Buch lesen: «In Good Hands»
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Dear Reader,
My husband thinks I’m a flake. Thankfully, he loves me anyway. But he believes my interest in energy healing—psychics, new age philosophy, and anything out on the edge is just plain silly. My man is firmly grounded in science and Christian tradition, and doesn’t want to look beyond that for any of his answers.
It was during one of our debates that I started thinking. What if his blood pressure were out of control? It’s not, thank God, but what if he had to look outside of medical science for his answers? What if he had to turn to an energy healer? She’d have to be grounded in science because he just couldn’t go all the way out to the mystical edge. But if she was a doctor who was fed up with the politics of Western medicine, then he could explore alternative therapy with her.
Could such a couple work things out? Could they find a common ground? Maybe. If the chemistry was right. If they were meant for each other. And so In Good Hands was born. It’s a story where the science is weird, but the result is explosive!
Enjoy the sparks!
Kathy Lyons
In Good Hands
Kathy Lyons
MILLS & BOON
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kathy Lyons writes light, funny, sexy stories for the Harlequin Blaze line. She loves the faster pace of category books and that she can really let her humor fly. She leaves the dark, tortured love stories to her alter ego, Jade Lee. A USA TODAY bestseller, Jade writes sizzling romances in sexy, dark historical settings. In her spare time, Kathy loves kicking butt on a racquetball court and is a state champion. Jade, on the other hand, loves kicking back and watching the Syfy channel with her husband. Visit them both on the web at www.kathylyons.com or www.jadeleeauthor.com!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
1
DR. AMBER SMITHSON leaned across the table, nearly dunking her silk blouse into her salad dressing. “Well?” she whispered to the goth-dressed teen across from her. “What’d he say?”
Lizzy did a quick scan of the room, looking quite dramatic in her dark eye liner and studded dog collar.
“Don’t worry,” said Amber. “I already checked. No one from the hospital is here.” Then she patted the table. “Come on, give. What’d he say?”
Lizzy took a deep breath, and for a moment Amber feared the worst. And then the girl burst into a big smile. “My blood test came back amazing! That’s what he said. Amazing! He doesn’t quite believe it.”
“Of course he doesn’t.” Dr. Bob Brickers was as traditional a doctor as they came. He still thought penicillin was cutting edge. He would never accept that a special tea plus some energy sessions done by Amber could possibly bring type 1 diabetes under control. “So everything looks good?” Amber pressed, a little shocked herself that it was working.
“I’m producing insulin on my own! That’s what he said. Pretty soon I’ll be able to get off the shots completely!”
Amber held up her hands. “One step at a time. The diabetes is under control. That’s huge. But—”
“I know! I know! And I didn’t say a word to Dr. Brickers about what we’re doing. But I know it will work!”
Amber smiled, her own hopes rising. As a doctor at Mandolin Clinic, Amber couldn’t possibly admit she was prescribing holistic treatments to anyone, least of all Dr. Brickers’s patients. After all, the man was Amber’s direct boss. But Lizzy’s mom was a friend and had begged Amber for help when the normal treatments had little effect. So Amber had prescribed a special tea and done energy work on the kid. And it was working!
“Just keep doing what you’re doing—especially the diet and exercise.”
“I know, I know,” Lizzy said with a very dramatic eye roll. “And I won’t tell anyone or you’ll get fired. But it’s working!”
Yes, it certainly looked like it was. The two spent the rest of the lunch hour giggling like little girls, then Amber dropped Lizzy back at school before returning to the hospital.
Some days it was hard keeping her interest in holistic healing secret from the ultra-conservative administration at Mandolin. But days like today made it all worth it. That was the reason she’d become a doctor: to find out what worked and what didn’t, no matter the source. Her colleagues might think she was nuts, but she didn’t care if it was Eastern, Western or alien medicine. If it worked, then she was going to embrace it even if it dealt with something as loosy-goosy as “qi energy.”
If only she could get her colleagues to be so open-minded. Some of them were, but the administration was firmly entrenched in the “Western medicine is God” mode, especially Dr. Brickers and his cronies. And until they left or retired, nothing would change at Mandolin.
