First Love...Only Love:

Chapter 8

Macy discarded her cap, mask and gown into the bin and walked out of the theatre. She was part of the paediatric, cardiac team working on baby Luke. Her nerves were shot, not for professional reasons. It was her heart and the team of cardiac specialists there could not have done a single thing to stabilize her, least of all the Head of Cardiology, one Twain Crawford for he was the reason for her state of near collapse.

It was working so closely with Twain, that had her literally on a knife's edge. Watching as Twain confidently made the primary incision, their hands touching as Macy prepared the heart for the surgery and when their shoulders brushed as they leaned over the tiny patient; Macy's body temperature rose to near danger levels, even though the room temperature in the theatre was near freezing. Every time she passed Twain an instrument, their hands touched. It had to have been some supernatural force that carried her through in there. She was a total wreck now, ready to collapse to the floor, her legs barely carrying her out of theatre. The same could not have been said for Twain. He was Mr. Smooth Operator in there. Cool, calm, confident, in total control and so much charisma as he effeciently led the team through the intricate procedure.

How does he do it?

Macy wished she could be as emotionally 'switched off' as Twain. She wished she had his steely determination. It was nerve wrecking standing next to Twain and assisting to perform heart surgery, while a human being's life was at stake. Macy desperately craved a cup of coffee now, but her legs would not move.

'You did well in there Dr. Skye.'

Macy jumped. She had not expected Twain to be out so quickly. Her duties as the paediatrician, had been completed but as senior cardiologist, Twain generally stayed to supervise his team and in most instances he remained till he was satisfied the patient could be moved to the recovery room. Macy stared as Twain discarded his theatre garb. He was so good looking. So tall, broad shouldered. His strongly boned face so attractive to watch...

'Macy, you okay?' His eyes looked so tender, set so neatly beneath those finely shaped brows, as he look at her with concern.

'Yeah,' she looked away. 'It's been a while since I've stood that long in theatre,' she spoke softly.

'That little guy is a fighter,' Twain smiled, sitting on the arm rest of her couch. 'They're stitching him up, but I'm very happy with his vital stats.'

'Luke's so little, only eleven months old,' she murmured.

Twain's eyes darkened. He lifted her one hand, closing it between his huge palms. Macy wrenched, attempting to pull her hand away, but Twain's grip tightened. 'I promise you that little guy is going to be as fit as a fiddle in a few months,' he assured her, in a firm voice.

'I believe you,' she smiled slightly. 'You are a good surgeon.'

'And you're a damn fine paediatrician Macy,' he stood up. 'I'm proud of your support in there,' he nodded, released her hand and walked away.

Macy warmed at Twain's compliment. He had been sincere, not patronizing, just being factual. Still it was rewarding coming from Twain.

'Macy?'

'Yeah?' She looked up to see Twain had stopped walking. He was looking at her with those serious eyes as if she was in trouble.

'Don't get emotionally involved.'

'W___what do you mean?' She knew exactly what he meant as she struggled to her feet with much difficulty.

Twain walked back to where she stood. His voice low as he spoke, an index finger waging before her eyes pointedly. 'I know you care deeply for your patients, Macy. I take my responsibility as a surgeon seriously as well, but you and I are not God. We do the best we know how.'