped settle the mass of butterflies winging through Polly’s stomach.

Brooke glanced at her watch. “You must be Polly and you’re early. I wasn’t expecting you until seven.”

“I didn’t want to miss the change-of-shift report, and I don’t have a clue where to put my stuff or which phone to clock in on.” Would she ever breathe normally again?

“Follow me,” Brooke said, heading toward another door, closer to the doctor. “I see you already ran into our department director, Dr. Griffin. Literally,” Brooke said, with playful eyes and a wink.

Polly put her hand to the side of her face, shielding her profile from the man several feet away and still watching her. “I think he thought I was a patient.”

“Did he smile at you?”

“Yes.”

“Then he definitely thought you were one of our patients. He doesn’t smile for staff.”

An hour later, completely engrossed in taking vital signs in a four-bed ward of squirming children wearing various-sized casts, splints and slings, Polly heard inconsolable crying. She glanced over her shoulder. “What is it, Karen?” The little girl had undergone femoral anteversion to relieve her toeing-in when walking, and was in a big and bulky double-leg cast with a metal bar between them keeping her feet in the exact position in which they needed to be to heal.

Polly rushed to the toddler’s crib and lowered one of the side rails. “What is it, honey?”

With her face screwed up so tight her source of tears couldn’t be seen, Karen wailed. Polly could have easily done a tonsil check while the child’s mouth was wide open, but knew that wasn’t the origin of Karen’s frustration. She lifted the little one, who weighed a good ten pounds more than she normally would have because of the cast, from the bed and cooed at her then patted her back. “What is it, honey, hmm?”

Perhaps the change in position would be enough to help settle down the tiny patient. No such luck. Karen’s cries increased in volume as she swatted at Polly, who sang a nursery rhyme to her to calm her down. “Oh, the grand old Duke of York …” Maybe distraction would work?

“Oh, look! Look!” Polly moved over to the window to gaze out over beautiful Central Park. “Pretty. See?” Praying she could distract Karen for a moment’s reprieve, Polly pointed at the lush green trees, many with colorful white and pink blooms still hanging on though late June.

“No!” Karen shook her head and kept crying.

Polly bounced Karen on her hip, as best she could with the toddler’s cast, and jaunted around the room with her. “Let’s take a horsey ride. Come on. Bumpity, bumpity, bumpity, boom!”

“No boom!” Karen would have nothing to do with Polly’s antics.

“I’m going to eat you!” Polly said, digging into Karen’s shoulder and playfully nibbling away. “Rror rror rrr.”

“No! No eat me.”

Felicia, the five-year-old in the corner bed with a full arm cast began to fuss. “I want a horsey ride.”

Polly danced over towards Felicia’s crib-sized bed, which looked more like a cage for safety’s sake. Factoid number two from orientation: hospital policy for anyone five or under. “See, Karen, Felicia wants a horsey ride.”

Now both girls were crying, and all the goofy faces and silly songs Polly performed couldn’t change the tide of sadness sweeping across the four-bed ward. Erin, in bed C, with her arm in a sling added to the three-part harmony. The only one sleeping was the little patient in bed D, who would surely be awakened by the fuss. What the heck should she do now?

“Hold on,” a deep raspy voice said over her shoulder. “This calls for emergency measures.”

Polly turned to find Dr. Griffin filling the doorway. He dug in his pocket and fished out a handful of colorful rubber and waved it around. Making a silly face at Karen, he crossed his eyes, stretching his lips and blowing out air that sounded like a distant elephant. Polly tried not to laugh. Quicker than a flash of rainbow he diverted the children’s attention by inflating long yellow and green balloons and twisting them into a swan shape. Factoid number three: all balloons must be latex-free. How did he get them to stretch like that?

“Here you go, Karen. Now go and play with your new friend,” Dr. Griffin said.

To Polly’s amazement, Karen accepted the proffered gift with a smile, albeit a soggy smile in dire need of a tissue.

“Me next!” Felicia reached out her good arm, her fingers making a gimme-gimme gesture.

Dr. Griffin strolled over to her bedside and patted her hand. “What color do you want?”

“Red,” she said, practically jumping up and down inside the caged crib while she held onto the safety bars.

“Do you want a fairy crown or a monkey?”

“Both!”

In another few seconds Felicia wore a red crown with a halo hovering above, and gave a squeaky balloon kiss to her new purple monkey friend.

Dr. Griffin glanced at Polly, with victory sparkling in his dark eyes. The charming glance sent a jet of surprise through her chest. Blowing up two more balloons and twisting them into playful objects, he handed one to the remaining child and left another on the sleeping girl’s bed, then sauntered toward the door. Was he confident or what? He stopped beside Polly, who had just finished putting Karen back into her crib, and blew up one last balloon. It was a blue sword, and he handed it to her. “Use this the next time you need to save the day.” He glanced around the room at the quietly contented children. “That’s how it’s done,” he said.

Polly could have sworn he’d stopped just short of calling her dumpling again.

He left just as quickly as he’d entered and she paused in her tracks, feeling a bit silly holding her blue balloon sword. Outside she heard a child complaining to the nurse. “I’m sick of practicing walking.”

Dr. Griffin joined right in. “I double-dog dare you to take ten more steps, Richie,” he said. “In fact, I’ll race you to that wall.”

Was this really the man the staff said never smiled?

Humbled by the gruff doctor’s gift with children, Polly went about her duties giving morning medications and giving bed baths to three of her four patients. At mid-morning the play therapist made a visit, relieving her of both Karen and Felicia for an hour. Erin’s mother had also arrived, which gave Polly one-on-one time with her sleeping princess, Angelica, the most challenging patient of all. She had type I osteogenesis imperfecta and had been admitted for pain control of her hyper-mobile joints. Her condition also caused partial hearing loss, which was probably why the three-year-old had slept through the ruckus earlier.

Thinking twice about waking the peacefully sleeping toddler, Polly gazed affectionately at her then drifted to the desk and computer outside the four-bed ward to catch up on her morning charting.

“How are things going?” Darren, a middle-aged nurse with prematurely white hair pulled back into a ponytail, asked. By the faded tattoo on his forearm, she knew he had once been in the navy.

“Pretty good. How about you?”

“Same as always. Work hard, help kids, make decent money, look forward to my days off.”

