Turn Back Time

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Pearce carried her coffee to the round table in the far corner of the cafeteria where Wynter waited with Bruce, who had been on call Saturday night. Wynter looked up and smiled at her, and Pearce felt a flutter in her chest. She grinned, her eyes traveling from Wynter's face down her body. She frowned when she saw the bruise low on Wynter's neck, exposed by the vee of her scrub shirt. She raised her eyebrows and tugged at her own shirt, mimicking covering part of her throat. Wynter blushed and adjusted hers. Remembering exactly how that bruise had gotten there, Pearce had to admit to a small surge of pleasure. As she sat down, she saw Bruce staring at her with a pensive expression on his face. She met his eyes and held them until he looked away. Then she took her list from her shirt pocket, unfolded it carefully, and set it in front of her. "Okay. From the top."

After they'd run the list of patients and Bruce had left for home, she and Wynter were the only ones remaining at the table. "Tired?"

"A little." Wynter smiled. "Good tired."

"Hopefully today will be slow and you'll have a chance to catch a little sleep."

"Are there any admissions this afternoon?" In recent years, insurance companies had revamped their reimbursement scale to force physicians to bring patients into the hospital on the day of surgery rather than admitting them the afternoon before and keeping them overnight prior to their procedures. When previously there had been a dozen or more patients admitted to the hospital in the afternoon for surgery the next day, now there often were none.

"We're still expecting the transfer from Harrisburg that was supposed to come in yesterday morning. If the bed situation has eased up, she'll probably show up this afternoon."

"The one with the leaking anastomosis?"

"Right."

Wynter looked down at her list. "She's coming to your father, right?"

Pearce nodded.

"Do you think he'll want to operate tonight?"

"It depends on how she looks." Pearce finished her coffee and rolled the cup between her palms. "He's got five cases scheduled for tomorrow. If it looks like she's going to need to go, he'll do it tonight so as not to back up tomorrow. If she looks like she'll hold off a couple of days, he might wait until Tuesday."

"If her surgery was six days ago and they think she's leaking, she's not going to hold for another couple of days. I'll get another CAT scan as soon as she arrives and get started on the preop tests."

"Page me when she comes in."

"It's not necessary. You're off today and--"

"She's a new admission to the service. I have to see her." Pearce set her cup down. "You can call him with your assessment. I won't get in your way over it."

"I know," Wynter said gently. "I just thought I could give you a break."

"It's okay. I feel fine."

"I guess you're used to all-night recreational activities," Wynter said with the barest hint of sarcasm. She couldn't help thinking of the appreciative looks cast in Pearce's direction by more than one woman.

Pearce studied Wynter, her expression placid. "It's probably good that we're sitting in the cafeteria on opposite sides of the table.

Otherwise, I'd be tempted to kiss you. You're very sexy when you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous!"

Pearce grinned.

"I'm not." Annoyed because it was true and Pearce had noticed, Wynter retorted without thinking, "I suppose you think I've never stayed up all night screwing before?" The instant she said it, she regretted it, especially when she saw Pearce's eyes darken and her jaw set hard.

"Pearce--"

"I'll be on my beeper if you need me." Pearce pushed her chair back and stood.

"Please don't go. I'm sorry. That was thoughtless."

"No, I'm sure it's true. I do know where babies come from."

"Damn it," Wynter seethed, looking around the room, aware of their fellow residents everywhere. She couldn't chase her without creating a scene. "Please. Five minutes."

Pearce wanted to walk away. Wynter was like no woman in her experience. She was used to wild sex with wild women who were unfettered or, at the very least, unconcerned about their attachments.

She'd never been jealous of who else they were sleeping with and definitely had never cared about anyone in their past. Since the moment she'd learned that Wynter was married, she'd steadfastly refused to think about it. Now that she'd touched her, held her, made love to her, thinking about her being with someone else incensed her. She knew it was crazy, and she couldn't stop. She took a breath. "Look. It's okay.

You don't have anything to explain to me."

"If you don't sit down, everyone in this room is going to hear that you're the best lay I've ever had."

"Uh..." Pearce coughed and her mind went blank. She did the only thing possible. She pulled out the chair and sat back down.

Wynter leaned forward, her eyes fierce. "Do you remember what I said to you this morning? About how I felt when you touched me? When I touched you?"

Pearce swallowed. Her head was buzzing. "Wynter--"

"Be quiet and listen. I can't think of any way to say this that doesn't sound like a cliché, but it's true. I've never been so present, so much myself, as I was with you last night. That means everything to me."

Me too. Pearce knew it, and she had no idea what to do with that fact. She shook her head, barely recognizing herself. "You must think I'm nuts, going off about something that's already over."

Wynter smiled. "No, not really. I think you're sexy when you're jealous."

"Ha." Pearce felt the tightness in her chest ease. That means everything to me. She'd been told some pretty outrageous things by more than a few women after a night of passion, but nothing anyone else had ever said to her had made her feel quite so good. "So how about I drop by later on today, see the new admission, and take you to din--"

"Damn," Wynter muttered as she looked down at the readout on her beeper. She looked up as Pearce's beeper went off and when she saw the grim set of her face, she knew. "The chief?"

"Yeah." Pearce stood. "You too?"

Wynter nodded. "You don't think--"

"There's no way he'd know, and even if he did, as long as it didn't interfere with work, it wouldn't be a problem." She smiled and wished she could take Wynter's hand. "Come on. Let's go see what he wants."

Taking a breath to settle herself, Wynter nodded. "Aye aye, Chief."

At Pearce's grin, she added, "And don't get too used to that."

v The surgery offices were deserted at 8:00 a.m. on Sunday. The door to Ambrose Rifkin's personal office stood open beyond the large partitioned area where his secretary usually protected his domain.

Despite the open door, Pearce knocked.

"Come."

Ambrose Rifkin, dressed in scrubs, reclined behind his desk with his leather chair tilted back and a file folder balanced on his knee.

Despite his casual demeanor, neither Pearce nor Wynter spoke until he finished making a note in the margin of one of the chart pages, closed the folder, and dropped it onto his desk. He sat forward and looked from one to the other.

"Please sit down."

Pearce and Wynter took the adjoining chairs in front of his desk.

"I just spoke to Tom Larson in Harrisburg. The patient's on her way and should be here within the hour. Let's get her directly to CAT scan from the ER. The OR is standing by."

"I could've taken care of that, sir," Pearce said quietly.

"I was here." His tone of voice implied that Pearce should have been as well.

She said nothing.

He leaned back slightly and regarded Wynter. In a conversational tone of voice, he said, "Fifty years ago, there were very few general surgical subspecialties. At the time, Isaac Rifkin was the chairman of surgery, and one morning he assembled his senior residents in his office." He glanced at a framed photo on the far wall that showed six men in white lab coats standing in front of one of the older buildings in the hospital complex.

Wynter followed his gaze. She didn't recognize any of them.

"He had evaluated his people, and he not only recognized their talents, but he predicted the future of surgery. He sent one to France to study with a noted cranial-facial surgeon. That resident would return and become the first chief of plastic surgery. He sent another to St.

Louis to work with a very gifted general surgeon whose practice was all pediatric in nature. That resident would return to establish the Children's Hospital. He named another to train in vascular surgery, another in cancer, and so on." He moved his hand across his blotter, as if indicating the world beneath his fingertips, and then he looked at Wynter. "Tom Larson tells me that his chief resident just took six months' leave for...health reasons. The slot is open, and he doesn't have anyone experienced enough to fill it."

Wynter's stomach clutched and her heart raced wildly in her chest.

She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she couldn't prevent her hands from fisting around the wooden arms of the chair. She'd heard of residents being sent to other programs with no choice in the matter.

"It's an excellent opportunity for the kind of experience a resident needs to move into an academic position." He studied her. "I'd like you to go."

"For how..." Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "For how long, sir?"

"Six months. Then we'll reevaluate the situation."

Wynter was aware of Pearce shifting ever so slightly in the chair beside her. "Thank you, Dr. Rifkin. I'm honored. Truly. I'm afraid I can't do that."

The room was very quiet. Ambrose Rifkin's face remained composed; his eyes, not quite as dark as Pearce's but just as sharp, moved slowly over Wynter's face.

"Why would that be?"

"I have a daughter, and there's no way I could arrange for child care up there in a reasonable amount of time. We just moved here, and I've barely gotten her settled."

"You're divorced, aren't you?"

Wynter felt her face go hot, but she held his gaze. "Yes."

"But you have a workable arrangement here for the child?"

"Yes," Wynter said quickly. "The wife of one of the anesthesia residents..." She realized he wouldn't be interested in the details. "A very good one, sir."

"And she's how old?"

"She's three." Wynter couldn't help but smile.

"Three. Well, I can't imagine that your being absent for that period of time would make all that much difference, since you have established a good child-care situation here."

Wynter heard Pearce's sharp intake of breath, but she was too busy trying to understand what Ambrose Rifkin had just said. Then a wave of heat followed by a sudden chill passed through her. "You mean leave her here while I go there?"

"Yes."

"Sir," Pearce began, her voice tight. "I don't think--"

"I'm sorry," Wynter said calmly. "That won't be possible."

Ambrose Rifkin appeared unperturbed, as if Wynter had not just told him no. "Since she's not in school, or--"

"Sir, I wouldn't care how old she was or what the situation. I'm not leaving her for six months. It's difficult enough as it is with the amount of time I have to spend away."

"I see. And what are your plans for the future, Dr. Thompson?"

"I've always planned on a subspecialty in breast surgery. I'll be looking for a fellowship after I finish general surgery."

"That's a nice field for a woman," Ambrose Rifkin said with just the slightest hint of condescension. "Not particularly demanding and very little emergency work."

Wynter said nothing. He was right, insofar as his assessment had gone. A practice limited to surgical treatment of breast disease was usually a Monday-through-Friday, seven-to-five kind of job, and it would allow her time to spend with her daughter. It was also a critical facet of women's health care, and she'd always been drawn to that.

Oncologic surgery was on the forefront of medical science, and she had no doubt that she would be challenged as well as rewarded by her choice. There was no point in mentioning any of those things, because for a man like Ambrose Rifkin, the rewards would be far too meager to satisfy.

"Starting tomorrow, Dr. Thompson," Ambrose Rifkin said, "I'm moving you to the vascular service as the acting chief."

"Yes sir," Wynter said. It was not a particularly welcome transfer, but it wasn't horrible. Vascular surgery was technically challenging and interesting. She'd miss working so closely with Pearce, but she'd also have more responsibility. It was all part of the game.

"I've decided to bring Dr. Dzubrow out of the lab," the chairman said, turning his attention to Pearce, who sat rigidly upright. "He'll take over as acting chief on my service. That will free you up to go to Harrisburg. Tonight."

v Wynter and Pearce did not speak as they walked side by side to the women's locker room. Once inside, Pearce went directly to her locker and opened it. She pulled out a handful of scrubs and piled them on the bench. She reached back inside for her lab coat, and then pulled her arm out abruptly and slammed the door so violently that the entire row of metal lockers shook.

