Seduced by Moonlight Page 2

  Cherisse clamped onto Sonia’s arm as if it were a lifeline. “I was just waiting on you,” she said. She gestured to Harry. “This is Harry. Harry, this is Sonia.”

  The two of them murmured hellos and Cherisse turned to Harry. “It was nice chatting with you, Harry. Take care.”

  “You take care, too,” Harry said. He wanted to give her his card, but knew it would be inappropriate. He was dating Marcia. He had to chalk this up to one of those magical nights that had no chance of going any further than it already had.

  He held the door for her and watched her leave with her friend, Sonia. In the light of the ballroom he saw that she had the face of an angel. Her skin was golden-brown and she had eyes the color of a fine malt whiskey. Her face was heart-shaped and she had lips that were full and sensual, lips any man would love to kiss. He knew he was going to have dreams about her, his moonlight angel.

  Still, he let her walk out the door.

  A few seconds later, his ears were assaulted by the sound of Marcia’s strident voice accusing him of neglecting her all night.

  Harry met her in the center of the room. She had a sexy pout on her beautiful face as she walked up to him. He knew she was going to exact some kind of punishment for what she perceived as his preoccupation with business.

  Tonight, though, he simply wasn’t in the mood to play games.

  “I’m sorry, darling,” he said, taking her by the arm. “Of course, you’re probably ready to go home. I’ll get someone to drive you.”

  Marcia’s light golden eyes stretched with surprise and indignation. “I didn’t say anything about being ready to go home. I simply wanted to spend some time with you.”

  “You’re right,” Harry insisted. “Because I had to be sure the rest of my guests were enjoying themselves tonight, I’ve had to leave you on your own. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He took his cell phone from his inside jacket pocket and dialed his driver Fisher Graham’s number. Fisher answered right away. “Yeah, boss?”

  “Fisher, I’d like you to take Miss Shaw home. How soon can you meet us in the lobby?”

  “I’ll be right there!” Fisher replied. “I’m in the lounge off the lobby.”

  “Great,” said Harry. “See you soon.”

  He smiled down into Marcia’s frowning face. “Fisher will take you home. You can meet him in the lobby.” He bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to join us tonight.”

  He sounded like he was talking to one of the guests. Marcia continued to stare at him. Then something horrible occurred to her. He was acting as if he were saying goodbye forever to her, not simply good-night. Was it possible he had overheard her talking to Kenya about his being tied to his mother’s apron strings?

  She couldn’t broach the subject for fear her guess was wrong, and then he really would know how she felt about his relationship with his mother.

  So she played it cool. She faked a yawn. “I am a little tired.” She smiled up at him. “Maybe we can have brunch together tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good,” Harry said. He glanced at his watch. “It’s almost time for the fireworks over Vail Mountain. See you, darling.”

  He walked away, and Marcia turned and went to the lobby, a feeling of dread niggling at her.

  Harry went to join the other guests, who had gathered on the south side of the ballroom to watch the fireworks with Vail Mountain as a backdrop. The fireworks display was spectacular, and the guests enthusiastically applauded.

  Harry smiled his pleasure. Things were getting off to a good start this season. He couldn’t help thinking that meeting his moonlight angel had something to do with his positive outlook.

  But he knew he had to put her out of his mind. Sure, Marcia had given him a rude awakening tonight, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to make the relationship work. We all had our faults, he thought. He definitely wasn’t perfect.

  Chapter 2

  Five Points, the neighborhood where Cherisse’s family had lived for years, was bustling with activity Monday morning as she drove up Martin Luther King Boulevard. At seven-thirty, traffic was heavy, but then it usually was with all the commuters who lived in Five Points trying to drive to the metro area.

  The radio in her Cherokee was tuned to a talk radio station. She listened to men grouse about their wives earning more money than they did while she watched the road. It was another sunny day in Denver. The latest tourism ads boasted that Denver enjoyed 300 days of sunshine every year. Cherisse didn’t think they were exaggerating. Because of its unique geographical location—east of a major mountain range—Denver enjoyed a mild, dry, sunny climate. Temperatures dipped during the winter but there were few gray days.

