If Grey’s Anatomy makes your heart flutter . . . this trilogy is for you.
My new life in Harper Springs, working at St. Agnes Hospital, would be almost perfect if it wasn’t for Dr. Deacon Girard. He’s arrogant, intense, and unfortunately, hot as hell. He frustrates me, and he drives me crazy.
Maybe he’d finally listen to me if I kissed him.
When I hired Emma Carson, I didn’t know she was so stubborn–or so sexy. She fights passionately for our patients, but I think her favorite habit is arguing with me. She makes me nuts.
Maybe she’d shut up if I kissed her.
Read the first chapter here:
“Just who in the blazes do you think you are?”
The voice that rang out behind me shook with fury. Anxiety threatened to close my throat, but I kept walking anyway.
“Stop!” She was much closer behind me than I’d thought, but still, my step stuttered only slightly.
“I said, stop walking.” She grasped my upper arm, not so much to hurt me as to get my attention. A large part of me wanted to shake her off and keep running away, but the wiser portion of my mind—and years of training—prevailed. I drew myself up and turned to face her.
“I’m sorry—Mrs. Hoskins, was it? Did you need something?” I pasted on what I thought might have passed for a pleasant smile. “I didn’t hear you.”
We both knew I was lying, but she was too fired up to call me on that.
“Yes, I do need something. I need you to not go into our patients’ room and change their care plan—to tinker with what Dr. Girard has carefully and thoughtfully put in place for their treatment. You have no right.”
I sucked in a long breath. “On the contrary. I have every right. I was hired to do exactly what I’ve been doing all morning—meeting patients and talking about ways we can make their path toward healing better and more comfortable.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “If you’d like to discuss the role of the naturopathic doctor in oncology, I’d be happy to sit down with you—but not right now. I still have to see several other patients on the floor before lunch, and then I’m going down to meet with the dietician and nutritionist, so we can discuss how we can supplement the current meals to meet the unique needs in this wing.”
I’d been involved in medicine in one way or another for a decade, but I’d never actually seen a human face go purple with rage—until that moment.
“Ms. Carson—” she began, but I interrupted.
“Dr. Carson. Please.”
“Whatever you want to call yourself. You were not hired to undo all the effort that the rest of us have put into this hospital, especially the hard work done to make this new wing a reality.” She glared at me.
“No, I was hired to enhance it. I was asked to come on board so that my expertise—” I was subtle in my emphasis of that word, but she picked up on it. I could tell. “—could complement the work of the other professionals here. I took this job with the understanding that what I have to offer would be appreciated. I wanted to be part of a team that operates smoothly—together. I don’t know why that’s so difficult for you to understand.”
“You were not our first choice, you know.” The head nurse spit out the words. They stung, but they didn’t surprise. I’d only been at St. Agnes Memorial Hospital for a few hours, but already, I could tell that this oncology wing was their pride and joy. I’d met a few nurses and techs who had enthused about the committee who had raised the funds, made the plans, and put them into action. Above all, I’d heard one name over and over again: Dr. Deacon Girard.
It hadn’t taken a brain surgeon to realize that the team working here had been carefully assembled. Since the first call I’d had about the position had come only about four weeks ago, I’d had a hunch that either the idea of adding a naturopath had been a last-minute decision, possibly forced on Dr. Girard and his devoted crew by a board of directors, or that they’d had someone else in mind before me. Mira Hoskins had just confirmed my assumption.
“If that’s supposed to make me dissolve into tears of disappointment and hurt, you’ll be waiting a long time,” I snapped back. “I don’t care who your first choice was. I don’t care if I was your one-hundredth choice. The point is that I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I was hired by this hospital’s board of directors. Now if you or your precious Dr. Girard have a problem with that, you can take it up with them. But until such a time as I’m informed that they’ve ended my employment, I’m doing my damn job—and that’s improving the lives of my patients. Whether or not you agree with my methods does not concern me at all.”
If Mrs. Hoskins was a cartoon character, steam would’ve been coming out of her ears. “Dr. Girard—” she began. Once again, I broke in. This woman was going to hate me anyway. I didn’t need to make nice.