She lived for that day, prayed nightly for it. Because frankly, she was running out of patience. She’d picked this hospital because it was expected of her. Six generations of Smithsons had worked here as orderlies, then nurses, and then her grandfather had become a doctor here. Her mother, too. So she’d caved to family pressure because Mandolin really was a good hospital and a prestigious place to work.
Then she’d discovered how very narrow-minded her boss was. Not only was alternative medicine evil, in his mind, but anyone who explored it was the devil’s handmaiden. No doctor under his watch could suggest anything but traditional Western medicine. So Amber had hidden her interest. She saw patients like Lizzy on her lunch hour, off of hospital grounds. But she was getting tired all the subterfuge.
She was still absorbed in those gloomy thoughts when she stepped through the door and was ambushed by Dr. Jack Ross, her best friend and an extremely talented neurologist. He matched steps with her and was obviously bursting with news.
“Guess who’s just killed his last patient,” he said as they stepped into the empty elevator.
“Oh, God,” she gasped. “Not another!” They were in a hospital, and people died in hospitals. But lately, the mortality rate at Mandolin was unusually high. It happened sometimes, but it never failed to raise alarms among the people in charge. Who then went crusading around desperately looking for an answer. Or a scapegoat.
“Yup. But this time the family’s lodged a complaint and it’s been backed up by a fellow doctor.”
The elevator doors open, and before Amber could move to her office, Jack gripped her arm and steered her to a doctor’s lounge. It was thankfully empty at the moment, but that wouldn’t last. Before long, practically the whole staff would wander through looking for more gossip to dish. Amber asked the first question on her mind.
“Who died?” Was it someone she knew?
Jack shrugged. “Some woman. Mother of four. Eldest is a lawyer and making all sorts of noise.”
“A name, please.”
He responded with the diagnosis. “Uterine cancer but she died of a heart attack. Why aren’t you asking whose patient she was?”
Because she knew. There was only one doctor that Jack desperately wanted gone. The same doctor who was a pain in Amber’s backside. Dr. Bob Brickers.
“Keep your voice down,” she whispered as she leaned forward. “What happened? Exactly.”
“Remember how Bob took that long vacation last month? Well, he pushed up this woman’s radiation treatment before she was ready. He wanted to get things going before he left. Anyway, she was too weak to do radiation, so bam, last night she has a heart attack and dies.”
Amber felt her mouth go slack. Bob couldn’t be that irresponsible. Sure, everyone jostled their schedules when they wanted to take a vacation, but to endanger a patient like that? Especially one who…
Her eyes widened and her breath got short. “Wait a moment,” she breathed. “Who was the patient? What was her name?”
Jack straightened, alarm growing on his face as he realized something was up. “I don’t remember. Vera someone, I think.”
“Vera Barker?”
“I don’t know.”
But Amber did. It all made sense in the most horrible way. She closed her eyes, fighting the tears. To think that Vera was gone. That she would never trade vegetarian recipes with her again. That no one would ever hear her weird horsey laugh again. That her grandchildren would never know how absolutely special she was. The very idea made her heart break. “Not Vera,” she whispered. “Oh, God, not Vera.”
Two hours later, she was having the exact same discussion in the director’s office. Dr. Brickers was there, his face hot and his expression furious. And he was pointing a finger at her.
“Did you or did you not see my patient behind my back?” demanded Dr. Brickers.
Amber sighed and addressed her words to the director. “Vera came to me. She was incredibly weak from the chemotherapy and she had heard about some herbal teas.”
“You did!” Brickers all but screamed. “You gave her some holistic crap behind my back, and now she’s dead.”
Amber didn’t bother looking at her boss. Instead, she spoke as calmly and clearly as possible. “My treatments were working, sir. She was getting stronger. But she wasn’t ready for radiation yet. Dr. Brickers pushed up her radiation just so he could go on vacation.”
“That’s not true!” bellowed her boss. But he shut his mouth when the director held up his hand.
“That’s not relevant, Amber,” said the head of the hospital. “Did you or did you not see Dr. Brickers’s patient?”
