2. Prescription For Love

“And I’m going to need to decide that,” Abby said. Blake and Margie were as safe as they could be. She would’ve felt better hearing Blake’s voice, but that comfort would have to wait. From the looks of what was ahead in the ER, they were probably already at capacity. “I’ll have a recommendation for you in twenty minutes, Pres. Let’s go, Flann.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Flann held the door as Abby climbed out and led her up the walk to the side entrance.

The security desk was unmanned. Abby followed Flann into the stairwell to the second floor and into the OR lounge. A redhead with a curvaceous body undisguised by her faded green scrubs let out a cry of delight when she saw Flann.

“Thank God you showed up. Glenn called up from the ER to say she’s got a couple of cases that will need to come up soon. You’re the only surgeon who’s shown up so far.” “How urgent?” Abby asked.

The nurse gave her an inquiring look.

“Jeannie,” Flann said, “this is Abby Remy, the new ER chief.”

“Great initiation,” Jeannie said. “Both level threes but Glenn said they shouldn’t wait too long in case we get backed up overnight. An open tib for a washout, and facial lacerations on a teenager that are too extensive to do in the ER.”

Flann said, “We’ll get cleaned up and head down there. How many OR nurses do you have in?”

“Three so far. And one nurse anesthetist.”

“That’s a start. See if you can get another team together so we can run two rooms.”

“Already on it. I’ve been calling, but I can’t reach a lot of the on-call staff. Hopefully everyone knows to show up.”

“I’m sure they do, but they might not be able to get here.”

“We’ll make it, Flann. Just let me know what you need.” Jeannie barely took her eyes off Flann’s, her tone eager and just a little breathless.

Abby recognized the signs of infatuation. So far every woman she’d seen around Flann appeared a little bit smitten. She suspected Flann’s effortless charm worked on just about everyone, gay or straight. Then again, maybe Flann and Jeannie had history—or something more current. Pushing the flare of annoyance aside, she said, “We should get going.”

Her tone was more forceful than she intended, but Flann just nodded and pointed to the door marked Surgeons. The other read Nurses.

“Seriously?” Abby asked. “Not Men and Women?”

“The hospital is a hundred years old. It’s tradition.”

“It’s archaic.”

“Good thing you’re friends with the CEO—you can take it up with her.”

“Not my battle. The locker rooms in the ER are appropriately labeled.”

“I kind of like making the guys jump for their pants.” Flann grinned, pushed the door open, and yelled inside, “Rivers on deck.”

No one answered, and they trooped in.

“We’ve got two showers in the back.” Flann pulled scrubs from a metal rack and looked over her shoulder. “Mediums?” “That should do it.”

“You can go ahead. I’ll rustle up some OR towels. Won’t be fancy, but it will do the job.”

“Thanks.” Abby took the scrubs and, expecting the bathroom to be a grungy example of male dominion like the ones she’d had to use from time to time in training, was surprised to find the long marble counter with inset sinks, the white octagonal floor tiles, and the brass fixtures all sparkling. Like everywhere else in the hospital, the elegance of an earlier age remained. She stacked her dirty clothes and clean scrubs outside the last shower stall. The water was hot, plentiful, and blissful. Her palm stung as she carefully scrubbed it free of dirt and debris, but she took her time. She couldn’t afford to get sidelined with cellulitis. She used soap from the dispenser to wash her hair and quickly rinsed off.

She would’ve stayed under for a half an hour if she’d had the choice, but she didn’t. She’d have to ignore her aching muscles and stiff joints for now. Less than five minutes later, she pulled back the plastic curtain and checked outside. A stack of green OR towels sat next to her scrubs. They were just large enough to cover her as she wrapped one around her torso and stepped out to dry off.

Flann rounded the corner, a pair of OR clogs in her hand, and stopped abruptly. “Hey. Feel better?”

Abby tried to pretend she wasn’t standing there nearly naked, but she felt the flush rise up her chest to her throat. The towel came to just the tops of her thighs. If she breathed too deeply, she’d give Flann a show. She resisted the urge to grab another one and hold it up in front of her. Flann had undoubtedly seen naked women before, and she had changed her clothes around dozens of other women over the years. This was different, though. This was a woman whose briefest gaze made her heart race. She grabbed another towel and briskly rubbed her hair with one hand and surreptitiously held the other down against her middle. “About a million times better.”

“I brought you some OR clogs—they might be a bit big, but they’re clean.” “Thanks. I’ll see you down there.”

“I need to look at your hand.”

“Go shower,” Abby said. “You’re just as cold and dirty as I was. My hand is fine.”

“Let me see it. Thirty seconds.”