“Where is old Dr. Girard, anyway?” I cocked my head. “Lots of people are talking about him, but all I get are some vague answers about him being out of the country. Why isn’t he here?”
She squared her shoulders. “Dr. Girard is out of the country. He was called away at the last minute to work with an organization that battles childhood hunger. He helps the group by offering medical treatment for conditions caused by or complicated by lack of proper nourishment. Nothing else but the most pressing emergency would’ve made him leave this hospital right now, I can assure you.”
I had to admit that as excuses went, that one wasn’t bad. It didn’t let Madam Sore Ass off the hook, though. “Fine. Well, when he comes back, he and I can have a conversation about how this wing will operate. But for the moment, I’m doing my own thing. You have two choices: you can apologize right now for the way you just spoke to me, and we’ll let bygones be bygones. One thing you’ll learn about me is that I have a quick temper, but it burns out fast, and I don’t hold grudges. We’ll work together, and life will be better for us both.”
Mrs. Hoskins said nothing, but one of her eyebrows rose.
“You might think that your second option is to keep this up, to fight me on everything I try to do, shoot daggers at me every time I try to get something done, and slow me down. But you’d be wrong. It isn’t. Your other choice is to get the hell out of my way so I can do my job.”
Her eyes flashed, and her mouth opened. I held up one hand. “You know what? Don’t answer me right away. Take some time and think about it. I’m going to introduce myself to the next patient on my list, go downstairs for my meeting . . . and then I’m going to take the rest of the afternoon off, because I still need to get settled in my new home. I’ll be in bright and early tomorrow morning. We’ll talk then.”
Pushing off the wall, I walked away with what I hoped looked like swagger, and I didn’t look back before I turned to go into the room on my right.
“Who the hell are you?” The man who sat in the chair alongside the bed was thin and bald. He wore a black T-shirt and hospital issue pajama pants. A hep-locked IV was in the back of his arm, and he stared at me with a mix of interest and distrust.
“Mr. Crew?” I took one step forward, careful not to invade his space. Patients had to feel an ownership of their hospital room; there was so much else that was out of their control that anything we could do to give them a modicum of independence and sense of self was integral to their survival.
“I’m Donnie Crew.” He inclined his head. “You here to poke at me, or ask me touchy-feely stuff?”
I laughed. “Neither. I’m here to talk, but I’m not from psych. Promise.” I held up my hand as though I was making a vow. “My name’s Emma Carson. I’m a naturopathic doctor, and I wanted to introduce myself and see if we could chat about your treatment plan, how you’re feeling now, and if there’s anything I can do to make your cancer journey a little easier.”
Mr. Crew frowned. “What’s a. . . what was that you said? Naturo . . .”
“Naturopath.” I ventured further into the room and leaned against the back of another chair. “I’m a doctor, but my medical school training was somewhat different than what traditional doctors receive. My focus is on using methods that are closer to nature. I try to find what might work with your body to make it stronger and to heal faster.”
For a long minute, Mr. Crew was silent, and then he nodded. “Okay, then. Have a seat. Let’s chat.”
* * *
An hour later, I left Mr. Crew’s room, feeling somewhat better than I had when I’d gone in. He wasn’t an easy man, that was for sure, but on the other hand, he’d been fighting multiple myeloma for almost four years. He’d been in remission for two years; now, the stem cell transplant that had given him a few years of relative health had to be repeated. He was in the hospital for a clinical drug therapy prior to the next stem cell harvest.
The man had been through excruciating pain, crippling illness and fatigue. I couldn’t blame him for being tired of more doctors, more questions and more options. Still, he’d opened up enough to listen to me for a while and had seemed amenable to further discussion, once I’d had the time to review his file more thoroughly.
Back in the hallway, I wasn’t unaware of the eyes that followed me with interest as I wandered toward the staff lounge. The head nurse and I hadn’t been exactly circumspect in our disagreement, and if this hospital was like the others in my experience, the gossip web had already spread the word about us. I was making quite a reputation for myself, and it was barely noon on my first day in town.
