How random.”
Sam shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“You should go home, Sam. That’s an order.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Are we on a first-name basis now?”
No, they weren’t. Not since they’d spent the night together, which had been last night. She’d made it clear that she didn’t trust him, that their one night of passion was to be forgotten. It had never happened.
Yet, sitting here with him in an empty cafeteria after a stressful surgery, worrying about whether or not they would have to deliver two babies who probably wouldn’t make it, caused her to let her guard down.
“What was that song you were singing?” she asked, changing the subject.
Sam chuckled and then ran his fingers through his hair. “It was ‘Huis, Huis air an Each’. Just a simple song my father would sing to my twin brothers. It used to calm them, thought I would give it a shot. I’m actually surprised I remembered the words.”
“It was beautiful. Wish I knew the words.”
Sam smiled, those blue eyes twinkling in the dim light, and then the smile faded and he looked away. “Well, I’m glad it worked.”
“Me too.” Mindy swallowed the last of the sandwich, which stuck in her throat as silence descended between them. “Well, I’d better go check on Ms. Bayberry.”
Sam shook his head. “Go home. I’ll round on her tonight.”
“Don’t you have a home to go to?”
“It’s just a flat in a brownstone overrun by other surgeons. Most will be here tonight anyhow, and I don’t fancy riding the subway back to Brooklyn tonight.”
Mindy nodded. “Well, make sure you get some sleep tonight. I’ll be starting my rounds at six in the morning.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll be there. Goodnight, Dr. Walker.”
“Goodnight, Dr. Napier.”
Mindy got up and hurried out of the cafeteria, not looking back even though she could feel his gaze on her, watching her walk away.
This was going to be difficult. Everything about him drew her in—the compassion he had for his patients, his talent, the air of mystery about him.
He’s off-limits.
And she had to keep telling herself that. She had to keep reminding herself that Sam was off-limits. She was his teacher.
Not that there was a specific rule about attendings, residents and interns, but it would be detrimental to Sam’s career if people thought he was sleeping his way to the top. She should know, rumors had spread about her. After word had got out about Dean and Owen, the two people she’d trusted and worked in partnership with, it had destroyed her reputation in one fell swoop.
How could a patient put faith in someone who had put their faith in the hands of people who had duped her for so long?
Words and knowledge had power. If used by the wrong people, it could destroy everything Sam had worked for and she didn’t want that for him. If today was any indication Mindy had no doubt that Sam was going to be a brilliant pediatric surgeon and she wasn’t going to let a rumor about the two of them destroy that.
So she had to be careful about how she addressed him.
She couldn’t let herself slip into familiarity.
She had to keep her distance from him and not get sucked in by the spell he seemed to be able to cast over her. She was made of stronger stuff than that; at least she thought she was. Although Dean and Owen had lied to her for so long, so what did she know?
Mindy stopped and glanced back over her shoulder down the hall toward the cafeteria, but Sam had disappeared. Probably he was on his way to check on Ms. Bayberry.
Go home before you do or say something you’ll regret.
Mindy sighed and headed toward the attendings’ lounge to change into her street clothes. It had been her first major rotation since starting at West Manhattan Saints. She was exhausted, but she also didn’t want to go home. Her apartment was empty, lonely and memories of Sam were everywhere.
Don’t chicken out. Go home.
Mindy groaned and tried not to think about what had taken place at her apartment last night, in her bed, because those thoughts, though pleasant, were very unwelcome and for a moment she was terrified she wasn’t going to be able to succeed in keeping her distance from him.
She was pretty darned sure that she was going to fail miserably, but what a way to fail.
SAM HAD BEEN off Mindy’s rotation for two weeks and he found he missed it, but she had to give a fair shake to other residents applying for the fellowship. His first week back on the peds round he happened upon Dr. Snow, who was currently on rotation with Mindy, and all she was doing was whining about how nasty and how hard it was.
How the patients whined and complained constantly.
As if kids didn’t whine?
Sam laughed to himself as he thought of that. When he’d worked his full week with Mindy he’d learned so much. She’d kept her distance since she’d accidentally called him Sam after Ms. Bayberry’s surgery, but that was fine by him.
He didn’t want rumors starting.
It was bad enough having a famous mother, one who had slept with the current chief of surgery, albeit twenty years ago. He’d told Enzo about it when they’d got to know each other, but he was the only other person who knew, besides Dr. Chang, who knew his mother as well from medical school. And Sam didn’t have to worry about anyone accusing him of favoritism when it came to his mother and Dr. Amelia Chang.
It was no secret that his mother and Dr. Chang did not see eye to eye. Sam had actually been concerned when he’d first been accepted into the surgical residency program. He’d known that he’d always wanted to be a pediatric surgeon. He loved working with kids, but when he’d heard the head of Pediatrics was his mother’s “nemesis” of sorts, he had been worried that he wouldn’t have a shot in heck of getting into the program, but he’d applied anyway.
And had been accepted.
Dr. Chang had known exactly who he was. She had told him as much on the first day he’d become a resident and had started clocking hours on the peds floor.
He’d been charting when she’d come up beside him.
“You have your mother’s eyes.”
“Pardon me?”
She stared at him, those thoughtful obsidian eyes boring right through him. “You have your father’s soul. Let’s hope you have your mother’s talent. If you do, you’ll be brilliant.”
That was all she’d said. She would request him at odd intervals and always with the most delicate situations or the toughest cases.
Dr. Chang would observe him.
It’s why he and Enzo had become more than just competition in their first year of residency. They’d moved beyond the macho chest-thrusting and territory-marking in the game of surgery and had become friends, because Sam had been there when Enzo’s niece Maya had been born.
Dr. Chang had put Maya, a fragile preemie with a low expectation to survive, in his charge. And Maya had thrived because Sam had known that a way to help regulate a heartbeat was to place the baby against a bare chest. It was called kangaroo care. Maya hadn’t been able to feed and Enzo’s sister had been unable at that point to provide skin to skin contact, so during