"Fuck." Pearce leaned her back against her locker and closed her eyes.

Wynter sat down on the bench and placed her hand gently on the pile of scrubs, wishing it were Pearce she was touching. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. You heard him. I'm getting farmed out and he's moving Dzubrow in."

"Is it my fault? Because I said I wouldn't go?"

Pearce opened her eyes and gazed down at Wynter. Slowly, she shook her head. "No. I don't think so. That took balls, by the way."

Wynter grimaced. "No, it didn't. It didn't take anything at all.

There's no way I'd leave her."

"He could probably get rid of you for that."

"Maybe. It wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change my mind."

"Really?"

"Really," Wynter said quietly. It had just begun to hit her that within a matter of hours, Pearce would be gone. For weeks and months and most probably, forever. Life would carry on much as it had before their brief interlude. The sadness was swift and aching. She stood. "It doesn't mean you won't get the chief resident's job next year."

"Maybe," Pearce sighed. "Maybe not. He's grooming Dzubrow for something."

"Can you talk to him? Tell him you don't want to go?"

Pearce laughed hollowly. "Sure I can. If I want to finish up with the crappiest rotations and no shot at all of ever getting an academic job." She tried to focus on what she needed to do to keep her career on track, but all she could think was that she was going to have to walk out the door and get into her car and drive away. That she wouldn't be able to take Wynter to dinner that night, or breakfast the next morning, or spend another night in her bed--perhaps ever. She couldn't think about that now. She didn't have the luxury to worry about her personal life.

She sighed and opened her locker again. As she drew out her lab coat, she said, "If I'd known this was going to happen, I wouldn't have come over last night. I'm sorry."

"Time has never been on our side."

"No," Pearce said. She pulled a key off her key ring and held it out. "Here. To the old resident's room. Look after...it...for me."

"I will." Wynter's throat ached as she rose and kissed Pearce on the cheek. "Drive carefully."

"Yeah. I will." Pearce watched Wynter turn and leave. She ignored the pain in her chest. Loss was nothing new, and she should know by now not to let anyone in deep enough to miss. She shrugged into her leather jacket, palmed her keys, and grabbed her scrubs. Time to move on.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Wynter came instantly awake at the sound of the door opening.

The small, windowless room was completely dark, without even a digital clock to cut the blackness.

"Occupied," she called out irritably. She'd never understand why huge academic institutions couldn't afford decent on-call rooms, but she'd never run across one yet. Whenever she'd had a rotation in a small community hospital, the residents were treated infinitely better. She'd had one rotation where she received three meals a day for free, and there'd even been a television in her private on-call room. Amazing. At the University Hospital, however, that was not the case. Everyone vied for limited sleeping space, and even though she'd heard rumors that new on-call rooms were planned for the next addition to the megalithic complex, she'd believe it when she slept in one.

"It's me," Pearce whispered as she closed the door and flipped the lock.

"Pearce?" Wynter bolted upright. "What time is it?"

"Quarter after one."

Wynter snapped on the bedside table lamp and checked her beeper to make sure it was working. When she saw that it was, she put it down and swung her legs over the side of the narrow bed. She pushed both hands through her hair and then dropped her hands to her sides, curling her fingers around the thin mattress. She looked up at Pearce, who still stood just inside the door. She was in jeans, her black boots, and a black fisherman's sweater. She held her leather jacket in her fist. "What are you doing here?"

Pearce shrugged. "I don't know."

"You're supposed to be in Harrisburg in about six hours."

"I know."

"Are you still going?"

"Yes."

"Take off your clothes and come to bed." Wynter snapped off the light.

Pearce kicked off her boots, unsnapped her jeans and pushed them off, and added her sweater to the pile. Although the room was dark once again, Wynter's figure was imprinted on the backs of her eyelids in a blaze of yellow light. She made her way to the narrow hospital-issue bed and put one hand down, finding the sheets pulled back in welcome.

She sat down and slid under, turning on her side to face Wynter. She stretched out her arm, found Wynter's bare shoulder, and pulled her close.

Wynter nestled her cheek against Pearce's chest and wrapped an arm around her waist. The bed was narrow for one, dangerously so for two, and she slid her thigh between Pearce's as much to anchor them as to be close to her.

"Is it okay if we don't make love?" Pearce murmured. She smoothed her lips over Wynter's forehead. She'd been in her car and had gotten as far as Doylestown before turning back. She hadn't felt such a chasm of despair since her grandmother had died, and her only thought as the miles stretched away behind her had been of lying in Wynter's arms that morning and how good it had felt. Even as she'd made an illegal U-turn across the median, she'd refused to question her actions. She knew any answers she might find would only frighten her.

She closed her eyes and tightened her hold, waiting for Wynter to ask.

"This is fine just like this," Wynter whispered. She kissed the hollow at the base of Pearce's throat and rubbed her face against Pearce's skin. She loved Pearce's smell, windblown and untamed. She was aware of desire, the steady pulse of flesh seeking flesh, but she could enjoy the wanting without craving satisfaction. For the moment.

She kissed Pearce's throat again, then the underside of her jaw. "Are you all right?"

"Pissed." Pearce stroked Wynter's shoulders and down her arm, slowly smoothing her fingers up and down, reveling in the softness of her skin and the steel beneath it.

"Mmm. Me too." Wynter sighed. "I know you have to go, but I want you to be angry that we're being separated. I guess I...I'll miss you."

Pearce gave a small groan and buried her face in Wynter's hair.

"Yeah. I know."

"But I'll probably see you when you get a weekend off, right?"

Wynter tried to sound upbeat, but they both knew how hard it would be to coordinate their schedules, especially long distance. "We're supposed to go running, remember."

"Sure." Pearce knew that now was the time to call things off, and if she'd just kept driving, it wouldn't even have been an issue.

No complications. They'd agreed. They'd had a night together. A great night, sure. A night like none she could ever remember. But it was just a night, like so many nights before. A few hours of frantic connection, of desperate joining, of grateful respite from loneliness. So why wasn't that enough? "I expect you'll be seeing other people."

Seeing other people. Wynter knew what the words meant, she just hadn't considered them in relationship to herself for quite some time.

Even after her divorce, the last thing she'd wanted to do was create any more chaos in her life by getting involved with someone. She'd had to take time off from the surgery residency in the midst of the divorce because moving out, arranging child care, and dealing with all the legal issues was too much for her to handle and still work the way she needed to. Getting the temporary emergency room position had been a godsend. She'd been able to work and had gotten paid. That was all she had wanted. Now she had an excellent residency position, a new home, and a great environment for her daughter. This was not the time to upset the hard-won balance in her life.

"I don't know," Wynter said. "I'm not sure I want to."

"But if you do," Pearce forced herself to say. "You know, you should."

Wynter doubted it would be long before Pearce sought company, and she could hardly ask her not to. From everything she had witnessed, let alone what she had heard, she knew that Pearce was no stranger to casual encounters. She smoothed her hand between Pearce's breasts, a movement so new to her, and yet completely familiar. Without knowing completely how she knew, she was aware that she wouldn't be with a man. Ever again. "Yes. All right."

Pearce closed her eyes tightly. That was right. That was best. Then why did that empty space inside of her come roaring back again? "Pearce?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you come back here tonight?"

There it was again. The question she didn't want to ask. The answer she didn't want to face because it left her not knowing what her next step would be. "I didn't want to say goodbye."

Wynter kissed the spot beneath Pearce's breast where her heart tapped out a strong, sharp rhythm. "Good. Neither do I."

"Where does that leave us?"

"I don't know, but I feel better than I did when I left you this morning."

"Doesn't take much to make you happy," Pearce murmured, sifting her fingers through Wynter's hair.

Wynter laughed softly. "That's what you think."

Pearce tilted Wynter's chin up and kissed her slowly, a lingering, searching kiss that would not soon be forgotten.

"Good start," Wynter murmured. "Now go to sleep. You have to drive soon."

Pearce closed her eyes, but she didn't sleep. She had only a few more hours with Wynter, fleeting time too precious to lose.

v At nine thirty the next morning, Wynter shuffled to her front door, opened it a crack, and said, "Go away."

"You think I don't know when you come home?"

"Mina," Wynter said with as much patience as she could muster, bracing her knee against the door as Mina pushed from the other side, "I'm going to bed now. Ronnie will be home in five hours, and I'm going to have to play mommy."

"You can go to sleep just as soon as we have our little talk."

"Later," Wynter said, trying to close the door. She looked down and saw Mina's foot, encased in her substantial snow boot, blocking the way. "Mina..."

"This is the first time in six weeks you haven't stopped over to chat when you came home. What's going on?"

"Just tired." Despite her desperate need to be alone, Wynter opened the door. "Come inside. It's freezing out."

Mina forged ahead like a great ship steaming into port, and she didn't stop until she was well into the living room, where she removed her woolen coat and draped it over the back of the couch. "Let's go upstairs and put you to bed. We can talk there."

Wordlessly, Wynter trudged upstairs. In sweats and a T-shirt, she crawled under the covers and curled up on her side. When Mina came in, she eased over enough so that Mina could sit beside her, several pillows propped behind the small of her back.

"Thank God this child will be out of here in a few weeks. There's not enough room inside my body for it and all of my other parts." Mina struggled to turn enough to see Wynter's face. "You've been crying."

"I pity your children. I really do. They'll never have any secrets."

Mina smiled and petted Wynter's hair. "Now is it work or your personal life?"

"Both." Wynter sighed, then went on to explain about Ambrose Rifkin's plan to send her to an outside rotation and the fact that she'd refused and been transferred to another service instead.

"He sounds like a charmer."

"Unfortunately, he's a brilliant surgeon and I can learn a lot from him."

"Doesn't mean he's not a...SOB."

"True."

"Somehow, I can see that little power play making you mad, but not causing any tears. What else?"

Wynter bunched her pillow into a fat misshapen ball and wrapped her arms around it. Her arms felt empty without Pearce, and it frightened her that she could feel that way after only holding her a few times. "He sent Pearce instead. She's gone."

"For how long?"

Wynter shrugged. "Six months at least. It might as well be six years."

"Honey," Mina said gently, "are you serious about this girl?"

"Serious? Serious how?" Wynter rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She didn't see the spiderweb of fine cracks. She saw Pearce's face above her, intense, fiercely focused, wildly passionate. "I had the most incredible night of my life with her."

"That's saying something," Mina agreed. "Are we just talking sex here? Because I think that's reproducible given the right circumstances, no matter what kind of parts someone brings to the table."

"No, it isn't." Wynter rolled over again and propped her chin in her hand. "It goes both ways, making love. It's not just how much pleasure someone brings you when they touch you, but how good you feel when you touch them back. Touching her was the most amazing thing I've ever experienced. And it had everything to do with the parts." Wynter smiled faintly. "Especially when they're hers. She's so beautiful."