  Today, for instance, it was forty degrees but it would probably warm up to fifty degrees by noon. Cherisse usually sat outside to eat her lunch.

  When she got to Mercy Hospital she parked in the staff parking lot across the street. Staff who worked nights often grumbled about the long hike through the parking lot in the dark. Cherisse would be grumbling herself in three months’ time because she would be changing shifts. Hospital management believed keeping the staff rotating kept their medical skills sharp. The staff would have preferred to work either during the day or at night, not both. But they didn’t have a say in the matter. As head pediatric nurse, Cherisse was often told that she was in a managerial position and should side with management on the issue. But in the three years she’d held the position, she had been firmly on the side of the nurses.

  This was a bone of contention between her and Dr. David Pedersen, the hospital’s chief of staff. He had hired her with the intention of making sure she followed his orders. He had been sorely disappointed when she’d fought for better hours for the nursing staff. Better hours and better pay. He was chomping at the bit waiting for the day when he could fire her. However, Cherisse had an ironclad contract, which stipulated that unless her job performance fell below standard her job was safe for ten years. Then they were free to renegotiate her contract. Of course, she could resign.

  Some days she felt David Pedersen was trying to make her life such a living hell that she would turn in her resignation. Today was such a day.

  The minute she got to her office and put her shoulder bag and lunch away, David Pedersen tapped lightly on her door. He didn’t wait for her to invite him in, and strode confidently into her office, an aggrieved expression on his tanned, sharp-boned face.

  David was six feet tall, trim from jogging every day—rain, snow or shine—and wore his thick gray hair in a military-style buzz cut. Cherisse had heard he’d spent several years in the army before going to medical school. He was fifty-five now and his body was still fit and ramrod-straight.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “Good morning, Cherisse.”

  Cherisse finished slipping into a pair of pristine sneakers and sat in her chair to tie the laces. She was wearing her usual uniform of green scrubs, which most of the staff wore. David was wearing them, too, but he wore a white lab coat over his.

  “Good morning, David,” Cherisse said without looking up. “What can I help you with?”

  “You might channel the energies of your staff in a different direction,” he said tightly. “They are wasteful with medical supplies and spend way too much time entertaining the patients instead of doing their jobs.”

  “The patients are children, David, children who’re sick and scared. What’s it to you if the staff spends a little extra time trying to cheer them up if it doesn’t interfere with their duties? I have seen no evidence of anyone slacking off. As far as the medical supplies go, I’ll look into it and if there is a reason for concern, I’ll address it at the next staff meeting.” Finished, she rose and smiled at him. Didn’t he have other nurses to pester?

  “Is there anything else this morning? Because if there isn’t I should go post the assignments and study a few patients’ charts.”

  David ste
pped aside. “There has also been more talk about Mary Thomas’s love affair with the bottle. If you can’t get her to go to rehab, I’ll have to deal with it myself.”

  Cherisse sighed softly. Not again. She had spoken to Mary, a licensed practical nurse with twenty years under her belt, at least three times about going to Alcoholics Anonymous. She knew Mary’s job meant everything to her.

  Like any other profession, medicine had its share of drug-addicted and alcohol-addicted workers. The stress of the job could drive anyone to find a way to self-anesthetize.

  The hospital’s policy was to be understanding and supportive to a certain extent. Mary had had three warnings. It was time to show some tough love.

  Cherisse looked straight into David Pedersen’s smug blue eyes. “Please don’t interfere, David. I’ll handle it.” She then left him standing in her office.

  Taking a deep breath, she headed for the nurses’ station. Mercy Hospital was one of the oldest hospitals in Denver. With 880 beds, it was also one of the smaller facilities in the metropolitan area. If the staff were not feeling the brunt of budget cuts, they were being confronted with constant rumors that the hospital was being closed down entirely. Those rumors had been circulating for years before Cherisse ever got hired. Yet Mercy was still open. She figured it was just a ploy management used to justify poor cost-of-living raises and a downsized staff.