Amber sighed but stayed with the truth. “I did.”
“And you prescribed some herbal tea?”
“And certain energy treatments, yes. And they were working!”
The director just shook his head. “You know that’s against hospital policy. You can’t see someone else’s patient behind his back. You can’t prescribe non-traditional treatments. My God, Amber, what were you thinking?”
Amber threw up her hands. “That it was working!”
“Except that she’s dead,” inserted Dr. Brickers.
“Because you pushed up her radiation before she was ready.”
The director sighed. “You can’t have it both ways, Amber. Either she was stronger or she wasn’t.”
“Sir!”
“I’m afraid my hands are tied, Amber. You broke hospital policy, you deliberately went behind your boss’s back and now a patient is dead.”
Amber took a deep breath, struggling to keep her temper in check. “You’re right, sir. I should have told Dr. Brickers that Vera contacted me. I’m sorry and it will never happen again. But you can’t blame the treatment for—”
The director held up his hand. “Who administered this so-called energy treatment?”
“I did, sir. It’s very safe. It works with the body’s qi energy—”
“Is it approved by the American Medical Association as an appropriate treatment for cancer?”
Amber grimaced. “You know it’s not.”
“Then I’ll have to ask for your resignation.”
Amber’s eyes widened in shock even though she’d known this was a possibility. “You’re firing me? Even if the treatment worked? Even if the patient got stronger and healthier because of it?”
The director just shook his head. “We can’t have doctors practicing non-traditional medicine here at Mandolin. It’s just not the way we do things.”
“Even if it works?”
“Even if. The liability is too high.” Then he leaned forward, his expression almost pleading. “Look, I know we’re all under a lot of pressure. We’re a high-profile hospital and our patients must get better.”
“That’s what I was trying to do,” she said.
“But not the right way, Amber. Still, if you’ll promise to stop with all this qi nonsense then I’ll soften this to an official reprimand. You’re a great doctor, Amber. It would be a shame to lose you.”
“The qi nonsense works, sir. I’ve done a lot of research on my own, but real statistics would be incredibly valuable. Let me do a study—”
Beside her, Dr. Brickers snorted his derision. “Oh, my God, how can you be so idiotic?”
The director also wasn’t swayed. “Stick to Western medicine, Amber, and don’t talk about Eastern voodoo.”
There it was plain as day. If she wanted to work as a doctor, she had to close her eyes to energy healing. She had to pretend that drugs were the only way to treat an illness. That nothing outside of traditional Western medicine had any value at all. She couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t.
“I can’t willingly put blinders on. I’m a healer, sir. From the core of my being, I work to heal people. So if a treatment works, I’ll prescribe it.”
“Western medicine works,” the director said.
“Not for everybody.” With a heavy heart, she turned and headed for the door. “You’ll have my resignation in an hour.”
2
Two years later
ROGER MARTELL stared at his doctor and tried reaching for humor. “That’s it? That’s why you dragged me in here? Geez, I thought I was dying!”
His doctor sighed. “Hypertension is a big deal. And if you don’t get it under control you will die.”
Roger flinched, a little frightened by the man’s flat, absolute tone. Sadly, he wasn’t surprised by the diagnosis. After all, he’d been fighting high blood pressure forever. His uncle and grandfather had both died from heart attacks before their fiftieth birthdays. And Roger was well on the early coronary track. But advances in medicine happened every day, right? He wasn’t desperate yet.
“Okay,” he said. “So this special new drug trial didn’t work.”
“Your pressure is higher than ever, Roger.”
“I know, I know,” he groused. This was his first drug trial, but his thirteenth medication. No matter what he did, his blood pressure kept going up and up. “There’s got to be another drug trial. Something really experimental? Seriously, Doc—”
“Seriously, you’ve got to stop relying on drugs and make some life changes. You’re three breaths away from a stroke, and before you ask…” He started flipping through Roger’s chart. “You’ve tried every medication possible, and some that I think were positively ludicrous. Looks like I’m your third doctor…”
“Fourth if you count the drug-trial people.”