I’d made a big deal to Mrs. Hoskins about having a meeting with the dietician, but the fact was that I hadn’t actually set up anything there yet. I’d just needed to make it sound like I had a plan for integrating myself into their system. I definitely was going to meet with them soon, but right now, I was too rattled, too tired and too disgruntled to do anyone else any good. Pushing open the door, I sighed with relief when I saw the lounge seemed to be empty.
Sinking into a chair, I dropped my head into my hands, taking a deep breath and exhaling long.
“Hey. That was some run-in you had with Mira the Dragon.”
I glanced up, surprised to see a woman who was probably just a little younger than me. She was wearing cheerful pink scrubs with some kind of design I couldn’t make out. Her curly brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her eyes were sympathetic as she smiled at me.
“Ah.” I cleared my throat. “Well . . . I guess that maybe I might have been a little too quick to push my own agenda. But she just came at me.” I lifted a shoulder.
“Hey, no judgement here. I’m on Mira’s good side most of the time, but she can be a real battle-axe.” Extending a hand, she added, “I’m Jenny Ward, by the way. I’m a nurse practitioner on this floor. And you’re the naturopath we’ve been waiting for, huh?”
“Emma Carson.” I took her hand and squeezed it. “Nice to meet you, Jenny.”
She took a seat across the small round table from me. “Where did you come from? I take it you’re not local.”
I snorted. “Not hardly. I grew up outside Philadelphia, but I’ve lived in the city for the past five years or so. How about you?”
“Virginia.” She sighed. “I’ve been here a couple of months now.”
“Do you like it?”
Jenny shrugged. “Most of the time, yes. It’s a small town in the middle of lots of country, in case you haven’t noticed. Just about everyone knows everyone else, and if you didn’t grow up with them, you’re an outsider. But the people who work here have been friendly to me for the most part. We have a book club if you’re interested. The last couple of times, we’ve met at my house, but it’s supposed to circulate meeting spots. Let me know, and I can hook you up.”
“I appreciate that.” I rubbed my forehead. “My head is kind of spinning right now.”
“First day blues.” Jenny winced empathetically. “I get it. I got here a few weeks before we opened, but even so, that first day was . . . weird.” Something flitted across her expression and was gone before I could figure out what it was. “Listen, as one non-Floridian to another, if you need any help getting settled, figuring out your way around . . . you know, like where’s the best place to get a cup of coffee or buy chocolate or find shelf liner for your new place, give me a call.” Reaching into the pocket of her scrubs jacket, she tore a piece of paper from a pad and scribbled down her number. “I’m available day or night. My . . .ah . . . roommate is out of town right now, so don’t worry about calling whenever you want.”
“Thank you so much.” I picked up the slip of paper Jenny slid across the table. “And I might take you up on it. I’ve had a hell of a day, and it’s only just lunch time.”
The door to the lounge opened, and a woman poked her head in. “Jenny, Mrs. Jackson wanted to talk with you about the change in her meds, if you have a minute?”
“Definitely.” Jenny stood up, pausing for just a moment as she glanced at me. “Don’t hesitate to use that number. Everyone needs a friend—especially when you’re in a new place.”
I nodded. “Thanks. I promise, I will.”
She left, and I was alone again. The silence was nice, I decided. Since it was just about lunch time, I expected the lounge would be filling up as people on this floor came to eat or just to take a break. I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone else—not right now. I’d introduced myself to a few nurses when I’d reported to work this morning, but I hadn’t had any kind of official welcome from the staff. Unless, of course, I counted the take-down and ticking off by the head nurse. Which I didn’t.
Outside the window, the sun was shining, and suddenly, I needed to be out there. One of the only drawbacks to my job was that most of the time, it kept me inside. If I had my way, medicine would be practiced in the open air, under the sun, sitting in green grass . . . maybe with baby goats bounding around.
In the absence of that, I could go sit out in the small courtyard I’d spied on my way in this morning. It wasn’t happy meadows and baby goats, but it was something.
