"A few times." Pearce still held his gaze.

"You think you can be done before lunch? That one," he said, gesturing to Wynter who had hung up the phone and now stood with her arms folded, watching the conversation, "said I can't have anything to eat or drink."

"She's right. I can't promise you lunch, but you should be able to have dinner. Did you take any insulin this morning?"

"No."

"All right. We'll give you some sugar through the intravenous line while you're sleeping and insulin when you need it." She looked over her shoulder at Wynter. "Do we have labs and a consent?"

"We're just waiting on his CBC. I'll get his consent now. Then we're good to go."

"I'll meet you upstairs." Pearce patted Mr. Samuels's thigh. "See you later."

"See you, Doc." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "Did you talk to my daughter?"

"She's on her way."

"Good."

Three hours later, Wynter carefully rotated the tiny bulldog clamps that occluded the femoral vessel on either side of the opening they had made to remove the embolus. Then they had widened the narrowed area by meticulously suturing in a dime-sized vein patch. She studied the sutures she had just placed under Pearce's supervision. Dr. Chung had scrubbed out after Pearce had completed the first half of the anastomosis, leaving them to finish up.

"It looks pretty good, don't you think?" Wynter said.

"It's a thing of beauty," Pearce agreed. "Now let's see if it works."

She raised her voice and angled her head over the top of the ether screen. "We're going to take the clamps off now. You might see a little dip in his blood pressure."

"Go for it. He's stable," the anesthesiologist said.

"Okay," Pearce said to Wynter. "Let's see if your stitches will hold."

Carefully, Wynter released first the distal clamp to allow outflow and then the proximal one to allow the full force of the arterial pressure to stress the area of her repair. At first, thin rivulets of blood seeped between her sutures, but as her heart rate escalated into the stratosphere, the leakage quickly stopped. The artery danced in the depth of the wound as if resurrected. Not yet ready to celebrate, she said, "Can someone feel under the drapes and see if he's got pulses in his foot?"

"Stop worrying," Pearce whispered too softly for anyone else to hear. "It's perfect. You did a great job."

The circulating nurse called, "Plus four pedal and PT pulses. And his foot's warm."

Wynter looked across the table into Pearce's eyes. They were alight with pleasure, and--she couldn't be certain, but she thought- pride. "Fucking A."

"You got that right," Pearce said with a laugh. She glanced at the clock. "I've gotta go scrub on that hemicolectomy with the chief. You okay here?"

"I'm fine, but you're post call. Shouldn't you go ho--"

"Nice job, Doc." Pearce turned from the table, stripped off her gloves and gown, and was gone before Wynter could lecture her about never going home.

v Three and a half hours later, Pearce rolled her patient into the recovery room. She carried the chart to the counter at the nurses' station to write the postop orders. Ten stretchers with barely a foot between them lined the opposite wall, one nurse for every two postoperative patients. X-ray technicians trundled through with their heavy portable machines, shooting postoperative films. Lab techs swarmed around the beds collecting blood samples, and EKG and respiratory techs jockeyed for space around the patients, who were dwarfed by the plethora of monitoring devices and equipment.

Pearce was used to blocking out the cacophony of sound and the buzz of activity, so she wasn't aware of anyone nearby until her father spoke.

"I'd like to speak with you outside in the hall, Doctor."

Pearce finished writing the order she was working on and looked up. "Of course. I'll just be another minute with this."

Ambrose Rifkin, who somehow managed to look commanding even in rumpled scrubs, nodded. A minute later, Pearce joined him just outside the intensive care unit. Neither of them spoke until they walked to the far end of the corridor out of earshot and sight of visitors. If patients' family members saw them, they were likely to be accosted with questions. It was only natural that family members thought that the physicians' only concern was for their loved ones and that physicians were always available to discuss their care. It made accomplishing the work of the day difficult, however, unless one rationed one's time carefully.

"I'd like to speak with you about Dr. Thompson," Ambrose Rifkin said.

Pearce's stomach instantly tightened. "What about her?" She knew she sounded defensive, but she couldn't help it. Her immediate instinct was to protect Wynter.

"I need to know what your--"

"Look. She's an excellent resident. She's smart, she's got great hands, she's good with the pa--"

"If I may finish."

Pearce flushed. "Sorry."

"You've worked with her more than anyone else. What's your opinion?"

For a second, Pearce was confused. Somehow, she had expected him to confront her about something else. Something personal. But then, why would he? "My opinion?"

Ambrose studied her with a sharp, appraising expression. "You seemed to have quite a few of them just a moment ago."

"Oh. You mean what kind of a resident is she. She's great." Pearce repeated her previous assessment, trying to sound as objective as possible. "Why?"

"In confidence," he said, "I just learned that the Residency Review Committee has approved us for an additional slot. We can finish one more resident beginning next year. I intend to speak to Thompson this afternoon about moving her up a year so we won't lose that advantage."

"That's great," Pearce said immediately.

"You do realize that means more competition for the chief surgical resident slot."

Pearce smiled grimly. "I'm not worried."

Her father did not smile, but his eyes flashed with what Pearce hoped was pride.

"Your confidence is apparent. We'll see if it's warranted."

