Шрифт:
He spoke with a calm authority that sent staff scrambling to obey. Then again, who wouldn’t want to do whatever he asked if it meant receiving one of his killer smiles?
His long eyelashes were partly to blame for his appeal to women, she decided. Add dark brown hair and blue eyes, a firm jaw and an attractive dimple, and infatuation was a given.
While he wore the requisite surgical green scrub suit under a protective yellow paper gown, the shapeless garments didn’t detract from his muscular shoulders or his lean physique. If he could turn heads in this ugly garb, he’d probably stop traffic when he wore street clothes that actually fit. If the hospital ever created a doctor-of-the-month calendar featuring him as the centerfold they’d make a fortune.
As great as his physical appearance was, he wouldn’t have earned the moniker of “the delectable Dr. Donovan” if he didn’t have the personality to match. His charisma explained how he’d managed to get whatever—and whomever—he wanted in his department. His persistence and eloquent arguments had persuaded several top people to transfer her into his domain.
Apparently aware of her lingering presence, he flashed her a cocky grin.
Hating that he’d caught her loitering, and was obviously thinking she’d become one more member of his adoring fan club, she fled the room.
About the Author
JESSICA MATTHEWS’S interest in medicine began at a young age, and she nourished it with medical stories and hospital-based television programmes. After a stint as a teenage candy-striper, she pursued a career as a clinical laboratory scientist. When not writing or on duty, she fills her day with countless family and school-related activities. Jessica lives in the central United States, with her husband, daughter and son.
Recent titles by the same author:
EMERGENCY: PARENTS NEEDED
HIS BABY BOMBSHELL THE BABY DOCTOR’S BRIDE
Dear Reader
One day I stumbled across an article about labyrinths and their associated healing effects. I was intrigued by how hospitals in the US are building these labyrinths on their campuses to help patients achieve spiritual health while their medical needs are addressed. I began my research and was fascinated by what I learned.
Consequently, I wanted to incorporate this concept into a story. I’ve taken a few liberties for my own purposes, but I simply had to create characters who needed the emotionally healing effects of a labyrinth.
I hope you enjoy what I’ve done. Happy reading!
Sincerely
Jessica Matthews
MAVERICK IN THE ER
JESSICA MATTHEWS
www.millsandboon.co.uk
To Terry, for being my hero.
CHAPTER ONE
LET this be a lesson to you, Sierra McAllaster, she told herself in her rush to meet the incoming ambulance. Never say never.
She’d worked in Emergency Services before coming to Pennsylvania three months ago, and when she’d left North Carolina, she’d vowed that daily E.R. duty wouldn’t be in her future. She’d been there, done that, and although she’d once loved her work in that hectic department, it was time to pass the torch to others who thrived on the adrenalin rush. She wanted a more sedate pace with patients who weren’t broken bodies in need of an immediate fix, and she’d found it on the fifth-floor medical unit at Pittsburgh’s Good Shepherd Hospital.
However, just when she’d finally settled in to her new duties, her career plan had taken a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. At this very moment she was in the middle of the very position she’d never intended to fill again, thanks to a one-sentence clause in the fine print of her contract.
“Come on, people,” Trey Donovan, the senior emergency physician, yelled beside her. “Let’s move!”
By the time their small entourage had reached the ambulance bay, two paramedics were already tugging a stretcher out of the back of their vehicle.
A feeling of dread swamped her, but she reasoned it away. You don’t know this person. None of your friends or family could possibly be on that stretcher. This is a car accident—nothing at all like David’s situation.
She swallowed hard and forced herself to fall back into her objective professional mode.
“MVA,” one medic reported, using the shorthand Sierra recalled so vividly. Motor-vehicle accident. “Forty-five-year-old male with blunt trauma to the chest and abdomen, dislocated shoulder and sundry other injuries. BP is…”
Sierra noted the vital signs as she gazed down at the man lying on the gurney, strapped to a backboard and wearing a cervical collar. Bruises were already forming on his visible extremities and lacerations from broken glass crisscrossed his face. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, but his nose was swollen and clearly broken, which meant they’d need an airway.
“Let’s go,” Trey ordered, and off they scurried to the nearest available trauma room.
“He’s wearing a MedicAlert bracelet,” the other paramedic reported. “According to the company records, he’s a diabetic and he’s currently taking Coumadin, hydrochlorothiazide and something called liraglutide.”
The blood-pressure medicine wasn’t unusual for someone his age, but the blood thinner was. “Has he had a recent heart attack or stroke?”
“We don’t know, but his left knee has a freshly healing scar. Maybe a recent joint replacement? The police are trying to locate his next of kin.”
“Any record of insulin?”
The paramedic shook his head. “None.”
“What was that last drug you’d mentioned?” Trey asked, his brow furrowed as if trying to place the medication.
“Liraglutide,” the paramedic repeated.