Page 12 of New River Gorge(ous)
“Dr. Whistler?” Peony, the charge nurse, walks into the small room just as I’m about to take a bite of my sub sandwich. I’ve worked with Peony for a while. She’s close to my age, twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Most importantly, she’s quiet, but competent. She doesn’t annoy me the way most of the newer nurses do. “We need you immediately. There’s an older woman who fell.”
I sigh and put the sandwich back in its wrapper, then toss it in the tiny fridge. “What do I need to know?”
“She’s a frequent flyer here, so I think you two have met.” Peony says it drily, and I’m immediately concerned aboutwhichone of our accident-prone E.R. regulars now requires my attention.
Peony hands me a folder with a chart. I flip the file open.
June MacCord.
Immediately, a swoop of alarm hits my stomach. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She fell. She seems cognizant, and isn’t in too much pain on her injured foot, but we’re concerned about an injury to the other ankle. She’s definitely got some swelling. Said she had a hankering for cookies and fell off her scooter.”
I scrub a hand down my beard, tugging on it with irritation.Cookies? At two in the morning? And how did she fall off the scooter? I brought it over for her so that shewouldn’tfall.It was supposed to be June-proof.
“What room is she in?” I grit out through clenched teeth.
“Seventeen.” She starts to walk away, but calls over her shoulder, “Good luck, Doctor.”
I’m tired. I’m hungry. And now I have to deal with June. Will my neighbor ever cease being a source of annoyance?
My footsteps are heavy as I paste on what I hope is a passably professional face. I knock twice on the heavy wood door before opening it. My eyes take in the room, and everything stops.
June MacCord sits on a hospital bed, a warm blanket across her lap and her feet elevated. Standing next to her, staring at me, is June MacCord’s granddaughter. I haven’t seen her since early yesterday when I creeped on her and her boyfriend’s goodbye. She doesn’t wear wedding rings, so the guy isn’t her spouse—yet. Their goodbye was weird. It was a long hug, and I swore I would leave when they started kissing, but they never did. She was not dressed then as she is now, but I was still distracted by her. She’s pretty.
And now she’s here. In front of me. Wearing bright pink pajamas with a button-up shirt and matching pink shorts.
Our gazes lock. I am frozen. I cannot move.Why is this woman here in my E.R. and dressed like this?Why do I like it so much?
June cackles. “I knew you’d take care of me!”
The granddaughter scowls at me, and I turn my attention to June. She is my patient, even if the toned arms and hint of legs on her granddaughter are distracting.
“June,” I grumble. “What now?”
“Well, do you want the long story or the short version?”
“Which one will help me know what we need to do to get you back home and out of my hair?” I quip.
The granddaughter opens her mouth as she watches my exchange with June. She might be about to speak, but June butts in.
“That would be the long story.” She pats her granddaughter’s hand. “But first, would you get Brookie Cookie here a chair? She insists she won’t sit until I’ve been seen by a doctor.”
Brookie Cookie?I hope against hope that this is a nickname, and that the attractive woman who is currently my neighbor wasn’t born to insane parents who love rhymes. But June is her grandmother, so absolutely nothing is off the table. And wait, didn’t June say something about cookies being the reason she’s here? DoesBrookehave anything to do with this?
I turn and grab the chair from beside the door.
“He’s very attractive, don’t you think, Brookie?” June whispers loudly enough that everyone knows I heard her.
I take a moment before turning around and pretend I didn’t just hear a seventy-six-year-old woman ogle me.
When I place the chair by June, I catch a glimpse of Brooke’s face. It’s mottled red.
June pats the chair. “Come on. Sit down, Brooke, and then I can tell Doc here all about what happened.”
Brooke shuffles around the bed and sits in the chair, her eyes on anything but me. I, however, cannot look away from her legs—they’re tan and muscular and end in fluffy pink slippers.
“It all started when I was watching that baking show Brooke likes,” June starts, breaking my leg-induced trance.
