Taming the Playboy. Marie Ferrarella

Not the main section, which only underwent moderate renovations every ten to fifteen years, but the outlying regions.

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

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

      The ambulance made a left turn at the light, then an immediate right. Easing around the small space, it backed up to the emergency room’s outer doors.

      Georges was right behind it. As he brought his car to a stop beside the vehicle, a volunteer valet came to life behind his small podium and quickly hurried over toward the red sports car.

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

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

      Nodding meekly, the valet faded back to his podium.

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

      Her fingers were icy, he noted.

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

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

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

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

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

      “Helping where I can,” he corrected.

      The gurney was pushed through the electronic doors that had sprung open to admit it and the attendants. Georges placed his hand to the small of her back, guiding her in behind the gurney.

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

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

      “Friend of yours, Dr. Armand?” Murphy assumed.

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

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

      Taking it all in, Murphy nodded. “Okay, we’ll take it from here.”

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

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

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

      Startled, she looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face.

      “You can’t go there,” he told her, then added with a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, they’ll bring him back as soon as they’re finished.”

      Murphy stripped off the plastic gloves and crossed his arms before him. “Anything else?” he asked, mildly amused.

      Georges nodded. He knew how territorial some doctors could be. It was always best to ask permission rather than assume. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hang around.”

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

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

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

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

      If she stopped moving, Vienna thought, she was going to collapse. Like one of those cartoon characters that only plummeted down the ravine if they acknowledged that there was no ground beneath their feet.

      She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just shaken. And worried,” she added with a suppressed sigh, looking over toward the double doors where her grandfather had disappeared.

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

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

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

      He