Fated Love (25 page)

"It'll have to be an early night, because our first soccer game is Saturday morning. I have to be at my best for that."

"Really." Honor narrowed her eyes. "I certainly wouldn't want to interfere with your priorities."

"Absolutely not." Grinning, Quinn leaned forward, gently kissed Honor's mouth, and murmured, "I don't know how I'm going to make it until Friday night."

Honor drew a long relieved breath. "You're going to be so busy working your ass off in the ER, you won't even notice the time passing." Exerting every ounce of willpower she possessed, she let go of Quinn's hands, moved around her, and headed for the coffee.
Linda will be here any second. I've got to get myself together.

"I'm looking forward to it."

Coffeepot in hand, Honor looked over her shoulder. "Which part? The part where I work your ass off, or the part where I take you out on the town?"

Quinn's heart did a fast roll, the kind that ordinarily had her bracing for a jolt. This time, though it was pure pleasure. "Both, Dr. Blake."

Smiling, heart lighter than it had been in years, Honor turned away, afraid that Quinn would see more in her eyes than she was ready to reveal. "Smooth as always, Dr. Maguire."

Chapter Twenty

L inda dropped into a chair at the nurses' station next to Honor and heaved a sigh. "God, what a day."

"Mmph," Honor grunted without looking up from the EKG she was studying. A minute later, she pushed back in her chair and ran a distracted hand through her hair. "It's been nonstop since we walked in this morning."

"Oh, how I love summer in the city," Linda moaned. "More sports-related accidents, more vehicular trauma, more fistfights. Ain't we got tun."

"Only a few more weeks until school starts, thank God." Honor glanced around the ER restlessly. The hallways were nearly impassable with stretchers, x-ray machines, and instrument carts parked haphazardly outside patient cubicles. She saw several residents, nurses, and attendings, but not the one person she was seeking. "Have you seen Quinn?"

Linda smiled. By her count, that was the tenth time that Honor had asked the same question since the three of them had arrived for work eight hours before. She doubted that Honor realized that she became agitated and outright grumpy whenever Quinn wasn't in eyeshot. "I think she's casting that navicular fracture in seven. The painter who fell off the ladder and landed on his wrist?"

"Oh, right."

"It's a damn good thing she came back to work today," Linda observed casually. "Half the patients in here have surgical problems."

"She's earning her salary, that's for sure." Turning on the swivel stool, Honor glanced behind her at the large intake board with columns of patient names, in and out times, and chief complaints. The flow
did
seem faster, and part of it had to be the fact that fewer patients were waiting for surgical consults because Quinn was dealing with their problems herself. "I just don't want her to burn out."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Linda said with a snort. "She's incredibly fast, and I don't get the sense she's tired."

"I'm sure you're right." Honor tried to sound casual, but Linda knew her too well.

"What are you worried about?" Linda studied the shadows swirling in Honor's eyes, then asked gently, "Are you concerned about her health?"

"No, of course not."

"You
are.
Why? Is she having problems?" When Linda saw Honor's jaw set in the way it did when she was being stubborn, she added impatiently, "I already
know
what's wrong, remember? You're not giving away any secrets."

Honor's shoulders sagged slightly, and she shook her head. "I don't know what's bothering me. She seems perfectly fine. I've seen her running with the kids on the soccer field, and believe me, she's totally functional."

"You wouldn't be half this worried if you weren't falling for her."

"I'm not
falling
for her." Honor stood and gathered her paperwork. "I'm going to discharge the man in one with the chest pain. His EKG is fine, and his chest x-ray is clear. He's got esophageal spasm, and he needs an upper endoscopy. Can you give him the phone number for the GI department so he can schedule a follow-up appointment?"

"Sure." Linda stood as well and angled her body so that she was blocking the exit path. In an insistent whisper, she said, "And I saw the way the two of you were looking at each other this morning. I thought I was going to have to hose you both down before you got in the car."

Honor couldn't help smiling. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?"

"She most certainly is." Linda gave Honor a quick hug. "And so are you. I am
so
happy for you."

"There's nothing to get all excited about. We're just going on a simple date."