His doctor sighed. “Look, I can’t even clear you to fly as a passenger in an airplane.”
Roger waved that away. “They never check that anyway.”
“Not the point.”
Roger closed his eyes and tried to remain calm. Sadly, the sight that came to his mind’s eye was his father in a treatment facility after his stroke. He hadn’t died like Roger’s uncle and grandfather, but he had lost the use of a third of his body. Roger tried to force away the panic that skated through his system. “I feel fine,” he said firmly.
“Do I need to outline all the reasons high blood pressure is called the silent killer?”
No, he didn’t need to hear that lecture again. “Okay, so what are my options?”
“Tell me about your exercise and diet.”
He knew this drill backward and forward, but he dutifully went through the litany. “I swim a mile and a half most mornings, I don’t eat red meat too often, and I know moldy bread does not count as a vegetable. Or olives in martinis.”
“Tell me about your job.”
Roger barely restrained his groan. “I love my job. I’m the CFO at a robotics firm owned by my best friend. He’s the brilliant inventor, I’m the business guy. I make sure his ideas get to market—”
“You do everything, run everything, worry about everything and the stress is killing you.”
“I’m not under pressure like those guys,” he said firmly. “They’re the geniuses who have to perform miracles every day.”
His doctor leaned back in his chair. “So you’re surrounded by geniuses under stress. No pressure there. No trying to keep up with their brilliant minds, no struggling against the melt-down of the day, no agony of trying to herd a zillion übersmart cats.”
Roger shut his mouth, fighting to keep his expression neutral. Yeah, he often felt like he was the only sane one in a freak show. Other times, he was just the dumb one in charge. His IQ was high, just not stratospheric high. Which at RFE meant he was a moron. “But I love my job,” he repeated.
The doctor sighed. “What about meditation? Yoga? There are some interesting guided prayers…”
Roger rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help himself. So his doctor switched tracks.
“Look, you’ve run out of medical options. Do you understand? There’s nothing more I can do. You have to make some life changes.”
Roger threw up his hands. “Got any suggestions other than quitting my job?”
“Well, when was your last vacation?”
“Just a little bit ago. I went skiing in Colorado. At Christmas.”
“Christmas, as in nine months ago?”
“Um, I think so.” Or maybe it was two years and nine months ago.
“Take another vacation, Roger. Take it now.”
Roger nodded, wondering where in the hell he was going to fit a vacation into his work schedule. “Okay, a vacation. What else?”
“Change your life. Find out what stress is killing you and fix it.”
“But—”
“Whatever it takes, Roger. Do it now.”
THERE WAS SOMETHING really rewarding in being a fill-in office-plant girl, Dr. Amber Smithson thought as she watered a tastefully trimmed fern. Mandolin Hospital hadn’t had greenery, or at least none that she remembered. Back then, Amber had thought her work environment was clean and simple. Now she realized it had just been sterile and dead. Which was why she got a special thrill now out of helping corporate America find some green life in a very non-green world.
This wasn’t her real job. It was just a way to make ends meet and help out the real plant lady—Mary—who was in bed right now suffering from an extremely painful spell of rheumatoid arthritis. Mary was a good friend who couldn’t afford to lose her plant job. So Amber filled in, got to play with plants and, best of all, got to remind herself why she had left the high-pressure life of high-end medicine.
Right now she was in the lobby of RFE, a robotics firm with high-dollar products and mega-dollar research. Pressure was in the very air up here, just like it had been at Mandolin. They might not be working on human bodies, but they were gambling with big money and big ideas. No one could afford to fail and Amber could taste the edge of panic that infected the air. Just like it had at Mandolin.
But she was well free of that, right? she asked herself. For the last two years, she’d been exploring alternative medicine just like she’d always wanted. No one talked to her about liability, no insurance company told her how to treat a patient, and—sadly—no one paid her bills.
Yes, she’d survived all on her own, but her patients were more likely to pay in apple pie than in dollars. Her bank account was getting tight, and her family would only help out if she gave up all her “nonsense” and came back to traditional medicine—preferably at Mandolin. Up until now, she’d refused. But all too soon, an empty bank account was going to force her to make a difficult compromise.
