Annie was sleeping. Turner stood next to the door and looked at her for a moment. She was hooked up to an IV and a monitor of some sort, but she looked ten times better than she had the last time he had seen her. Just as beautiful. Probably more so now that he knew how courageous the woman was.
He wanted to touch her, but figured that was a bit weird. They were basically strangers to each other, after all.
“You can’t go in,” a feminine voice said quietly behind him. “Not unless she’s awake. Hospital regs, pal.”
Turner turned, seeing familiar red hair and a gorgeous face with big, whiskey-brown eyes. “Hey, Jillian the Villy-un. You look tired.”
“I am. We’ve been pulling shift-and-a-halves in my department. We’re down a few nurses. Annie, and another who lost a leg in the storm. And one was killed at home with his son. That’s just our department.”
“I’m sorry.” Turner winced. He’d never be able to count how many times he’d said those words over the last week or so. He studied her quickly.
“Me, too.”
“Death toll is still rising. We lost another to bacteria this morning. Eighty-three years old.”
“I heard.”
She was busy, and he was wasting time here. Turner knew it. He could be better utilized out there with the people of his city. He looked at the woman in the bed again.
It wasn’t finished between them. He’d be coming back to see her the first chance he got.
“Take care of yourself, Jilly. You’re no good to anyone if you wear yourself down.”
“The same could be said to you. Now, go home. First, stop off and get you something to eat. You look like you’ve run yourself ragged. Don’t make me call Mel.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do that.” With one more look at Annie, Turner left.
He had things to do.
But he would be back.