NECESSARY MEASURES
Page 33
The simple words “I’m sorry” couldn’t begin to express Archer’s emotions.
“It’s strange, don’t you think?” Mitchell saved him from making a fool of himself. “It’s as if everyone in town has a right to know all about my personal life but when that baby was born…” The mask slid away again, just for a brief glimpse of agony. “When that beautiful, innocent… flawed little life entered this world for such a short time, nobody knew.”
“Your granddaughter.”
“I wouldn’t have even seen her if a colleague of mine at the hospital where she was born hadn’t called me against HIPPA regulations. I drove to see her in Springfield, where she was in an incubator, premature and fighting for her life because of the poison produced by the man in my trauma room right now. My precious….” His voice cracked. “My granddaughter.”
Mitchell was lost in bitter memories. “Even after my granddaughter died, Trisha never came home. She had her inheritance from her grandmother. She lived off that until the money ran out. Do you know my own daughter, my flesh and blood, won’t speak to me?” Mitchell turned to Archer. “And do you know why?”
“No,” Archer said. “Tell me why.”
“Because I won’t feed her addiction.” Mitchell’s jaw clenched. “Her mother says I’m heartless.” As if he suddenly realized what he was saying and to whom he spoke, Mitchell pressed his lips together. His nostrils flared. “What was it you said you were doing here?”
“Checking on the kids.”
“Then check on the kids. Visit your church members, pray for them, feed and diaper your adult babies, whatever, just don’t bother us in the ER. We’re busy.”
Archer stepped from the room with Mitchell directly behind him.
Emma was coming down the hall. “Dr. Caine, his BP is dropping dangerously low. Airlift will be here in approximately eight minutes.”
Mitchell glanced at Archer. “I might not have to do a thing.”
***
Archer sat alone in Grant’s office attempting to rally his stray thoughts and focus on prayer. The activity taking place in the next room, however, made that difficult.
“Dr. Caine, his pressure’s dropping again.”
“It will continue to drop until he gets blood.” Mitchell’s voice wasn’t irritable as it usually was in such a situation. “Do we have his blood type?”
“Yes, but no subtypes.”
Archer heard the familiar echo of rotary blades. The helicopter was getting ready to land and then the patient would be out of this hospital. Mitchell could finally relax. Or he might never relax.
“Doctor,” said the nurse a moment later, “he’s unresponsive.”
A sudden shriek raced through the department, making Archer’s neck tingle.
“What was that?” someone cried from the central desk.
“It was the patient,” the nurse said. “Dr. Caine, there’s no pulse.”
“Start CPR.”
There was a shuffle of activity as the helicopter drew closer. Archer knew they wouldn’t be able to fly him out like this. Unless Mitchell and the team could resuscitate Simon Royce, he would die here in this hospital.
Archer prayed as he listened to the code routine that he’d heard a few times these past months.
Twenty-five minutes later the helicopter flew away without a patient.
“That was a wild one,” Becky said as she stepped into the office where Archer sat. “The patient didn’t make it. I guess you heard.”
Archer nodded.
“I know exactly when it happened.”
Archer looked up at her.
“Didn’t you hear the death scream?” she asked.
“Is that what it was?”
“That’s what Emma told me. It was sure eerie. I guess he won’t be killing any more eighth graders.”
Archer shook his head over a soul that had been lost long ago.
“Dr. Caine said it must have been internal injuries,” Becky continued. “It wasn’t a surprise to anyone.”
Ice skittered across Archer’s shoulders. He suppressed a shiver. The sense of tragedy struck him with the usual sorrow over a soul lost for eternity but added to that was the knowledge of so many other lost souls following close behind. Though the pusher was gone, he’d already planted other seeds.
***
Lauren strolled with Grant to the front door of her house. She was tired, she had to work tomorrow, but she didn’t want to say goodnight yet. She’d spent the past hour listening to the twins download to the police while she hid her shock at the ordeal the kids had endured. She knew Grant was recovering from something similar but more intense.
He stepped up to the porch and stood beside her. “You’re sure you don’t want to come back to our house and watch a movie? We’re all too wound up to sleep.”
“How about a rain check?”
“Soon? Tomorrow night?”
“I’d love to.”
He gave her a surprised smile. “Really?”
“Really.”
He gazed down at her for a few seconds then took her hand in both of his. “It meant so much to have you with me tonight.”
“You like the way I catch hot rolls?”
“Among other things. I also like the way you keep conversation flowing at a lively pace.”
“A polite way of saying I talk too much.”
He reached for her house key and opened the screen door. “It’s an honest way of saying I enjoy spending time with you. I enjoy sharing my thoughts with you and I never have to be afraid that you’ll judge me.” He unlocked the door and handed the key back to her.
“Thanks for including me tonight,” she said softly. “For understanding how important it was for me to see Brooke and Beau and see for myself that they were safe.”
He nodded. “I intend to make a habit of that kind of inclusion as long as you think you can handle the stress.” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. His hand hovered there.
“I’d like to try,” she whispered.
He lowered his head and pressed his lips gently, briefly, against her forehead then lowered them to her mouth.
The kiss lasted only a few seconds but it shot through Lauren like a natural energizer. When it ended Lauren caught her breath and looked up at him.
“Good night,” he whispered.
She nodded, smiled, stepped inside, and watched him walk to his car, knowing as she watched that nothing would ever be the same between them again.