So far Polly wasn’t impressed with the general morale of the ward. Everyone seemed efficient enough, skilled in their orthopedic specialties, but, glancing around, there didn’t seem to be any excess energy. Or joy. She found it hard to live around gloom, and had learned early on how to create her own joy, for survival’s sake. Some way, somehow she’d think of something to lift the ward’s spirit, or she wouldn’t be able to keep her hard-earned title of professional people pleaser.

A physical therapist came by, assisting one of the teen patients who did battle with a walker. Polly gave a cheerful wave to both of them. The P.T. merely nodded, but the boy was concentrating so hard on his task that he didn’t even notice.

Orientation factoid number four: Angel’s is the friendliest place in town!

Really?

Polly turned back to Darren. “Can you show me how to work that Hoyer lift? I’ve got a special patient to be weighed, and I need to change her sheets, too.”

“Sure.”

“Sweet. Thanks!”

“Now?”

“There’s no time like the present, I always say.” Polly finished her charting and escorted Darren into her assigned room. Together they gently repositioned and lifted Angelica from the bed. The child stared listlessly at them, her pretty gray eyes accented by blue-tinged, instead of white, sclera. “Are you from New York, Darren?”

“Yeah, born and raised. Where’re you from?”

“Dover, Pennsylvania.” She smiled, thinking of her tiny home town. “Our biggest claim to fame was being occupied overnight by the Confederates during the civil war.”

Darren smiled, and she saw a new, more relaxed side to his usual military style.

“Don’t blink if you ever drive down Main Street, you might miss it.” Self-deprecating humor had always paid off, in her experience.

He laughed along with her, and she felt she’d made progress as they finished their task. She could do this. She could whip this ward into shape. Hadn’t that always been her specialty? Just give her enough time and maybe the staff would actually talk and joke with each other. She accompanied Darren to the door and sat at the small counter where the laptop was, and prepared for more charting.

“Yo. Whatever your name is.” Rafael the ward clerk said, peering over his computer screen. “I’ve got some new labs for you.”

After looking both ways for foot traffic, Polly scooted across the floor on the wheels of her chair instead of getting up. “Special delivery for me? Sweet. I love to get mail.”

He cast an odd gaze at Polly, as if she were from another planet. When he found her lifting her brows and smiling widely, he quit resisting and, though it was halfhearted, offered a suspicious smile back. “Just for you,” he said, handing her the pile of reports. “Don’t lose ’em.”

Brooke came by as Polly perused her patients’ labs. “How’re things going so far?”

“Great! I really like it here. Of course, it’s ten times bigger than the community hospital where I worked the last four years.”

“We call it controlled chaos, on good days. I won’t tell you what we call it on bad days.” The tall woman smiled.

Orientation factoid number five: Teamwork is the key to success at Angel’s Hospital.

Hmm. Maybe the staff needed to go through orientation again?

“As long as we all help each other, we should survive, right? Teamwork.”

Brooke glanced around the ward, with everyone busily working by themselves, and her mouth twisted. “Sometimes I think we’ve forgotten that word.”

Which put a thought in Polly’s mind. As soon as Brooke strolled away, she checked to make sure everything was okay in her assigned room, then went across the ward to a nurse who looked busy and flustered. “Can I help you with anything?”

The woman glanced up from calculating blood glucose on the monitor. “Um.” Caught off guard, she had to think, as if no one had ever asked to help her before.

“Anyone need a bedpan or help to the bathroom? I’ve got some free time.”

The woman’s honey-colored eyes brightened. She pushed a few strands of black hair away from her face. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you ask my broken-pelvis patient in 604 if he needs a bedpan?”

“Sweet,” Polly said, noticing a surprised and perplexed expression in the nurse’s eyes before she dashed toward 604.

Polly took her lunch-break with two other nurses and a respiratory therapist in the employee lounge. They’d all brought food from home like she had. She’d have to count her pennies to survive living in New York City.

“Is your hair naturally curly?” One of the other young nurses asked, as they ate.

Polly slumped her shoulders. “Yes. Drives me nuts most days.”

“Are you kidding? People pay big money to get waves like that.”

“And people pay big money to have their hair straightened, too,” the other nurse chimed in.

“Well, I can’t pay big money for anything but rent,” Polly said. The two nurses and R.T. all grinned and nodded in agreement. “That’s why I stick to my hairband and hope for the best.” She thought about her most uncooperative hair on the planet, and as if that wasn’t curse enough, it was dull blonde. Dishwater blonde as her aunt used to call it. How many times had she wished she could afford flashy apricot highlights, or maybe platinum. Maybe get a high-fashion cut and style to make her look chic. Only in her dreams. The last thing she’d ever be described as was chic, and hair coloring was completely out of the question these days.

She took another bite of her sandwich and noticed everyone zoning out again. The silence was too reminiscent of her childhood, being shipped from one aunt and uncle to another, and how they’d merely tolerated her presence out of duty. The sad memories drove her to start yet another conversation.

“Do you guys ever go out for drinks after work? I mean, I know I just said I’m counting my pennies, but seeing that it’s my first day on the ward and all, well, I’d kind of like to get to know everyone a little better. You know, in a more casual setting?”

She saw the familiar gaze of people once again thinking she’d arrived from another universe. “How expensive could a drink or two at happy hour be?” she said. “And wouldn’t we miss the rush hour on the subway that way, too?”

“You know, I don’t even remember the last time we went out for drinks,” the first nurse said, forking a bite of enchilada into her mouth.

“Have we ever gone out for drinks?” the second nurse asked, sipping on a straw in her soft drink can.

“I think once in a while we organize potlucks, but …” The respiratory therapist with a hard-to-pronounce surname on his badge said, scratching his head. “I wouldn’t mind a beer after work. What about you guys?”

“That’s a great idea,” Polly said, making it seem like the R.T. had thought up the plan. “Count me in.”

“Where’re we going?” Another nurse wandered into the lounge.

“To O’Malley’s Pub, a block down the street,” the first nurse said. “I hear they’ve got great chicken hot wings on Monday nights, too. Spread the word.”

Well, what do you know, she’d pulled it off. One moment the room had been dead, now somehow she’d managed to infuse some excitement into her co-workers as they made plans to do something different. They smiled and chatted about their favorite beer and mixed drinks, and laughed with each other.

