Any Sunday, page 4
“Marjorie, I stayed because I wanted to, not out of any obligation.” He stepped around the bed and stood directly in front of her, leaning down only slightly. Because the hospital bed was so high, their eyes met. His were warm and sincere, while hers flashed with frustration and regret.
Although his words had filled her with an absurd amount of pleasure, Marjorie still felt compelled to explain herself. “But I’m not like that…really.”
“Like what?”
“Weak and sniveling.”
“I never once thought that.”
“Oh, you’re impossible!”
Sam’s thick brows shot upward. “I’m what?”
Marjorie lightly tossed her head. “Nothing.”
“Do you doubt my word?”
“Not exactly. It’s just that I feel I’ve given you the wrong impression of me. I’m a capable, responsible adult. I even figured out my own taxes last year.”
“I’m impressed.” He pushed a small stool across the floor so she could use that as a step to climb off the bed.
“You’re actually going to make me do this?” Marjorie couldn’t seem to get her body to cooperate. One foot eased itself downward as she cautiously scooted to the edge of the mattress.
Sam placed a supporting arm under her elbow to help her down. She felt small and incredibly fragile in his embrace. Once again she reminded him of the rain-drenched kitten he’d discovered all those years ago. And like the half-drowned feline, Marjorie Majors required love and attention, too. Only Sam wasn’t in any position to give those things to her. She was his patient, not a potential girlfriend. The two didn’t mix. Couldn’t mix.
With both feet firmly planted on the floor, Marjorie paused, half expecting to keel over. When she didn’t, she felt a glowing sense of triumph. She’d made it, actually made it.
“Good job,” Sam said, and reluctantly dropped his arm. “Now take a few steps.”
“You don’t really mean for me to walk, do you?” She was only hours from having been under the knife. Hours from the most frightening experience of her life.
“I certainly do want you to walk. You know, one foot in front of the other in a forward direction.”
She flashed him a look of irritation.
“And soon, if you’re good, I’ll take you upstairs.”
“Upstairs? Is there something up there that would interest me? Like food?”
“You’re hungry?”
“Famished! I haven’t eaten in two days.” That was entirely true. Marjorie liked her food and seldom skipped a meal. Luckily, gaining weight had never been a problem. She guessed she was fortunate in that department, but it seemed she would quickly melt away if this hospital had anything to say about it. She hadn’t been offered a single meal so far.
Sam knew her digestive system couldn’t handle anything solid for a few days, but he decided against telling her so. He would leave as many unpleasant tasks as possible for Cal Johnson. After all, Cal was the physician of record.
While guiding the IV pole beside her, Sam manipulated them through the doorway and into the broad hallway.
“This afternoon, while you were sleeping, I delivered a set of twins,” Sam boasted proudly. Birth, even after countless deliveries, had never ceased to humble him, and twins were always special. “They’re upstairs,” he continued. “I’ll take you to see them later, if you want.”
Marjorie looked at him and blinked. She didn’t know how to explain that babies frightened her. All right, they terrified her. Some women took to motherhood and dirty diapers like hogs to mud. But, unfortunately, that would never be the case with her. The only times she’d ever been around babies, they’d cried. Within ten minutes she’d been ready to wail herself. After several embarrassing episodes in her youth, she had decided that anyone under two was allergic to her.
“I…I think I’d better wait until I’ve got more strength,” she said.
“Of course,” Sam agreed. “I wouldn’t dream of dragging you upstairs your first time out. Tomorrow, maybe, or the next day.”
“Sure. Anytime,” Marjorie answered, but the words nearly stuck in her throat.
Three
Marjorie stared at the orange tray and grimaced in pure disgust. If she so much as looked at another bowl of red gelatin, she was going to start screaming and say something unladylike that would shock the entire hospital staff. Everything they’d brought to her so far only vaguely resembled food.
“Good morning,” the nurse’s aide greeted her, as she strolled into the room. “And how was your breakfast?”
“You don’t want to know.”
The young girl glanced at the untouched tray. “You didn’t eat a thing.”
“I couldn’t,” Marjorie muttered. It wasn’t this poor woman’s fault that the hospital had chosen to starve her.
“Aren’t you feeling better? Usually my patients are more than ready to eat by this time. Are you in a lot of pain? Perhaps I should notify Dr. Johnson.”
“Contacting the doctor isn’t going to convince me to eat…this. I’d rather die,” Marjorie said dramatically. “I refuse to swallow anything that slithers down my throat.”
The aide chuckled. “Let me see what I can do.” She left, and Marjorie stared after her with visions of cheesy pizza, crisp fried chicken, and a thick, juicy steak playing havoc with her imagination. Marjorie was convinced she smelled bacon frying in the distance, the odor wafting toward her and tormenting her with delicious dreams.
“Problems?” Sam sauntered into the room, looking sympathetic.
“Sam,” Marjorie said, and brightened instantly. She hadn’t seen him in nearly twenty hours and had rarely been more pleased to lay eyes on anyone. Sam Bretton could be trusted. She wasn’t so sure about anyone else in this antiseptic place, but Sam would help straighten out this mealtime mess.