"Do you think you'd feel that way with another woman? Or is it just her?"

"It's her. Everything about her." Wynter shrugged. "And part of that is that she's a woman. I never knew I wanted that, needed that, until I touched her. Now I know."

"And you're okay with that?"

"It feels too good not to be."

"Right," Mina said, dusting her hands together as if one problem had been solved. "So we've established that you've now gone over to the dark side." She smiled when Wynter laughed. "Now explain to me why, assuming that Pearce has any kind of brain in her head at all--which from meeting her, I'd say she does--she would agree to just up and leave."

"She doesn't have any choice."

"Everyone always has a choice. You didn't go."

"That's different," Wynter said. "If he'd fired me for refusing to go, I probably could've won if I'd contested it. It would have been ugly, but I probably would've won. And even if I hadn't, I was willing to take that chance."

"You're willing to give up your career?"

"For Ronnie? Of course." Wynter shook her head. "I can see where you're trying to take this argument. You should go to law school.

But Ronnie is a child, my child, and she didn't choose to have a mother who's a surgeon. I can't make her pay any more than she already does for my choices. Things are different with Pearce."

"What would've happened if she'd said no? He's her father.

Wouldn't he make exceptions for her?"

Wynter snorted. "I don't think so. From what I can see, he's never made any exceptions for her. Quite the opposite. The expectations placed on her are enormous."

"Well, what could he do?"

"First of all, you don't say no to the chairman if you have any desire to get a good fellowship or a top faculty appointment. The right connections can make or break a career, and Ambrose Rifkin can pretty much place residents wherever he wants."

"Why would he try to make life difficult for his daughter? I don't get it."

"I'm not so sure it's about making life difficult for her. I think it's about paving the way for this other resident. He probably figures Pearce is the easier person to place because she's so damn good." Wynter gave an aggravated sigh. "And who cares what she has to suffer through to get there."

"There's something very wrong with a process that makes you think it's all right for someone to treat anyone, let alone their own child, this way. Why aren't the both of you fighting mad?"

"We're mad," Wynter said quietly. "But I don't see a way out right now."

"So just what do you plan to do? Forget about her? Wait to see if she turns up again in a few months and still wants to play house?"

"That's not very likely. By the time she comes back, we'll probably be in different places again." Wynter closed her eyes, suddenly more weary than tired. She knew that neither she nor Pearce had very much control over their lives at this point and that any kind of relationship during training was fraught with difficulty and usually didn't last.

She'd had a wonderful awakening, a brilliant night of discovery with a tender, passionate, wildly beautiful woman. That experience alone should be enough to make her happy and, in all likelihood, would have to be enough. She knew it. She'd been telling herself that since the first time she'd said goodbye to Pearce the day before. Nevertheless, she clenched her fists and said, "I don't know what I'm going to do, but I don't plan on waiting another four years to feel something like this again."

"Even if you have to find it with someone other than her?"

Wynter said nothing, wondering how that could ever be possible.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Wynter popped the top on a can of Diet Coke and dropped onto the cracked dark green vinyl sofa pushed against one wall in the surgeons' lounge. It was flanked by a battered refrigerator at one end and a large, square end table at the other. A phone and a pile of last year's magazines covered the table's surface. She pushed some of the clutter aside and, after draining half the soda, put down the can. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back, wishing she could go to sleep. Unfortunately, she was only halfway through her night on call, and if the first six hours had been any indication, it was going to be brutal. Immediately after evening sign-out rounds, she'd gotten a call from one of the intensive care nurses reporting that the patient in whom they'd corrected a carotid blockage the previous morning could no longer recall his name and had one-sided weakness. She'd known immediately that the area of surgical repair was blocked, and that if it were not treated immediately the patient would have a full-blown stroke. As she'd hurried to the ICU, she'd paged the attending, and within an hour, they were in the operating room. No sooner had they finished that case then the trauma fellow had called about a twenty year-old drug dealer who had ended up on the wrong end of a machete.

In addition to several stab wounds to the chest, he had also sustained a complete transection of his brachial artery and was in danger of losing his hand.

She'd learned long ago that the only way to get through a night like this was not to think about the time or how tired she was or all the things she had left to do. When she heard footsteps and then felt someone settle onto the other end of the sofa, she didn't bother to look over. Five more minutes. She'd give herself five more minutes to rest, and then she'd get up and check the arteriograms that had been finished late in the day.

"Heard anything from Pearce?" Tammy asked, heaving her feet, clogs and all, up onto the coffee table.

"No." Wynter didn't open her eyes. Even though she didn't want to, she heard herself say, "Have you?"

"I didn't even know she was gone until yesterday." Tammy's usual undertone of petulance and annoyance was absent. "This sucks."

"Yes," Wynter agreed, finally opening her eyes. Tammy looked as tired as Wynter felt. It'd been almost three days since Pearce had left.

Wynter kept hoping that Pearce would call, despite the fact that she didn't really expect her to. Pearce would be busy getting adjusted to a new hospital, a new group of residents. And in all likelihood, they'd put her on call immediately. Besides, what was there to say? That was the most frustrating part of all. They both understood what was required of them. They both accepted that their life would not be their own for years. Still, being powerless did not sit well. "Sucks big-time."

"Plus Dzubrow is a real pain in the ass," Tammy muttered.

Although Wynter tended to agree with Tammy from what she had seen of him, she made no comment. It was prudent not to openly criticize other residents. She never knew when she might find herself working closely on the same service with one of them.

"Bruce says he's hogging all the good cases," Tammy went on.

"Pearce didn't need to steal cases. She already knows what she's doing."

"He's probably just trying to get back into the swing of things after coming out of the lab," Wynter suggested mildly.

Tammy gave her a look. "He was never in the swing of things. I heard him tell one of the other guys that he's got an offer from the NIH, and that's why Rifkin brought him out of the lab early. He's always been a lab rat. I don't even know why he wanted to be a surgeon."

What Tammy said made sense. It would explain the sudden shift in the residents between services, and why Pearce had been farmed out.

Ambrose Rifkin was priming Dzubrow for the chief resident's position, which would bolster his credentials at the NIH. She wondered if Pearce knew. Surely she must suspect, and although Wynter knew Pearce would never admit it, it must hurt. "God damn it."

She hadn't even realized she'd cursed aloud until Tammy laughed.

Wynter smiled wryly and said, "Nothing lasts forever--even pain."

"It just feels like it does," Tammy said with a sigh. "If you hear from her, tell her I...we miss her."

"Sure." Wynter wondered why Tammy thought she would be the one to hear, but she nodded. Tell her I miss her. She was too tired to be jealous. Almost too tired to miss Pearce. Almost.

By six o'clock in the morning she was functioning on autopilot.

She'd never gotten to bed, never closed her eyes again after the few minutes in the lounge with Tammy. It was just one of those nights where the emergency cases and traumas never stopped coming, and all she could do was forget that anything else in the world existed except the next crisis. The hospital was the universe, the operating room her only reality. When her beeper went off just as she reached the coffee in the cafeteria line, she contemplated tossing it into the trash. She glanced at the readout and saw that it was the page operator, which usually meant an outside call. Heart racing, thinking that Mina was calling about a problem with Ronnie, she left her tray on the track in front of the commercial coffee urns and hurried to the nearest phone.

"Dr. Thompson," she said briskly when the operator answered.

"I've got an outside call for you, Doctor. Hold please."

Wynter heard a series of clicks. Then her heart leapt again at the sound of the rich, slightly husky voice.

"Wynter?"

"Pearce?"

"I thought I'd try to catch you before the OR."

Wynter turned her back to the cafeteria and leaned against the wall, much more awake than she had been just a few minutes before.

"How are you doing?"

"Just finished the night from hell."

"You too? Was it a full moon?"

Pearce chuckled. "Must've been."

"How's it going out there?"

"Not bad. Standard community hospital stuff. Busy."

"That's good."

Silence stretched until Wynter feared the connection had been broken. "Pearce?"

"You're on call again Saturday, right?"

"Yes," Wynter replied, confused. "But I--"

"I want to see you. Friday night?"

Despite the tightening in her stomach and the rapid flurry in her chest, Wynter tried to be rational. "Aren't you on call Saturday too?"

"Not until eight o'clock in the morning."

"It's too far for you to drive back here after work Friday and then get back there in the morning." Wynter closed her eyes, remembering Pearce as she'd last seen her, dressed in black, her eyes even darker.

She'd wanted to kiss her but she hadn't. Hadn't wanted that final proof of their parting when Pearce said goodbye with the kiss still lingering on her lips. "I'm so glad you called."

"I miss you."

"Oh, I miss you too."

"So I'll see you Friday."

"Pearce," Wynter murmured. "I want to see you. I do. But I already told Mina and Ken I'd watch the kids--"

"I should be out of here by six, so I'll see you about eight. I'll help."

Wynter laughed, ridiculously happy. "Help what?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is you do with them. The kids."

"Janie's got a sleepover with her friends. The little ones will be in bed. Probably asleep."

Pearce's voice dropped even lower. "All the better. See you, Doc."

"See you," Wynter whispered. When she hung up, she wasn't tired any longer. She also realized that the dull ache she'd carried in the center of her chest for two days was gone.

v "Have a good time," Wynter said as she stood in the front foyer watching Ken and Mina bundle into their coats. Despite the fact that Mina was heavily pregnant, she was determined to attend her sister Chloe's tenth wedding anniversary party, arguing that she could just as easily sit on Chloe's couch as her own.

"I should be saying the same to you," Mina whispered as she passed. "If you don't want me waking you up in the morning, just leave a T-shirt hanging on your doorknob. In case you have overnight company."

Wynter blushed. "Don't be silly. I'm sure Pearce will be so tired by the time she gets here we'll fall asleep watching a movie. Just wake us up if you find us drooling somewhere."

"Uh-huh. We'll be quiet when we come in just the same." Mina glanced toward the street as a car pulled to the curb. "Looks like your date is here."

Ken glanced at Wynter, then craned his neck toward the street. He gave a small grunt of surprise when Pearce slid out from the driver's side. "I guess I missed something."

"That's because you're always a few weeks behind on the news."

Mina put her arm around his waist and steered him onto the porch and toward the stairs. "Never mind, handsome. Let's go to the party."

"Night, Wynter," Ken called over his shoulder as Mina tugged him along. He nodded to Pearce as she passed.

Wynter heard Pearce mutter hello as she took the stairs two at a time and crossed the porch with long strides. She was in jeans, her leather jacket, and a scrub shirt. Even in the dim porch light, Wynter could make out the smudges of fatigue beneath her eyes. When Pearce stopped just at the threshold, searching Wynter's face with a question in her eyes, Wynter wrapped both arms around Pearce's shoulders and pressed her mouth to Pearce's.

Pearce gave a shuddering groan and gathered her close.

The kiss echoed with longing as much as desire, and Wynter sensed sadness and uncertainty in the way Pearce's hands moved over her back. It was as if Pearce wasn't sure she was real.

