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AFTER TAKING OFF her coat and making her way back to the ER, Liz noticed a certain buzz in the air that hadn’t been there before she’d gone outside. Before she could ask one of the other doctors what was going on, she was called away to deal with a patient brought in by ambulance.

Paramedics had received a report of a man acting irrationally and, on arrival, had found Mr. Josiah Collins combative and uncooperative, with a severe laceration on his arm. Although they also said he’d calmed down quickly, and there’d been no problems with him since, there was something about the man’s watchful quiescence and refusal to give much information that had Liz on high alert.

She ordered blood tests, and stitched the laceration. Then, signaling to one of the nurses to join her, she stepped out and walked a few paces along the corridor leading to the ER nurses’ station.

“Put a rush on those samples. I need those results, stat, so I can know whether he’s on something or is just having a psychotic break. And have one of the security personnel keep an eye on him, please.”

“Yes Dr. Prudhomme.”

The nurse immediately started off, but paused as Liz said, “And, Stella? Nice job on that thoracotomy patient earlier. I appreciate it.”

With a smile and a nod of acknowledgement, Stella went on her way, and Liz walked toward the nurses’ station.

There was no need for her to elaborate. Stella knew to what she was referring. The patient had been awake, alert and in extreme pain. Taking advantage of the brief thaw, he’d been working on a roof and slipped, the fall causing chest trauma and fractures to both arms and one leg. Already distressed, he’d grown more distraught as a massive hemothorax had caused blood to fill his chest cavity, compressing his lungs and making breathing increasingly difficult.

Inserting a chest tube was a great deal easier to do when the patient was unconscious and Liz had been prepared to have a difficult time of it until Stella, with impeccable timing, had distracted the patient, held his attention and kept him calm through the painful procedure. Stella’s intuition and ability to connect quickly and effectively with the patient deserved acknowledgement.

Liz was more than aware of her own shortcomings in the human interaction arena. Her lack of affectionate gestures, her cool contemplation of, and reaction to, life had been pointed out repeatedly, and not as positive traits. She wasn’t into giving constant praise for every little thing. They all had their jobs to do, from the ER doctors and trauma surgeons to the orderlies. She didn’t expect congratulations for every correct diagnosis she made or course of treatment she set in motion, and neither should anyone else for doing their job.

However, she also knew her reputation was one of a hard-assed, unsmiling witch. It was true, and she had no complaints on that score. However, just because she didn’t make nice with everyone, it didn’t mean she didn’t care about the people she worked with.

It was just simpler not to care too much, not build friendships and relationships that could, potentially, interfere with her job. She already had close friends from her university days. Although they were now scattered across the globe, Liz really didn’t see any need to make new ones.

She was heading to the nurses’ station to get a jump on her charting when she was interrupted by a nurse informing her that her young parkour patient’s mother had arrived, and was in the waiting room.

Her stomach rumbled again, reminding her she’d been on duty for eleven and a half hours and hadn’t ingested anything more than a couple of energy bars and half a cup of coffee. It was just one of those days.

Micah Johnston’s mother was by turns livid at her son and scared about his prognosis, and it took some time to calm her down. As soon as she’d escorted the lady to her son’s cubicle to speak to the surgeons, Liz strode purposefully once more toward the nearest nurses’ station.

She really had to get her charting done ASAP, so maybe, just maybe, she could leave the hospital on time and stop her stomach from devouring itself.

“Ah, there she is. Liz, a moment please.”

Damn it!

She turned toward Gregory Hammond’s voice, biting back a growl of annoyance at being waylaid once more. Luckily she’d assumed a politely questioning expression because, as she looked at the man walking next to the chief of surgery, her face, along with the rest of her body, froze.

There was no mistaking his carriage, the set of his head, the clear-cut features of the man she’d had a glorious one-night stand with in Mexico. To suddenly see him again, when she’d thought she never would, made her head feel light and her legs weak.

How could she not recognize him? First off, he was tall. Tall enough that she, five-ten in her stockinged feet, had to look up at him, a rarity indeed, and he carried himself with easy assurance, his back militarily straight, his strides long and strong.

Second, although she wouldn’t classify him as handsome, there was something compelling about his face. It was wide, with a prominent nose and deep-set, hooded eyes. A firm chin and mouth rounded out the picture. From a distance she’d been attracted, but it was seeing him up close that had cemented her interest. His eyes were spectacular. Dark amber in the center, shading to brown around the edge of the iris, they were serious and hinted at the kind of intelligence Liz always found appealing.

Heat rushed from her toes to the top of her head as her gaze was captured and transfixed by those unforgettable eyes, partially masked behind lowered lids. They gleamed, and she wasn’t sure what the glint in them was. Anger? Annoyance? Amusement?

Her heart went into overdrive, a mixture of irritation and mortification rushing through her in an instant.

Then all the years of training drummed into her by her mother and tutors arose to come to her rescue. Inner heat was replaced by cold tension, but she refused to allow it to show. Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she tore her gaze away from his companion and gratefully turned her attention to Gregory Hammond.

“Liz, I want you to meet our newest trauma surgeon, Dr. Cort Smith. Dr. Smith, this is Dr. Liz Prudhomme, one of our fine ER practitioners.”

Politeness dictated she look at Dr. Smith again, but it took considerable effort to make herself do it. Her brain was racing as fast as her heart, wondering if he was about to say they’d already met; if somehow he would make it clear their involvement had been of the intimate kind.

There were plenty of men who wouldn’t be able to resist doing so, just to up their reputations as ladies’ men.