“Can I help you? Are you here with one of the patients?” he asked in a surprising lilting tenor.

She held out her hand. “No, I am Mari Mateo. A new PA. I was wondering—”

“Oh, right. That’s today—welcome. Glenn’s not here, but come with me.”

Mari hesitated as he swept around from behind the counter. “If you could just point me to the conference room—”

“I’m Bruce Endie—one of the nurses. This way,” he said over his shoulder as he hurried along. Mari followed down the hall and around the corner before he disappeared completely.

He stopped in front of an open door, rapped quickly, and said, “Dr. Remy. New troops.”

Mari halted abruptly beside him and glanced into a small office where a woman sat behind the desk. She felt her face color when she recognized the head of the ER. They’d only talked via Skype, but Dr. Remy wasn’t someone she would easily forget. “Oh, Dr. Remy! I’m really sorry. I think I was supposed to be in the conference room.”

The blonde with the emerald green eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and warm smile motioned her in. “That’s okay. Mari, isn’t it? Call me Abby. Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Mari sat in one of the two chairs in front of the ER chief’s desk. “I’m afraid I’m early.”

Abby grinned. “You’ll never hear complaints about that. I’m sorry Glenn isn’t here to—”

“Am I late?” a low, smooth voice inquired from the direction of the open door.

“Not at all,” Abby said. “This is Mari Mateo, our new PA. Glenn Archer is our program director, Mari.”

Mari turned in her seat, her gaze falling on a slightly taller than average woman with shaggy dusky blond hair, a lean face with slate-blue eyes, and a wide sensuous mouth above a square chin with a shadow of a cleft. The expression in those intense eyes was appraising and cautious. No quick smile and friendly welcome here. Not unfriendly, just remote.

“Good to meet you,” Glenn said in a slow, sensuous drawl. A smile flickered and was gone.

“Glenn will take care of getting you settled,” Abby said.

Mari rose, wondering just how settled she’d be when just the slow sweep of Glenn Archer’s gaze over her face made her pulse quicken.

Chapter Three

Glenn strode silently down the hall toward the main area of the ER with the new PA keeping pace. Why the hell had she let Abigail Remy talk her into giving up her position as Flann Rivers’s surgical first assistant to head up this new training program? Abby hadn’t even had to work hard to convince her. It hadn’t been flattery, she wasn’t susceptible to that. Sure, Abby had said she’d needed her, needed someone with experience who was used to leading a team to be sure the PA training program got off the ground and running without any hitches. The new cooperative programs between ACH and the area medical centers were vital to keeping the hospital healthy. The ER, hell, the whole hospital had been in trouble not long before, and there’d been talk of the place being bought out and closed. Everyone thought Presley Worth, the new CEO, had come here to do exactly that. Maybe she had. But not now. Presley, medical staff president Edward Rivers, and every member of the staff were united in turning the place around. So how could she have said no—when had she ever said no when she believed in something and duty called? She’d been happy working as Flann’s second, satisfied with her solo responsibilities. Comfortable. Safe. Hell. She knew what the problem was. She didn’t want to be a team leader, didn’t want to be responsible for success or failure. Didn’t want to be anyone’s go-to. Not again. But she’d signed up for it, hadn’t she? Reenlisted just as automatically as she had the last two times. So here she was, the PA director, with a new staff PA, and she still hadn’t said anything more to Mari Mateo than “Come on, I’ll show you where your locker is.”

Glenn stopped so abruptly Mari took a step past her, then turned back and stared at her with a question in her eyes.

“You drink coffee, don’t you?” Glenn said.

Surprise registered in the deepest, darkest, richest brown eyes Glenn had ever seen. Streaks of gold splintered through the chocolate, making Glenn think of sunrise over the desert, of the piercing shock of unexpected splendor in a desolate landscape. A smile rode the sunrise, cresting on Mari’s wide, full rosy lips, and Mari went from pleasantly attractive to knockout beautiful in a millisecond.

“No, I don’t think much of coffee.”

Still caught in the storm of sudden beauty, Glenn wordlessly shot a raised eyebrow. She frantically tried to envision getting through morning report without coffee. Some people drank tea, sure. On occasion she had done that herself. But coffee was tradition, and for most medical people as precious as blood. But she could deal with a tea drinker. Somehow. “Oh. Okay. Well, uh, then…how about—”

“On the other hand,” Mari smoothly went on, an amused glint in her eyes, “I particularly enjoy an espresso—especially when it’s made from a good Mexican bean.”

Glenn narrowed her eyes. “Espresso.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That was cruel. I was imagining teabags at six a.m.”

Mari laughed. “Hardly a toxic substance. Although I didn’t realize how sensitive you were.”

Glenn grinned. “Let’s grab some coffee, and I’ll give you a rundown of the day-to-day.”

Mari frowned and glanced in the direction of the ER proper. “What about the patients? Shouldn’t we be checking on them?”

“Yeah, we should.” Glenn nodded, impressed and pleased. “And we will. But I checked the whiteboard on my way through just now, and there’s nothing urgent that needs our attention. I’ve got my radio—” She winced and patted her pants pocket. Even after years out of uniform she couldn’t get used to not having a radio and being patched into com central. “Phone. I’ve got my phone. They’ll text us if anything critical comes in. Otherwise, we’re waiting on some labs on the patients who came in before change of shift. Everyone at intake looked like walking wounded. So we’re okay for a few minutes.”

Mari cocked her head. “All that from a quick glance at the whiteboard?”

“And a fast sit rep from Bruce.”

“Oh, I met him. Is he ex-military too?”

