So strange, she thought. Everything was so damned strange.
Before she could figure out why, she was asleep again.
Tess tried to force her eyes open, but the painful throbbing behind them made it impossible. She tossed uncomfortably.
Something cool touched her forehead. It felt unbelievably good. A soft sigh of relief slipped past her parched lips.
After a few moments she was able to open her eyes. The first thing she saw was that weird floor/ceiling again.
"Oh, crap," she mumbled. She thought for sure she'd waken to the comfortingly familiar sight of white acoustical tile and long tubes of fluorescent lighting.
The cool, damp rag on her forehead vanished. A flesh-tone smear wobbled in front of her eyes. She blinked, tried to focus. Gradually the blur coalesced into a man's face that seemed both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
He shoved a too long lock of black hair out of his eyes and bent closer. Tired, bloodshot eyes peered questioningly into her own. Stubbly, dark hair accentuated the hollowness in his cheeks and the hard, masculine line of his jaw. Tess frowned. A wisp of memory winged through her head, and she tried desperately to chase it down. Somewhere she'd seen this face before.
It came to her in a flash. He looked sort of like a young Sam Elliot ... on a very bad day.
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But why did the man look so utterly exhausted, as if he'd sat vigil by her bed for endless hours? There was no one who cared about her so much.
An intern, she realized suddenly. He had to be the intern assigned to her case. She'd seen that ragged, haggard look before?it was a surgical intern on the tail end of a three-day round.
"Amarylis?"
"No, thanks, I don't drink." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized that something was wrong with her voice. It sounded ... southern. / doan draank.
"What?"
A headache jackhammered across her head. She squeezed two fingers against her temples. "Forget the liquor. What I need is an Excedrin the size of Baltimore, and a look at my charts."
"Charts?"
It took a supreme effort to remain civil. "Just tell the doc in charge of my case that I'm conscious and I'd like to consult about my condition. Okay?"
"H-He's not here."
One eyebrow cocked upward. "Golf day at the club?"
"Golf?"
Tess clamped her dry lips together and didn't say a thing. It was best that way.
He offered her a tense smile. "Do you want to see the baby?"
Tess frowned. She thought he'd said "baby."
She was about to suggest he get some sleep when a question crept cautiously into her consciousness. What if Carol hadn't been a dream? What if?
She chewed nervously on her lower lip and stared up at him. "Baby?"
"You ... don't remember?"
r
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She winced. The last time someone had asked her that question, Tess had forgotten getting run over by a bus. That kind of memory lapse did nothing to inspire confidence. Cautiously she said, "No."