“You didn’t eat your breakfast.” His voice was only lightly accusing.
“I couldn’t,” she said, her eyes softly pleading with his. “The oatmeal had more lumps than a camel, and heaven only knows what flavor of gelatin they wanted me to eat…Liver, I think, and even with whipped topping, it looked disgusting. As for the tea and toast, could they be any more boring? Why can’t I have a mushroom omelet, with home fries on the side? Something…anything but gelatin and oatmeal.”
“Soon.”
Marjorie’s face mirrored her reaction. Obviously, soon wasn’t going to be this morning, and she needed nourishment now, if not earlier. Disappointment consumed her. She’d thought of Sam as her ally, her friend. The amazing part was that he seemed to look better to her every time he walked into the room. When he was with her, even the pain lessened. He filled her room with an assurance of well-being and safekeeping. He lent her confidence, stamina, and the conviction that this, too, would pass, and when it did, he would be there for her.
Sam reached for her hand, and his eyes gentled. “Marjorie, listen.” He did understand her position, but she had to realize that stronger foods had to be reintroduced gradually into her digestive system. “You’re not being a very good patient.”
“Oh, spare me,” she snapped, quickly losing a grip on her fragile patience. Her temper was always quick to fire when she was hungry. “No one told me I had to pretend I was on the good ship Lollipop.”
“All we’re asking is that you do as we say.”
“And die of starvation in the process.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. You’re a long way from that. Most women look forward to dropping a few pounds during their hospital stay.” The moment the words slipped from Sam’s mouth, he recognized his terrible mistake. It was too late to retract his statement; his only hope was that she would let it slide. He tried smiling, praying the action would take any sting from his words. It didn’t.
Marjorie’s face grew as red as a California pepper, and her anger was just as hot. “Are you insinuating Tacoma General is a fat farm and that I’m overweight?”
“No, you misunderstood—”
“Your meaning was more than clear,” she said coldly, and reached for the buzzer to call the nurse. Immediately, the red light above her bed flashed on.
“Marjorie…I didn’t mean to be so tactless. You’re not the least bit plump…I’m doing a poor job of this.” Sam wiped a hand around the back of his neck and sighed. He regretted getting trapped in this no-win conversation. When it came to dealing with his patients, he usually had more finesse than this.
She ignored him and tossed aside the sheet, sticking her bare leg out in an ungraceful effort to climb down from the high hospital bed. “Nurse,” she cried, but her voice was weak and wobbly.
“Marjorie, you have to stay where you are and eat your breakfast,” Sam said.
Their eyes met and clashed. Marjorie was hurting and hungry, a lethal combination that resulted in the most embarrassing reaction. Tears. Embarrassed, she turned her face away from him and motioned toward the door, wordlessly asking him to leave.
Sam hesitated. Once again his heart went out to her, and he had to force himself to walk out of the room. In the few days since he’d met Marjorie, she’d touched him in ways few women ever had. He had been a silent witness to her courage and realized that she possessed a rare personal strength. Her laughter was a sweet melody, her movements innately graceful. Several times over the past twenty-four hours he’d found his thoughts drifting to her, and he smiled at the memory of her waking from the operation to ask if she was in the morgue. At each meeting he realized all the more how proud she was. Proud. Fiery. Straightforward. He found it utterly astonishing that she wasn’t married. And he was grateful. He wanted to get to know her better—a whole lot better.
Sam knew he’d made a mess of this and was angry with himself. He patted her shoulder and turned to leave the room.
The nurse’s aide met him outside her door and raised questioning eyes to him. “Doctor?”
“I believe she’ll eat her breakfast now,” Sam answered, his thoughts distracted.
“Very good.” The younger woman beamed him a warm smile—impressed, he imagined, with his ability to deal with a difficult situation.
Sam did his best to return the friendly gesture. He had a reputation for working well with unreasonable patients, but Marjorie wasn’t that, only confused and miserable.
And he’d made a mess of things.
* * *
—
Marjorie heard Sam tell the nurse’s aide that she would be eating her meal and glared after him, half tempted to toss the liver gelatin at his arrogant backside. She didn’t, though, because he was right. Once again she’d made an idiot of herself in front of him and the hospital staff. She didn’t like herself when she behaved this way, yet she seemed powerless to change.
The moisture on her cheeks felt like burning acid, and she brushed the tears aside, thoroughly embarrassed by their appearance. She wasn’t a crybaby—at least she hadn’t been until Sam Bretton walked into her life. Then everything had quickly fallen to pieces. Whatever it was about that insufferable, wonderful man that reduced her to this state should be outlawed.
The tea was only lukewarm, but at least it was strong enough to satisfy Marjorie’s need for caffeine. The dry wheat toast was surprisingly filling, and the oatmeal passable as long as she dumped three sugar packets over the top. The gelatin she ignored.
In order to avoid the triumphant look on the nurse’s aide’s face, Marjorie pretended to be asleep when the woman returned for the tray. To her surprise, she actually did fall into a restful sleep and woke midmorning with a game show blaring from the TV positioned against the wall.