It always felt good to please people. It had been how she’d survived, growing up. She had a long history of perfecting her talent, too. A set of narrowing brown eyes and a raspy voice came to mind. “So who’s going to invite Dr. Griffin?”

All went silent again. Polly glanced from face to face to face as they stared at her with varying expressions, all of which implied she’d lost her mind.

“What? You don’t invite your department head for drinks?”

The first nurse cleared her throat. “Maybe one of the residents but, uh, he doesn’t socialize with us.”

“Yeah. He merely tolerates us, and only because he knows he needs us to take care of his patients,” the second nurse said.

“But isn’t he the guy who approves your raises?”

Three sets of lips pressed into straight lines as they all nodded.

“I dare you to ask him to come along,” the nurse who’d just joined them said, as she finished heating her soup in the microwave. She laughed with the others at the ridiculous dare.

“Double-dog dare?” Polly had never heard that expression before Dr. Griffin had said it that morning, but figured now was the right time to use it.

“Triple-dog dare,” the last nurse said, taking her place at the table and leaning forward with a clear challenge in her eyes.

Polly knew a set-up when she saw one. Let the new girl hang herself with the boss. Well, she’d seen a different side of him that morning and couldn’t believe they’d never seen it too. “How bad can a person be who makes balloon animals for his little patients?”

The four other people in the room looked at each other rather than answer the question. That meant one thing. Polly, the diehard, would have to find out on her own.

As the afternoon stretched on, Polly was surprised by how energized the staff seemed since they’d made plans for after-work drinks.

Even Brooke approved. “This is just the injection of fun we’ve needed around here. I may have to nickname you Pollyanna.”

Polly made her goofy face and shook her head. “Please, don’t.” Even though that was better by far than being called Poor Polly.

At four o’clock, the first shift of the day had ended and had handed over to the next team. Word had spread about everyone going for drinks at O’Malley’s for happy hour, and more than half of the staff had signed on. Some of the evening shift wished they could go, too. Not bad for her first day.

Polly tied her sweater around her waist and licked her lips. “I’ll see you all down there in a few minutes.”

She’d promised to invite Dr. John Griffin, and she always kept her promises. She walked to the far side of the sixth-floor hospital wing. Staring down the hall at his closed office door, she took a deep breath and strode onward.

Someone knocked at the door. John made a face because it interrupted his train of thought, thoughts he’d been avoiding all day. Just one day. That’s all he asked. One day not to remember images from twelve years ago. One day without memories sweeping over him, wrenching his gut. Was it too much to ask for? There was a second knock. “Who is it?”

All he could hear was some whispery childlike sound, but he couldn’t make out a single word. Irritated, he raised his voice. “Come in. It’s not locked.” He tossed his pen across the desk blotter and leaned back in his chair.

Peering around the opening door were big blue eyes. Those big blue eyes. Son of a gun, it was dumpling, the young woman he’d mistaken for a teenage patient that morning. Damned if he was going to be the first to speak, he sat watching her enter his office. First her head and shoulders came round the door. Next one foot. Then the other foot cautiously followed suit. There she was, as large than life, except in her case that equaled a petite picture of youth and enthusiasm—the last thing on earth, and especially today, that he needed. When the hell had been the last time he’d actually felt enthusiastic about anything?

With one hand behind her back, she cleared her throat. “Hi, Dr. Griffin.”

He sat as still as a boulder. Sure, he’d heard the rumblings about everyone going out for drinks after work that night, and little miss bright eyes being the instigator. Well, he wanted nothing to do with it. He didn’t believe in fraternizing with his staff. It didn’t set a good example. And even if he changed his mind, today would be the last day of any year he’d choose to break his hard and fast rule.

“Um …” Polly edged closer one tiny step at a time as he stared her down. “A bunch of us are going to O’Malley’s for some hot wings and beer, and …” She scratched her nose, her eyes darting around the room to avoid meeting his stare. “Well, I was, um, I mean, we were hoping you’d join us.”

“And why would I do that?” Even for him it came out gruffer than he’d meant.

She studied her feet. “To help raise your staff’s morale?”

“Morale? What’s that?”

“When people enjoy coming to work, and work better because of it?” She looked all of fifteen standing there, thick wavy dark blonde hair gathering on her shoulders, saucer-sized eyes, chewing her lower lip, hands behind her back, yet somehow seeming courageous.

Normally, he wasn’t into torture, but she’d been the one to come to him. It might be twisted, but making her squirm also distracted him from those morbid thoughts looping over and over in his mind.

“Are you their sacrifice?” he said. She glanced up, looking perplexed. “Did they put you up for the fall, being the new girl and all?”

“No, sir. I wanted to invite you. It was my idea.”

Her near opaque aqua eyes finally found their mark, and the sight of this young woman staring at him made the hairs on his arms rise. His wife had had eyes exactly like hers. Earlier today, they had been the first feature he’d noticed about the new nurse. Everything else about her physically was completely different from his wife, except those eyes. God, he missed Lisa.

But all the wishing in the world couldn’t bring her back.

“Do they need their morale raised?” he said, sounding dead flat even to himself. Who the hell was going to raise his morale? “Don’t they have lives to go home to every day? Doesn’t that raise their spirits enough without me having to babysit them in a bar, too?”

“They don’t need a babysitter. We’d all like to share a drink together, that’s all.” He saw the pink blush begin on her cheeks and spread rapidly to her neck and ears.

He wasn’t a monster. He felt bad that he’d made her feel so uncomfortable, but someone should have warned her about trying to involve him in anything social. Brooke had clearly fallen down on her supervisory duties.

All he wanted to do was go home, hide in a dark room, and bury his sorrow in a glass of perfectly aged Scotch. The world didn’t need to know that today would have been Lisa’s thirty-sixth birthday. How the hell would it look to be chatting in a bar on a day like this?

“I can’t.” He stood to signal their meeting was over.

“I double-dog dare you.” She grimaced.

He folded his arms and one eyebrow quirked. Was she serious?

With a look of desperation she whipped her arm from behind her back, revealing the silly blue balloon sword he’d made for her earlier. “It’s just that I was hoping to buy a drink for the man who saved my day, today. You and that jar of latex-free balloons on your desk.”

