Outside The Lines (3 page)

“Four,” she said, until he guided the corner of the compress from her skin
. The angry, scraped-thin throb left in its place made her tack on, “And a half.”

As if Blake
sensed her two-point bend in the truth, he said, “I’ll give you something to manage the pain as soon as we’re done.” His tone was so businesslike that for a second, Jules thought she might make it through the exam. But damn it, that flicker made another pass over his eyes as he studied the vicious three-inch strip of blisters that had been hiding beneath the compress, and her words rushed out like a verbal landslide.

“I’m sorry
. I’m so sorry I left you a note, Blake. I shouldn’t have…”
Been such a coward. Left when you were already hurting.

Believed your mother instead of you.

“But you did.” His gaze, now back to normal, was pinned firmly to his task, the soft trickle of water a complete juxtaposition to the uncompromising line of his jaw. He lifted her arm from the basin, resting it on the fresh towel he’d draped over the pillows at her side, his face calm and cool and absolutely devoid of emotion.

And as much as Jules hated it,
he was right. God, she shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t like she could come out with the truth, no matter what was going on behind that dark green stare of his.

It was better to just shut up and get out of here. The faster, the better.

“Anyway.” Blake cleared his throat, gesturing to her injury like he’d seen a thousand like it this morning alone. “This is definitely a second-degree burn. The good news is it doesn’t go all the way through the second layer of your skin. So while it’s certainly painful, you’re not likely to have permanent damage. With proper care, it should heal in a couple of weeks.”

She nodded, not willing to trust her traitorous mouth to
anything more than that, and Blake continued, his motions as efficient as his words. “We’ll treat the blisters with an antibiotic ointment, and you’ll need to keep it lightly bandaged so the wound stays clean and dry. Elevating it for a few days should reduce the pain and swelling. You said this happened on the job?”

More nodding, and where the hell was Serenity? “Yup.”

“I take it you’re working in the kitchen at Mac’s?”

His gaze zeroed in on hers, and
suddenly, Jules was back in a kitchen, sleek and small, but not at Mac’s. She’d spent a year’s worth of Sunday mornings sneaking down to this kitchen to make French toast from the day-old castoffs from the bakery next door.  Fat slices of butter-gold brioche stacked four-deep with tangy-sweet orange marmalade and honeyed cream cheese layered in the middle… God, there was nothing else like it. She’d hum while she cooked, taking care not to let a single drop or crumb go to waste before she slipped back up the stairs with a plate in each hand. But no matter how long it had been since they’d last eaten, Blake always wanted her instead of breakfast, like she could sustain him in a way that even food couldn’t…

“
Jules?” Urgency shaped her name into sharp notes, and whoa, he dropped that sterile bandage awfully fast. “Are you okay?”

“
What? No! I mean yes. Yes, I’m totally fine.” As long as complete lunacy didn’t count. Seriously, she needed to get out that door and back to Mac’s, where she could run the front of the house and put food in people’s bellies and get back to freaking normal.

But Blake didn’
t pick up the medical tape. “Your pulse is racing.”

“What are you, psychic?”

“No.” The edges of his mouth tipped up into a smile that took a sexed-up potshot at her breastbone, and fabulous. There went her blood pressure too. “I’m a doctor. And I’ve got my fingers on your radial artery, so…”

“Oh.” Jules looked down, and sure enough, his gloved fingers were still curled snugly around her wrist.
Barely a breath of space separated his chest from the length of her arm, and a hot tingle rushed over her bare skin all the way to the strap of her tank top. His mouth, firm enough to show strength yet full enough to be an unfair advantage, was close enough that if she pressed forward a few inches, they’d…

Right. She reall
y, really needed to go. “Must be the pain endorphins. I feel fine.”

The smile faded from Blake’s face
. “Are you sure?”

She nodded hard enough to bounce her ponytail off her shoulders
, shooting a glance at the gap in the curtain and the hallway beyond. “So, all I need is this ointment, right? And to keep my arm dry and clean and stuff?”

He
hesitated, then finished dressing the burn with a layer of gauze. “Yes. All the standards of care are right here on this page. But if the pain worsens, or if you see any signs of infection at all, you’ll need to come back to see me immediately.”

“Absolutely. You got it. So are we done?”

He let go of her
freshly bandaged wrist and stepped back from the gurney, his running shoes squeaking softly against the linoleum. “You’ve been treated, yes.”

“Thanks.”

Jules took the release order from his hand and ran.

CHAPTER THREE

Blake sank into the standard-issue hospital couch in the emergency department’s staff lounge, caught halfway between sheer exhaustion and utter disbelief. While everything from his neck down wanted to cave in to the former, his brain was too tangled in the latter, and the harder he tried to make sense of what had just happened, the more Blake came up with a series of big, fat question marks.

Not that it really mattered. He’d barely handed over Jules’s release order before she’d turned into a ghost, leaving behind nothing but a set of rumpled bed sheets and a bunch of bone-deep emotions he couldn’
t maneuver into a logical train of thought.

Second verse, same as the first.

