Patient Nurse by Diana Palmer

irritably. “She works at O’Keefe’s in the cardiac care unit.” Even while he spoke the words, he was remembering his own unjust treatment of her when she’d been desperately ill and hiding it. He hated remembering how unfair he’d been to her. She might have died…
    â€œBut how did she get here?” the nurse was asking. “And without any identification on her? Surely she had a wallet?”
    â€œI don’t know.” He stared down at her white, drawn face, expressionless from the anesthesia. He glanced at her small hand, from which tubes rose above the shunts. The nails were short, rounded, unvarnished. She had elegant, but capable hands. She had a bad heart, a damaged valve. She hadn’t told him. Why? Had she truly been afraid to let him operate on her, afraid that in his contempt and dislike, he might fail her? It was sheer torture to think about it!
    â€œI’ll see if I can find out how she came to be here,” the nurse assured him.
    â€œNever mind,” he said shortly, turning on his heel impatiently. “I’ll find out myself. Let me know if there’s any change, any change at all.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    He paused to check another of his surgical patients and then, with a last worried glance toward Noreen, went down to the emergency room.
    It took several minutes to discover that Noreen had collapsed on a MARTA bus and had been brought tothe emergency room by ambulance without a scrap of identification on her. Possibly when she’d passed out, someone had taken her purse, he surmised.
    The clothes she’d been wearing were in a plastic bag. He took them out to his car when he went, with plans to return them to her apartment. He didn’t have a key, so he found the owner of the apartment house instead.
    â€œLocked her keys in her car this morning, I noticed,” the man said dryly. “Purse and all. I saw her take off after that MARTA bus. She had to run to catch up with it. I expect she’s upset.”
    â€œShe had a close call,” Ramon said curtly. “She had heart surgery this morning. She won’t be home for several days.”
    The owner was shocked. “Such a quiet, nice young woman,” he remarked. “Always had a kind word for everyone, and a smile. She’ll be missed. Please tell her that my wife and I wish her the best, and we’ll look after the apartment until she gets back. Anything you want from her apartment?”
    â€œLater, perhaps. I’ll be back to get anything she needs after I’ve spoken to her.” He’d not only have to do that, but he’d have to do something about that kitten, too. It would die if he left it. Besides, she hadn’t wanted the apartment owner to know she had it. Pets were against the rules.
    â€œI’ll be around, if I’m needed. You a relative?” he asked.
    â€œYes,” Ramon said without explanation.
    He left, with the intention of driving himself home for dinner. But he couldn’t. Involuntarily he turned back in the direction of the hospital.
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    She hadn’t regained consciousness. It wasn’t unusual, but it worried Ramon. He checked her carefully with the stethoscope, noting the steady rhythm of her brand-new metal valve, which made a soft chink-chink sound as it opened and closed. The valve would last for many years, and her quality of life would be enhanced by it. No more breathlessness at the slightest exertion, no more erratic heart rhythms, no more fatigue.
    He frowned, wondering when she’d first known about it. Surely she’d had some sort of warning and had seen a doctor when she started having trouble. Judging from the condition the valve was in, she had to have noticed that something was wrong. Her bad color alone had alerted him to a physical problem.
    That line of curiosity led him further along. He sat in the cafeteria, eating without tasting his food, and his mind continued its