But that wasn’t a problem to be faced now. No, right now was for plants, RFE and…yes!…Mr. Roger Martell. The CFO of RFE had just walked into the building, and Amber was perfectly perched behind a planter to spy on the gorgeous man.
He’d caught her eye months ago, when Amber had first subbed as plant girl. Hell, the man caught every woman’s eye. Tall, dark, stylish and a power executive in every way, Amber’d been secretly spying on him whenever she worked as plant girl. Just being in the same room with him made the air feel electric, as if every second of his day was filled with important decisions. God, he was everything she missed about her old life—the urgency, the power and the feeling that she was doing something vitally important. That was Roger’s aura in a nutshell, and naturally, he’d barely stepped into the front lobby when the receptionist started buzzing people.
“Roger’s back,” the woman said into the phone. “Yes, I’ll let him know.” She didn’t hang up as she handed the man a stack of pink message notes. “Ginny wants to meet with you in a half hour—”
“Hour and a half, at the earliest.”
The receptionist didn’t miss a beat as she spoke into the phone. “It’ll be an hour and a half, Ginny. He knows it’s urgent.” She hung up the phone and passed him two large manila envelopes.
“Jesus,” he moaned. “I was only gone an hour.”
“It was a busy hour,” the receptionist returned.
Amber had to choke back her laugh as she stretched up to reach a planter hanging from the ceiling. Boy, did she remember those days! There was a time she couldn’t take a lunch break without returning to messages, mail and a group of anxious people pacing in the waiting room. She would have guessed that Mr. Martell thrived on the stress until he set down his pile of mail and took a deep calming breath. A big inhale that expanded his chest and filled out his expensive suit, before a slow exhale. And then, damn, a killer smile as he focused on the receptionist.
“So, Claire, how’s it going with the new boyfriend? Did he like that wine I recommended?”
The receptionist blinked as if she were stunned by the question, but she recovered fast enough. Then she flashed her own dimples. “Wine, no. Restaurant, yes. He’s taking me there tomorrow night.”
“Make sure he pays. You’re too beautiful to tolerate anything less than royal treatment.” Then he paused, abruptly frowning. “Wait a minute. I promised you a dinner there, didn’t I? For coming in on Saturday last month to help me with that grant application.”
The receptionist bit her lip. “I didn’t mind, you know.”
“Yeah, but Tommy did, didn’t he?”
The girl shrugged. “Tommy has to learn to make sacrifices for my career.”
Roger flashed her another quick but devastatingly handsome smile. “That he does. You’re an up-and-comer, to be sure. But since I promised you a dinner, I mean to pay up.” He pulled out his BlackBerry and hit a quick number. Twenty seconds later, he was speaking to the maitre d’. A minute after that, he snapped the phone shut with a grin. “You’re all set. Best table in the house, complimentary champagne and dinner is on me. They already have my credit card, and they’ll just add on the tip.”
Amber was stunned enough to peer around the fern, her estimation of the man upping by a thousand percent. Corporate promises like “I’ll buy you dinner sometime” happened all the time. But no one ever paid up. Except for this guy. Not surprisingly, the receptionist was equally surprised.
“Really, Roger, that’s not necessary.”
He shrugged, the motion tightening as he caught sight of an engineer barreling down the hallway at him. “Of course it is, Claire. I promised, and you earned it. Just make sure to toast me at least once.”
“You’re the best, Roger,” the woman breathed. And then they were out of time as the engineer made it to the front desk.
“Roger!” the man barked as he waved a stack of printouts in the air. “Have you seen these specs? Do you know what this is going to cost?”
“Calm down,” Roger returned and they began to move together down the hallway. Amber watched him go, appreciating the way his tailored suit accented his lean body.
“God, I love a man in a good suit,” she breathed, her voice low enough that only the receptionist could hear.
“Yeah, me, too,” responded Claire in an equally quiet tone. “Too bad he’s gay.”
Amber snapped her head around. “What?” No way was that guy gay. He exuded too much testosterone.
“Yup, queer as folk.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“It’s true.”