  They always had to make do with fewer nurses than were needed for the daily schedule. Today, for example, there were forty-four patients on the floor and six nurses to see to their needs. That meant each nurse was responsible for at least seven patients and two lucky nurses got to care for eight. That might not seem like a lot of patients per nurse, but considering the fact that during an eight-to-ten-hour day, vital signs had to be monitored, medications administered, IVs set up, blood drawn, baths given, beds changed and God forbid an emergency should occur that would send a code-blue team rushing to a patient’s room. Every day that Cherisse went to work, she prayed for a quiet day. But her prayers were rarely answered.

  At the nurses’ station she greeted Sonia, her best friend and a registered nurse, and Gerald Cramer, also a registered nurse. Both were busy entering data in patients’ charts. The other nurses were elsewhere on the floor working with patients.

  “How is Billy today?” Cherisse asked Sonia. She peered over her shoulder. Sonia paused in her writing. She was a petite brunette with long, curly auburn hair and startlingly dark brown eyes. Billy Neale was an eight-year-old who had recently undergone a liver transplant. For the next few days the staff was praying that he didn’t reject it. This was his second transplant. His body had rejected the first liver.

  Sonia smiled up at her. “He’s doing really well, vitals are in the normal range, and the doctor put him on limited solids today.”

  Cherisse liked the sound of that. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned her attention to Gerald. “And you, Gerry? How is Amy Whitehall doing?”

  Gerald shook his head sadly. Amy was a twelve-year-old who had allegedly been viciously attacked by her father and left for dead. A neighbor had found her and called 911. The girl had broken ribs, a broken arm and her skull had been fractured by a blunt object. The first couple of days no one expected her to live. This was day five. Cherisse was hoping that she’d taken a turn for the better overnight.

  “Still in a coma, and the infection is worse,” Gerald reported. Narrowing his eyes, he added, “I’d love just five minutes alone with her father.”

  Gerald, thirty-two, was a huge man, six-four and well over two hundred pounds. A bodybuilder, he looked like he could bench-press a Cadillac. Part African-American, part Native-American, Gerald wore his long, black hair in a ponytail.

  People sometimes joked about his being a nurse among so many women. The other nurses were happy to have him nearby because they knew that for all his physical strength, he was one of the kindest, gentlest men they’d ever known. He was wonderful with the kids.

  “You wouldn’t need five minutes,” Cherisse said. “You could snap his neck in a second.”

  Gerald laughed. “Cheri, you’re so violent!”

  Cherisse squeezed his shoulder and left him to his work while she walked over to the large carousel atop the desk where they kept the patients’ charts.

  Turning the carousel, she selected a metal-encased chart and began reading the latest entry. She sat there and read every last update in every individual chart, while jotting down a note to herself as to which patients she wanted to personally check up on. Several minutes later, she had a list of thirteen patients.

  While she had been checking the charts, Sonia had gone to answer a call from a patient, and Gerald had gone to get another patient ready to be taken downstairs for X rays.

  Now there were two other nurses in the station: Katy McCullough, a tall redhead, and Sarah Benson, a small blonde fresh out of nursing school. Both were licensed practical nurses.

  Upon entering the station, Katy had started gabbing away. “I heard you and Sonia went to Karibu Resort this weekend. Did you meet anybody interesting?”

  “Just some guys more desperate than I am,” Cherisse joked.

  “You didn’t get a chance to meet Harry, did you?” Katy asked, her light-colored brows arching over pale green eyes.

  “Harry?” Cherisse asked, frowning, remembering the guy on the balcony.

  “Harry Payne, the owner of the resort! He used to be the quarterback for the Broncos a few years ago. When he retired, he opened Karibu Resort. Where have you been the past ten years?”