"A date!"

"Shh! God, will you be
quiet"
Honor glanced around surreptitiously, relieved to see that no one was nearby. "I hate hospital gossip, and I'd rather not be the subject of it."

"When?"

"Friday."

"Who asked who?" Linda could barely contain her excitement. She was naturally curious and loved the details of other people's lives, but this was beyond exciting.
Honor on a date!

"I did." Honor colored and looked away. "I have to go now. I've got patients waiting." As she turned to head down the hall, she nearly bumped into Quinn. Stepping back quickly, she mumbled, "Hi. Everything okay?"

"Perfect," Quinn replied with a grin. One of the best parts of the day had been looking up to see Honor nearby, concentrating on an x-ray or explaining a teaching point to a resident or bent over a chart, writing a note. Every time Quinn saw her, pleasure fluttered in the pit of her stomach. "You?"

"Good. Fine," Honor said abruptly, trying desperately to avoid Quinn's eyes. Because every time she looked into them, she forgot what she was doing. As the heat of Quinn's gaze washed over her, all she could think of was how it would feel were that touch made real. She was certain that she had never been so constantly aroused in her life. "I..." She lifted the chart in her hand. "Patient...have a patient."

"Yeah. Me, too. See you later?"

Honor sidled around her, careful that their bodies didn't touch. "Soccer. Maybe."

Quinn turned and watched Honor hurry away down the hall, a quizzical look in her eyes. From beside her, she heard Linda laugh softly.

"There used to be a time when she could speak in sentences of more than one word," Linda observed dryly. "Funny about that."

"She's incredible," Quinn whispered.

Linda rolled her eyes.

"So, what's next?" Quinn asked briskly, her expression becoming intent as her attention refocused.

"How do you feel about checking out a softball player who got hit in the cheek with a line drive?"

"Visual problems?"

"Too swollen to tell. He can't get his eyelids open, so I didn't force it."

"Do we have a facial CT yet?"

"Just say the word, Dr. Maguire." Linda reached behind her for an x-ray request form.

"Considerate it said. While you're getting that," Quirm glanced at the intake board, "I'll start on the woman with the upper abdominal pain."

"You've got a deal."

Quinn was in the process of performing an ultrasound examination of the fifty-year-old woman's gallbladder, looking for stones, when Linda stuck her head into the room. "Dr. Blake asked me to tell you that we have two level ones coming in, Dr. Maguire."

"I'll be right there," Quinn said calmly as she set the ultrasound probe aside. She smiled at Mrs. Lamont. "I'm sorry. I'm going to have to leave for a while, but I'll be back."

The woman merely sighed and closed her eyes.

When Quinn stepped out of the cubicle, she saw Honor hurrying toward the admission area and sprinted to catch up to her. "What's going on?"

"Rescue One is bringing in a drowning victim. A kayaker they pulled out of the Schuylkill. He's in full arrest."

"Crap."

Honor nodded grimly. "And Northstar's on the roof with a woman with chemical burns to both arms. I don't have a level on that."

"What do you want me to take?"

"Take the burn" Honor said immediately.

"I may need to do escharotomies," Quinn said quietly, referring to the incisions made through the thick burns to improve circulation. I
may need to operate. Just what everyone's so worried about.

Honor, her eyes steady and calm, met Quinn's. "No matter what anyone says, you're a surgeon, Quinn. Just take care of it. I'll be around."

Before Quinn could do anything more than nod, a horde of EMTs pushing two stretchers, one after the other, came barreling through the door. Honor pointed to her left to the first group; the drowning victim appeared pale and unresponsive as he was whizzed past.

"Down here," Quinn directed the second stretcher to the larger procedure room.

For the next hour, Quinn was totally absorbed in the resuscitation of the twenty-five-year-old woman who had tripped and fallen and, in the process of catching herself, had immersed both arms in a caustic disinfectant solution. After the initial administration of fluid hydration and pain medication, Quinn had turned her attention to the circulation in the woman's hands. The blood flow was significantly impaired by the deep circumferential tissue damage in her forearms, and the fingers were white and cold.

