Doctors on the Frontline by Olivia Gates

Author:Olivia Gates
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘SO—WOULD you like your daily dose of humble apologies now, or with dessert?’

Sherazad gazed into Lorenzo’s incredible eyes across the table and nearly drowned. A jolt of delight buzzed up her spine and her heart performed a few physical impossibilities in her chest. She stuck out her tongue at him and he only laughed out loud, rich and deep and reason-annihilating.

Twelve days had passed. No one had come near their camp and their patients were finally doing well—as well as they’d hoped, anyway. And Lorenzo had turned his bout of boorishness into a running joke.

It was Derek who gloatingly answered him. ‘I’ll take mine now, thank you.’

‘Careful, kid!’ Lorenzo turned on him, mock-snarling. ‘You I don’t owe any apology to, liver-yanking lad.’

‘Hey…’ Derek started to object but the rest, all present for a meal for the first time, burst out laughing, emotional and physical exhaustion tingeing their humour with hysteria.

Lorenzo had told her they could handle five critical patients without her, but even with her, the workload had kept them flat out for most of their waking hours. But she’d discovered they were a great team, smooth and practised, and very easy to get along with. She even got to like Gulnar who, apart from the fatal flaw of lusting after Lorenzo, was a superior nurse and a sweet woman.

Lorenzo was an awesome team leader. He kept them on their toes, kept their spirits up, prevented any friction and got round any mistakes. Not that there were any significant instances of either.

‘At least I recognised Hacht’s deterioration!’ Derek mumbled as their laughter eased.

‘That you did.’ Lorenzo patted him on the back. He kept the jokes up, but he made sure each one of them felt valued. ‘It took some sharp critical care skills to recognise his impending malignant brain swelling early enough for us to do something about it. And remind me to kneel at Daniel Plummer’s feet for dragging me to assist him as many times as he did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have dared reopen the craniotomy. But I’ll be ecstatic when I can leave neurosurgery to him—when any specialist takes Hacht off my hands. Not that all of you weren’t amazing help. Especially you, Ben.’

Ben raised his coffee-cup in weary salute. ‘A closet neurosurgeon, that’s me.’

‘And thank heaven Sherazad’s a closet respiratory therapist,’ Emilio sighed, slouching flaccidly in his chair.

The aftermath of Hacht’s crisis had left them all in a stupor. Each of their patients had suffered complications, ended with Ormond’s full-blown adult respiratory distress syndrome and subsequent multi-organ failure. Sherazad had had the most experience with the grave and possibly fatal complication, and she almost ate and slept by his side for the five days it took him to pull through.

They exchanged more purposely bright conversation until they finished their meal. Then as they pushed themselves to their feet, each heading to his or her chores or off-duty time, Gulnar stopped Lorenzo with a clingy hand on his arm. ‘Did you arrange for us to leave

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