* * *
The humidity wasn’t bad today, but it was still muggier than I would’ve liked. Still, the sun was warm, and there was the slightest breeze keeping me from sweating through my cute little short-sleeved top and pencil skirt.
I closed my eyes, lifting my face to the warmth, letting the soft air mend the hurt and upset from this morning. Intentionally relaxing my shoulders, I began the deep-breathing exercises that I knew would help bring me back to center.
“Is this a private class, or can anyone join?”
I jerked up, my eyes flying open. In front of me, nearly blocking the sun, a man was looking down at me. In my surprise, as I squinted at him, I had the fleeting thought that he looked like a god, huge and backlit and impossibly attractive.
“Um, what?” Ever the mistress of a snappy comeback, I blinked, trying to take him in.
He pointed to me and then waved around the general area. “I figured this had to be a yoga class, right? You were doing that deep-breathing stuff that we do at the end of every session.”
“Oh.” I gave a half-laugh. “I was just taking a moment. I’ve had a hell of a morning, and—” I bit off the words. I was oversharing, and I was going to sound pathetic. “And then here I am, sitting by myself. Clearly, none of my yoga students showed up for this session.” Going along with the joke seemed like the best way to recover.
“Maybe they’re just running late.” His mouth twisted into a grin. “Would it be okay if I sat down, or are these benches saved?”
“By all means.” I spread my hands. “At least until my students show up. Then you’ll have to scram.”
“Got it.” He sank down at the end of my bench, and the whole thing creaked and shifted under me. I was willing to lay money that there wasn’t an ounce of fat on this guy’s drool-worthy bod; he was just big. Huge, in fact, with shoulders I knew I’d never be able to stretch my arms around and a chest that I could use as a lounge chair.
My staring might have been just a little obvious, because he quirked an eyebrow at me. “What?”
“Oh, sorry.” I gave my head a little shake. “You just . . . I mean this in the best way possible, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as large as you are. Please tell me that’s natural and that those muscles don’t come from steroids or some kind of weird enhancement.”
Just when I thought this dude couldn’t possibly get any cuter, he blushed. I was afraid I might slither off the bench into a molten pool of want.
“I don’t do anything that could be considered the least bit unnatural.” He slid me a sideways glance. “I wouldn’t do it anyway, but in my line of work, I could lose everything if I had anything like steroids in my system.”
I frowned. “So you’re . . . in some kind of professional sports? God, tell me it’s football and not something like pro wrestling.”
He chuckled. “You got something against wrestling?”
“I’ve never actually watched it,” I confessed. “But I’ve seen the ads, and it looks horrible, all the body-slamming and yelling.” I shuddered. “Not my thing.”
“I guess I’m in luck then, because I’m not a wrestler. I do play football.” He rolled one shoulder and settled into the corner of the bench. “I’m Noah.”
I bent one leg and tucked my foot beneath me, facing him more fully. Meeting this man was the most promising thing that had happened to me all day. Hell, all week. Maybe all month.
“Nice to meet you, Noah. I’m Emma.” I held out a hand, and after a moment, he took it, his finger closing gently around mine. I was charmed by how careful he was.
“Emma.” He nodded. “Well, Emma, what made this morning so hellish?”
“Oh.” I waved my hand. “Nothing. I was just being dramatic. I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.” Noah grinned. “I have three sisters. I know women. Fine never means fine.” He turned his wrist and looked down at his watch. “I happen to have fifteen minutes to kill. I’d rather not go into the hospital until I have to. I’ve got a great listening ear, and as you might have noticed, my shoulders are broad.” He winked. “Lay it on me, Emma.”
I hesitated, staring into the light blue eyes that looked back at me with humor and compassion. It was the compassion that cracked me.
“Today’s my first day at a new job.” I twisted the ring on my finger. “I’ve been working at a medical center in Philadelphia, but I wasn’t able to really do the work I wanted there. So when this opportunity popped up, I was so excited to get to be part of shaping this brand-new oncology wing. I couldn’t wait to get here.”
“Ah.” He nodded slowly. “You’re a doctor?”
