The Royal Doctor's Bride

He smiled, as if she’d amused him with her simplistic solution. “It’s a start, but, as I’ve already said, your people demand more than an apology. They want their prince back.”

Do you hear that, Dad? A pain shot through her heart. If only he’d lived long enough to see this day. “Impossible,” she said flatly.

He nodded. “Which is why the situation is complicated.”

“I was afraid you would say that,” she said dryly. “But, complicated or not, I can’t help you.”

He started to speak, but the door edged open and Lucy poked her head inside.

“We’re getting a couple of traumas in about five minutes. Two stabbing victims.”

Gina had never been so relieved to have patients coming into the ED before. She could deal with medical situations far better than she could sort out diplomatic problems of countries she’d only seen on the map and in occasional family photos.

“Thanks, Lucy,” she said. “We’ll be right there.”

Lucy vanished, apparently without noticing the tension in the office. From the look on Ruark’s face, he was clearly glad for the reprieve as well.

“We’ll discuss this further tonight,” he said. “When we won’t be interrupted or distracted.”

“There isn’t anything to discuss,” she protested.

“You need to hear everything,” he insisted. “The least you can do is listen.”

She wanted to refuse but, after seeing the fierce determination on his face, she knew he wouldn’t give up.

She faced him squarely. “OK, but in the meantime you will not breathe a syllable of this conversation to anyone. No one knows my background and I prefer to keep it that way.”

“You have my word,” he agreed. Immediately, he opened the door. “After you, Dr Sutton.”

Setting aside her host of questions to mentally gear up for her patients, Gina hurried toward the centrally located nurses’ station. “Page Frank,” she told Ruby, the desk clerk, referring to their surgical resident, Frank Horton.

With the phone tucked under one ear, Ruby mouthed, “I’m already on it.” Then she spoke into the receiver. “I don’t care where you have to find him, just do it. We need him in the ER, stat!”

Gina rushed into the opposite hallway to check if Trauma Room One was available, and found Ruark following her like a shadow. “What are you doing here? Bill didn’t—”

“It’s a new day. Bill isn’t here any longer,” he pointed out. “As I understand the job, I’m supposed to be available for traumas, and here I am.”

Only if I need you, she wanted to protest. But then, with two patients coming in and not knowing the condition of either, she might need an extra pair of hands. The only question was, would he function like Bill and be more hindrance than help?

“Afraid I’ll find your department doesn’t run smoothly?” he asked.

“We run just fine,” she defended tartly. “Feel free to observe for yourself.” Already dismissing him, she asked no one in particular, “Where’s Casey?”

Another nurse scurried past. “Dr Casey left for his dentist appointment ten minutes ago. Remember?”

How could she have forgotten? Of all the days for him to lose a temporary filling. But considering what had happened so far this morning, she would count herself fortunate if a natural disaster didn’t occur.

“Dr Powers is supposed to cover, but he can’t come until one-thirty.” Toby Powers was a physician who was close to retirement and worked two shifts a week.

“Staff problems?” Ruark asked.

“Nothing we can’t work around.”

The ambulance bay doors near the nurses’ station swooshed open and she rushed forward to greet the two paramedics and the gurney carrying her first patient.

“Twenty-five-year-old male with multiple wounds to the chest,” one of the paramedics, Tim Abbott, reported. “Open pneumothorax. BP is one ten over sixty-five…”

Gina listened to his recitation as she donned her protective gear, including a face shield, while following the gurney into the trauma room. Not only was the man’s blood pressure low and his heart rate increased, but his skin was cold and clammy and he appeared restless in spite of his cervical and thoracic spine immobilization. Tim had already inserted an endotracheal tube in the field, but her patient still struggled to breathe and showed jugular vein distension.

She raised the large bandage covering his bloody chest and saw eight puncture wounds, with the largest one near the heart showing frothy blood. Because air and blood were leaking into his thoracic cavity, his lungs couldn’t inflate properly. Her work was cut out for her.

To her surprise, a similarly gowned and gloved Ruark appeared in the room. “I’ve got it under control,” she said as she, Tim, Lucy, another nurse and now Ruark prepared to move her patient from the ambulance gurney to a hospital bed.

“Are you warning me away from your patient, Dr Sutton?” he asked coolly.

She mentally noted that she didn’t need to take charge, but old habits were hard to break. While she’d have to defer to him for the time being, she’d maintain a watchful eye until she assured herself that the royal doctor truly knew what he was doing.

“Not at all,” she answered. “One, two, three, lift!” On Gina’s command, their patient made the transition with minimal jostling. Seconds later, she began barking her orders to the nurses who were busy affixing a pulse oximeter, monitoring the IV and taking over ventilation duties. “Get me a chest tube on the double, a CBC and type and cross-match for four units. Where’s Horton?”

Becky answered. “He’s not here yet.”

“Page him again. If he doesn’t answer in the next sixty seconds, page Dr Ahmadi too.” Ahmadi was Frank Horton’s supervisor.

Gina wiped blood away from the largest and most worrisome puncture and revealed heavily tattooed skin. A closer look at his torso showed her what she’d missed before—his entire body was tattooed with mythical creatures. The detailed dragon which was prominently featured on his left bicep was quite distinctive.

“I see we’ve gotten another one of Picasso’s customers.”

“Who?” Ruark asked.

“Pablo Picasso. Pablo’s his real name and being a local tattoo artist, he calls his parlor Picasso’s,” she said as she began to palpate along the man’s rib cage to determine the chest tube placement site. “He thought the famous name would give his place some class. We see a lot of his work in here.”

“Doesn’t say much for his choice of clientele,” Ruark remarked.

“Pablo is interested in his art, not in people’s lifestyle choices,” she defended.

“How did you meet him? I wouldn’t think a physician and a tattooist would have much in common.”

“He came into the ER with pneumonia when I was an intern and we started to talk about all sorts of things. He invited me to his workplace—he dared me to visit, actually, and I did. His drawings are fantastic.”

“Did you pick one for yourself?” Lucy asked.

“Sure did. Lidocaine.”

Lucy slapped the required syringe into Gina’s hand. “Oh, my gosh. You have a tattoo?”

Conscious of Ruark listening intently, Gina wished she hadn’t said a word. Her tattoo was none of his business, even if she wasn’t ashamed of it. “Yeah.”

“You’re kidding.”