Page 12 of Rust the Rejected
The computer-generated voice announces the ground floor as the doors ding open. I rush out as I exclaim ER emergency and bypass the other passengers. My feet fly. I reach the ER and rush towards the operating room. The nurse waves me over and helps me scrub for surgery in the OR anteroom. I remove the sling from the damn cast to maneuver my arm as best I can. I ignore the slight twinge of pain. Patient first.
“Dr. Moore here. Give me an update,” I announce as I stride through the door held open by the nurse.
Beeps from the machinery indicate a weak but steady heartbeat and an erratic one. My eyes go to the female patient. Tatters of her bloodied clothing lie on the floor. The metallic odor of fresh blood invades my nose. Her eyes remain closed in a pale face. An intubation tube protrudes from her mouth to assist with her breathing. The size of her belly puts her in the third trimester. I pray to the gods the knife missed the baby, and it’s developed enough to withstand an emergency C-section. The mother, we’ll see.
“Dr. Moore.”
My eyes jerk to my left at the sound of Dr. Ingolf’s baritone voice. Only his hazel eyes and his brawny frame offer distinguishing characteristics as the surgical cap, mask, and visor obscure his face.
“I stabilized the woman as best as I can, given the location and the severity of the knife wound. So, you’ll have to work quickly to save the baby…”
As the lead surgeon, he goes on to update me while I check the baby’s vitals. Thirty minutes later, I deliver the baby and close the C-section incisions. The knife nicked the little girl’s shoulder and narrowly missed her head. The pediatric surgeon takes over the baby’s care while Dr. Ingolf tends to the mother. I standby in case he needs help.
His skill level amazes me as he works swiftly to repair the damage inflicted by the knife. At times, his hands blur with movement. His intense focus serves the patient well. Not even a leaking abdominal aorta frazzles him. Less than half an hour later, the nurse rolls the mother from the operating room. She’ll live to love her baby. Dr. Ingolf turns to me and smiles.
And damn if my heart doesn’t flutter. A radiance about him after a successful surgery highlights the gold in his eyes. They glow internally. Enthralling me.
“You impress me, Dr. Moore,” he says as he strides towards me. An air of confidence and masculine swagger exude from his being. Again, nurses peek at him behind their visors. But his eyes remain glued to me.
He leans over and his hand reaches out. My heart skips a beat as I gasp. He stifles a chuckle and inclines his head to the right of me.
“After you, Dr. Moore.”
I glance over my shoulder to find his hand on the OR door. Color floods my cheeks as I lower my head and mutter a curse. For a moment, I thought he was reaching out to touch me. Get it together, Nat!
This time, he laughs out loud.
My head snaps up to find his hazel eyes twinkling.
“I think you got it together, Dr. Moore. I’m sure the mother will appreciate you saving her unborn child.”
My cheeks burn as my gaze drops to his feet—enormous feet. How the hell did I speak aloud?! And why am I acting like those nurses?! But worse because I. Don’t. Want. Him.
I nod and pivot, ducking beneath his muscular arm to hasten into the anteroom. He follows me to the biohazard bin and hamper. I avert my eyes as he removes the bloodied apron and the surgical gown. Briefly I imagine he strips to nothing but smooth skin and chiseled muscles, then beckons me. With a shake of my head, I toss my soiled garments in the appropriate place. Last warning, Natalie.
Determined not to make a further fool of myself, I remain silent as we move to the sink. Elbow to elbow, we wash our hands. Dr. Ingolf says nothing. But I sense he watches me out of the corner of his eye. Hurriedly, I dry my hands and turn to leave.
Others around us exchange words as they move about the anteroom. Their relief is palpable. I smile at them, also thankful we saved the mother and her baby. The anesthesiologist catches my eye. He saunters over.
“Dr. Moore, you did a phenomenal job with the baby. Smart and decisive. Are you done with your shift? A few of us are going for drinks. I’d love for you to come.”
I detect the rapid beat of his heart. He’s too eager for me to join him, which only means he wants more than I’m willing to give. No point in encouraging him. I open my mouth to respond when a muscular arm brushes against me.
“Actually, Dr. Moore and I have plans.”
I glance up to find Dr. Ingolf towering over both of us. With a nod, he places a hand on my lower back and guides me towards the double doors. I offer a smile to the anesthesiologist. He stares mouth agape.
Out of earshot, Dr. Ingolf says, “I sensed you didn’t want to go with him but didn’t know how to decline without seeming distant. You can thank me for the save by having dinner with me.”
I tilt my head back, surprised at his demand. The corner of his mouth curves in a smirk as his eyes glint with mischief. I can’t help but to laugh at his gutsy move.
“Oh, you’re good, Dr. Ingolf. Maybe too good. But I didn’t want to join him, and I am hungry. So, I’ll accept your demand to thank you over dinner.”
He chuckles, then raises his hand. A black strip of cloth dangles from his fingertips.
* * *
Dylan
