Race To The Altar. Judy Duarte

complaining about the effects of the Demerol. Can we switch him to something else?”

      “Sure, if that’s what he wants. I’ll write up an order for some Vicodin.”

      “By the way,” Molly said, “he was wondering about the boy’s condition. I didn’t stick around the E.R. last night to find out, but I suspected that he’d been treated and released.”

      “Tommy Haines? Yes, he broke his wrist and knocked the growth plate out of whack, so I called in Dr. Jessup from orthopedics.”

      “Other than that, I take it there weren’t any other complications and he went home?”

      “No, that was it.” Betsy closed the chart she’d been working on and turned to Molly. “No other physical complications.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “His mother is struggling just to pay the rent and to put food on the table, so she hasn’t been able to keep up on the medical insurance premiums for him and his younger sister. That’s why she declined riding in the ambulance. She didn’t want to get hit with another bill she couldn’t pay.”

      So there was another cost for Brighton Valley Medical Center to absorb, Molly thought. Not that it was a biggie, but every dollar added up.

      BVMC was a new hospital that had had its grand opening a year or so ago. In a sense, it was up and running and doing very well. But it was struggling to stay afloat financially in a community that couldn’t quite support a medical facility at the present. However, if the population continued to grow as the investors hoped it would, the hospital would be in much better financial shape next year.

      “I’ll contribute toward the boy’s medical bill,” Molly said.

      “Again?” Betsy leaned a hip against the nurses’ desk and crossed her arms. “You can’t keep paying toward every indigent case we get.”

      “I know. But I’ve got the money, and it makes me feel good to help. Besides, BVMC doesn’t need to drop further into the red. I’m just looking out for my job and my livelihood.”

      “There’s got to be a better investment for your money,” Betsy said. “Like a new car or that vacation you’ve never taken.”

      Maybe so, but Molly lived a simple life; it was just her and her cat, Rusty, at home, so her savings account was healthy. In addition, there’d been a major insurance settlement following the accident that most people didn’t know about. She’d used a portion of it for college, but she hadn’t touched the rest.

      Randy Westlake, the last guy she’d dated, had known about the money, although he hadn’t known exactly how much.

      “You need to buy a house,” he’d told her time and again. But it had bothered her that he was a real estate agent and stood to benefit if he was able to talk her into a purchase.

      “Why throw your money away on rent?” he’d asked her. “There are a lot of nice houses near your grandmother’s rest home that are much roomier and a lot nicer.”

      Yes, but none of them were as centrally located to all the places Molly frequented, like BVMC, the market and Rose Manor Convalescent Hospital.

      No, the one-bedroom house she rented was perfect for her.

      Randy had brought up the move and the money one time too many, and they’d finally parted ways. But not before he accused her of suffering from survivor’s guilt and hoarding the “blood money” she’d received from the insurance settlement.

      The accusation had been a low blow, lancing her to the quick, but only because she’d expected him to understand. She’d put the past behind her, whether he believed that or not, and she was content with her life and the place in which she’d chosen to live.

      Besides, she had a new family now, the BVMC staff and her patients. And while there was a part of her that yearned for a real home and loved ones, deep inside she feared getting too close to anyone again. It was tough enough when a patient died or a coworker retired or moved on for one reason or another.

      So why get any more involved than that? Life was fragile, and loved ones could be taken away in a blink of an eye. That knowledge made her good at her job.

      Of course, it also made for more than a few long and lonely nights.

      

      At 2:14, Molly’s pager went off while she was checking the dosage on Dr. Cheney’s order for Carla Perez, the patient in 309. She glanced at the display and saw that Chase was calling her. She’d go to him just as soon as she gave the meds to Mrs. Perez, who’d had an appendectomy yesterday and was complaining of pain.

      It didn’t take her very long to stop off in 309, but by the time she entered Chase’s room, she found him climbing out of bed.

      “Where are you going?” she asked.

      “To the bathroom.”

      As he got to a wobbly stand, the edges of his hospital gown split apart, as they were prone to do, revealing his backside and a nicely shaped butt.

      She studied the appealing vision just a tad too long before asking, “Do you need some help?”

      “I’ll be okay.” He reached for the IV pole, using it to steady himself, then shuffled to the bathroom.

      She followed a few steps behind him, her gaze still drawn to his butt.

      Not bad, she thought, not bad at all.

      She wasn’t in the habit of ogling her male patients, so the fact that she’d done so with this one didn’t sit very well with her. As he slipped into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar, she stood just a couple of feet away, prepared to act if she had to.

      He took care of what he went in to do, then the water in the sink turned on. Moments later, after the faucet shut off, he uttered, “Oh, damn.”

      She pulled open the door, only to find him about to collapse on the floor. She wrapped her arms around his waist, trying her best to support him.

      “Wouldn’t you know it?” he said, teeth clenched in a grimace of pain. “I’ve got a pretty nurse in my arms, and look at me. I can’t even make an improper move, let alone a proper one.”

      “Cute,” she said, wresting a hand free just long enough to push the call button on the wall. The man was a lot bigger and heavier than she’d realized.

      “Why do I have to be laid up when an opportunity like this arises?”

      While she held him, she tried to lower the lid of the commode so she could make a place for him to sit.

      “Next time you need to get up,” she said, “call me, okay?”

      “Good idea. Maybe then I’ll be stronger and better able to enjoy your tender loving care.”

      About the time Molly managed to sit Chase on the commode, Evie Richards, a nurses’ aide, came in. “Need some help in here?”

      “Yes. As soon as he catches his breath, we need to get him back to bed.”

      “Two pretty nurses taking me to bed,” Chase said. “And I’m just about down for the count. What a shame.”

      If Evie had been young and shapely, rather than middle-aged and a bit on the plump side, Molly might have considered Chase to be more of an obnoxious player than a charming flirt.

      Of course, given the chance, and away from a hospital setting, he might be both.

      She supposed time—and some healing—would tell.

      Once he was back in bed, Evie left the room. But before Molly could follow her out, Chase asked, “Did you ever find out anything about how that kid is doing?”

      “He broke his wrist. His mom took him home last night.”

      “Good. I’m glad he’s going to