“I see you’re awake.” The mud-wrestling star was back. Bertha Powell, RN, looked stiff in her scrubs. “Dr. Johnson wants you up and walking today. Ten laps.”
“Laps?” Marjorie repeated, still caught in the last dregs of sleep. Did the hospital provide a running track for surgery patients?
“The corridor,” the muscular woman informed her primly. “Ten times up and back. That’s your goal for today. But don’t do too much at once. Two or three round-trips at a time. No more.”
Marjorie resisted the urge to salute. Bertha Powell seemed to be looking for a few good men—or women—to gleefully whip into shape. Marjorie didn’t doubt that the nurse would count every single lap.
To her credit, the nurse aided Marjorie into an upright position and helped her on with her robe. There was some confusion with the IV, but Bertha figured it out, and after only a few minutes, Marjorie was on her way.
Steadier on her feet than she’d been before, she was pleased with her slow but sure progress. Although it was hours before noon, the hospital was a hive of activity. If she’d been in a grumbling mood, she would have pointed out that Dr. Johnson had suggested she get plenty of rest, but the hospital staff had awakened her before the sun was anywhere close to the horizon. The only people up at that time of the morning were mass murderers, teenagers, and nurse’s aides.
The woman who had brought in her breakfast tray grinned as Marjorie passed the nurses’ station.
“Hey, you’re doing great.”
Marjorie smiled back. “Yes, I think I’ll donate my body to science.”
“Science fiction might appreciate it more,” said a deep male voice from behind her.
“Sam?” Marjorie laughed and turned her head, pleased to see him again.
“To your room,” he instructed.
Marjorie was more than happy to comply, and glanced with wide-eyed curiosity toward the brown paper sack in his hand. “What’s that?”
“You’ll see.”
“I thought you had appointments all day,” she said once they were back in her room, not that she was disappointed to see him. Nothing could have been further from the truth; she was overjoyed.
“I just finished my rounds.”
“Oh.” Once again Marjorie couldn’t take her eyes from his dazzling smile. “How are the twins?”
“As cute as a bug’s ear. I’ll take you to see them this evening, if you want.”
It was all Marjorie could do to nod. She’d brought up the subject of the babies because she knew they were close to Sam’s heart. She was interested, but not to the point of overcoming her instinctive apprehension. When the time came that she couldn’t avoid it any longer, she would look through the glass and ooh and aah with appropriate enthusiasm, and Sam would never guess she was frightened to death.
“I brought you something to tide you over until lunch,” he said, holding out the sack to her.
Marjorie took it and eagerly peeked inside. The chocolate-coated ice-cream bar produced a small squeal of delight. If they’d been anyplace but the middle of a hospital, she would have thrown her arms around his neck and smudged his face with kisses to thank him properly.
“Thank you, Sam. Really.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Those gorgeous eyes of his seemed to look straight into her heart. “I felt terrible about the scene I made earlier,” Marjorie admitted, centering her greedy gaze on the melting Dove bar. Her mouth started to water. This man was special. Really special.
“There’s no need to apologize,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly helpful.”
“But you tried.” She didn’t understand why he was so good to her, but she wasn’t willing to question it. From the moment she’d walked into his office, he’d befriended her, then seen her through the most difficult days of her life, all the while hardly leaving her side. No wonder his patients were so willing to admit they fell in love with him.
Sam’s heart throbbed painfully with desire. Marjorie’s wide eyes regarded him with such sweet gratitude that it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean forward and press his mouth to hers. He didn’t, of course, but that didn’t stop his imagination from running rampant. He could all but taste her honey-sweet lips. He could all but feel her mouth shaping and fitting to his own, and her ripe body pressing against him.
Inhaling deeply to discipline his thoughts, Sam took a step back. Marjorie Majors had caught him completely off guard. Over the years he’d been subjected to every female ploy imaginable, but the majority of women who were interested in him were mostly concerned with the money he was making and the social position that would go with becoming his wife. They hadn’t soured him on marriage, but they had made him extra-cautious. He didn’t succumb easily to a woman’s charms, and he wasn’t about to start now. He was looking for a special woman to become his wife. A partner and a friend.
And now there was Marjorie. Her candor had caught him unaware. She was a natural beauty. Even without makeup and with her dark hair tied lifelessly away from her face, he couldn’t help being attracted to her. From the moment she’d angrily jumped off his exam table, Sam had been enraptured with her. Everything about her acted as a powerful aphrodisiac, but nothing could come of this attraction until after she was released from the hospital.
Sam left abruptly, but Marjorie was too busy eating her ice-cream bar to pay much attention. She sucked on the wooden stick until the last bit of chocolate had long since melted on her tongue, then carefully set the stick aside.
Dragging the IV stand with her, she walked slowly and carefully down the corridor until she reached the nurses’ station. There wasn’t any way to be tactful about what she needed to know, but she was in dangerous territory here, feeling the way she did about Sam Bretton.
“Ms. Powell?” she said as sweetly as she could.
“Yes?” Bertha Powell glanced up from the chart she was updating, and her eyes narrowed with displeasure.
“I’ve done five laps.”
