A bit of background, when I lived in southern Arizona some years ago, my late husband and I were avid outdoor folks and did a lot of hiking, 4-wheeling and exploring. In April of 1999, we went hiking in the Huachuca Mountains up at the top of Carr Canyon Road with another couple. We were trying to find an old mine where we'd picked up crystals years before on the debris dumped down the hill from driving the adit or mine tunnel into the mountain. I had an kind of freaky accident that day and broke both bones in my right leg, just above the ankle. I kept calm through the adventure by telling myself I had to remember everything I could about the affair so I could put it into a book! Later that summer I did exactly that and Healing Hearts came to be written. I even borrowed a bit of inspiration for the hero from the orthopedic surgeon who put me back together and told me I would be hiking again in a few months, as indeed I was. He was a very good looking man and I am sure garnered a bit of feminine admiration from patients and medical staff with whom he worked! But Dr. Jerry is not him in a thousand key ways. I never make a real person a character but gather bits and pieces from many real people!
Bonnie, the heroine, is not me at all, probably less of me in her character than in most of my heroines, but I enjoyed her a great deal and she became very real to me during the writing. Secondary characters came along and became real as well, each one with a key role to play in the story as Jerry and Bonnie took turns related the epic of their rocky road to building a relationship. I'm so happy that this special book will soon be available to readers again. I know it was not widely distributed before so it will be new to most who encounter it!
Here is a tidbit, the first confrontation that appears in the book. Bonnie and Jerry are not strangers and have clashed a bit before! You can bet there will be a lot more fireworks here before the HEA ending!
*****
Dr. Jerry Bertini shuffled
out of the operating room, shedding his mask and gloves. Five major surgeries
in nine hours, starting at eight this morning. Two legs, one hip, one elbow and
one arm smashed into splinters. Why couldn’t people learn to keep their bones
in one piece? If they ever did, he’d be out of work, but there was little
danger of that. Between the crazy scrapes the college kids and GIs got into,
the auto crashes, and the normal childhood mishaps, he could clone himself
twice and still be busy.
In the doctor’s lounge, he
shoved quarters into the soda machine, grabbed the cold can that clattered
down, and sank onto the closest of the sagging chairs. He dozed off before he
finished the cola, only to be startled awake by the intercom. Hearing his name,
he had a hunch it wasn’t the first time he’d been paged. Oh shit, another one.
By the time he reached the
ER, he was wide awake again. He finished the lukewarm soda and chucked the can.
Ann Flannigan had the x-rays ready for him, already clipped on the light box.
She was a good nurse, not like many of the giddy young girls, too immature and
irresponsible for their profession.
He studied the film for a
few seconds. Nasty break. Tibia and
femur both, almost in a line, angling upward from the outside, just above the
ankle. The ends of both bones were pushed down, distorting the muscle and
over-stretching the ligaments and tendons. Surgical
reduction. No other option, really. He crossed the hall to the cubicle
where this as-yet-nameless patient waited.
He recognized her at once—Bonnie
Verdugo, the prickly, opinionated little Latina EMT. She looked up as he swept
through the curtained door, chocolate-flecked hazel eyes sparking defiance.
Beneath her dusky tan, she was pale, stress and tension visible in the
tightness of her lips, the pinched look to her nostrils. All considered,
though, she was dealing well with the shock and pain. They had her on an IV
already. Good.
Enjoying the unusual chance
to have this particular woman at a disadvantage, he folded his arms and
observed her for a silent moment. Of all the female EMTs and student nurses he
worked with, she was the only one he could not reduce to tears or simpering
giggles with a few choice words. Now, he couldn’t resist a jibe.
“Well, if it isn’t Ms.
Super-EMT herself. How does it feel to be the victim?”
“Like a bad day at work. I
wouldn’t be here if I had a choice.”
Her husky voice held the
same go-to-hell independence that blazed in her eyes. Fidgeting in the
wheelchair, she twisted the end of her long braid. Only the slight tremor of
her hand revealed her anxiety.
He snorted. “Just like jail,
ninety percent of the people end up here due to their own stupidity. Unless
some old lady ran you down with her wheelchair, I’d bet you’re in the same
boat.”
“Hiking accident,” she
ground out. “I slid about eight feet and lit on my bent ankle. A nasty break,
isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Nasty, but
fixable. I’ve got to do an open reduction—put some hardware in there to hold
everything in place while the bones heal.”
She huffed out a breath,
looking everywhere but directly at him. “My insurance ought to cover that. They
don’t make exclusions for stupidity, last I heard, or clumsiness. I just want
to be back on both my feet as soon as I can.”
“Be a walk in the park.
You’ll be hiking again in no time.” He glanced at his watch. “When did you last
eat?”
She looked up at the clock
on the wall and mentally counted. “About 2:30, two granola bars up on Platina
Ridge. Almost five hours now.”
“Okay. I’ll go set up so we
can get that surgery done this evening.”
Jerry turned from the room,
feeling her gaze boring holes in his back all the way down the corridor. That’s one tough little lady. Got a chip on
her shoulder bigger than New Jersey
Dirty and hurt, bundled in
one of those ridiculous floppy gowns, she was still all woman. Hardly bigger
than a half-grown kid, but there was nothing childlike about her. He’d heard
she had to fight for everything she had, too. Well, there were worse ways to
get there, and it certainly made a person value what he achieved.
His own progress hadn’t
always been easy, but he wouldn’t trade his M.D. for the top post in Grandpa
Bertini’s Boston
Here, every case was a
special challenge—to undo the damage and make someone whole again. He was never
too tired to feel a thrill when he accomplished it. No, he’d made the right
choice, maybe for the wrong reasons, but still the right choice.
***
Bonnie was already under
anesthesia by the time he prepped and went into the OR to do his job. On the
table she hardly raised a ridge under the blankets, folded back from her leg to
bare it from the knee down.
His weariness fell away as
he took the scalpel and made the first cut. With the oxygen mask hiding most of
her face, with her tough mouth silent and her busy form still, he could forget
who he worked on. There were only flesh and bone to be repaired, tasks his
hands knew with total, intimate familiarity. He bent to the work, tiredness,
sassy women and all else forgotten.
The surgery took just over
an hour. This time, when he left the OR, he left the hospital. He prayed he
wouldn’t get called back tonight. Exhaustion had caught up with him again. He
drove home slowly, grateful the car almost knew the way by itself.
