rest a bit. The nurses will check on you, and I’ll come back and see you later. I have a few other patients to finish with.”
Leigh crossed to the desk and checked with the ward clerk regarding the admissions. Mrs. Baldwin had gone upstairs, with her husband accompanying her. Kristi Johnson’s baby was in a pediatrics room that would accommodate his sister as well as his mother. They were expected to be transferred up there within twenty minutes.
Leigh peered down the corridor. “And Child Crisis? Did that investigator ask to talk with me?”
Riley spoke up. “I haven’t seen her since she finished talking with Kristi. Not sure if she’s still here. I’ll check around, if you like.”
“No,” Leigh said, seeing compassion in Riley’s eyes. Does she know? “That’s fine. I think I’m going to grab my knitting and a cup of coffee and take them outside. Relax for a couple of minutes.” She saw Riley nod and was certain she did know. For some reason it helped. “If anyone needs me, you know where I’ll be.”
She filled her coffee cup—a ceramic mug with a handle shaped like the hindquarters and tail of a bay horse—and carried it outside. For once, the parking lot was clear of ambulance and rescue vehicles. Just one young employee, wearing a 49ers jacket over his scrubs, getting into his car. Leigh settled onto a bench and took a sip of the coffee, thinking once again how convenient it was to live so close to the hospital. She wouldn’t have to fight the notorious San Francisco rush-hour traffic. Just drive home, get dressed for the stable, leave this stressful day behind. She closed her eyes and listened to the comforting blend of sounds: traffic on Geary Boulevard, gulls calling overhead, the electronic click and whoosh of the ER doors opening, and—
“Dr. Stathos?”
Leigh’s eyes snapped open and her heart climbed to her throat.
“I’m Samantha Gordon.”
Chapter Five
Leigh stared at her husband’s lover.
Samantha Gordon’s lilac blue eyes were unblinking, her expression composed. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Leigh breathed through her nose, fighting an alarming wave of nausea. Was this really the shadowy apparition who crowded so many ugly, angry nightmares? Her gaze moved over the woman’s face. Sharp, narrow. Too much makeup, short hair . . . Nick likes long hair. Why, why . . . ?
“Sorry?” Leigh rose to her feet, finding satisfaction in the fact that despite her modest height, she still topped the Child Crisis investigator by at least two inches. “You’re sorry? Now that’s . . . a word.”
Sam chewed her gum for moment. “I don’t expect you to believe me.”
Leigh’s heart thudded in her ears, shouting escape as insistently as Frisco’s hoofbeats against a clay trail. “What exactly do you expect from . . . this?”
Sam glanced away and sighed, her breath a humid waft of cinnamon. She ran her fingers through her hair and met Leigh’s gaze again. “I expect that we—all of us; you, me, Nick—can be adults.” For the first time, her expression showed a hint of vulnerability. “And I expect that things will get easier for Nick soon. So he can move on with his life. My brother’s death hit him hard. And coming so soon after your separation . . .” She nodded, the softness in her expression gone. “Being with me and my little daughter helps him.”
She has a child? Leigh’s breath stuck.
Sam saw it and smiled. “Elisa’s three. Nick’s good with her. I’m sure you know how much a family means to him. Losing his mother the way he did, being raised in foster care—”
“Don’t.” Leigh raised her palm. “Don’t you dare .” The nausea swirled again. “Don’t stand there and presume to explain my husband to me.” She realized with horror that she’d started to tremble.
Sam took a step backward but kept her gaze leveled at Leigh. “All I’m saying is that I understand where he’s coming from. We’re very much alike.
Leigh crossed to the desk and checked with the ward clerk regarding the admissions. Mrs. Baldwin had gone upstairs, with her husband accompanying her. Kristi Johnson’s baby was in a pediatrics room that would accommodate his sister as well as his mother. They were expected to be transferred up there within twenty minutes.
Leigh peered down the corridor. “And Child Crisis? Did that investigator ask to talk with me?”
Riley spoke up. “I haven’t seen her since she finished talking with Kristi. Not sure if she’s still here. I’ll check around, if you like.”
“No,” Leigh said, seeing compassion in Riley’s eyes. Does she know? “That’s fine. I think I’m going to grab my knitting and a cup of coffee and take them outside. Relax for a couple of minutes.” She saw Riley nod and was certain she did know. For some reason it helped. “If anyone needs me, you know where I’ll be.”
She filled her coffee cup—a ceramic mug with a handle shaped like the hindquarters and tail of a bay horse—and carried it outside. For once, the parking lot was clear of ambulance and rescue vehicles. Just one young employee, wearing a 49ers jacket over his scrubs, getting into his car. Leigh settled onto a bench and took a sip of the coffee, thinking once again how convenient it was to live so close to the hospital. She wouldn’t have to fight the notorious San Francisco rush-hour traffic. Just drive home, get dressed for the stable, leave this stressful day behind. She closed her eyes and listened to the comforting blend of sounds: traffic on Geary Boulevard, gulls calling overhead, the electronic click and whoosh of the ER doors opening, and—
“Dr. Stathos?”
Leigh’s eyes snapped open and her heart climbed to her throat.
“I’m Samantha Gordon.”
Chapter Five
Leigh stared at her husband’s lover.
Samantha Gordon’s lilac blue eyes were unblinking, her expression composed. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
Leigh breathed through her nose, fighting an alarming wave of nausea. Was this really the shadowy apparition who crowded so many ugly, angry nightmares? Her gaze moved over the woman’s face. Sharp, narrow. Too much makeup, short hair . . . Nick likes long hair. Why, why . . . ?
“Sorry?” Leigh rose to her feet, finding satisfaction in the fact that despite her modest height, she still topped the Child Crisis investigator by at least two inches. “You’re sorry? Now that’s . . . a word.”
Sam chewed her gum for moment. “I don’t expect you to believe me.”
Leigh’s heart thudded in her ears, shouting escape as insistently as Frisco’s hoofbeats against a clay trail. “What exactly do you expect from . . . this?”
Sam glanced away and sighed, her breath a humid waft of cinnamon. She ran her fingers through her hair and met Leigh’s gaze again. “I expect that we—all of us; you, me, Nick—can be adults.” For the first time, her expression showed a hint of vulnerability. “And I expect that things will get easier for Nick soon. So he can move on with his life. My brother’s death hit him hard. And coming so soon after your separation . . .” She nodded, the softness in her expression gone. “Being with me and my little daughter helps him.”
She has a child? Leigh’s breath stuck.
Sam saw it and smiled. “Elisa’s three. Nick’s good with her. I’m sure you know how much a family means to him. Losing his mother the way he did, being raised in foster care—”
“Don’t.” Leigh raised her palm. “Don’t you dare .” The nausea swirled again. “Don’t stand there and presume to explain my husband to me.” She realized with horror that she’d started to tremble.
Sam took a step backward but kept her gaze leveled at Leigh. “All I’m saying is that I understand where he’s coming from. We’re very much alike.
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