As Quinn had anticipated, immediate surgery was necessary to release the constricting burn tissue and restore the normal circulation. Although the patient would be transferred to an area burn center for definitive care, it was imperative to re-establish blood flow to her fingers before permanent damage could result. It was precision surgery due to the many nerves and blood vessels in close proximity to tendons and other essential structures in the wrist. Quinn made confident, efficient incisions through the eschars on both wrists, relieving the tense pressure beneath. Immediately, the nail beds, which had been dead white, turned pink.

When Quinn was satisfied that the woman would not lose her fingers, she pushed the instrument tray aside and stood, stretching her back to ease the cramps in her shoulders.

"Dress the wounds with Silvadene and sterile gauze," she instructed the resident who had assisted her. "She's ready to transport."

"Thanks," the resident said with a hint of awe in her voice.

"And don't forget to finish the chart work."

"No problem," the resident called after Quinn as she walked away.

Quinn didn't see Linda at the nurses' station, so she continued down the hall to the treatment room where she had seen Honor direct the EMTs earlier. At the open door, she stopped abruptly. Honor knelt astride the stretcher, performing closed cardiac compression while verbally directing the resident and Linda to administer a cocktail of cardiac drugs. From where she stood, Quinn could see the strain in Honor's face and the sweat beaded on her face and neck.

Moving to Linda's side, Quinn asked quietly, "How long has she been at it?"

Linda took a quick glance at the clock. "Fifty-eight minutes."

"What's his status?"

"He came in flatline. No change."

Quinn knew that in near-drowning victims the absence of a pulse upon arrival in the emergency room almost always indicated a very poor chance for survival. However, most drowning victims were young, and while it was always difficult to stop resuscitative efforts, it was the most difficult in the young. She moved to Honor's side.

"How about I take over for a while? I'm fresh."

Honor looked up briefly, her vision blurred by the sweat running into her eyes. She'd been going on automatic for the last half-hour and could barely feel her hands. "Okay, yes. Thanks."

Quinn put her hands over Honor's and began compression as soon as Honor withdrew hers. Rhythmically, she pumped her arms to the count of five compressions to each breath delivered by the respiratory therapist, who had attached a breathing bag to the endotracheal tube that ran down the young man's throat. In the background, she could hear Honor instructing Linda to administer another round of drugs.

"Let's shock him again," Honor said a minute later. "Charge the defibrillator to 300." As she put the paddles down on the pale chest, she met Quinn's eyes. "Stand far clear of the bed, Quinn."

Quinn nodded and, when Honor called clear, stepped several feet away, knowing that the slightest bleed of current from the patient's body or the metal stretcher or even along the surface of the floor would in all likelihood trigger her own arrhythmias. As soon as the charge had dispersed, she moved back in to continue compressions. They repeated the cycle twice more, without success.

"That's enough," Honor said quite clearly.

Slowly, everyone in the room stopped what they were doing.

Honor glanced at the clock. Flatly, she stated, "Time of death, 5:05 p.m."

Quinn watched Honor as she turned and left the room, then looked down at the lifeless body, colorless but still warm. Across the table, her eyes met Linda's. "You okay here?"

"Yeah, we'll take care of things," Linda replied with the muted sadness of someone for whom tragedy was not new but would never be routine. "Go ahead."

There was no one in the small staff lounge except Honor, who sat alone at one of the rickety round tables. Damp tendrils of hair streaked across one cheek, her scrub shirt clung to her chest with sweat, and her hands trembled where they rested on the plain gray surface.

Quinn walked to the soda machine, slid in a dollar bill, and punched the button for a Diet Coke. She repeated the process and carried both to the table, twisted off the tops, and put one bottle in front of Honor.

"You should drink that. You're probably dehydrated."

"Thanks." Mechanically, Honor picked up the soda and drank nearly a third of it.

Quinn took a long swallow of hers and set down the plastic bottle. Then she took the seat next to Honor's. "Anything I can do to help?"

Sighing, Honor shook her head. "No. The police are tracking down his family. If they call here, I'll talk to them."

"Are you okay?"