"It's all right."

"Is it?" Pearce's voice was harsh, gritty with fatigue and confusion.

She rested her forehead against Wynter's and closed her eyes. "I don't know anymore."

"Then come inside and let's find out."

Wynter took Pearce's gloveless hand, finding it cold and stiff, and folded her warm fingers around it. "Have you eaten?"

"Breakfast."

"How does soup and a sandwich sound?"

"I'm not really hungry. Where are the kids?"

"They're already in bed. And you need to eat." Wynter closed the door behind them and then grasped the front of Pearce's jacket. She was concerned that Pearce seemed disoriented, and then she recognized what others often saw in her. Deadly fatigue. "Take this off."

Pearce shrugged out of the heavy leather and rolled her shoulders.

The house was warm, welcoming, and for the first time all week, the tension in her neck and back eased. She grasped Wynter's hand again, needing the contact, fearing that she might disappear between one breath and the next. The week had been endless. She still didn't understand how she had come to find herself in a strange town, in a strange hospital, surrounded by strangers. She hadn't been able to sleep in a strange bed.

She missed Wynter. Her only recourse had been to lose herself in the things that she knew best, and she'd prowled the emergency room until late into the night, every night, looking for something to occupy her mind and take away her loneliness.

"I'll only be a minute," Wynter said as she led Pearce to the sofa, watching her carefully. She looked so drawn, so defeated, that all Wynter wanted was to hold her. "Okay? I'll be right back."

"Okay. Sure." Pearce shook her head and smiled as she settled into the corner of the sofa. "You sure I can't help?"

Wynter laughed. "Not much skill required." She leaned down and kissed Pearce again. "God, it's good to see you."

Before Wynter could straighten, Pearce caught her around the waist and pulled her down into her lap. Wynter ended up with her legs pulled up onto the sofa and her arms around Pearce's neck. Pearce pressed her face into the curve of Wynter's shoulder, her mouth open and questing against Wynter's throat.

"Oh, baby, what?" Wynter whispered, stroking the back of Pearce's neck. She kissed her forehead. "What's wrong?"

"I don't think I can take it anymore." Pearce lifted her head, her eyes dark with misery. "I'm so fucked up. I don't want to go back."

Wynter caught her breath. She stroked Pearce's cheek. "You're tired. Did you sleep at all this week?"

"Some. A little. I don't know."

"Have you talked with your father?"

Pearce laughed, the bitter sound of hopelessness. "What can I say? That I can't take it? That I can't cut it?" She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Wynter's shoulder. "You know what he always told me, since I was a kid?"

"What, baby?"

"God hates a coward."

Wynter was familiar with the phrase. It was another surgical mantra, another phrase designed to create confidence and conviction in the face of uncertainty. It worked for adults in the midst of a crisis, but for a child it would be an unbearable burden. "You are one of the bravest people I've ever known."

"No. That's what you are. You stood up to him."

"Pearce--"

"You did." Pearce tilted her head back and opened her eyes. She brushed her fingers over Wynter's mouth. "You know what I thought about all week?"

"What?" Wynter's voice was low and rough, the blood heavy in her veins as arousal coursed through her.

"The way you taste." Slowly, Pearce ran her tongue along the edge of Wynter's jaw and down her neck.

Wynter gasped.

"The way you feel." Pearce caught the delicate skin just above Wynter's collarbone in her teeth and sucked.

Wynter made a small keening sound.

"The way you tremble when you come." Pearce teased the back of Wynter's blouse from her jeans and slid her hand beneath it. She walked her fingers up Wynter's spine and fanned her fingers between her shoulder blades, holding her captive as she kissed her. Gently at first, then deeper, harder, unable to get far enough inside her to fill her own empty places. She froze when she heard Wynter cry out and jerked away, groaning. "God. Did I hurt you?"

"No. No, baby, no."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"I do," Wynter whispered. "I'm falling in love with you." She stood, her legs trembling but her face calm and strong. She took Pearce's hand. "Come upstairs."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Wynter draped a T-shirt she grabbed from a nearby chair over the doorknob, gently closed the bedroom door, and led Pearce to the bed.

"Where are the kids?" Pearce whispered as Wynter switched on a soft night-light.

"They're down the hall. They won't wake up. Don't worry."

Wynter kissed her softly. "And if they do, we'll hear them."

"What about Mina and Ken?"

"This is my old room--the guest room. Theirs is at the other end, on the far side of the kids. We're alone--more or less."

"Okay. If you're sure."

"Very." Wynter smiled and tugged Pearce's scrub shirt from her jeans. "Raise your arms." When Pearce did, she pulled the shirt off over her head along with the white cotton tank top she wore beneath. Looking down, she faltered, a fist of need tightening in the pit of her stomach.

She contented herself with brushing her fingers across Pearce's chest, when what she wanted was to lower her mouth to her breasts. She forced her fingers to open the top button on Pearce's jeans.

Pearce followed Wynter's movements, her breath hitching unevenly. The briefest glance of Wynter's fingers against her bare stomach made her muscles tighten, and she was instantly wet. "Should I worry that you're undressing me like you do Ronnie?"

"Trust me," Wynter said, her voice as thick as warm honey, "there is no similarity." She hooked her fingers around the denim and sat on the edge of the bed as she pulled the jeans down. "Boots."

Thighs suddenly trembling, Pearce steadied herself with a hand on Wynter's shoulder and kicked off the boots and her jeans along with them. When Wynter leaned forward and rubbed her cheek against Pearce's lower abdomen, Pearce shivered.

"Cold?" Wynter murmured, kissing Pearce's stomach before gliding her tongue just inside the small, tight circle of her navel.

"No," Pearce said hoarsely. She threaded her fingers into Wynter's hair and locked her knees to keep from falling.

"Your skin is always so hot." Wynter played her hands up and down Pearce's back before cradling her hips in her palms. She dipped her head and traced her tongue along the trough where lean thigh joined taut abdomen, then skimmed her lips over the silky triangle between Pearce's thighs to trace the other juncture as well. "I could get drunk on the scent of you." She kissed lower, tasting the first hint of desire on the very tip of her tongue.

"Christ," Pearce moaned, tilting her hips forward as her fists tightened in Wynter's hair. "I need your mouth."

"Do you?" Wynter's question was filled with wonder and supreme satisfaction. She teased her way along the hard core of Pearce's clitoris for an instant, and then stopped. "Hmm?" She glanced up quickly, not wanting to stop, but not wanting it to end. She loved feeling Pearce grow rigid beneath her hands, hard against her lips. She loved knowing that she was the cause of Pearce's pleasure. The last time, Pearce had led and she had followed. She reached up and fanned her fingers over Pearce's breast. "Tell me what you need."

Pearce nearly sobbed as she looked down, her face tight with need.

"I want to be with you. I need...to be with you."

It wasn't what Wynter had expected, and her insides twisted with how much she wanted to take away the pain she heard in Pearce's voice.

She brushed her fingers up the inner slope of Pearce's thigh, then gently parted her. "I'm here." She played her tongue over swollen tissues and heard Pearce hiss in a breath. "Right here." She sucked her carefully, aware of the distant sound of labored breathing and low, guttural moans.

She kept her strokes light and slow, not wanting her to come. It was too perfect. Too unbelievably special for it to be over too quickly.

"Wynter," Pearce gasped. "Let me come."

"I will," Wynter whispered, kissing her one last time. Then she stood and kissed Pearce's mouth. "Let's go to bed and I'll put you to sleep."

"You make me want you so bad."

"Good." Wynter unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall. She kissed Pearce again. "I want to make you come. I want you to want me everywhere. All the time." She unbuttoned her slacks. "I want to make you mine."

Pearce swayed, fatigue replaced by a desperate urge to lose herself in Wynter's arms. "What you said before...about loving me?"

Wynter halted in the midst of hurriedly shedding her clothes and met Pearce's gaze. "Yes."

"Does that make you happy?"

"Oh yes." Wynter caressed Pearce's cheek. "Oh yes." She pulled back the covers, slid under, and held out her hand. "Come."

Pearce followed, settling on her back with a sigh. "I missed you so much."

"Last weekend, I was afraid I'd lost you," Wynter murmured, moving over Pearce. She straddled her thigh, pressing her leg high up between Pearce's. "You're so wet. I love to do that to you."

"I love what you do to me." Pearce skimmed her mouth over Wynter's. "I need you inside me. Please, Wynter."

Wynter grew dizzy as Pearce's words shot through her like lightning streaking across a hot summer sky. She pushed up on one arm as she slipped her palm between Pearce's thighs, her fingers gliding through shimmering heat and into even hotter depths. She watched Pearce's face as she filled her, saw her eyes glaze as she pushed deeper, watched her jaws tighten down on a groan. She put her mouth lightly against Pearce's ear. "I'm going to make you come now."

"Please." Pearce closed her eyes and arched her back as the first link in the chain of her desire snapped. "Oh yeah."

"You like?" Wynter gasped, rocking along the length of Pearce's thigh as she thrust in time between her legs. "Tell me. Tell me how you feel."

"I..." Pearce gripped Wynter's arm tightly and pressed her lips to the soft skin. "I feel safe." She groaned and threw her head back, searching Wynter's face for understanding. "I feel...oh I'm gonna come..."

"I can tell," Wynter breathed wonderingly, so focused on Pearce's pleasure she forgot her own. "I love you."

I love you. Pearce's mind succumbed as fire erupted in the pit of her stomach and blazed through her, burning away the loneliness and the fear. When she stopped shaking, she slowly became aware of Wynter's arms around her, holding her close, rocking her. Whispering something. "What?" she croaked.

"Sleep now, baby. Go to sleep."

"I don't want to," Pearce muttered, but she could barely move.

"Want to be with you."

"You are." Wynter kissed her forehead. "I'm not letting you go."

Pearce sighed. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes." Wynter laughed shakily and brushed the damp hair off Pearce's cheek. "Count on it."

"'Kay." Pearce finally let go and slept.

Wide awake, Wynter held her, content for the moment just to have her near. In the morning, Pearce would be gone. It might be a week, it might be a month, before they were together again. This time, however, she would allow herself to believe there would be a next time.

Because she wanted it, wanted her, more than she could ever remember wanting anything, even her career. And this time, she would not allow time or distance to keep them apart. Absently, she rubbed her cheek against Pearce's hair, luxuriating in her scent. Part sweetness, part dark secrets.

Pearce stirred, and half awake, mumbled, "Sleep."

Wynter smiled. "I will."

Then quite clearly, Pearce said, "I love you."

"I'm so glad."

v Pearce nuzzled the back of Wynter's neck. They were curled around one another, Wynter's back tucked into the curve of Pearce's belly and thighs. Her arm was around Wynter's middle, her palm cupped beneath the soft weight of Wynter's breast. She kissed the warm skin at the edge of Wynter's hairline, running her lips back and forth over the very fine hairs, teasing them with her breath. Wynter murmured and shifted in her sleep. Pearce grinned and very delicately caught Wynter's earlobe between her teeth and tugged.