“Why? Just because he dresses nice?”
“It’s more than that!” Claire returned. She glanced down the hallway where Roger and the engineer were talking, still in view, but thankfully out of earshot. “Every woman in this company has made a run at him, me included. We’ve got all types here—brainy, busty, blonde and brunette. We’ve even got classy and the not-so-classy.”
“He never took a bite?”
“Not even a nibble.”
Amber shook her head. “That just means he knows better than to play where he works.”
“Yeah, but he goes to all these chichi parties, always with gorgeous women.”
“So?”
“So one of us always makes a point to find out afterward. You know, are they dating, what’s going on, and—”
“And they always say they’re friends.” Amber released a low laugh. “Honey, that doesn’t mean he’s gay. Just selective.” And probably very discreet.
“Trust me,” returned Claire, her voice confident. “No man is that virtuous. Unless he’s gay.”
Amber shook her head. “Let me give you a hint,” she said. “That man right there is a player, high-end executive type. Quiet. Discreet. But hot as they come.”
They both turned together to ogle him some more. He was still in deep discussion just down the hallway. The engineer was getting emotional, waving his printouts, gesturing wildly and pointing at a room marked Lab. In contrast, Roger listened seriously, his body taut, but his expression calm. And when the engineer finished speaking, Roger simply shook his head. Not surprisingly, the engineer got more frantic while Roger became more still. In the end, the engineer stormed off in a huff which left Roger time to look up and flash both Amber and Claire a rueful smile before moving down the hall.
Claire huffed. “Definitely gay.”
“Discreet, type A and hetero through and through.” Amber leaned back against the counter and sighed as a wave of memories hit. “Trust me on this. I know his type.”
Claire gave her an arch look, making sure to scan her shapeless sundress and cheap sandals. “I’m sure you think—”
“You think I grew up wearing flip-flops and a tank? I spent my youth dating guys like that. My father was an executive just like him. And my mother runs the cardiology ward at a top hospital. I was surrounded by the type.”
“And then?” Claire asked, obviously wondering how she’d gone from the silver spoon life to filling in as the plant girl.
Amber shrugged. “I burned out on the politics. I couldn’t get anything done except for what they wanted, so I went rogue. Doesn’t mean I don’t remember though. And let me tell you—sex with the alpha dog?” She sighed. “That’s one hot ride.”
Claire frowned, but then her eyes abruptly widened. “Wait a moment. I know you! Mary told me all about you.”
Amber winced. “Don’t believe everything Mary says.”
“No! She told me you’d be filling in. You’re that doctor! You run a free clinic out in that artsy area of Chicago. What’s it called?”
“Cherry Hills, not that there are any cherries or hills anywhere near. And it’s really not that artsy.” More like converted warehouses. The neighborhood artistes gloried in their studio lofts, but the population included more reformed drug addicts and single mothers than wannabe Picassos. Like her, everyone in Cherry Hills was just at the edge of poverty, struggling to keep it together.
“And you’re Doc Crystal!”
“My name’s Amber. They just thought it was a crystal and the name stuck…” she began, trying divert the discussion. But it was too late. Claire was off and running.
“Yeah! Doc Crystal. You’re like this doctor Robin Hood and Mother Teresa all rolled into one. Mary says you’re amazing!”
“Mary’s on massive painkillers. And I, um, gotta get back to these plants.” Amber turned away. She hated the hero worship that appeared in people’s eyes the minute they heard “free clinic” and “doctor” in the same sentence. That’s why she let people think she had a corporate background rather than high-end medicine. In her mind, they were one and the same, but for other people? There was a world of difference.
As for running a free clinic, her neighbor couldn’t afford a doctor, so he had come visiting one night. And then another neighbor and another. Before she knew it, she had regular patients. They didn’t care that she wasn’t affiliated with any hospital or clinic. They needed help she could give, and her services were free.
Meanwhile, Claire was following her around, her lips pursed in thought and a mercenary look in her eye. “How sure are you that Roger’s straight?”
Amber blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected the woman to ask. But she answered anyway. “One hundred percent straight.”
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