“I thought I might find you in here.” Frances Fisher balanced a stack of folders emblazoned with the Brentsville Hospital logo over one thin hip as she crossed the threshold to the staff lounge, and shit. With all the spin-cycle insanity of his shift’s end, Blake had completely blanked on the monthly meeting of the board of trustees. As the appointed representative for the emergency department, his attendance at meetings was preferred.

As the
son of the board’s president, his attendance was only excused by catastrophic injury. Even then, it depended on whose.

“
Sorry I missed the meeting. I got,”
blindsided by a gorgeously stubborn redhead I’ll never see again…again
, “caught down here with a patient. We’ve been slammed today.”

“Did you work another double shift? You look exhausted.” His mother’s stare narrowed
sharply from behind her elegant, gold-framed glasses, and damn if it didn’t make him feel thirteen instead of thirty.

“
But you look fantastic. As always.” Blake unfolded his frame from the couch, much to the chagrin of his screaming muscles. He crossed the room, leaning in to kiss her cheek as he reached for the paperwork in her grasp, but she planted her Chanel pumps into the linoleum.

“Don’t try and sweet-talk your way out of this
, Blake. This is the fifth double shift you’ve done in two weeks.”

“Really?” His chest went tight beneath the drape of his stethoscope over his scrubs, but he
locked an affable smile over his face. “I haven’t been keeping track.”

O
f course, there was no dodging an argument with Frances Fisher. Especially not within the walls of their current location. “There are regulations against this sort of thing for a reason. Perhaps I need to speak to the chief medical director. Although truly, you wouldn’t have this sort of schedule outside of the emergency department. It’s not too late to become a surgeon. I could speak to—”

“I
volunteered for the doubles, mom. My schedule doesn’t need adjusting, nor does my career.” Blake put just enough mustard on the words to hook her attention without skirting the borders of civility. Even if she had no qualms about expressing it, he still respected her opinion. Hell, so did everyone at the hospital, from the custodians to the chief of staff. His mother’s endless hard work on the board had earned her that by the boatload. But Blake had opinions of his own. Ones he wasn’t about to compromise, no matter how frosty she got.

“I’
m an emergency physician. The long shifts are all part of the job, remember?” This time, when he reached for the folders, his mother handed them over.

“
I only want what’s best for you,” she said, lifting one perfectly penciled brow. “So tell me. Is foregoing a haircut also part of the job?” The wry smile underscoring her otherwise cool demeanor gave her away, and Blake chuffed out a laugh.

“
Nope. I do that just for you. Why don’t we grab some lunch and you can tell me all about what I missed at the board meeting?”

“Because it’
s five-thirty in the evening, for one. And for another, I’m not available. I have a dinner meeting with the financial director to discuss the charity budget for this fiscal year.”

“Wow. That sounds…
stimulating.” He settled his gaze on her more carefully now. On the surface, his mother was just as well put-together as always, from the tasteful, silver-blond knot at her nape to the crisp, gray skirt of her power suit. But whether it was the time he’d spent away from Brentsville or the training that had made him more perceptive to all things unspoken, he couldn’t be sure. Either way, the shadows beneath her eyes were just a bit too pronounced, the angle of her shoulders beneath her jacket just a little too thin.

Blake might be exhausted, but it took one to know one.

“Mom, listen. Why don’t you let me take the meeting tonight? You should go home, get some rest.”

“Blake, please.” His mother crossed
the cluttered space of the lounge, sliding a stack of takeout napkins and a pad of Post-Its shaped like a human heart off the table to carve space in front of her. “I’ve been running the board of trustees for fifteen years. I’m fairly certain I can handle a budget meeting.”

“And I’m fairly certain I didn’t leave New York
City just for a change in scenery.” He ignored the twist in his gut, letting the words sink in before adding, “You have to let me help you, here.”

A sigh leaked past her lips, but even that was graceful. “I
knew I shouldn’t have let Dr. Worthington tell you. It was only a little fainting spell.”

“You were hospitaliz
ed for two days for dehydration and exhaustion,” Blake said, lining the facts up in his head to cover his chugging emotions. “Plus, you don’t eat enough and you’re anemic.” He knew, because he’d ordered the blood panel himself. “I’m a doctor, mom. I came back here to help take care of you. But you’ve got to let me.”

“
That’s ridiculous. I feel just fine.” She folded her hands together into an impenetrable knot over the table, and Christ. Even her fingers looked frail. “And anyway, my work at the hospital is important.”

“It’s not going to bring Jeremy back.”

The words escaped before he could pull them back or put them out, and Blake closed the distance between them with quick strides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“
I’m well aware that my work here won’t bring your brother back.” His mother’s admission stunned him into silence. “But neither will all those double shifts you do down here in the emergency department.”

Ouch.
This conversation was taking on all the properties of a train wreck, complete with the inability for Blake to look away. “I’m not making myself sick, mom. Anemia is no joke. You have to take it easy.”

“Alright
, fine. Have it your way.”

His head whipped up.
“I’m sorry?”