"Too early," Wynter muttered.

"For what?" Pearce teased.

Wynter reached blindly behind her, cupped her hand between Pearce's thighs, and squeezed. "That."

Pearce's breath whooshed out on a wave of surprise and instant arousal. "Fuck."

"Too early for that too." Wynter moved her hand and pushed her butt back into Pearce's crotch. "Mmm. You're so sexy."

"Now I'm so horny," Pearce complained, dancing her fingers over Wynter's nipple.

"You are so easy." Wynter rolled onto her back and smiled up at Pearce. She tapped her chin with her index finger. "What am I going to do with you?"

Pearce grinned and nipped at Wynter's lower lip. "I can think of about a hundred things, starting with putting your hand back where it just was."

"You'll get spoiled."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No," Wynter replied seriously. "It isn't. I like making you happy."

Pearce kissed her. "You do. Very."

Wynter brushed her fingers through Pearce's hair. "Feeling better?"

"About being stuck out in the middle of nowhere?" Pearce flopped onto her back and settled Wynter against her side. Wynter nestled her head against Pearce's shoulder. "Not really, but I'll go back. I don't have a choice if I want to finish my residency."

"I think you should talk to your father. You're senior enough to complain about a lousy rotation like this. It's not fair at this point."

"I've been thinking about that," Pearce said, watching the shadows on the ceiling fade as light began to filter through the windows. "He's got plans for Dzubrow. I guess he figures once he gets him settled, he'll let me in on his plans for me." Pearce turned her head and looked into Wynter's eyes. "But I've got plans of my own."

"What?" Wynter asked softly, wondering at the fierce intensity in Pearce's face.

"I want to be with you. Whatever it takes."

"I don't understand."

Pearce smiled. "I'm probably getting ahead of you. I don't even know what you want--"

"Tell me what you want." Wynter cupped Pearce's cheek and caressed her mouth with her thumb. Pearce had always lived someone else's dream. As much as Wynter wanted her, she would not let Pearce do the same with her. "If you could have anything, do anything--what would it be?"

Pearce was silent a long time, stroking Wynter's face, her neck, her breasts. She dropped a gentle kiss into the hollow at the base of Wynter's throat. When she looked up, her face was peaceful. "I'd be with you. And Ronnie. I'd teach some, I think, and have a general surgery practice. I'd have a family--and a life."

Wynter's lips parted and she drew in a shaky breath. "I said last night that you're one of the bravest people I've ever met. I was right."

"Why?" Pearce frowned.

"It took me a long time to admit that I couldn't live the life I'd fallen into." Wynter kissed Pearce. "I know how hard it is to be honest about something that means so much. And how scary."

"Not when I'm with you."

"God, I love you."

"I'm kinda still getting used to that."

Wynter laughed. "Okay. We've got time."

"I don't want to be the chairman anywhere. I just never thought about anything else before, because that's what my father wanted me to be."

"He won't be happy about that," Wynter said.

"I know. But he's never really been happy with me anyhow."

Surprisingly, Pearce found she could say it without it hurting quite so much. "The only difference now is that I will be happy."

"Pearce, honey--"

"I know, I'm going too fast," Pearce said hastily. "I'm sorr--"

"No." When Pearce started to draw away, Wynter threw an arm across her chest and pulled her near. "You're not going too fast. I'm crazy about you. I'm a little afraid to think about the future, because I've gotten used to living one day at a time. But I want you to be part of my life."

"Okay," Pearce said. "Okay."

"But you've got to go."

Pearce frowned. "What--"

"Look at the time."

"Fuck."

Wynter rolled on top of her and kissed her one more time, a slow, thorough kiss that promised more. Soon. The next time. Again. "If you can't come here, I'll come there."

"You've got Ronnie. I'll come here."

"I love you."

Pearce smiled. "I love you too."

Wynter sat up. It was time to do what needed to be done. "I'll make you coffee."

"That's okay. I've gotta get out of here. I'll grab a coffee on the way. Once I make rounds, I can shower at the hospital."

"Are you sure? It won't take long."

Pearce slid out of bed, grabbed her jeans, and tugged them on. "I'm okay. I slept like a log. There won't be much traffic. Don't worry."

"Call me when you get there, all right?" Wynter pulled back the covers and started to get up.

Pearce pushed her back. "You can sleep another hour or so. Do it.

You'll need it later." She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her boots, then found her shirt.

Wynter stroked her back. "I want to walk you out."

"Stay." Pearce leaned down and kissed her. "See you soon, Doc."

"See you soon," Wynter whispered as Pearce disappeared. She listened to Pearce's footsteps in the hallway, and then as they faded as Pearce disappeared downstairs. It didn't feel right--she couldn't just let her walk away. She bolted from the bed and scrambled for her robe.

Barefoot, she ran from the room and down the stairs to the front door.

She pulled it open just as Pearce closed her car door and started the engine.

"Pearce!"

Pearce look back toward the house, frowned, and opened her door.

"What's wrong?"

Wynter came down the stairs, mindless of the cold.

"Jesus, Wynter," Pearce exclaimed. She left the engine running and hurried toward her. "It's freezing out here. Go back inside."

"Be careful." Wynter wrapped her arms around Pearce's neck and kissed her, hard. "Just be careful."

"Hey, I'm not the one running around half naked in the middle of February." Pearce put her arm around Wynter's waist and led her back upstairs. She stepped inside the foyer with Wynter, pulled her tightly to her, and buried her face in Wynter's hair. "I wouldn't go if I didn't have to."

"I know." Wynter stroked the back of her neck, kissed her throat, her jaw, her mouth. "I just..."

"I'm not going anywhere, babe," Pearce murmured. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

Wynter nodded and reluctantly released her, knowing as she watched Pearce pull away that it wouldn't be soon enough. She missed her already.

CHAPTER THIRTY

An hour and a half later, Wynter slid a bowl of instant oatmeal into the microwave and set the timer. She checked the temperature of the bowl she had just heated and then placed it in front of Winston. "Use your spoon, honey."

Ronnie made impatient sounds and tried to get her hand into Winston's oatmeal. Winston ignored her.

"I think he's got the disposition of an anesthesiologist," Ken noted as he ambled into the kitchen, already in scrubs, as was Wynter. "He doesn't get bothered by people crowding his territory."

"He is pretty unflappable," Wynter agreed as she gave Ronnie her own portion of oatmeal. She looked at Ken. "Want some?"

"Sure. I've got a little time. Thanks."

"Mmm," Wynter replied absently.

"Pearce gone?"

Coloring, Wynter looked over her shoulder at him. "How did you know?"

"I kind of guessed when I saw the T-shirt."

"Oh yes," Wynter said, recalling that she'd picked it up off the hall floor after her hasty flight downstairs had knocked it off the doorknob.

"Not too subtle."

Ken laughed. "I kind of felt like I was living in the frat house again."

"Nice."

"I heard her old man farmed her out. What's going on with that?"

Wynter shook her head. "I'm not sure. I don't think it really has anything to do with her."

"It still stinks."

"Yes." She passed Ken his oatmeal and then hastily ate her own.

After she ran two dish towels under the warm water, she passed one to him. "You get yours, I'll get mine." As they cleaned up their respective children, she asked, "Is Mina awake?"

"Yep. She's just moving a little slow."

"Is Chloe coming over today? I'm not sure Mina is up to watching all of these kids any longer."

Ken nodded. "Chloe's going to be spending part of the day here until the baby's born, and then for a week after. She'll help keep things under control." He hefted Winston.

"I want to pay a little extra, then," Wynter said, lifting Ronnie into her arms.

"No need," Ken said as they carried the kids upstairs.

"I want to anyway," she said firmly.

Mina met them in the hallway. "Have the little darlings been fed?"

"All taken care of," Wynter pronounced. "I left the fixings out for Janie."

"Park them in there, then," Mina said, indicating the playroom.

Then she looked at Ken. "Janie's still asleep. Don't wake her."

"I won't." He kissed Mina's cheek and then headed toward his daughter's room. "I just wanna see her before I go."

"How was your night?" Mina asked suggestively as she joined Wynter in the playroom and settled into the easy chair with a sigh.

"Too short," Wynter said brusquely as she dragged out Ronnie and Winston's favorite toys.

"Get any sleep?"

"Some."

"Are you all right?"

Wynter settled a hip on the arm of Mina's chair. "More or less. I miss her already, and it feels like we're constantly stealing time to be together. But it was..." She smiled. "Wonderful."

"Mmm. I'm looking forward to this story."

Wynter slid an arm around Mina's shoulder and squeezed. "Well, you're going to wait for a long time. I don't kiss and tell."

"Since when? I knew every little detail about you and Dave."

"You did not," Wynter protested. "And even so, this is different."

Mina gave her a long, serious look. "It is, isn't it?"

Wynter nodded.

"Does she feel the same way?"

Again, Wynter nodded.

"Then that's just fine." Mina patted Wynter's knee. "But I still want details."

Laughing, Wynter got up, kissed Ronnie and Winston, and started for the door. "Maybe just a few. When I have time."

"Tease," Mina called after her.

Wynter met Ken in the hall. He looked toward the playroom with a perplexed expression. "Is she talking to me?"

"No. Me," Wynter said.

"Huh. Want a ride to work?"

"I'd love one. I'll wait for you downstairs." She listened to Ken and Mina laughing together as she started down the stairs and allowed herself one brief instant of imagining what it would be like if she and Pearce shared the kind of life that her friends had. Then she chased the thought away. It wasn't that she didn't trust her feelings. She did. She trusted Pearce's too. But she didn't trust much of anything else. She'd seen too much of life's fickle cruelty to plan too far ahead.

v "See you later," Wynter called to Ken as she headed for the women's locker room. She hung her parka in her locker, grabbed her lab coat, and pulled it on as she took the stairs down to the ground floor.

She needed another cup of coffee to really get her brain working. She was tired, but it had been worth it. Smiling to herself, she replayed the night with Pearce. Her blood ran hot as she thought about making love to her, the way it had felt to make Pearce's body writhe with pleasure.

"Jesus," she breathed as the heavy ache of desire descended. "I can't think about that now."

Still smiling, she checked her watch. Pearce had been gone a little over two hours. She should be almost there by now. Wynter got a large cup of coffee and a bagel, paid, and started toward her usual table. She frowned when she saw that it was empty. She checked her watch again.

She was right on time. Glancing around the cafeteria, she realized that none of the surgery residents were there for sign-out rounds. No one had been in the locker room, either. It was Saturday, which meant that only a handful of the residents were on call, but someone should have been in the cafeteria. Since there was no point in sitting around waiting, she started back upstairs. Just as she reached the main corridor, she saw Bruce jogging toward her.

"What's going on?" Wynter asked. "Where is everyone?"

"Downstairs in the ER," he huffed. "Pearce is there."

"She's back?" Wynter said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

Bruce looked at her curiously. "They medevaced her in about fifteen minutes ago. Something about a carjacking..."