###
URGENT CARE
Hannah Alexander
Chapter 1
Jessica Lane Pierce took the final curve of the tortuous drive from Branson to Dogwood Springs accompanied by the fanfare of a thunder and lightning storm that sent a cascade of rain across her windshield in circular waves, like a giant intermittent sprinkler system. It was louder than any of the music that had accompanied her onstage tonight. It squeezed her stomach muscles more tightly than any kind of stage fright ever had.
Rain washed the state highway to an ebony sheen. She could even feel her all-wheel-drive hydroplaning on certain sections. The drive from the theater had taken her nearly an hour as opposed to the typical thirty-five minutes in good weather. Branson traffic had been snarled even more than usual because of the deluge that had split the sky a few minutes after her show ended. It had cut her usual greet-the-star time in half due to the urgency of the bus drivers and senior citizens to beat the storm.
Another flash of chain lightning gave her a fascinating view of her new hometown set on the peninsula of a gently sloped hill overlooking the Black Oak River, which would most likely tumble out of its banks before morning if this rain continued. For all she knew it had already escaped those banks.
Dogwood Springs didn’t hold its usual appearance of comfortable safety tonight. The waving branches tossed sticks and leaves into the sheen of her headlights, first bone white, then darkening to a menace of fleshless arms and fingers, as if they were reaching out to grab her c
ar or thrust her from the road.
Jessica couldn’t wait to get home, remove her stage makeup, and fall into the arms of her loving husband—not that the last part was likely to happen soon. Archer was the on-call chaplain at the hospital tonight.
She pulled to a stop at the first traffic signal, which swung like the Sword of Damocles in the wind, threatening to topple onto her hood at any moment. She turned right to bypass the commercial section of town with its quaint shops.
Three blocks farther, she hit the brakes with a gasp at the sight of the cascade rushing over the low-water bridge in front of her. Headlights flashed as a car pulled up behind her. Too close behind. She lowered her window, getting drenched in seconds, and stuck an arm out to wave the other driver back.
The car made a U-turn and disappeared into the mist. Obviously the driver was aware that this little bridge often flooded, leaving the residents on the hillside beyond it with only one other access to their homes.
Jessica had no intention of trying to cross, either. She followed the other car toward the Black Oak River Bridge, grimacing at the thunder that cracked overhead. She breathed a quiet prayer that for once Archer would be at home when she arrived.
A fresh flood of rain bashed the windshield of the car and water glistened from the black street. Set as it was on this tree-covered hillside, the town of Dogwood Springs seldom had trouble with flooding but this storm seemed to be attacking from all sides at once.
The blare of a nearby horn startled her. She jerked around to see who was honking but only saw an empty street. The blare rode up to a deafening scale and back down again and then she recognized the public alert system.
Her cell phone chirped from the seat beside her, further stealing her breath. She stopped in the middle of the deserted street and answered it.
“Jessica where are you?” The tense frightened voice, accompanied by generous static, belonged to her husband.
“I just got into town, honey. I’ll be home in a few—”
“Do you have the keys to the church?”
“Of course.”
“Get there now!”
She stiffened at the sound of urgency in his voice. The siren took on a new significance.
“Jessica? A tornado’s been sighted on the ground between here and Eureka Springs.”
“That’s too close for comfort.”
“Electricity’s already off in several parts of town including the hospital. We’re on emergency backup.”
“Where are you?”
“Hospital.”
“Then I’m coming there.”
“No you’re not. If you just got to town you’re closer to the church. We need it unlocked and I need you safe. It’s a designated tornado shelter. Hurry, Jess.”
“Okay. Archer? Be careful. I love you.”
“Then get to the church basement.” Jessica heard tense voices in the background over the telephone. “I love you too,” Archer said. “I’ll see you soon.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Hannah Alexander is the pen name of a husband-wife writing team, and is the author of more than thirty inspiration novels, novellas and short stories of romance, women’s fiction, suspense and medical drama with a dose of subtle humor. All are set in homey small towns. Thank you so much for taking time to read this novel. If you enjoyed it, Hannah Alexander would very much appreciate a review from you on the site where you purchased it, Goodreads, or other book review sites you enjoy. Reviews are key to future sales, and sales are key to future novels.
Read more about their work and sample chapters at www.HannahAlexander.com
E-book available novels by Hannah Alexander:
Hallowed Halls Series:
Hallowed Halls
Dandelion Moon
A Lot of Class
Sacred Trust Series:
Sacred Trust
Solemn Oath
Silent Pledge
The Healing Touch Series:
Second Opinion
Necessary Measures
Urgent Care
Hideaway Series Trade Paperbacks:
Hideaway
Safe Haven
Last Resort
Fair Warning
Grave Risk
Double Blind
Love Inspired Suspense—Hideaway Series:
Note of Peril
Under Suspicion
Death Benefits
Love Inspired Historical—Hideaway Series:
Hideaway Home
Jolly Mill Series:
Silent Night, Deadly Night (novella)
Eye of the Storm
Collateral Damage
Keeping Faith (historical suspense)
Alive After New Year (novella)
Single Titles:
A Killing Frost (contemporary suspense)
Hidden Motive (contemporary suspense)
The Wedding Kiss (historical suspense)
Copyright
Kindle edition
Necessary Measures - Copyright 2015 by Hannah Alexander
Published by Hannah Alexander Books
PO Box 378
Monett MO 65708
Cover Created by Angela Hunt
Westend61 - Fotolia.com
WavebreakMediaMicro - Fotolia.com
Edited by Karen Schurrer, Ron and Janet Benrey, Cheryl Hodde, Sherri Wilson Johnson
Formatted by Rik Hall; Wild Seas Formatting
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without the prior written consent of the publisher.