A tiny smile ruffled her demeanor, but there was little humor in it.
“Don’t look so shocked. And don’t go getting any crazy ideas, either. I’ve served this hospital in multiple roles for over twenty years, and that’s not changing. But we’ve made some adjustments to one of our larger projects, and they’re going to require quite a bit more hands-on coordination than we anticipated.” His mother gestured to the folders he’d forgotten he’d been holding with a monster death grip. “I’ve done quite a bit of the groundwork and will continue to be involved in the event, but if it will make you feel better, I’m certain we can keep you busy.
If
your schedule allows.”

Touché, Mom.
Still, for this, Blake was willing to concede. He pulled out the chair adjacent to hers, relief sliding through his veins. “I’m sure I can figure something out. What’s the project?”

“As you know, Brentsville Hospital holds an annual fundraiser for a worthy charity.
Since this is the twentieth anniversary of the event, the board has decided to do something rather special.”

He flipped the
glossy edge of the folder on the top of his stack, scanning the overview page while mentally dusting off the tuxedo that had been lurking in the back of his closet for God knew how long. “Charity events are usually pretty straightforward. Black tie, great food, open wallets.” Blake had been to no less than a dozen galas and fundraisers for various causes, and he’d seen his mother plan probably twice that many.

“This year is a bit different,” his mother said, right at about the same time his eyes snagged on the words
Carnival For A Cure
.

Whoa.
“That’s kind of an understatement, don’t you think?” Blake asked as he continued to read, and damn, this overview didn’t so much step outside of the Brentsville Hospital box as it took a sledgehammer to the thing. Instead of following the same old ho-hum guidelines for the financially well-endowed, the carnival was something that would involve the entire community, a true grass roots effort to raise both money and awareness.

It was absolutely unlike anything they’d ever done at the hospital
. And it was hands-down one-hundred percent freaking brilliant.

His mother sat perfectly still
for a moment before saying, “Perhaps it’s a bit unconventional. But I…the board felt it was time to take a different approach.” Her voice downshifted into something dangerously close to softness, and Blake dropped the folder shut.

“I think it’s a great
idea. What do you need from me?”

“Well, as you
can see, this isn’t a project of little magnitude. The board has discussed appointing someone to act as a hands-on events coordinator. We’ve handled all the preliminary planning and vendor selection, and we’re prepared to manage the fundraising with the silent auction, of course. But we need a liaison to organize the actual site work, especially with city officials and the catering staff.”

Blake sat back in his chair, his mi
nd turning over the logistics. Physically coordinating an event of this scope would drain even the fittest person’s energy down to fumes. His mother might have the will to do the job twice over, but the hands-on groundwork was going to be a major undertaking.

One that would not only take the pressure off of her, but would help countless people. People who needed care.

He opened his mouth to tell her he’d do it, but she continued before he got the chance. “You should also know that the board chose the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation as this year’s charity. The vote was unanimous.”

Shock, a
nd something deeper Blake didn’t want to pin a name to, boomeranged around in his ribcage. “You planned this event for Jeremy?”

She paused.
“The charity is selected based on a number of merits, and it was time to give the event itself a face-lift. The board agreed that it made sense to do something community-based for everyone to enjoy. Including those affected by the disease.”

The image of his brother’s face, mouth tipped up in
mischievous laughter like it so often did before he got really sick, stood front and center Blake’s his mind, and it hammered his resolve into place. “I’d like to fill the liaison position. If that’s okay with you.”

This time, his mother’s smile was genuine as it softened the shadows around her eyes. “Wonderful. I’ll inform the board. Your first step will be to meet with the restaurant owner to discuss catering. Her proposal was quite impressive. It’s in the folder, of course.”

“Of course,” Blake agreed, tamping down a laugh as his mother flipped into business-mode. God, she probably managed daily schedules in her sleep. “Who’s the point of contact?”

“
A woman by the name of Serenity Gallagher, at Mac’s Diner. I’d suggest cultivating a good relationship with her. You two will be working shoulder to shoulder for the next six weeks.”

#

“Orders up! Chicken pot pie, meatloaf special, two American burgers, both with fries.” Jules reached into the hot window separating Mac’s kitchen from the narrow galley of space behind the main counter, grabbing one of the oversized white plates with her good hand. She lowered it to the counter to repeat the process with dish number two, but Serenity was quicker on the draw.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re supposed to be takin
g it easy for another couple of days.” She slid the plates from the deck with ease, arranging a fat slice of tomato over the toasted Kaiser roll on each before offering them up to a passing waitress for delivery.

Jules chose a shrug over a scowl.
“I am taking it easy, now that the lunch rush is pretty much over. And anyway, it’s been two days since I burned myself. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

Okay, so she might’
ve just reserved her own personal hand basket to hell for the out-and-out untruth, but come on. People needed to be fed, and Jules’s arm didn’t hurt badly enough to keep her from work. Plus, if she didn’t keep her brain clicking at maximum capacity, it defaulted to a pair of smoky green eyes framed by sand-colored lashes, eyes that crinkled just enough at the edges when a rare smile traveled up from the jawline beneath…

So yeah. She definitely needed to work.

“Hmm.” Serenity followed Jules to the tiny alcove at the far end of the front counter, where they kept paper goods and extra stock. “That wouldn’t happen to be because you got such attentive medical care, would it?”