Wynter stared at him, hearing the words but unable to decipher them. Her head filled with a roaring sound and the coffee cup dropped from her hand. Bruce jumped back with a surprised yelp.

"What?" Wynter cried. "What are you talking about?"

"I didn't get all the details--something about someone trying to boost her car and she tried to stop them--"

"She's hurt?" Wynter grabbed his arm hard enough to make him wince. "Is that what you're telling me? Pearce is here and she's hurt?"

"Dzubrow told us because her father called hi--"

"Oh my God." Wynter dropped his arm and spun away in the direction of the ER. As she started to run, Bruce called after her.

"She's on her way to CAT scan, Wynter."

Wynter veered right and pushed through the fire doors into the stairwell. A startled lab tech flattened himself against the wall as Wynter clattered by, bolting down the stairs so quickly she nearly fell several times. The hall outside the CAT scan room was jammed with residents and a few nurses. Curious onlookers. She pushed and shoved her way through, oblivious to the surprised grunts and muffled curses until she got as far as the doorway to the small cubicle adjoining the room which housed the CAT scanner. She couldn't see the desk where the tech sat in front of the monitor because the anteroom was wall-to-wall people, most of whom she recognized as surgery department heads.

Neurosurgery. Plastic surgery. Cardiothoracic surgery. Ophthalmology.

Wynter's heart seized. Jesus God, what's happened to her? She saw Henry Dzubrow and then Ambrose Rifkin in the center of the pack. Oblivious to the disgruntled expressions from those she elbowed, she managed to reach them. Through the glass partition that comprised most of one wall, she could make out part of the person inside the scanner. Bare legs and feet. Where were her jeans? Her boots? Maybe it wasn't Pearce. Maybe it was all a mistake. It had to be.

"Make sure you get cuts all the way through the facial bones,"

Rifkin said, his voice cool and steady.

"Yes sir," the tech said sharply.

"Is that Pearce?" Wynter said, her throat so tight and scratchy she barely recognized her voice.

"Yes," Dzubrow replied in a strident whisper.

Part of Wynter's brain automatically assessed the situation.

There was no one in the room with Pearce, which meant she was hemodynamically stable. There was no respirator, which meant she was breathing on her own. There was a single clear plastic bag of saline hanging on an IV pole with the tubing snaking inside the scanner and, presumably, to Pearce's wrist. But no blood was hanging. She wasn't hemorrhaging.

"What happened?" she asked. She would have asked why no one called her, but why would they have? No one knew. No one knew what Pearce meant to her. Right now, knowing Pearce was in that room alone, hurt, Wynter realized just how much. She wanted to get to her so badly, she feared she might scream. If she'd been thinking clearly, she would have been surprised that Ambrose Rifkin answered, but as it was, all she cared about was knowing.

"Apparently," he said smoothly, "someone tried to steal her car and she objected. There is some blunt injury to the head and chest."

Blunt injury. Someone had hit her. Wynter's stomach nearly revolted, but she forced down the swell of nausea. The room was hot under the best of circumstances, and now, with so many people jammed into it, the air was stifling. Dizzy, she put a hand down on the counter to steady herself, unable to take her eyes away from the body in the CAT scanner. "Is she awake?"

"Mildly disoriented, but responsive."

"Brain looks clear," the tech said.

"Let's let Lewis decide that," Rifkin said, turning sideways so that a tall, thin African American man could move closer to the monitor.

Wynter recognized the chief of neurosurgery. Refusing to give ground, she craned her neck to see the computer images of Pearce's cranium and brain. The fluid-filled ventricles were symmetrical and not enlarged, the gray matter showed no evidence of hemorrhage or edema, and there were no collections of blood between the brain itself and the skull. No epidural or subdural hematomas. No air in the intracranial space. She scanned the double rim of calvarial bone and saw no evidence of fractures. No serious head injury. The relief was so intense she felt weak.

"It looks fine," Lewis pronounced. "I'll wait around until they cut the spine, just to be sure her neck is clear. I'll be out in the hall. This sweatbox is getting to be a little much."

"Don't go far," Rifkin said mildly.

"I'm not moving until we're sure she's all right."

Wynter watched the machine generate image after image, as it artificially reconstructed "slices" of Pearce's skull and face, spreading them out across the computer screen like so many cards on the table.

When followed in sequence, they gave a detailed survey of all the bones and soft tissue elements in their path.

Dzubrow pointed to the monitor. "Facial bones are clear too."

"No," Wynter said, stretching out a hand that was amazingly steady considering that she felt as if she were coming apart. She indicated the second row of images. "She has fractures of the right orbital wall and a blowout of the orbital floor. Right there." She was aware of Dzubrow flushing bright red beside her, but she didn't care.

"Patricia," Rifkin commanded of the chief of plastic surgery.

"What do you think?"

The fifty-year-old redhead, usually jovial to the point of irreverence, was uncharacteristically solemn as she studied the films one after the other. "I agree. There's a fair amount of floor disrupted beneath the right globe."

"Scan's done," the tech announced.

Wynter didn't wait to hear anymore. She edged around Dzubrow, pushed through the inner door into the CAT scan room, and rushed to the side of the long, narrow motorized table that carried the patient in and out of the machine. "Pearce? Honey?" She heard the whir of a motor and, slowly, the platform slid out, bearing Pearce's still form.

She moaned softly and fumbled for Pearce's hand. The right side of Pearce's face was misshapen and bruised, both eyelids discolored and so edematous that she couldn't open her eye. A cervical collar was Velcroed around her neck. Pearce seemed thinner, smaller, beneath the frayed white cotton hospital gown covered with tiny blue diamonds.

"Oh, sweetheart."

"I'm okay, babe," Pearce said groggily, squeezing Wynter's fingers.

Her voice was slurred as a result of the swelling that extended through her cheek and into the intraoral tissues. She managed a lopsided smile.

"Asked them to call you."

Wynter lifted Pearce's hand and kissed it, then cradled it against her breast. She ached to gather Pearce into her arms. "I just found out. I'm sorry I wasn't here when you got here."

"S'okay. Freakin' zoo."

Two nurses pulled a stretcher into the room. "We're going to take you up to the operating room now, Dr. Rifkin," one of them said. "We just need you to slide over onto this stretcher."

Pearce jerked and tried to sit up. "OR? Why?"

"Lie down, darling." Wynter said gently, ignoring the surprised stares from the nurses. "Let's get you out of here, and then we'll talk."

Pearce tried to turn her head but was impaired by the collar. She yanked at the closures with the hand that was tethered by the IV line.

"God damn it. Can't see you."

Wynter leaned closer, into Pearce's line of vision, and gently caught her wrist, preventing her from dislodging the collar or the IV. "Don't fight. You'll hurt yourself. I'll talk to your father and then I'll talk to you. Nothing's going to happen that you don't want. I promise."

"Don't go. Please."

"I won't." Wynter brushed her fingers tenderly through Pearce's hair. "Ever."

A trickle of blood ran from a cut just above Pearce's right eyebrow into her left eye and she blinked. "Bastards tried to take my car."

"Big mistake." Wynter's smile wavered for just an instant, and then she steadied herself. She looked to one of the nurses. "Can you put a saline gauze pad on that laceration and get the blood out of her eye?"

"Sure," the one nearest said. "What about the OR?"

Pearce stiffened and Wynter squeezed her shoulder tenderly. "Let the nurses help you move onto this stretcher, honey. I'm going to talk to your father, and then I'll be right back."

"Okay," Pearce whispered weakly.

Wynter found Ambrose just outside the door, deep in conversation with the ophthalmologist and plastic surgeon. She didn't even bother to wait until he'd finished speaking.

"Pearce needs to see you. She can't go to the operating room without knowing what's wrong."

Ambrose Rifkin regarded her with surprise and interest. "I need to finish discussing the treatment plan with--"

"You need," Wynter said, her furious gaze on his, "to speak to her. She's the patient, and she's a doctor. Show her some respect for once in your life."

Someone coughed, and she was aware of the people around her shuffling back, but she never moved her eyes from Rifkin's face. His handsome features set angrily as he narrowed his eyes. "You forget yourself, Dr. Thompson."

"No. I don't." She moved closer so that no one else could hear.

"I know exactly what I'm doing. I love Pearce. She's hurt, and I don't intend to let you hurt her anymore. Not today."

There was no sound in the hallway. No one moved. Wynter felt as if she and Ambrose Rifkin were the only two people in the world.

His laser gaze raked her face, bore into her eyes and far beyond. She trembled under the silent onslaught, but she held steady until he gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Very well." Then he turned toward the door to the CAT scan suite.

"Are you coming, Dr. Thompson?" he said without turning around.

Legs shaking, Wynter followed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Pearce heard the door open but couldn't tell who had entered because the cervical collar prevented her from lifting her head.

The nurses had moved her to the stretcher but had not put the back up.

All she could see was the ceiling. "Wynter?"

"She'll be along momentarily," Ambrose said. "The OR is standing by, and I want you to go straight up."

"Why?"

Wynter walked in just as Pearce asked the question and crossed quickly to her side. She leaned over and smiled. "Hi. You okay?"

"Yeah." Pearce tried to smile, but her cheek felt like a water balloon and it was difficult to move the right side of her face. She raised her hand and Wynter took it immediately. "What's the damage?"

Ambrose stepped closer to the opposite side of the stretcher.

Pearce could see him now, but his expression told her little. As he had done when he first arrived in the emergency room, he scrutinized her face carefully. "Your chest CT is relatively unremarkable. There are hairline fractures of the right ninth and tenth ribs, but the lung looks good. Some pleural thickening, but no intrathoracic bleeding."

"Bastard kicked me."

Wynter fought not to let Pearce see her horror and fury. She would gladly kill the person who had hurt her. The thought of anyone even touching Pearce, particularly with the intent to harm, made her slightly insane.

"There are, however," Ambrose went on impassively, "displaced fractures of the right zygoma and orbital floor. These need to be corrected surgically. Today."

"Wynter," Pearce said, trying once more to turn her head and failing, "have you seen the films?"

Wynter ignored Ambrose Rifkin's surprised mutter. "Yes."

"What do you think?"

"Pearce," Ambrose said impatiently, "I've already told you--"

"Honey?" Pearce asked.

"They need to be fixed, baby," Wynter said gently. "The floor fracture especially. Your father's right. Patricia thinks so too."

Ambrose leaned closer. "If the orbital bones are not repaired and the eye drops even a few millimeters," he said stridently, "you'll likely develop double vision. That will end your career, Pearce."

"I run the risk of double vision with the surgery too," Pearce said.

She was tired. She hurt. It was hard to think. She should be able to sort it all out, but it was so hard. She struggled to move, felt Wynter's restraining hand.

"I agree with your father and Patricia, sweetheart," Wynter said gently. "You need surgery. It will be okay."

"Will you be there?" Pearce asked.