“Yeah—uh, a naturopathic doctor. I practice medicine, but with a focus on natural processes and remedies. When I talked to the board of directors here, they said they wanted a balanced approach to treating cancer. They were excited about what I was bringing to the table.”
“That’s great.” Noah smiled.
“It was. So I quit my job in Philadelphia, gave up my apartment, bought land down here and arranged for a temporary home there, packed my car and drove south. I planned it out so I’d arrive here the day before yesterday, plenty of time to get settled in my new place and be all set to start the job today.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t work out.” He shook his head. “You know what they say about the best-laid plans.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “I was in Georgia, right on schedule, when my navigation app told me that there was road work ahead and offered an alternate route. I took it, but somewhere along the way, I missed a turn or an exit or something, and the next thing I knew, I was on this back road in the middle of nowhere. And that’s where my car decided to stop running.”
“Oh, shit.” Noah winced. “And you were by yourself?”
“Well, yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Who else was going to be with me? Anyway, I called the roadside emergency service people, and they sent a guy out to tow my car to his garage. This dude—his name was Boomer, and I’m not making that up—he takes me and my car to this small town, and he tells me he can fix it, but it’s going to take a day to get the part he needs. I was stuck in this little backwater town—it was called Burton—cooling my heels for a day.”
“Which means you got here late for your first day,” Noah guessed.
“Oh, no. I was on time.” I unfolded my leg and stretched it out—my foot was asleep. “But in order to be on time, I had to drive all night. I got here just after sunrise this morning. I stopped at a convenience store to wash up and change my clothes.” I let my head drop back against the bench. “I haven’t even been out to see the place where I’m living. I bought it sight unseen from a company that handles modular homes.”
“Brave.” Noah’s tone indicated he might really mean crazy.
“I was tired, I was numb, but I was still stoked about the job. I showed up at human resources, but the rep wasn’t in, so they told me to just go ahead and get started, because apparently, Dr. Girard, who’s some kind of medical legend around here, is off fighting childhood hunger across the globe, and they needed help on the wing. No problem. I love jumping right into the deep end. I did exactly what I was hired to do, and the next thing I knew, the head nurse was chasing me down the hall, yelling at me because I did my frickin’ job!” I finished, my voice reaching a decibel that was downright scary.
For a long moment, Noah simply regarded me, his expression thoughtful. “See what I was saying? You didn’t really mean you were fine, did you?”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You got me. I’m totally not fine. And now I feel even worse, because I just dumped my recent life’s story on a stranger.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it. I offered. You didn’t dump on me.” He leaned forward. “It sounds to me like you need to take the rest of the day off. You should tell the folks here what you just told me. You need to go see your new home, unpack a little and get a good night’s sleep. Then come back fresh tomorrow and start over again.” He paused. “The people on the oncology ward are a decent bunch. You might’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, but I have a feeling that if you explain everything, they’ll give you another chance. Even old Ironsides Hoskins.”
I loved that image. “I was thinking of her more like a dragon.”
Noah grinned. “She’s very protective of this hospital, and she can be a little brusque, but she’s not bad once you get to know her.”
“Are you from around here?” I cocked my head, feeling the blood drain from my face as a thought occurred to me. “Oh, dear Lord, please tell me you’re not Mrs. Hoskins’ son. Or brother. Or that you’re related to the saintly Dr. Girard or something.”
“Nah.” He shook his head. “No relation. I’m not from this area originally—I grew up in Wisconsin—but I’ve lived in the Tampa area for the last couple of years. And I’ve gotten to know Dr. Girard pretty well.” He was silent for a beat before he drew in a breath. “My wife is one of his patients. She’s on the oncology wing.”
“Oh.” A kaleidoscope of feelings flickered before me. Disappointment that he was married, because Noah was not only painfully hot, he also seemed to be genuinely nice—funny, kind and intelligent, too. Sympathy, because I figured Noah couldn’t be more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and cancer in a young person was particularly brutal. Guilt because I’d just said some things about the doctor treating his sick wife and the hospital where she was a patient.