By the earnest expression on her face he knew it hadn’t been easy for her to come into his office and beg him to meet with his staff at a pub. A staff he kept socially at an arm’s length yet depended on, no, demanded they give his patients the best medical care in New York. He’d always assumed their paychecks were thanks enough. Maybe dumpling had the right idea.

He didn’t have a clue, neither did he care, what would make her need to include him. But the employees were all probably at the bar having a good laugh at the new nurse’s expense about how they’d managed to set her up for failure. What a dirty trick. Some nurses really did like to eat their young and this Polly was definitely that. Young. Innocent looking. Fresh. Sweet. Ah, hell, be honest—attractive. He gave a tentative smile. She instantly responded with a bright grin and raised brows, and he was a goner. How could he let someone down with a reputation on the line?

Surely Lisa would understand.

“Okay,” he said.

“Sweet!”

“One beer and you’re buying.”

She nodded, triumph sparkling in her bright blue eyes. “Gladly, sir.” She pointed the way to the door with the balloon sword.

“That stays here,” he said as he passed her on his way out.

She stifled her giggle when he impaled her with his dead serious stare.

One thing she’d already proved to him. This girl … er … woman named Polly was fearless. He liked that.

John had to admit the tall glass of house draft tasted great and felt smooth going down. His newest nurse, in keeping with her promise, had fronted the money to buy it for him, which made it taste all the better. She really wanted him there. When was the last time he’d been wanted anywhere other than in the orthopedic operating room?

The look of surprise on the faces of the group of nurses and techs when he’d walked into the bar had been worth the effort. Everyone had gone quiet for an instant before slowly winding back up to their usual pub noise. He could only imagine what they thought about him showing up, and wondered if anyone had taken bets. He and Polly had shared a quiet but victorious glance.

Chatty Polly had burned his ears on the stroll over, too. She’d practically burst with excitement explaining how much coming to New York and landing a job at such a famous hospital as Angel’s had meant to her.

Good for her. The world could use more idealistic nurses. Yet he craved the silence of his apartment, where he could sit in the dark and stare out over the neighborhood—remembering the vacancy where the twin towers used to be, nursing his Scotch, which could never fill the bottomless hole in his heart. Shifting his thoughts to the here and now, he took another drink of his beer and gazed at fresh-faced Polly to help banish the image.

She sat beside him on a barstool, sipping pale ale that left a hint of orange on her breath as she continued to chew his ear. “I wasn’t always interested in orthopedics. I saw myself as an emergency nurse.” Her eyes went wide. Even in the darkened bar they sparkled. “That is, until I worked my first shift on a busy night with a full moon.” She covered her face with long fingers and clear-varnished nails, and shook her head, then quickly peeked up at him. “I thought I was going to die!”

Was everyone this animated, or had he quit noticing? He’d be dead between the ears if he didn’t admit she was cute, and likeable. She shrugged out of her sweater and he realized she’d changed her nursing scrubs, which had baby koalas patterned over them, for a clingy pink top that dipped just enough to reveal a full-grown woman’s cleavage.

How had he not noticed that all day?

He took another drink and tried his damnedest not to stare. She removed her hairband and put it inside her combination backpack-purse, and those light waves curtained her face in an alluring way, coming to rest on her shoulders … which led his eyes back to her breasts.

He certainly wasn’t dead. Just severely inactive.

But this wasn’t right, staring down her shirt. He needed to change his focus. “Bartender, the next round for this group is on me.”

Everyone clapped and cheered, even a few people he’d never seen before in his life, and he took another drink of beer, feeling almost human again.

Polly wrapped her arm around his and squeezed. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” he said, tensing, staring straight ahead, knowing his answer had come out clipped. He hadn’t made contact with a woman like this in, well, longer than he cared to admit.

She must have sensed his tension and unwrapped her arm but moved closer on her stool. “So, Dr. Griffin, I’ve told you all about me, but I don’t know where you come from.”

The bartender delivered the drinks along the counter, and refilled the bowls with pretzels and mixed nuts.

“I’m a New York native.”

“So your whole family is here, too?”

“My parents retired to Florida a few years back, and my sister lives in Rhode Island now.”

“Are you married? Do you have any kids?”

If Lisa hadn’t been killed he would have been a father of an eleven-year-old by now. But his world had officially ended the day he’d spent digging people out of debris as a first responder on 9/11. His always simmering emotions boiled and he snapped, “Look. I’m here for a drink, like you asked. My personal life is none of your business. You got that?”

A flash of hurt and humiliation accompanied her crumbling smile. One instant she’d been bubbling with life, the next he’d crushed it right out of her. Good going, Johnny. He had no business being around people.

She recovered just as quickly, though, straightening her shoulders and sticking out her chest, eyes narrowing, as if this routine was nothing new to her. “Sorry for crossing the line, Doctor.” She slipped off the bar stool and gathered her things and the glass. “Thanks for the beer.” Then she wandered over to a group of nurses a few stools away and joined in with their chatter.

He chugged down the last of his beer, not touching the second glass. “How much do I owe you?” he asked the bartender.

He knew he had no business pretending to be like everyone else. He should never have let the pretty little nurse talk him into it. He was only good for one thing, and that was fixing kids with broken bones.

As for the rest of his life, well, that had officially ended the day his newly pregnant wife had gone to work and died on the twenty-second floor of the twin towers.

CHAPTER TWO

POLLY HAD SPENT the entire subway ride home seething over Dr. Griffin’s sour attitude. What had she done to turn him against her? After a little cajoling he’d smiled and agreed to go to the bar with his staff. They’d had a brisk and energizing walk to the pub, enjoying the late afternoon sun and moderate June weather. He’d allowed her to buy him a drink, and he’d even made a grand gesture of buying the next round for everyone else.

All had seemed to go according to plan in the people-pleasing biz.

Then she’d asked about his family and the vault door had clanged shut. It hadn’t been mere irritation she’d seen flash in his dark, brooding eyes, it had been fury. Plain and simple.

As she prepared for bed in her tiny rented room on the Lower East Side, where the shared bathroom and kitchen were considered privileges in the five-story walk-up, she couldn’t stop thinking how she’d messed up that night. Clearly, she’d overstepped her bounds with Dr. Griffin. But how? Didn’t everyone love to talk about themselves and their families? That was, everyone except people like her who had miserable memories of feeling unwanted and unloved, like she’d had since her mother had died when Polly had been only six.