"The whole time," Wynter kissed Pearce's forehead, then looked across the bed at Ambrose. "You're going to assist, aren't you?"

A look of surprise flashed across his patrician features and then was quickly erased. "Yes. I am."

She didn't smile but she nodded. "Good."

"Are we ready, then?" Ambrose asked.

Wynter brushed her fingers through Pearce's hair. "Yes. We are."

v Ordinarily it took an hour to transport a patient to the operating room, complete the preoperative and anesthesia assessments, get the operating team in place, and put the patient to sleep. In fifteen minutes, Pearce was in the operating room on the table with the chief of anesthesia standing by. Ken was there to assist. Wynter stood at the head of the operating table on the left side, her hand on Pearce's shoulder. Patricia Duvall--the plastic surgeon--and Ambrose were scrubbing just outside the room.

"Ready, Pearce?" Harry Inouye asked, a syringe full of Nembutal in one hand for the first stage of induction.

"Yeah," Pearce said. She held tightly to Wynter's hand.

Wynter leaned down and whispered, "I love you. I'll see you in just a little while."

"Love...you...too," Pearce murmured as she drifted off.

As soon as Pearce was sedated, Inouye administered another drug cocktail to paralyze her. When she stopped breathing, he quickly inserted the endotracheal tube through her vocal cords and connected it to the machine that would control her respiration during surgery. As he worked, Ken leaned over to whisper in Wynter's ear.

"You're not scrubbing?"

"I can't." Wynter stroked Pearce's cheek one last time before the nurses prepped her face for the surgery. She would not be able to touch her again until after the operation. "I just want to be her lover right now."

"I know what you mean. I can hardly look when the babies are coming."

"Thanks," Wynter murmured.

"Rifkin's going to assist?" Ken snorted. "Man, he's ice. Working on his own daughter."

"He can do it, and right now I'm glad he can. It's probably easier for him that way too."

"Huh. Maybe." Ken settled down on the metal stool in front of the anesthesia machine and began to make notes regarding Pearce's vital signs, the drugs that had been administered, and the other particulars of the procedure. He indicated another stool with the tip of his chin.

"Might as well pull that over and get comfortable. We'll probably be here awhile."

"Good idea." Wynter suddenly felt shaky. She remembered she'd forgotten to eat the bagel, and the adrenaline rush of stress and fear had burned off whatever energy reserves she'd had left. Her legs trembled and she sank down abruptly.

"You okay?" Ken murmured.

"Yes." She took a deep breath as Patricia and Ambrose entered and the scrub nurse hurried toward them with sterile towels. Pearce was all that mattered now. "Fine."

For the next few minutes the room was silent as the nurses placed protective ointment in Pearce's eyes and then washed her hair and face with Betadine prep solution. When Ambrose efficiently isolated the surgical area with sterile sheets, Wynter had to edge her stool out slightly from her cubbyhole behind the ether screen to see around the barricades. She knew exactly where they would put the incisions in Pearce's eyelids to expose the underlying fractures. She knew what tools would be used to elevate the depressed bone fragments in the floor of the orbit underneath her eye, where the drill holes would be made, and where the miniature titanium plates and screws would be affixed to reposition the broken bones. She'd seen the procedure many times before and done it herself under supervision. It was technically challenging, which made it fun. The scarring would be minimal. But there was no way she could have made those incisions today. She could not have added more injury to Pearce's already battered face, even though it was necessary.

"Oh, that's good," Patricia said after a long interval of silence when the only sounds were the quiet requests for instruments, the slap of steel against flesh, and the steady whoosh of the anesthesia machine delivering oxygen to Pearce's lungs. "The floor is in two big pieces. If I can get them up without shattering them, we can get away without an implant."

"Will it be strong enough to support her eye?" Ambrose asked.

"Those bones look like eggshells."

"Let's see what I can do." Patricia used a fine, blunt-tipped silver probe to gently pry the broken bone fragments back into position.

"Pupils look like they're on the same level now. Once I put a plate on the lateral and infraorbital rims, they should be stable. She'll do fine."

She'll do fine. She'll do fine. The words reverberated in Wynter's head, and she closed her eyes to prevent the tears she felt quickly rise to the surface from spilling over. All she wanted was for Pearce to be well. Not to hurt. To be happy. And to be with her. Nothing had ever been clearer in her life. She wanted them to be together.

v It seemed to Pearce that she had only been asleep a few minutes.

Her throat was dry and it burned when she swallowed. Her face throbbed and she wondered when someone would fix it. Slowly, carefully, she explored her jaw and neck with her free hand. The collar was gone.

When she reached higher, strong cool fingers closed around her wrist.

"Don't touch your face, sweetheart."

"Wynter?"

"Hi," Wynter said, smiling just to hear Pearce's voice. "You're in the recovery room. Surgery went great."

Pearce frowned, although it didn't feel as if anything in her face was moving. "It's all done?"

"Uh-huh. About an hour and a half ago." Wynter petted Pearce's hair, her uninjured cheek, her neck and shoulders. She couldn't seem to stop touching her. "You're okay now."

"How did things look in there?"

Not how do I look, Wynter thought, aching to hold her. She put the side rail down just so she could be a few inches closer. "The floor was in a couple of big pieces. Patricia reduced them pretty easily. No floor implant. Just two plates."

Pearce closed her eye and sighed. "Should be okay, don't you think?"

The slight uncertainty in her voice ripped at Wynter's heart. She leaned over, kissed the corner of Pearce's mouth. "Yes. Don't worry."

After a moment, Pearce roused. "What time is it?"

"A little after six in the evening."

Pearce frowned, trying to sort out the day. She'd been driving.

Stopped for coffee on the turnpike. Still dark. Not much traffic. "Is it still Saturday?"

"Mmm-hmm. Saturday night."

"Have you been here all day?"

"Uh-huh."

"Thanks. I--"

"Shh. I told you I wouldn't leave."

"Told them to call you." Pearce reached for Wynter's hand and clasped her fingers tightly. "Kept trying to tell them I wanted you. They gave me something--couldn't make them listen."

Wynter swallowed the anger, understanding for the first time how invisible their love could be to others. She wouldn't let that happen again. Lightly, she said, "I'll have to sew a label in your clothes with my name and number on it."

Pearce laughed hoarsely. "Like Ronnie?"

"Mmm. My two loves." She kissed Pearce's fingers. "I love you so much."

"Love you. Sorry about this."

"No. It's not your fault."

Pearce shifted restlessly. She was waking up more each minute as the drugs wore off. Her chest screamed with every breath. Her head pounded as if there were some very angry being inside her skull trying to get out through her eye sockets. The bed was cold and stiff, the overhead lights too bright. She wanted out of there. "When can I go home?"

"Probably tomorrow."

"Why not tonight? Nothing to do for me here."

"Do you hurt, sweetheart?" Wynter asked gently.

"Some."

"Tomorrow will be soon enough."

"Someone needs to get my car."

Wynter looked at her watch. "I'll check with the police in a bit.

They probably towed it."

"Son of a bitch was trying to jimmy the door." Pearce tensed, remembering first the flash of anger, then the swift blinding pain.

Wynter stroked Pearce's neck until she felt her relax. "Not very wise of him."

"Didn't see the other one. Must have had a bat or something."

The guy had come at her in the dark, just as she'd grabbed the first jerk and tossed him on the ground. Pearce winced. "Jacket took most of the sting out when he hit my ribs. Knocked me down with the face shot, though."

If he'd hit her again he would have killed her. Wynter swayed, sick with the image of terrible loss. I've just found her. Found myself.

"Hey, babe," Pearce murmured. "You're shaking."

"Just hungry. I forgot about lunch." Wynter shrugged and smiled.

"I was a little busy."

"You sure?" Pearce squinted, trying to focus with one eye, and that one blurry from the ointment the nurses had put in it. "You look beat."

"I was worried." Wynter said softly, resting her fingertips in the center of Pearce's chest. Her heart beat strong and steady. "Now I'm not."

"I'm sorry." Pearce covered Wynter's hand with hers, ignoring the IV tubing trailing behind. "I didn't think. I just acted. I would never do anything to hurt you."

"I know. I'm okay. I just can't stand you being hurt."

"Hard head." Pearce grinned. "I'm good here. Go get something to eat."

"I will. Soon."

"Aren't you on call?"

"I traded with Dzubrow. Well, actually, your father arranged it."

"He did?" Pearce's left eyebrow twitched in surprise. "Why?"

"I was pretty surprised myself, but when the surgery was over, he said I should stay with you. I told him I intended to, although I was on call and I had some work to do." Wynter remembered the odd look that had crossed Ambrose Rifkin's face for a moment. He'd glanced at Pearce, still heavily sedated, and then back at Wynter. His eyes had been dark, impenetrable, but when he spoke, his voice was soft, almost gentle. She'd never heard him sound that way before.

"You should be here when she wakes up. I'll see that Dr. Dzubrow takes care of the vascular service until further notice." Then he'd walked away.

"I'll try to switch the next couple of days so I can stay home with you," Wynter added.

"You don't have to do that."

Wynter studied Pearce gravely. "Yes, I do."

"If you could just pick up some groceries. I don't have anything in the apartment--"

"Oh, so that's how you think this will work." Wynter laughed and shook her head. "Do you really think I'm going to let you go home to your apartment alone? You're coming to my place."

"Your place?"

"You're going to be sitting around doing nothing for the next week until the swelling goes down. If you're at my house, Mina will be nearby in case there's anything you need."

"She's got enough to handle," Pearce protested.

"She's not going to be dressing you, darling. And I suspect that you can feed yourself." Wynter gave Pearce's hand another shake.

"There's no point in arguing, because you're not going to win."

"Look, I--"

"Please," Wynter said softly. "I can't go to work and worry about you. I need to know that you're all right."

"If that's what you want," Pearce said immediately. "But I want to help with Ronnie or something. I'm not going to sit around and be a patient."

"If that's what you want, but not until some of the swelling has gone down." She laughed and brushed her fingers over Pearce's cheek.

"And you have no idea what you just let yourself in for."

"I know," Pearce muttered.

Wynter laughed and was about to lean down and kiss Pearce again when she saw Ambrose on his way toward them. She straightened, but continued to hold Pearce's hand. He walked to the opposite side of the stretcher, his eyes going first to the monitors above the bed before flickering down to Pearce.

"Did Dr. Thompson fill you in on the results of the surgery?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I've asked Larry Elliott to examine your eyes just as soon as the edema has subsided and you can open your lids. I don't expect you'll have any problems with diplopia, but we want to be sure."

"I couldn't see well enough to tell if I had double vision earlier,"

Pearce said quietly.

"Patricia did an excellent job of repairing the orbit. I don't think you'll have any long-term difficulties."

"Thanks for assisting." Pearce swallowed. Her chest hurt even more, but it wasn't her ribs. "I felt...better, knowing you were there."

Ambrose's expression remained remote, but his stiff posture relaxed slightly as he fleetingly brushed his fingers over Pearce's shoulder. "You always have underestimated your importance to me."