  “Right here,” Cherisse said. “I just don’t follow football.” She faintly recalled that the Broncos had a black quarterback with the last name Payne. So, he was the African-American who owned the resort. That couldn’t be her Harry!

  “Well, if you’d met Harry you would remember it,” Katy said with a dreamy expression.

  Cherisse laughed. “Why? Is he drop-dead gorgeous?”

  “He’s no pretty boy,” Katy said, giving her considered opinion. “But he’s definitely all man!”

  Suddenly the lights connected to Amy Whitehall’s life support monitors began blinking on the monitor bank. Looking up, Cherisse wondered where Gerald was. A moment later, her question was answered when Gerald’s voice came over the intercom.

  “I need help right now!” he yelled frantically. “Amy’s seizing.”

  “Katy, come with me,” Cherisse ordered.

  They ran down the corridor to Amy’s room, their sneakers squeaking on the tiles.

  The girl on the bed was bucking violently, and Gerald was cradling her in his arms, trying to prevent her from hurting herself.

  Cherisse immediately assessed the situation. According to Amy’s chart the neighbor who’d brought her in didn’t recall her being on any medications. This reaction was obviously due to her injury or perhaps due to the infection.

  She was on antibiotics for the infection. The side effects of the drug did not include seizure activity.

  Turning to Katy, she ordered, “Twenty milligrams of phenobarbital, stat!”

  Katy didn’t hesitate, she ran to get the drug.

  In her absence, Cherisse joined Gerald on the bed with Amy. The girl’s pale skin now glistened with perspiration. Her scalp was bandaged to protect her skull where it had been fractured. But the girl was bucking so wildly that Cherisse feared she might hit her head and reopen the wound, so she climbed into the bed and sat behind her with a pillow pressed to her bosom. Amy hit her head repeatedly against the pillow.

  Katy returned with the syringe filled with the drug and Gerald held Amy down long enough for Cherisse to administer it.

  It took a few minutes for the drug to work, but it was effective. Amy’s body stopped jerking involuntarily, and the girl’s breathing returned to normal. Cherisse gently moved away from the bed and helped Gerald place Amy in as comfortable a position as possible.

  Seeing how shaken Gerald was, Cherisse told him to leave the room. She and Katy wou
ld handle everything from this point on.

  When he was out of earshot, Katy said, “That seizure wasn’t a sign that she’s on the road to a full recovery, was it?”

  Cherisse wasn’t willing to give up just yet. She’d seen patients with injuries worse than Amy’s pull through. “She’s young and strong. And as long as she’s breathing, there’s hope.”

  Katy laughed shortly. Nurses either saw the humor in their lives or they developed ulcers or a taste for drugs or alcohol. “Okay, Mother Teresa.”

  Cherisse smiled at her as she took Amy’s wrist between her fingers and felt her pulse.

  It was still a little rapid, but was slowing down. She reached up and smoothed the crinkly black hair out of Amy’s face. As pale as the child’s skin was, one would expect her to have blond hair or perhaps be a redhead like Katy, but she had coal-black hair that was thick and curly. Cherisse suspected there was some African-American blood in her veins.

  Denver was a diverse city with many interracial couples among its population.

  “She’s going to be okay,” she said. It was more a prayer than a statement. Looking at Katy, she said, “Go tell Gerald he needs to contact Amy’s primary and fill him or her in. He might be too upset to remember that.”

  Amy’s primary physician was probably the doctor who had been in charge of the emergency room when she had been admitted. When parents or guardians weren’t the ones to bring in a child, the child was treated like any other indigent. She got whomever was on duty.

  “Amy, you’ve got to fight, do you hear me?” Cherisse whispered. “Fight to stay here with us.”

  She was still standing there holding Amy’s hand when Gerald returned. “Dr. Mahoney’s on the way. He says good call on the phenobarb.”

  Cherisse smiled. Some doctors became incensed when a nurse diagnosed and prescribed on the spot the way she had done.