“I’m so sorry, Noah.” I reached out to touch the back of his hand. “I had no idea.” Something began to dawn on me. “Your wife—is she Angela?” Most of the patients were middle-aged or older, but Angela Spencer was just twenty-seven. I remembered that from her records.
“Yeah,” Noah confirmed. “That’s my girl.” The smile that lit up his face told me everything I wanted to know about their marriage. It was wonder and love and amazement and pain . . . all in a single expression.
“I met her this morning.” I was about to say that it had been my changes to Angela’s treatment plan that had triggered the head nurse’s ire, but I decided that might undermine his confidence in his wife’s care team. “She’s a lovely woman. You’re both very lucky.”
“Don’t I know it.” Noah sat up, stretching his arm across the back of the bench. The wingspan on this guy was insane. “We’ve been going out since high school. I always say I snapped her up before some other guy realized that she’s perfect. We went to college together, and we got married right after graduation.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “I was drafted by Houston, so we lived there for a couple of years before I was traded to Tampa.” His lips pressed together. “We decided to start a family once we were settled here. Ang went for tests, you know, because we wanted to make sure we were doing everything right. And her blood work came back . . . wonky.”
“That sucks.” Sometimes, the simplest expression of sympathy was all I could offer. More than anyone, I understood that cancer didn’t differentiate between loved ones and strangers, or the young and the old. Disease was the great equalizer.
“Yeah. So instead of picking out baby names and buying cribs and shit, we’re talking about chemo meds and how she’s going to look with a bald head.” Noah rubbed his huge hand over his face. “I wanted to do the solidarity thing, you know? Shave my head, too, so she knew we were in this together. But she wouldn’t let me. Angela doesn’t want anyone on the team or in the press to know that she’s sick.”
Understanding dawned. “That’s why you’re here and not at some big medical center.”
“Well, that’s part of it,” Noah conceded. “We were referred to Dr. Girard as soon as Ang was diagnosed, and she had her initial treatments closer to home. But when he told us about this wing he was opening in his hometown hospital, and how it was going to be state of the art care in a quieter setting, it just seemed like the perfect place, you know?”
“I get that.” I nodded. “And from everything I’ve read before and seen today, I think this is an incredible facility. Please don’t let my whining just now make you think anything different. That’s my deal, not a reflection on St. Agnes.”
“I know. Trust me, if I didn’t think my girl was getting the best care here, we’d be gone. I’m letting Ang have her way for now, because I’m still kind of new with this team, and she thinks I shouldn’t be defined as the guy whose wife has leukemia. But if I got even a hint that there was a better place for her, I’d have her there in a heartbeat. Angela’s recovery is the only thing that matters. This career, this team, money, fame—none of it means jack if she’s not okay.”
“Of course.” Noah’s hand was near my shoulder, and I reached back to pat it. “I promise that I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you two get the life you deserve. Someday, you’ll look back on this time as nothing more than a blip on the radar screen of your lives together.”
“I always thought I was so aware and appreciative of what we had, but all this has been a wake-up call about how much I take for granted.” An alarm beeped, and Noah looked at his watch again. “Okay, that’s my cue to leave. Angela doesn’t want me to hang out at the hospital all the time. She still does some telecommuting for her own work, and I’m not allowed to show up until she’s finished for the day.”
I rose to my feet along with him, more conscious than ever that he dwarfed me by comparison. “Thanks for letting me vent to you.”
“Hey, any time. It was good to meet you, Emma. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” With a last crooked smile, he was off, moving with the sort of grace that seemed incompatible with his size.
After Noah left, the peace of the courtyard felt somehow . . . lacking, as though he’d taken with him all of the restful energy. I hesitated for a few more moments before making a decision. Hitching my handbag onto my shoulder, I headed for the parking lot.
Tawdra Kandle writes romance, in just about all its forms. She loves unlikely pairings, strong women, sexy guys, hot love scenes and just enough conflict to make it interesting. Her books include young adult and new adult paranormal romance, new adult and adult contemporary romance and adult paramystery romance. She lives in central Florida with a husband, kids, sweet pup and too many cats. And yeah, she rocks purple hair.
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