He glanced at Wynter, then back at Pearce. "I suspect that was my fault."

"I'm not going back to Harrisburg, Dad," Pearce said. She glanced at Wynter. "I've got too much to stay for here."

"There's time for that kind of thing in the future, when you've got your career firmly on track," Ambrose said.

"No." Pearce smiled, her gaze locked with Wynter's. "We've already lost enough time."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Wynter let herself in the front door and stood in her living room, listening. At two in the afternoon, the house was very still, but she knew from having stopped at Mina's just a few moments before that Pearce and Ronnie were home. Home. Where the two most important people in her life waited. After just a week with Pearce there twenty-four hours a day while she recuperated, Wynter had begun to think of her as belonging. She draped her parka over the back of the sofa, kicked off her boots, and quietly climbed the stairs. Her bedroom door was open. She tiptoed over and peeked inside.

Pearce, in gray gym shorts and a shapeless T-shirt with a faded blue Penn logo, was propped upright at the head of the bed on three pillows, her eyes closed. Ronnie was curled up in her lap, also asleep; her coloring book, crayons, and an assortment of cars and trucks lay scattered across the beige chenille bedspread. Pearce had insisted that Ronnie not see her until the worst of the discoloration and edema had subsided, for fear of frightening her. Wynter had not been as concerned, but Pearce was unswayable. As she'd improved, Pearce had gradually taken over as much of Ronnie's care as possible to give Mina a break.

Moving carefully, Wynter stripped and slipped into an extra-large white cotton T-shirt that she sometimes slept in when alone. She'd been wearing it to bed that week, because the feel of Pearce naked against her was almost too exciting for her to bear. And Pearce was still recovering. Wynter took advantage of the opportunity to study Pearce as she approached the bed. Pearce looked better, but she was still not quite completely healed. The swelling in the right side of her face had diminished to the point that she could open her eye a few millimeters.

Patricia had removed the sutures from Pearce's eyelids the day before, and Larry Elliott had examined her immediately after and pronounced her vision 100 percent normal. Although Pearce had said little after her follow-up exams, Wynter sensed her relief. Hopefully she would be able to sleep through the night soon, something she had not done since her injury. Her energy level was not what it had been, and Wynter suspected it would be another week before she was functioning normally. Sleep was just what she needed.

When Wynter lifted Ronnie from Pearce's lap, Pearce's eyes opened. "Shh," Wynter mouthed. Pearce nodded and closed her eyes again.

A few minutes later, Wynter crawled under the covers beside Pearce, wrapped an arm around her middle, and snuggled against her.

"Mmm, I love nap time."

Pearce kissed Wynter's forehead. "You're home late. Tired?"

"I was ready to leave right after sign-outs at ten, and then we got a STAT consult to see one of the cardiac patients who needed an emergency CABG and a carotid endarterectomy. By the time that was squared away, it was almost two."

"Were you up all night?"

"Most of it."

Pearce tightened her hold and eased Wynter partially on top of her.

She rubbed her neck and back. "You've got the rest of the weekend off.

You'll feel better after you get some sleep."

"How are you doing?" Wynter lazily slipped her hand beneath Pearce's T-shirt to rub her stomach.

"Okay. Good," Pearce murmured, enjoying the soft caress. "I brought Ronnie back over here after breakfast and we played. Well, she colored and I watched cartoons."

"Has she been asleep long?"

"Not too long."

"Good," Wynter said contentedly. "She'll go another couple of hours."

"You won't, though." Pearce nuzzled Wynter's neck and circled her hand lower to the soft warm flesh left bare where the T-shirt pulled up in the back. She felt Wynter fit herself more closely to the curve of her body and shifted until her thigh nudged between Wynter's legs.

Wynter was hot. Wet. Pearce smiled. "Miss me?"

Wynter scratched a nail up the center of Pearce's stomach and made her twitch. "All the time."

"It's been a long week."

"I love having you here."

Pearce's heart stuttered, then raced. "I love being here."

Wynter raised her head, her eyes dreamy. "Will you stay, then?"

"For how long?" Pearce breathed.

"Always." Wynter kissed her gently. "Always."

"I don't have very much practice at...this." Pearce waved at the room uncertainly.

"No one ever really does, until you do it." Wynter kissed Pearce's throat. "You're doing just fine. You're great with Ronnie. And I adore you."

"I'm crazy about both of you."

"That's a good start, then."

"Wynter," Pearce said so seriously that Wynter raised her head in question. "We both have to finish our residencies. You want to do a fellowship. It's going to be tricky."

"I know. Scared?"

Pearce grinned. "Hell no. I've been thinking about a lot of things this week." As she spoke, she trailed her fingers up and down Wynter's spine. "I'm not going to do a fellowship. I'm going to look for a job as soon as I get back on my feet. It's never too early to start, and I know a bunch of guys at the other medical schools in the city. I'm pretty sure I can scare up a staff position."

"If you come in at the bottom like that, you'll put yourself out of the running for a chairmanship," Wynter said quietly. "A fellowship somewhere first would be better."

"I don't want it. Besides"--Pearce rested her uninjured cheek against the top of Wynter's head--"we might have to move depending on where you get a fellowship. I'll need to be flexible."

"Sweetheart, that's not what you've planned all these years."

"No, it's not. I never planned anything. My father did all the planning." Pearce toyed with a lock of Wynter's hair, softly twining it around her finger. "This is what I want to do."

"He's not going to like it much."

Pearce shrugged. "He'll either get used to it or he won't. Either way, he can't stop me."

Wynter pushed Pearce's T-shirt high enough to expose her breasts and kissed her just above her heart. Then she rested her cheek between Pearce's breasts, cradling one in her palm. "I love you."

"I love you," Pearce sighed, shifting restlessly as Wynter's warm breath teased her nipple. "Missed you."

"Mmm, I can tell." Wynter drew her leg up over Pearce's thighs and straddled her. "Me too."

Murmuring appreciatively, Pearce stroked her fingers over Wynter's hips and between her legs, capturing her heat in the palm of her hand. "Let's see if I can put you to sleep."

Wynter rocked along Pearce's fingers, anticipating the pleasure as she tightened inside. "I won't take much."

"A little now, a little la--"

Wynter's cell phone rang, and they both froze.

"Fuck," Pearce muttered.

"Oh yes, I so agree." With a groan, Wynter rolled away, ignoring the insistent throbbing between her thighs. "Hello?"

"Hi, honey," Mina said. "Whatcha doing?"

"We were...I was just...uh...getting ready to take a nap."

"Well, Chloe will be here in five minutes to watch the kids. So, if you can do whatever you were doing in five minutes, you go right ahead. But that's all the time you've got."

"Mina, what are you talking about?" Wynter watched Pearce's eyes smolder, and her toes curled at the thought of what Pearce's talented fingers could do to her. Soon. Please, God, soon.

"My contractions are five minutes apart, so I thought it was time that we take a little trip."

Wynter sat bolt upright. "What? Now?"

"Can't be too soon for me," Mina said with a laugh.

"Well, don't let it be too soon." Wynter threw back the covers.

"I'll be right there. Where's Ken?"

"He's working today. We can call him when we have an ETA on the new arrival."

"Okay. Don't do anything." Wynter closed her phone and jumped to her feet. "Baby. Baby's coming," she announced, as she began rifling through a pile of fresh laundry for clothes. She glanced over as Pearce sat up. "We'll take Ronnie next door. Chloe's coming. Can you get her?"

"Sure."

"On second thought, maybe you shouldn't carry her."

"Babe, I've been carrying her for two days." Pearce kissed Wynter, who stopped her frantic search long enough to appreciate the heat of Pearce's mouth. "I'll finish with you later."

Wynter reached around and squeezed Pearce's butt. "You bet your ass you will."

Laughing, Pearce started toward the hall and Ronnie's room.

v Four hours later, Wynter and Pearce tapped lightly on the door and entered Mina's room on the maternity ward. Ken sat by the side of the bed, one hand resting on the bundle that Mina cradled between her breasts. He grinned as they approached the bed.

"Congratulations," Pearce said. "He's beautiful."

Ken and Mina beamed.

"Well, that did go well," Wynter said, bending down to kiss Mina's cheek.

"Easy for you to say," Mina replied. "I was the one doing all the work." She glanced at Ken. "Of course, you were doing a lot of the breathing."

He grimaced. "Much more and I was afraid I'd hyperventilate and fall over."

"Next time, you should pay more attention in birthing class," Mina advised. "You doctors always think you know everything."

"Next time?" Ken moaned softly. "I need to recover from this time first."

Wynter gave Ken's shoulder a friendly shove. "I've heard you say you wanted four or five."

"Yeah. Uh-huh." He relaxed back in his chair. "And I heard Ronnie tell Winston just this morning that she was going to get a new brother or sister soon too."

"Uh-oh," Mina said as Wynter blushed and Pearce stared at a spot on the wall.

"Well," Wynter said in a rush, "we should go. Just wanted to say congratulations again." She peeked under the cover of the soft blue receiving blanket and caressed the baby's downy black hair. "He really is beautiful." She kissed Mina's cheek again and smiled at Ken. "Don't worry. We'll hold down the fort at home."

Both Mina and Ken waved goodbye. Wynter and Pearce were silent as they walked the length of the maternity floor to the elevators at the far end. Pearce pushed the down button and leaned against the wall.

"Did Ronnie get that idea from you? About more children?"

"That's all her idea." Wynter reached for Pearce's hand and clasped it tightly. "I hadn't really thought about it. Things weren't very good between Dave and me after Ronnie was born. Dave always said he wanted--"

"Forget about him--what about just for you? Is that what you would like?"

"Pearce, honey--I have Ronnie and--"

The elevator doors opened, but Pearce made no move to get in.

She regarded Wynter intently. "Do you think we can't have kids?"

"No, I don't think that," Wynter said carefully. "I just never got the sense it was in your game plan."

"Neither were you." Pearce traced a finger along the edge of Wynter's jaw. "I'm not volunteering personally, but seeing as how you've already had some practice at it..."

Wynter caught Pearce's hand and curled her fingers around it, drawing their joined hands close to her heart. She took a step forward until their bodies were very nearly touching. "Would you like it, if we had one together?"

"One or two more would be good."

Wynter's expression registered shocked delight. "One. Or. Two."

Pearce grinned. "Ronnie said a brother or a sister. We could try for both."

"You do realize how crazy it will be, with both of us practicing surgeons, and kids to raise?" Wynter took one quick look over her shoulder, and seeing that the hall was empty, kissed Pearce quickly. "I love you."

"I think we can handle it," Pearce murmured. She kissed Wynter back. "Besides, you know what they say in surgery--"

Eyes laughing, hearts soaring, they said together, "No guts, no glory."

"Let's go home, darling," Wynter said, "and finish what we started this afternoon. Then we'll talk about the future."

"Now that sounds like a plan." Pearce wrapped her arm around Wynter's shoulders. "After all, we've got lots of time."