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know she was a widow—and she obviously didn’t if the information hadn’t circulated on the grapevine—she could divulge that news herself.

      “Rumor says she didn’t want to be assigned to the E.R.,” Roma pointed out. “As you’re the one responsible for her transfer, I hope you intend to turn on the charm until she settles in.”

      “Hey, I only made the suggestion,” he protested. “The decision came from people above my pay grade.”

      “Be that as it may, if you hadn’t pushed for her, she wouldn’t be here.”

      Roma was right. If he hadn’t waged his one-man war, his department would still be suffering from the lack of a physician. “Probably not,” he agreed. “We were lucky the upper echelon saw the situation from our point of view.”

      Roma sighed. “I wish she’d applied for the E.R. post in the first place. Everything would be settled. As it is, who knows what her replacement will be like? “

      The same thought had crossed Trey’s mind on several occasions. “I’m hoping she’ll grow to love us and will stay.”

      “Hope all you want,” Roma said darkly, “but given how other physicians feel about E.R. docs, my money says she’ll run back to the fifth floor as soon as she can.”

      Not if he could help matters… “I assume you’re referring to how the rest of the physicians look down on us because of the popular belief that we only decide on whether or not to admit a patient.”

      “Yeah.”

      It was a common stereotype, thanks to the nature of his profession. The people who presented themselves were either bleeding or sick and it was his job to either cure them or pass them off to someone who could, doing both as fast as possible. The department wasn’t called Emergency for nothing. Being the metropolitan city that Pittsburgh was, their ED never had a dull moment.

      “We may not have an official client list like a private practice does, but we definitely have our regulars,” he mentioned.

      “Like Frances.”

      “Like Frances,” he echoed. “A lot of people list us as their primary-care physicians.”

      “Probably,” Roma agreed, “but I’ll bet Dr. McAllaster feels as if she’s taken a step down in her career. Mind you, the nurses have a saying. ‘If the doctor ain’t happy, then nobody’s happy.’”

      Trey disagreed. So far, Sierra hadn’t lost her temper or raised her voice and she’d been in various situations where it wouldn’t have been inappropriate. While staying calm was a great trait to exhibit in an emergency situation, over the past few months of their quasi working relationship, from what he’d seen, the woman gave the word unflappable new meaning.

      “I think you’re wrong,” he said. “Sierra is too classy a lady to take out her frustrations on the rest of us.”

      “She might be classy, but redheads can have fiery tempers.”

      As far as he was concerned, calling Sierra a redhead was like describing the Perseid meteor shower as a few shooting stars, or the Grand Canyon as a big hole in the ground. “I’m not sure one has anything to do with the other. I’ve known lots of hot-tempered brunettes and blondes, too.”

      “Okay, so I’m stereotyping,” she admitted, “but we’ll see fireworks down here before it’s over.”

      He was half-eager for Roma’s fears to come true. Sierra, with her brown eyes flashing with the same fire he saw in her hair, would be an awesome sight. “Fireworks can be beautiful.”

      “Yeah, in the night sky off the Roberto Clemente Bridge. Not in the hospital and without any warning.”

      “I thought you liked to live life dangerously.”

      “Me? Mrs. Boring who’s married to Mr. Extremely Boring?” She shook her head, smiling. “Not a chance. As much as I like my job, it has enough inherent aggravation without me looking for trouble. Speaking of which, the sooner we take care of Frances, the better.”

      “Okay, but I have to check my CT scan result first. If everything looks okay and the injection we gave Mrs. Villiers is working, we can send her home.” A few keystrokes later, he found his report and read it with satisfaction. “Sure enough. She can go.”

      After sharing his news with Mrs. Villiers, Trey found Sierra at the nurses’ station, ready to grab another clipboard out of the in-box.

      “Before you take that case, I have a person I want you to meet,” he told her. “Room Ten.”

      “A patient?”

      How could he describe Frances? “Yes and no,” he admitted.

      Her answering chuckle sounded sweet. “Which is it?” she asked.

      “Frances is one of our colorful regulars. She’s a twenty-five-year-old woman with a learning disability who lives about a block away. Her mother used to work here and so she understands that the Good Shepherd E.R. is where people come for help.”

      “Okay, so what’s unusual?”

      “When I refer to ‘help,’ I’m using an extremely broad definition.”

      “How broad is broad?”

      “She comes in for minor things like a sliver in her hand, a skinned knee or a broken blister. She usually goes straight to the triage nurse, who finds out what she needs. Then, the nurse sends her to me or to one of the other doctors if I’m busy. We give her a little TLC and send her on her way.”

      “I assume that I’m ‘one of the other doctors’?” she said dryly.

      “Do you mind? “

      “Not at all.”

      “Good, because if you ever do see her, her visit will go easier if I’ve introduced you.”

      “Okay. What’s her complaint?”

      “Stomachache.”

      She glanced at his empty hands. “Where’s her paperwork?”

      “We don’t create any.”

      Sierra stared at Trey. “No paper trail?”

      “Like I said, she comes relatively often with such minor problems that we’d waste more time filling out forms than if we’d actually deal with her situation.”

      She’d been warned of Trey Donovan’s unorthodox style, but she hadn’t expected to find an example of it so quickly.

      “A few administrative people might be upset by the way you’re handling this individual,” she commented cautiously, to test his response. “Treating a patient without documentation. Legal liability issues, etcetera.”

      He shrugged as if he was unconcerned. “I suppose they might be unhappy if Frances sues us for not removing a splinter properly. Until then, I guess you’ll have to decide if you’ll keep our secret or not.”

      Sierra ignored the challenge in his voice. “Have you encouraged her to visit the outpatient clinic instead of the E.R.?”

      “Frances has come here since she was a little girl so the concept is ingrained in her. Do you want to try and change her belief system at this late date?

      “Besides,” he continued, “the clinic staff doesn’t know her like we do. They won’t take time for the minor things and if they do, they certainly won’t operate out of the goodness of their hearts. She won’t understand when they turn her away or ask her to pay, and then she’ll get upset and fall apart, which I can assure you is not a pretty sight. It saves so much wear and tear on everyone if we just do what needs to be done. A regular win-win situation.”

      Sierra wanted to argue that Frances’s caseworker needed to be involved, but several things stopped her.

      One,

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