Nightwatch. Jo Leigh

it.

      It had taken her a long time and a hard road to get where she was, and one of the key ingredients to her success was her ability to see the big picture while never losing sight of the details.

      Before she left the office, she stopped in the small restroom and made sure she was put together. After a quick application of lip gloss and a readjustment of the hummingbird pin on her jacket lapel, she straightened her white coat and headed out to the front lines.

      Everything went according to plan until she hit the ICU. Callie read through Bruce Nepom’s chart three times. His prognosis wasn’t good. In fact, it was a miracle that he was still breathing. His injuries had been severe, especially the cranial damage. That’s what had caught her attention. Something didn’t fit. A deep, focused trauma at the back of the skull.

      She looked at the man, swathed in bandages. His blood pressure was so low as to be a hint instead of a statement, and she knew it was only a matter of time. A short time. She wondered why he was here alone.

      After making a note on the chart that she wanted to be updated on his progress, Callie continued her rounds. Bruce Nepom’s injuries lingered in her mind, however. A fuzzy question that had to be answered.

      RACHEL WOKE UP SUDDENLY at two-thirty from a dream. Guy Giroux had been to her house. But unlike the real event, this time he’d come in and he’d wept like a child. In her dream she’d tried to comfort him, but her own discomfort made her awkward and jerky. He didn’t seem to notice, but Rachel was beyond mortified. It was like seeing the man naked, or walking in on him making love.

      Guy had a place, and it was at the hospital. He had a role, and that was as her boss. Anything that disturbed that picture was uncomfortable and to be avoided at all costs.

      Only, the picture was disturbed now. Guy had lost his stepdaughter. Someone he cared about, loved. He’d been married, which Rachel had known but never thought about, and there had been a little girl in his life. It was altogether too personal.

      At work, Rachel was an attending physician and little else. She listened to her staff, joked with them, even went for the occasional drink after a tough night. But she kept her private life to herself.

      She’d learned early that, as a doctor, emotional objectivity was a good thing. Not that she didn’t care what happened to her patients. In fact, that’s where all her nurturing went—to the people who needed her. The truth was, she was too emotional. Things affected her deeply, and she cared way too much when confronted with pain and suffering she could do nothing about.

      Rachel had been that way all her life, and it had made for a roller-coaster puberty. Her friends’ lives all became larger than life, their joys were hers to share, and their pain cut her to the core.

      Her decision to become a doctor was born from a deep need to make things better. Not just for others, but for herself. She couldn’t stand feeling helpless.

      In grade school she’d had a dear, wonderful friend. Molly had moved two houses down when they were both in fourth grade, and it had been love at first sight. They lived at each other’s houses, played together constantly, dreamed big dreams. Molly was like a sister to Rachel, only they fought less.

      And at fifteen, Molly got bone cancer. Two years later, she’d died, and Rachel had nearly gone with her, her grief was so consuming. Standing by, watching her friend’s body waste away was the most excruciating experience of her life, and from that time on, nothing had swayed her from her course.

      It was in medical school that Rachel realized she couldn’t help anyone if she was engulfed in grief herself, so she decided she simply wouldn’t let it in. It was as if she’d created an invisible bubble around herself, and nothing came through.

      Nothing.

      The strategy had worked so well it almost scared her, whenever she let herself think about it. Because there was one problem: she’d never been able to figure out a way to let the positive emotions enter through the barricade.

      Not that she was unhappy. The satisfaction she got from her job was deep and fine. But was it enough?

      Waking up alone, going to sleep alone, cooking for one…It fell short. Not short enough to make her give up her career or even curtail her hours. If she ever did meet anyone, he’d have to deal with that, or hit the road.

      For some unknown reason, she thought of Guy again. She needed to think of him as her boss, not a man. A really attractive man.

      That was one road she wasn’t going down. Nope. No way. He was off-limits. Completely and utterly. He was the reason she preferred the night shift and why she did all she could to keep their communication on paper.

      Rachel threw the covers back and headed for the shower. Her shift didn’t start until nine, but she had shopping to do, some calls to make. And she wanted to get to the hospital early to review her paperwork and check on Heather Corrigan’s baby boy.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ELEANOR FITZ, the charge nurse in the NICU, wasn’t someone Guy new well. He dealt with her during administrative meetings and whenever a preemie was born in the E.R. They’d never talked, aside from work. He didn’t understand his reticence to approach her now, and he pushed it aside, intent on seeing Heather’s child.

      When Eleanor saw him standing just inside the room, she seemed startled, but she quickly hid her surprise. “Dr. Giroux, how can I help you?”

      He walked directly to the large sink and scrubbed his hands as if preparing for surgery. Then he draped a sterile mask around his neck and walked across the room to the nurses’ station, his gaze sweeping the incubators, isolettes, infant warmers and bevy of monitors hooked up to the tiny charges. The other nurses, most of whom he recognized, were busy, and there were two fathers, one holding his child, the other looking desperately through an incubator at his.

      “I’m looking for Heather Corrigan’s baby,” he said.

      For a split second Eleanor’s forehead creased, but perhaps he imagined it because when she smiled, she seemed all business. “He’s right over here.” Turning, she led him to the incubator at the far end of the room. Both a heart and a respiratory monitor were connected, and when he got closer, he saw an IV tube inserted into the hand of an incredibly tiny, very yellow baby.

      “What’s his condition?”

      The nurse didn’t even pluck the chart from the corner of the incubator. “He’s doing better than he was, but that’s not saying much. Very low blood pressure. You can see his jaundice is advanced and his kidney is only at ten percent. There’s still a lot we don’t know. His blood work isn’t finished.”

      Guy stopped himself before he snapped at the woman in his frustration. “Please call the lab immediately and have his bloods done, stat.”

      “Yes, Doctor,” she said, the words an unasked question.

      “This is my stepdaughter’s child. I’d like to be informed immediately of any changes. You have my beeper, I assume.”

      “Yes, Doctor,” she said, and it was if she had changed into another person. Softer. Sympathetic.

      He wanted to make her leave, and he could have with a glance, but he didn’t. The child deserved all the sympathy in the world, considering his stepgrandfather.

      “I’ll get right on it, Doctor,” Eleanor said, stepping aside. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

      He nodded, his gaze on the boy.

      “Doctor?”

      He turned, surprised that the nurse was still there. “Yes.”

      “Does he have a name?”

      Guy stared without seeing. Thought about his girl, the way her hair insisted on flying about in the most undisciplined manner, no matter how she tried to tame it. About the way her laugh made him smile, even when he was in the foulest mood. “Heath,” he said.