She put her head on the thin pillow and adjusted to the lumpy mattress. Of course! How could she be so blind? The man was miserable with his staff. He didn’t like to socialize. She’d dragged him out of his comfort zone and asked him about something very personal—his family—then everything had backfired. Something horrible had happened to that man to make him the way he was. Surely, no one wanted to be that miserable without a good reason.

She had to quit assuming that she was the only person in the world with family issues and that everyone else lived hunky-dory lives. Obviously, Dr. Griffin wasn’t happy about his family situation and she’d hit a nerve with her line of questioning. Maybe he’d gone through a messy divorce. Maybe his wife had cheated on him. Who knew? But he’d attacked with vengeance when she’d dared to get too personal.

She’d let down her guard, let him skewer her with his angry retort, then, wounded and hurt, she’d brushed him off and moved on. In her world it was called survival, but he’d seen a flash of her true self the instant before she’d covered it up, just as she’d seen his. Well, touché, Dr. Griffin.

Polly folded her hands behind her head and in the dim light stared at the cracked ceiling and chipped paint—what could she expect from an apartment built before World War I?—and thought harder. Maybe she’d inadvertently hurt him as much as he’d hurt her, and, man, she’d felt his anger slice right through her. John Griffin wasn’t a person to be on the bad side of. Somehow she’d have to make up for it.

Her eyes grew heavy from the two beers she’d enjoyed at the pub, but one last thought held out until she acknowledged it so she could drift off to sleep with a good conscience. She owed Dr. John Griffin an apology, and first thing tomorrow morning she’d give it to him.

The next morning at work, Dr. Griffin was nowhere to be found. Polly realized during report that Tuesdays and Thursdays were his scheduled surgery days, and felt a mixture of relief and impatience about getting her apology over and done with. She’d never make the mistake of including her boss in any social event again, even though the staff was already talking about another pub night in two weeks. Something else she noticed today was that everyone smiled at her, which made her feel good and far more a part of the team than she had yesterday. At least she’d succeeded in pleasing some people around here.

Her patient assignment was heavy, and although she only had two patients, each needed a great deal of care. Charley was sixteen and in a private room after he’d taken a header on his skateboard, breaking several bones and his pelvis. Her second patient was in surgery and would arrive later in the day after a short stint in the recovery room. Fifteen-year-old Annabelle would also have a private room, having undergone an above-the-knee transfemoral amputation for localized Ewing sarcoma of the lower part of the right femur.

Polly’s heart ached for her patient. She’d already been briefed that a team of social workers, psychologists, occupational and physical therapists, as well as wound-care specialists, would be participating in her recovery. Polly would take care of the nursing portion, and for today it would mostly be post-operative care—basic and important for pain control and maintaining strong vital signs. She’d guard against any post-op complications, such as bleeding or infection, to the best of her ability. Tomorrow the reality of being a teenager with a leg amputation would require help from each and every member of that specially organized medical team.

“Here, Charley.” Polly handed a washcloth lathered with soap to her shattered-pelvis patient. “You wash your face, neck and chest. I’ll help with your back when you’re ready.”

She believed in letting patients do as much for themselves as possible. Fortunately, Charley had one good arm, and with the overhead frame with trapeze he could lift himself enough to allow her to change the sheets and replace the sheepskin beneath his hips.

She kept a doubled sheet over his waist to give him privacy as they progressed with his bed bath. “Do you miss school?”

He gave a wry laugh. “I miss my friends.”

“How are you going to keep up with your studies while you recover?”

He scrubbed his smooth face and chest with the cloth. “They’re going to send out a tutor or something. School’s almost out for summer break anyway. What really sucks is I was supposed to start driver’s training next month.”

“Do people even drive cars in New York?”

“I live in Riverdale.”

Polly didn’t have a clue where Riverdale was but assumed it was a suburb of the city. She’d never, ever want to attempt driving in New York, where being a pedestrian was risky enough.

She washed his back and changed the linen, keeping casual and friendly banter going. “Have you got a girlfriend?”

“Nah. We broke up.”

Uh-oh, here she went again, venturing into personal information that might cause pain. Would she ever learn her lesson? At least he hadn’t bitten her head off like Dr. Griffin had. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. All she ever wanted was for me to buy her stuff, anyway.”

Whew. “Sometimes teenage girls can be very superficial.”

“Dude, tell me about it.”

Polly gathered the soiled linen she’d heaped onto the floor and shoved it into the dirty-linen hamper just as the door swung open. “Well, look here, perfect timing. Lunch!”

The tall, bronze and buff dietary worker brought in Charley’s lunch tray and placed it on the bedside table. Polly washed her hands and checked to make sure they’d delivered the right diet, with extra protein and calories for the growing and healing boy, then left him alone to eat with the TV on while she got his noontime medicine.

When she returned from her own lunch-break the ward clerk informed her that Annabelle was on her way up from Recovery. Polly rushed to the private room to make sure everything was in order then quickly checked up on Charley, who was fine and playing a video game. She explained she’d be busy for a while but made sure his call light and urinal were within reach in case he needed them.

Just as she exited the room she saw the orderly pull a gurney out of the elevator. At the other end was Dr. Griffin in OR scrubs. It was the first time she’d seen him that day and, taken by surprise, her stomach did a little clutch and jump. Would he still be furious with her?

Focused solely on the task, Dr. Griffin helped get Annabelle into her room. Polly jumped in. “I’ll get this, Dr. Griffin.”

He let her take the end of the gurney but followed her into the room. She’d pulled down the covers on the hospital bed and had already padded the bed with a layer of thin bath blanket, an absorbent pad and had topped both with a draw sheet in preparation for her patient. She checked to make sure the IV was in place and had plenty of fluid left in the IV bag. Annabelle was in a deep dream state, most of her right leg was missing and the stump was bandaged thickly and thoroughly.

“Careful,” Dr. Griffin warned the orderly as he lowered the side rail on the gurney and prepared to transfer the patient to the bed.

Polly rushed to the other side of the bed, got on her knees on the mattress and leaned over to grab the pullsheet underneath Annabelle toward her. To her surprise, Dr. Griffin came around to her side of the bed and helped out.

