Her Denali Medicine Man by Denise Gwen

Author:Denise Gwen [Gwen, Denise]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-12-30T16:00:00+00:00

Later that evening after they’d finished their rounds, Jake, thinking of how Sarah might appreciate a perk-me-up, made a fresh pot of coffee and his heart lightened at the sight of her as she walked into the break-room.

“That smells so good.”

“Grab a chair and rest a spell.” He nodded toward the one next to him.

“I may just do that,” she said. “I’ve been on my feet all day long.”

“How do you like your coffee?”

“Heavy on the cream, I like my coffee Boston style.”

“Ah,” he said. He fixed her coffee and brought it to her. She took a sip, smiled, and leaned back with a sigh.

“That’s great coffee, Jake.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Do you cook much?”

“I used to be quite the master in the kitchen,” he chuckled. “Most of the time, these days, I’m more inclined to just make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“Sometimes, especially during the past year, during exams, I’d find myself standing over the kitchen sink, eating tuna fish out of a can.” She smiled ruefully at the memory.

They drank their coffee for a moment in a companionable silence.

“Today, with Mr. Imus, you did a really fine job, Doctor O’Reilly,” he said politely.

“Call me Sarah,” she said.

“Sarah,” he said. “You did a fine job today with Mr. Imus.”

“I don’t see how you can say that when I lost control and cried like a child.”

“You showed your compassion for the patient. There’s nothing childish about weeping over your patient. It shows how much you care.”

“When I look at that little boy,” she said, referring to Michael. “I just think to myself, how much more torture can this poor child take?”

“Children can be surprisingly resilient. Even cases as sorrowful as Michael’s.”

“Really?” she asked, looking pointedly at him. “Have you ever had a patient whose condition was as bad as his, and saw him recover?”

“One,” he said. “A long time ago.”

“Hm.”

He wondered if he dared press . . . it didn’t hurt to ask, did it?

Or did it?

“The other night . . . when you mentioned having two older sisters . . . ”

“I mis-spoke,” she said quickly, as if shutting him down. “I’ve only got an older sister, Rachel.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment, and when she said nothing, he finally cleared his throat. “I lost someone very important to me.”

“The beautiful lady in the portrait,” she said, staring down into the coffee cup.

“Yes, my wife, Robin.”

She looked up and caught his gaze, her green eyes bright and sharp. “How?”

“Breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

“And she—she was Joshua’s mother?”

“Yes,” he said, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

“That’s hard,” she said.

“Yes.”

They gazed at one another for a long moment without speaking.

At last, she stirred. She took one final sip of coffee, stood up, took the coffee cup to the sink, drained the dregs, rinsed the coffee cup, placed it upside down onto the drainer, and rubbed her hands on her pants. She walked out of the kitchen. “Good night, Mr. Roundtree,” she called over her shoulder.

“Good night, Doctor O’Reilly.”

And this time, she didn’t correct him.

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