Glenn stilled. “Sorry?”

“You are, aren’t you? Ex-military? You remind me a lot of my training instructor. He was a Navy corpsman, not this time around—Vietnam. But it’s more than just the lingo, it’s everything—the way he…you…process information, the quick-look rapid-fire assessment and fast decisions. That must be something that never leaves. He sounded a lot like you.”

Ice trickled down Glenn’s back, and she suppressed a shudder. A lot of things never left. Habits, instincts, reflexes. Memories. The overwhelming need to act. Quickly, while there’s still time. Before something else, someone else, gets you first. She took a slow breath. “You’re very observant.”

“Sorry, just guessing.” Mari regretted her offhand comments. Whatever she’d said had triggered a response she hadn’t intended. The carefully guarded personal space and profound reserve Glenn had initially projected right after they’d left Abigail Remy’s office had begun to thaw as they’d talked. Now the wall was back again, a clear bulletproof barrier that left Glenn visible but untouchable. Mari regretted having hurt her somehow, for the warmth she’d felt just minutes before had been swallowed by a darkness that could only be pain. Hoping to coax some of the heat back into Glenn’s expression, Mari extended an olive branch. “I could use a cup of coffee. And I would like to hear about the program.”

“Even cafeteria brew?”

Mari shuddered but nodded gamely. “Bring it on.”

“Sure, if you’re willing to chance it.” Glenn laughed, the deep chuckle a momentary breeze that blew the storm clouds from her eyes, lifted Mari’s spirits. Glenn was off again in that fluid, loping gait, and Mari hurried after her.

Trying to keep a mental map of where they were going, Mari concentrated on memorizing the series of turns and staircases before they came to a pretty typical hospital cafeteria—bustling with people moving through the coffee line, grabbing food from the racks and hot trays, and clustering at round tables filling a long rectangular room. She winced at the dark brown liquid that came from the industrial urn as she filled her cup and contemplated adding cream just to dilute the acid content but didn’t see any reason to start bad habits. She’d had plenty of bad coffee in her life. Plucking a decent-looking raspberry Danish from a tray, she paid and followed Glenn to one of the smaller tables on the far side of the room. She slowed and stared, coffee and Danish in hand. Windows. Big windows taking up half the height of the wall, and oh, the view.

Glenn sat and broke a bagel in half. “Something wrong?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this. I guess I’ve gotten used to being closed up inside the hospital. I mean, there were always windows, but there was nothing much to see outside them. Parking lots and other buildings. So you just sort of stopped looking, you know? As if the world outside was gone. But here—just look! There are honest-to-God flowers out there. Everywhere. And not a car in sight.”

“The architects were smart when they added the lots—they’re below the crest of the hill, so you still have the effect of being above it all up here. You should see it in spring. The rhododendrons and azaleas are blinding. It’s even nice when it snows. The windows in the ORs face the mountains, so it’s pretty spectacular.”

“Oh my God. You have windows in the OR suites? How do you work?”

“It’s nice.” Glenn’s expression grew distant. “Nice, but strange, to look up from the table and see the world out there. It kind of reminds you that this person you’re working on is still connected to people and places beyond the spotlights and the machines and the instruments. Humanizes it all somehow.”

“You really like the OR, it sounds like.” Mari sat down across from her.

“I like doing.”

“Me too, but the surgery rotation was my least favorite part of training.”

“Why is that?”

“Too removed. I like talking to people, listening to them, finding out what’s wrong by putting the pieces together. I’d miss the connection, I guess.”

“I suppose it might seem remote,” Glenn mused, “but I don’t think you can be any more connected than touching another person. Surgery’s intimate, as personal as it gets.”

Glenn’s gaze flickered, like a page turning, and Mari knew instantly her thoughts had fled elsewhere again. She desperately wanted to know where Glenn went when memories—or something more than memories—pulled her away. What did she see, what power held her in its grip? When Glenn’s gaze refocused on her, Mari knew she’d returned. Pretending she hadn’t noticed the brief lapse, Mari said quietly, “I can’t argue that touching is uniquely intimate.”

“Different strokes,” Glenn said casually.

Subject closed, but Mari wasn’t ready to give up. “You were the regular first assist for Dr. Rivers in the OR?”

“I was pretty much her first assist for everything—I didn’t work with anyone else on a regular basis. I saw patients in the ER when she couldn’t, made rounds, took call, did cases with her.”

“Like a partner.”

“I suppose.” Glenn sighed. “Yeah, pretty much. Flann let me do what I could do.”

“This sounds like my kind of place.”

“You’ll have a lot of independence in the ER—if we get approval for level two trauma, we’ll double our census.”

“Is that likely?”

Glenn laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the new CEO pushed for level one. We’re ten minutes by air from a major interstate with no other major hospitals around.”

“I’m looking forward to the challenge.”

“Where did you train?”

“USC in LA.”

“Big place,” Glenn said.

“Oh yes. Four hundred beds, level one trauma, Children’s Hospital next door, advanced training programs in everything. Very big place.”

“Cog in a wheel?”

“Maybe a little, but great training.” Mari smiled, remembering how easy it was to get lost in the system. “How about you?”

“Uncle Sam,” Glenn said abruptly. “So what did you do when you finished—before here?”

Mari had known this question would come up and hadn’t practiced how she was going to answer. She wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed or overly private about personal matters, but still, she hadn’t wanted to drag the past with her to this new life. Of course, this was one thing that would never be the past. For now, though, partial truths would suffice. “I didn’t—do anything, that is. I had a job lined up, but that fell through.”

“How did you find out about us?”