"Yes, we will," Pearce whispered as he turned and walked away.

v Wynter left Ambrose Rifkin's office at 6:45 p.m. She was on call, and she needed to get dinner before the cafeteria closed or else she'd be relegated to eating vending-machine food until midnight dinner.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn't had lunch. But as hungry as she was, the only thing she wanted was to find someone to share her excitement with. Suddenly, she wasn't looking at almost three more years before she finished, she was only looking at eighteen months. It felt like she'd been given a reprieve from a life sentence with no possibility of parole. She hurried toward the surgeons' lounge, and then, heart sinking, she realized there was no reason to rush. The only person she wanted to celebrate with was Pearce, and Pearce would have left hours ago.

As she slowed and turned the corner, she saw a familiar figure leaning against the wall just outside the women's locker room. Her heart leapt. "Pearce!"

Pearce grinned. She'd been waiting, hoping that she'd catch Wynter after the meeting. "You look hap--" She stopped when Wynter raced toward her. As if she had done it a thousand times, Pearce opened her arms and Wynter flew into them. Lifting Wynter's feet a few inches off the ground, Pearce held her around the waist and spun her in a half circle. When she set her down, they were both laughing, their bodies pressed together and arms entwined.

"I guess you saw the chief, huh?" Pearce said. "Congratulations."

"You knew?" Wynter said in astonishment.

"Just a little while ago. I didn't want to spoil it for you."

"Isn't it great?"

"Terrific." Pearce gave her a squeeze. "I'm really glad."

"You're okay with it?" Wynter asked softly. "I mean, we'll be in the same year now."

Several residents passed by, but Pearce never even gave them a glance. Wynter was still holding on to her, their bodies pressed together, their foreheads nearly touching. She marveled at what happiness did to Wynter's eyes, making their blue irises blaze with an untamed excitement that captivated her more deeply than any lust she might have encountered in another woman's gaze. Wynter's pure and simple joy gave her more pleasure than anything she'd ever known. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to breathe in her pleasure and ride her wild joy.

She wanted to be the source of that happiness every bit as fervently as she wanted to taste it.

"Oh, baby, of course I'm okay with it," Pearce murmured. "You deserve it."

Wynter's lips parted and she stared into Pearce's eyes. Then she whispered gently, "Thank you," and eased away until their embrace broke. She felt Pearce's arms drop from around her waist and saw Pearce's expression shutter closed, but not before she had seen what was in her eyes. In the few seconds before Pearce brought her iron will to bear, Wynter had caught a glimpse of the same naked craving she had seen there once so long ago. But this time, the desire had been far more intense. This time, Pearce wasn't a stranger who took her by surprise and whisked her away to an isolated corner to sweetly seduce her with a moment of respite and escape from a life that suddenly seemed unbearably foreign. This was a woman she knew and respected and cared for. And she understood in that instant, more clearly than she ever had before, that Pearce was a woman for whom it was natural to desire the touch of another woman. She felt it in the fine trembling of Pearce's body and witnessed it in the arousal that had fleetingly escaped the mask Pearce usually wore. Wynter knew that she had finally seen Pearce Rifkin.

"I haven't had anything to eat for hours," Wynter said quietly.

"Can I treat you to dinner across the street? I think it's my turn."

"I...uh..." Pearce was a bit dazed. She'd come close to crossing a line, and she wasn't even certain why she hadn't. She'd been with women since she was seventeen years old, and some of them had been straight and a few had been married. She didn't have any political or philosophical objections to it. Her body couldn't help responding to Wynter, and she sensed--as she had the very first time they'd met- that if she pushed just a little bit, Wynter would be willing. But she just couldn't do it. She drew a ragged breath. "Thanks. I...I think I'll take a rain check. I've still got a few patients to see."

Wynter hid her disappointment behind a smile. "And you're still post call, and you still should be going home."

"I will. Promise." Pearce started walking backward, putting some much-needed distance between them. "I'm just going to check a few X-rays and I'll be gone."

"Don't forget about the TLA tomorrow night," Wynter said.

Pearce hesitated, knowing now was the time to break the spell before Wynter's hold on her grew any stronger. She hadn't been able to think of anything else all week except Friday night and being with Wynter, and being around Wynter was beginning to hurt. Idiot, she muttered.

"What did you say?" Wynter called.

"I said..." Pearce took a deep breath. "Don't worry. I'll be there."


CHAPTER NINETEEN

Wynter tilted the cream-colored silk lampshade rimmed with fringe the color of warm caramel toward the broad, bevel edged mirror above her bedroom dresser. Both items had been in her family for generations, and she'd come to love them even though the lamp didn't provide much light, having been designed for an era when a muted glow that softened the features was desirable. Squinting, she assessed the damage wrought by the previous sleepless night on call.

Judiciously applied makeup had covered the worst of the fatigue lines and blunted the obvious shadows beneath her eyes. She'd had a nap when Ronnie had finally tired in the midafternoon, and they'd both fallen asleep while she'd been reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

"I don't know, honey," she murmured to Ronnie, who sat in the middle of the floor intently covering pages of her coloring book in bright primary colors. "Clinique might not be enough tonight."

Ronnie held up a Jackson Pollack reproduction with exuberant pride.

"Beautiful!" Wynter proclaimed. "Maybe I should try crayons instead of blush. Maybe then I won't resemble the walking dead."

She jumped when a voice behind her said, "Maybe you should stay home and get some sleep."