“On the count of three,” Polly said, as the orderly prepared to pass the patient over from the gurney while they all tugged her onto the mattress. After she counted, they made a quick and smooth transfer. The patient moaned briefly and her eyes fluttered open, but she quickly went back to sleep.

As the orderly left the room Dr. Griffin gave a rundown of Annabelle’s vital signs, a job the recovery nurse usually did over the phone, giving Polly the impression of how important the operation and follow-up care were to this orthopedic surgeon.

He ran down the list of antibiotics and pain-medication orders as Polly listened and adjusted the pillow under Annabelle’s head. Next she placed the amputated stump on a pillow, checked the dressing for signs of bleeding or drainage, circling a quarter-sized area with her marker and noting the time, then made sure the Jackson-Pratt drain was in place and with proper suction before pulling up the covers.

Dr. Griffin ran his hand lightly over his patient’s forehead, gently removing her OR cap and releasing a blanket of thick and shining brown hair. Such a tender gesture for an angry man.

“I’ll check back later,” he said, giving Annabelle one last, earnest glance before leaving the room. Polly almost expected him to kiss the girl’s forehead from that sincere, loving parent-type look in his eyes.

How could she stay mad at a man like that?

“I’ll take good care of her, Doctor,” she whispered.

He looked over his shoulder and gave an appreciative nod.

Seeing him in his scrubs, OR cap in place, untied mask hanging around his neck, she realized how fit he was, and that his shoulders and arms were thick with muscle. Where he might look stocky in his doctor’s coat, he really wasn’t. He was just big and solid. For a man she suspected to be pushing forty, he was in terrific shape, and she allowed herself a second glance as he walked away.

“Hey, Doc G., you haven’t signed my cast yet!” Charley called out from the next room.

“I’ll sign all three, Charley, my boy,” Dr. Griffin replied in a cheerful manner, changing his direction and somber attitude on a dime.

How could a man who was so great with kids be so lacking in people skills? It just didn’t make sense.

Soon lost in the care of her newly received patient, and also checking periodically on Charley, the afternoon flew by. Before Polly knew it she was giving report to the next shift and preparing to go home. But she couldn’t leave yet. Not before she apologized to Dr. Griffin. She’d promised herself she’d make amends today, and she always kept her promises.

Now that he was back from the OR, she knew where to find him and marched far down the hall toward his office as a new batch of butterflies lined up for duty in her stomach. Refusing to be timid this time, she tapped with firm knuckles on the glass of his office door.

“Come in.”

Mustering every last nerve she owned, she entered far more assuredly than she had the previous evening, noting the irony in seeing a huge jar of colorful balloons on the desk of a generally grumpy man.

“Is everything okay with Annabelle?”

“She’s doing very well, considering.” Polly scratched the nervous tickle above her lip. “I medicated her for pain just before I ended my shift.” She glanced around the room, with requisite diplomas and awards lining the gray-painted walls yet not revealing anything personal about the man, and took a long slow breath. “What I came for. Well, what I mean is I came here to, you know, after last night and how I upset you, I, uh, I just wanted to stop in and … well …”

“Apologize?” He’d changed back into his street clothes and white doctor’s coat. His eyes were tight and unforgiving as they stared at her impatiently. Had she expected anything less?

“Uh, yes.” Why did he make her so annoyingly tongue-tied? “As a matter of fact, I did want to apologize for whatever I did to make you angry last night.” Heat flared on her cheeks. Frustrated by how uncomfortable he made her feel and how he offered nothing to ease her distress by sitting there just staring, she bit back the rest of her thoughts—but you were a jerk about it, and anyone with half a brain could tell I didn’t mean any harm by asking about your family. It’s normal to want to know such things. Sheesh!

Adjusting the neck of her scrub top, along with her attitude, and desperate for him to like her, she continued. “I overstepped the mark, practically forcing you to go out with the rest of us, then I thoughtlessly insisted you open up and tell me about your family.” She held up her hand before he could growl or get angry with her all over again. “Which I understand, as the new girl on the ward, is none of my business. So, yes, I came to apologize. Profusely.”

She sat on the edge of the chair across from his desk before her knees could give out. “And I hope you’ll accept it, because I really want to be a part of this orthopedic team. I want to help you with special patients like Annabelle.” She stopped short of wringing her hands, choosing to lace her fingers and hold tight instead. “I want to help make your job easier by you not having to worry about the level of care your patients receive. I want to be a top-notch nurse, Dr. Griffin. I want to be that for you, sir.” Could she possibly grovel any more?

“Stop it already.” He brushed off her apology with a wave of his hand. “I was needlessly sharp with you last night. I should be the one apologizing.”

“But I started it, sir.”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Okay. I accept your apology. But knock off the ‘sir’ baloney and call me what my friends calls me. Johnny.”

Stunned by his instruction, she could hardly get her lips to move. “Johnny?” For such a simple name it sounded breathy and foreign, the way she repeated it. How could she call the head of the orthopedic department Johnny? Wasn’t that the shortened form for young boys named John? It seemed only families would continue to call a grown man Johnny, yet he said his friends called him that. Was he implying she was now a friend?

“Right. Johnny. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do.” The terse words fell far short of carrying a punch, in fact they rolled off her back. Maybe she’d really gotten through to him.

“Sweet.” She didn’t mean to say that out loud and couldn’t stop the smile stretching across her lips. “Thank you, Doctor. Uh, I mean, Johnny.” She emphasized his name. “Thanks so much.” She stood to go, relieved beyond her wildest dreams. How had this mattered so much to her in such a short period of time? She shrugged. All she knew was that her apology and his acceptance of it did matter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Johnny-boy.

“Good, because I want you assigned to Annabelle for the rest of the week.”

“You do?” He trusted her nursing skills enough to ask her to take care of an extra-special patient. This was definitely progress on their ultra-rocky-start.

“Yes. Now would you please leave, or I’ll never get out of here tonight.”

Still smiling, she looked him in the eyes. His had softened the tiniest bit, but she could also see a slight change in attitude. Yes, she could. “Yes, sir.” When she reached the door, calm washed over her and she turned round. “See you tomorrow, Johnny.”

Already back at work, he nodded while writing, rather than look up. “Let’s keep that name between you and me.”

She’d accept that, too. This desperate need for him to like her would have to stop, but for now she was pretty darned glad she’d fumbled her way through the apology, and wondered how many other employees got to call their boss by their first name, even if only in secret?

