About Last Night
She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she just pressed on the patch and waited, deeply uncomfortable. So far, her grand adventure was not turning out remotely like she’d imagined it would. So far, it kind of sucked.
He pulled the water bottle off his bike and took a drink, swished, spat. “Next time, you lick the tube,” he said. “It tastes fucking awful.”
Lexie laughed. Risking a glance at Tom out of the corner of her eye, she caught him smiling at her—and nearly fell over.
A broad grin had transformed those fine lips, erasing every trace of Angry Tom and replacing him with a Tom she hadn’t met yet. But she wanted to. Oh, man, she wanted to. He had an amazing, engaging smile. His eyes seemed to sparkle with his amusement, and deep laugh lines appeared at the corners. There was a dimple in his chin she hadn’t noticed before. His teeth were bright white against his dark skin. This Tom was utterly delicious.
Miracle of miracles, he also looked like a lot of fun.
They stood there like that, smiling at each other for just a few seconds longer than was called for, before Tom frowned slightly and turned away to put his water bottle back in the cage.
Lexie let out a breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding. Maybe he wouldn’t be so bad.
Read on for an excerpt from Debra Dixon’s
Midnight Hour
ONE
As soon as the little girl on his emergency-room table was out of danger, Nick Devereaux stripped off his latex gloves and allowed himself one small moment of celebration. He’d beaten death again. He smiled at the child.
“You’ll be all right, chère,” he said, his Cajun accent creeping into his speech.
His smile faded as he thought of the two hotshot paramedics who’d brought the girl in. Tonight confirmed his hunch that a pattern was forming. Those two boys kept turning up in his emergency room with patients they should have taken to another hospital. An official reprimand seemed a little too much like an arrogant power play from the new doctor in town, so Nick decided a little heart-to-heart chat was in order. As soon as possible.
Checking his watch, Nick frowned. Paramedics didn’t hang around hospitals very long, especially not in the ER staff lounge at Mercy Hospital. The lounge was a spartan affair, boasting only a lumpy sofa, two chairs, a tiny refrigerator, and a primitive coffee maker. No radio. No television. Just yesterday’s paper.
“I don’t suppose they hung around tonight?” Nick asked the nurse who’d come in to check the IV.
“Bobby and John? They might have. They just brought in Mr. Peterson. I think he really did break his hip this time. We’ve got an orthopedic resident who’s been working nights with him.”
“Good. I’ll be in the lounge having a little chat with Bobby and John.”
“I’d check the waiting room first.” She grinned at him. “It’s after midnight on a Friday night. If they’re here, they’ll be clustered around the television set, trying to catch a few minutes of The Midnight Hour while they drink some coffee.”
“Television,” Nick whispered with a shake of his head. He’d moved to Louisville, Kentucky, a couple of months ago and still didn’t understand the city’s fascination with The Midnight Hour. Of course, he’d never seen the show. “Doesn’t anybody in this city do anything else on Friday night except watch that show?”
The nurse laughed. “Not if they can help it.” As he pushed aside the curtain to leave, she said, “Hey, Doc. You do good work.”
Walking away, Nick looked over his shoulder and said, “Oui, but then we have no choice, you and I.”
Rolling his shoulders eased the ache between them; he pushed open the door to the waiting room. He was bone-tired, only on his feet because he was too stubborn to close his eyes and too familiar with the wretched furniture that graced Mercy Hospital to sit down. He paused long enough to reassure the child’s parents and tell them they could see her before the staff moved her upstairs.
The smiling couple hurried away, and Nick let his gaze sweep the depressing room. Drab green vinyl and chrome had never been favorites of his. Nor was he any fonder of gray speckled linoleum, patched so many times it resembled a crazy quilt. Institutional was the kindest adjective he could summon for the waiting room. Not warm, reassuring, or even comfortable. Just institutional. Considering the private, nonprofit hospital’s shoestring budget, the room was never likely to become anything more.
Right now his problem wasn’t the waiting room, but the two paramedics huddled in front of the old television set. They jostled one another
for position and obscured the screen from Nick’s view as he approached. Bobby, tall and thin, swore softly at the screen. John, who looked more like a surfer than a paramedic, intoned reverently, “Have mercy on my soul.”
“Hold that thought,” Nick advised drily. “You gonna need it by the time I’m through with you.”
Both the men whirled, but John spoke first. “Hey, Doc! How’s the little girl?”
Nick held on to his temper, deliberately making himself answer calmly. “She’ll make it. But if you’d gone down the road ten more blocks, you could have admitted that girl to a hospital better equipped for pediatric emergencies. Gentlemen, that’s the fourth patient you’ve delivered here who could have gone down the road. And I’d like to know why.”
“The girl’s parents asked for Mercy Hospital,” John answered with a shrug. “We gotta go where the patients tell us.”
“You expect me to believe that the parents wanted you to bring their child to this hospital?” Nick raised an eyebrow. “We can barely manage to scrounge up a pediatric blood-pressure cuff.”