John had to admit the sputtering woman on the other side of his desk had been strangely captivating. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that she was easy on the eye, energetic, full of life, and had a nice ass, too. When was the last time he’d noticed something like that? Her earnest and unrehearsed apology had done strange things to a few nerve endings in forgotten parts of his body. Not that he was into dominance and submission, but he really liked her baring it all, as it were, by nearly begging him to forgive her.

Hell, he should be the one apologizing to her. He’d treated her badly and had seen a flash of anger in her eyes, which she’d quickly covered up, and instead of calling him an ass, which he deserved, she’d taken the high road. She’d brushed off his remark with a mere flutter of her eyelashes and moved on.

That showed grit, and he liked grit in a woman.

He reached into a desk drawer, withdrew a bottle of water and took a long draw. Her Pollyanna attitude of be-nice-to-everyone was far from his own style, and probably a cover-up for her insecurities. A wry laugh escaped his lips. Who the hell was he to analyze anyone? His style was more make-nice-to-no-one because he didn’t give a damn. But he had to admit she had a special way with kids. And his staff.

Remembering how she’d given a horsey hip-ride to Karen in her clunky cast yesterday morning made John smile. She’d been in way over her head with that group of toddlers so how could he not have gone to save the day? He knew his kids. Knew pediatrics. That was his comfort zone.

Adults were the issue for him. He didn’t particularly like most adults, merely tolerated them. He had to get along with them if he wanted to continue to run the orthopedic department, and for the past twelve years his motto had been, Do what you have to do to survive, the kids need you.

How had he survived all these years without his Lisa? He pressed his lips together, allowing one little thought about Polly to slip inside his head. She oozed life, something he’d given up on, yet her vibrant approach to things really appealed to him. Maybe he wasn’t as far gone as he’d thought.

Looking around the ward that afternoon, when he’d returned from surgery, he’d seen a more cohesive staff. They had been talking to each other and helping each other, even joking. He’d never seen them so happy.

The question was, had his sour attitude spilled over to his staff, and had this Polly from Pennsylvania saved the day?

Her big blue eyes and trembling lips came to mind. Why had he had the urge to run his thumb over her lips to test how soft they were? More importantly, what was with the impulse he’d had to wrap his hand around the back of her neck and drag her to him to test those lips on his?

When was the last time he’d given a woman permission to call him Johnny? What was up with that? What else might he get her to beg for so he could grant her permission? Most importantly, what in hell were these crazy sexy thoughts she’d planted in his head?

Maybe Pollyanna wasn’t nearly as innocent as she let on. Well, guess what, dumpling, neither am I.

He guzzled more water and scratched his chest, surprised by his thumping heart. Antsy to finish his work and get the hell out of there, he veered his surprisingly sexed-up thoughts away from Pretty Polly and back to dictating his surgery reports for the day. Before he left he’d check on his kids, each and every one—like he did every day before he went home.

Maybe that was the reason he had been out of sorts yesterday at the bar. Maybe it hadn’t been because she’d gotten too nosey, or had threatened his resolve never to feel again, or because he’d wanted to go home and brood, which he had to admit was beginning to get boring, even for him. He’d blame it on not saying goodnight to his kids, because he hadn’t been ready to admit he was a man clinging so tightly to his past he’d forgotten how to socialize with the living.

Polly had rushed him away from work and he hadn’t had a chance to tell all of his patients goodnight, and things just didn’t seem right when he missed saying goodnight to his kids.

Yeah, he’d use that as the excuse for his behavior last night, otherwise he’d seem far too pitiful the next time he looked in the mirror.

CHAPTER THREE

THE NEXT MORNING Polly rode the hospital elevator up to her floor. A vibration in her pocket alerted her that a text message had come through her cell phone: B in NY in 2 wks. Have dinner with me? Greg

Rankled, since Greg had dumped her for another girl over a year ago, and she’d been heartbroken as well as angry at the time, she wrinkled her nose and shut off her phone with a harrumph.

“Bad news?” A familiar voice came from over her shoulder.

“Oh.” She turned round. “Dr. Griffin, I didn’t see you there.” There were several people she didn’t know in the overcrowded elevator but she hadn’t noticed him mostly because she had been lost in her thoughts and hadn’t been looking at anyone. Aching from her lumpy bed, already dragging from the daily rush to the subway, getting pushed and bumped the entire commute, and now hearing from an unwelcome voice from her past, she couldn’t begin to paste on a cheery face today.

John edged closer to her. “You don’t look happy.”

She lifted a corner of her mouth. “I’m not. Old boyfriend just texted me.” What did she care if he discovered that little miss Pollyanna from Pennsylvania was a sham, that her carefree moods were manufactured from hard work and years of practice.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said, sounding curiously sincere.

“About the boyfriend or not being happy?”

“Both.”

“Really?”

“Don’t act so shocked.” He gave her a John Griffin style smile, which meant it was hard to differentiate the smile between a grimace and/or gas.

“Do you actually notice things like people’s moods?”

“No. Not usually.”

What the heck did that mean? Had her self-deprecating plea last night in his office put her on his pity list? Maybe she’d overdone it.

“Well, thanks anyway,” she said, lifting her brows and glancing toward the neon numbers indicating the floors, having run out of superficial things to talk about. The elevator stopped and several people got off.

He moved closer and whispered near her ear. “You know, you don’t have to put on your forever-cheerful act for me.”

Had he seen through her already? “Gee, thanks.” She didn’t mean to sound disrespectful, but he’d just given her permission to show her true feelings, hadn’t he? She glanced to where he stood. There was that gassy grimace-style smile again and a playful glint in his eyes. Why did she find it cute?

Cute? John Griffin?

Maybe it was his mouth, the way the marginally off-center bottom lip curled out ever so slightly, making her want to take it between her teeth and nibble … just a little.

Come on, Polly, the guy is way too old for you. Probably pushing forty. And gruff as a bulldog. Who needs the aggravation? Besides, there was no way he’d ever be interested in her. Yet … that goofy attempt at a smile could only be described as cute. Charming, even.

The elevator came to a stop on the fifth floor and everyone else exited. Once the doors closed, John leaned his shoulder on the elevator wall and looked directly at Polly.

“Let’s make a deal,” he continued to whisper. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She lifted her head from staring at her scuffed white clogs with the image of nibbling his lower lip fresh in her mind. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Our moods.” So he had seen through her carefully crafted façade.

“Well, no offense, Dr. Griffin, but I think I’ve already memorized your moods. Moody. Grumpy.” She used her fingers to tick off the list. “Gruff. Did I say moody?”

What do you know, she’d coaxed out a real smile. “Yes. Smartass.” He squinted graciously under fire, his dark eyes showing signs of renewed life. “Don’t forget Bashful and Sleepy, if you’re thinking of naming all of the seven dwarfs.”

“And Doc. You definitely qualify for that one.” She sighed, realizing that whatever this silly game was she was playing with Johnny, many of her cares had already evaporated in the stuffy elevator. By giving her the okay to be who she really was, warts and all, he’d liberated her from being Pollyanna. It felt pretty darned good. Hmm, had he said bashful? Him?

“Bashful? Not you,” she said.

“Oh, yes, I am.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You’d be surprised.”

The elevator door opened and they got out and headed their separate ways, she giving a genuinely bright smile, thanks to his lightening her mood, and he, well, still looking gassy but with an added spring to his step. That on-the-verge-of-flirting look he’d just sent her way was bound to stay in her mind and keep her smiling the rest of the day. The little fizzy feeling that look had given her hadn’t been half-bad either.

Dr. John Griffin. Bashful? As in let the woman make the advance? Just what else might she be surprised about with him?

As Polly walked to the nurses’ locker room, one more thought popped into her head. Johnny smelled good, too, like expensive aftershave and clean hair. Combine that with his rugged, all-man features and her new interest in the shape and angle of his mouth, thinking it looked all too kissable for a guy with salt-and-pepper hair, for a head of Pediatric Orthopedics, and she lost her step and tripped on the doorframe.

All things considered, Johnny Griffin had done a great job of lifting Polly’s spirits that morning.

“How’s my girl doing?” John asked Polly, entering the hospital room shortly after she’d taken Annabelle’s midday vital signs.

“Great! Thanks,” Polly said. “Annabelle’s doing really well, too.” She caught and enjoyed the quick confusion in his eyes before he got her joke.

“You’ve got a real smart aleck for a nurse, Annabelle.” He took his patient’s thin hand, and the gesture squeezed Polly’s heart.

Annabelle gave a wan smile, and John lingered over her bed like a fussing papa until she closed her eyes. Polly had given her pain medication through a shot into the hip a few short moments ago.

“The nurses told me she’d had a rough night, complaining about phantom pains, and when she started mentioning them again just now, well, I wanted to make sure she was extra-comfortable today.”

He folded his arms across his broad chest. “Good. We’ll give her some rest now, but by later this afternoon I want her out of bed and in a chair for at least an hour.”

“Got it.”

“Physical therapy will start tomorrow, and the wound-care specialist should pay a visit this evening when her parents are here to discuss dressing changes when she goes home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You can knock that stuff off, too.”

“You don’t want me to follow your orders, sir?” Why did teasing her superior feel so delicious?

He took a deep breath, as if trying to suck in patience from the room air. “Are you trying to bug me?”

“Am I doing a good job … sir?”

“Very.”

“Good,” she said, straightening out the bedspread and double-checking the IV rate. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder, but she sensed he was enjoying her feisty mood. Would any of his staff ever dare to give him a hard time?

“There’s no excess drainage from the surgical site, and I emptied thirty ccs from the drain at the beginning of my shift,” she said, all business.

He checked under the recently smoothed covers and found the Jackson-Pratt bulb was nearly empty. The quarter-sized marking on the post-op dressing hadn’t gotten much bigger either, as he soon noticed.

“Good.” He lingered at the bedside.

She’d decided, after her pitiful, stumbling apology, and especially their ride in the elevator, that he was a good guy, even if he didn’t know it. He’d had the patience of a saint while she’d fumbled her way through her monologue, and he’d rewarded her by telling her to call him Johnny. Who else on the staff got to call him Johnny? Not that she ever would, at least not in front of anyone else, especially as he’d asked her to keep it to herself.

“Hey, Johnny.” Another doctor entered the room.

So much for the short-lived “special person privilege” fantasy.

“Dave. Come to admire your work?”

“Sure did.”

Polly surreptitiously read the other doctor’s badge. David Winters. Vascular Surgery. Of course, with the amputation they’d have to make sure the stump had proper circulation, and who better to assist the orthopedic surgeon than a vascular surgeon?

“I was going to wait until later to change the dressing, but there’s no time like the present. Polly, can you bring some gauze, dressings, four by fours and paper tape?”

“Sure. Would you like me to bring the Doppler too?”

“Great idea,” Dave said.

She knew it was never too early to make sure there was proper circulation to the wound, and the Doppler would let them hear the blood flowing through Annabelle’s vessels. A lot rested on every step of the recovery. In order to have Annabelle fit for a prosthetic device she’d need to have a strong and healthy stump. The post op-team, including Polly, would do everything in their power to make sure of Annabelle’s success.

After dropping off the supplies, Polly took a quick look at Annabelle’s surgical wound as John had already removed the dressing, and was surprised how clean and healthy the skin flap already looked. Cancer of the bone was a curse, but at least Annabelle would be able to wear one of the state-of-the-art prostheses being created these days. One day, when she was back on her feet and used to everything, wearing slacks or jeans, secure in her gait, no one would ever know that part of her leg was missing.

Later that day Polly took Charley his pills. She noticed the three signatures John Griffin had left on the teenager’s casts, which made her grin. They were big, just like him, and colorful, hmm, and he had much nicer handwriting than she’d ever imagined any doctor could.

“What’s so funny?” Charley asked.

“Nothing. I was just admiring your autographs from Dr. Griffin.”

“He’s cool.”

“Really? He seems so stern all the time.”

“Nah, he’s funny. And he’s the only person who hasn’t given me a lecture about my skateboarding.”

“Well, I guess accidents do happen, but maybe you should be more careful so as not to tempt the fates.”

“Yeah, I get it. And I’ve heard that before, but yolo, you know?”

“Yolo?”

“You only live once.”

So said a sixteen-year-old. “True, but preferably longer than shorter. Right?”

Charley blew her off with a toss of his long-hair. She needed to change the subject back to something lighter, something more interesting for both of them.

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