by Cate Beauman
“The statue’s green but not really. Daddy said the salt in the water made her that way.”
“Yes.”
Mabel handed her a green crayon. “You can draw with this even though it’s not right.”
“All right.” She smiled, getting to work on the picture as Mable drew four happy faces, all with blue eyes and varying lengths of black hair.
“This is my daddy and mommy and Brock and me.”
“Very nice. You’re a wonderful artist.”
Mable set down her pink crayon mid-stroke. “I don’t want to color anymore. I want my mom.”
Reagan’s brow furrowed as she noted Mable’s heart rate accelerating on the monitor and her peaches and cream complexion paling. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”
“My tummy hurts really bad.”
Reagan stood, pushing the table away from the bed and pulled back the covers, noticing the sudden distention where Mable clutched. “Let me look.” She pushed on the now hardened abdominal area and the little girl moaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as the automatic cuff on her arm tightened, giving a read off. BP dropping. “Mable? I’ve got a code!” She hollered. “Curtain ten! Mable?”
The code team rushed in. “What’ve we got?”
“Internal bleeding. Distended abdomen. Hard to the touch. Vitals are crashing. Intubate her, open her line, and let’s get her to OR. Tell them they need two bags of O-negative at the ready. Hang in there, sweetie,” she said to Mable, willing her to hold on as they barreled down the long hall through the heavy wooden doors, handing the little girl off to the OR staff waiting for them.
“Reagan.” Kim followed her into the next room.
She sat on the bench, sucking in several shaky breaths, trying to steady herself.
Kim sat next to her.
She rushed to her feet. “I need to go in.” She let her coat fall to the floor and pulled a surgical gown over her scrubs. “Tie me.” She turned her back toward her friend.
“Reagan—”
“I told her mother she was going to be okay. Please tie me.”
Kim secured the drape. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Kim was absolutely right. Mable’s fate now rested in Doctor Viner’s hands, because she’d made a mistake. “I should’ve known.” She piled her hair on top of her head, securing a disposable hair cover in place.
“Her vitals were stable; her color was good. She was alert, Reagan. You ordered a scan. She was waiting her turn.”
Kim’s justifications did nothing to relieve the sickening dread weighing heavy in her stomach. “I should’ve put a rush on it.” She slipped a booty over her Dansko and one over her right foot.
“We’re slammed, Reagan. We have been for hours. She wasn’t going in before the stab wounds and head traumas. You know that.”
“We also know how quickly a peds emergency can turn fatal.”
“And she wasn’t presenting as an emergency.” Kim grabbed her arm. “Listen to me.”
She shook her head, pulling away, not wanting to hear it. “I can’t. I need to be in there.” She reached in for a pair of gloves, swore when she realized the box was empty, pulled a fresh container from below, and gloved up. She walked toward the operating suite, stopping short as two nurses came out, their surgical aprons covered in blood. “What are you doing?”
“She’s gone. She bled out,” Maggie said as she peeled off her saturated clothing, dropping it in the biohazard bin.
Reagan leaned against the wall, shuddering out a breath. “She’s gone?”
“Ruptured spleen. Massive hemorrhage. She was loosing blood faster than we could pump it in.” Maggie sniffled, wiping at her cheeks. “I hate losing kids. It breaks my heart.”
Reagan walked into the OR, staring at the debris and crimson footprints among the puddles of blood littering the floor, swallowing over the ball in her throat as she glanced at the sheet draping the small body. Mable was dead. She’d missed the signs of internal bleeding, and now Mrs. Totton’s little girl was dead. She moved to the child’s side and eased the cover down, stroking gloved fingers over a pale cheek as tears trailed down her own. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry I let you down.” She settled the drape in place and turned, walking into the hall, pulling off her gloves and hair cover on her way back to the ER.
“Where’s Mable?”
Her gaze whipped up to meet Mable’s mother farther down the corridor. “Mrs. Totton—”
Mrs. Totton ran forward, gripping Reagan’s arms. “Where’s Mable?”
She took a deep breath, fighting to keep her emotions in check. How could she tell this woman she’d lost everything? “Mrs. Totton—”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly.
Her eyes filled. “Mrs. Totton—”
“Nooooo,” she said on a keening wail. “You said she was fine. You said she was okay.”
“Mable had an acute rupture—”
“Mable!” Mrs. Totton screamed, collapsing to the floor. “Mable!”
Reagan crouched down at her side. “Mrs. Totton—”
“Get away from me! You said you would take care of her! I trusted you with my baby!”
Two orderlies hurried over, helping up the distraught woman as Doctor Viner came to assist.
“You killed Mable!”
“Let’s get her out of here,” Doctor V. said. They took Mrs. Totton away, and Reagan turned, crashing into Kim, well aware that Mable’s mother was right.
“Here.” Kim handed over Reagan’s bag. “You did everything you could. We all did.”
“I should’ve insisted on radiology sooner.”
“She was in line like the half-dozen other patients waiting.”
“I didn’t know. I should have.”
“Reagan—”
“Her abdomen was soft to the touch.” She shook her head, still trying to figure out how she could have been so wrong. “There was no distention or pain, just the bruising.”
“Take your bag and go home. Get some sleep and go on your vacation.” Kim guided her to the door.
She stopped. “How many ruptured spleens do we deal with? Hundreds? I should’ve known, Kim.”
“Go.” Kim hugged her and gave her a shove into the bright, sunny morning. “Call me later. I’ll see you in a week.”
Drowning in a wave of despair, she walked away from the ER she’d practiced in for the last two years more than certain she would never be able to walk back in.
Chapter Two
The Fray blasted through the speakers of the SUV Shane had taken off of Tyson’s hands when he officially took over as Head of Security for The Appalachia Project almost two hours ago. He glanced out the driver’s side window of the Mitsubishi Pajero as he cruised along the twists and turns of Route Eleven, paying more attention to the scenery than usual. The trees were abundant in varying shades of green, the sky as blue and bright as California’s, but it was the lack of civilization and drastic change in the condition of the occasional houses that kept him tuned in. Gone were the large, prettier homes he remembered closer to Lexington. Gone too were shops and restaurants of any sort.
“In three miles, arrive at destination on right,” the GPS said.
He looked at the small screen on the dashboard, noting that the next three miles didn’t appear to offer anything more than the last hundred had. Muttering a swear, he turned up his music, still trying to shake off the frustration of being there in the first place. He loved his job. He considered himself a team player through and through, but spending three months guarding a pill safe in this godforsaken place when there was so much going on in LA rubbed him the wrong way.
He’d been hoping to snag the month-long assignment in Dubai with the crew filming the new action movie and maybe get his hands on a couple of late-summer premieres, but that wasn’t how things had shaken down. Unfortunately, Ethan wanted him in Appalachia.
He zipped around another curve, slowing when he realized he was well over the speed limit, and eased off the gas farth
er when the sign for Black Bear Gap, population two hundred and twelve, appeared around the next turn. “Good Christ,” he said under his breath as he glanced around at houses and buildings long ago boarded up and more than a dozen structures too far gone to repair. He cruised by a one-pump gas station and small grocer that apparently served as the US Post Office and bank as well.
Driving on, he passed a dirt road, then a second and third, knowing his turn was around here somewhere. “Come on, Jill. Don’t leave me hanging. What’ve you got for me?” he said to the GPS, waiting for instructions, but “Jill” stayed stubbornly quiet. “You’re speechless too, huh?”
Shaking his head, he flipped a u-turn and pulled into the gas station, stopping by the group of men standing around with cigarettes dangling from their lips, holding cans of soda. He turned off his music and rolled down the window, breathing in a cloud of smoke. “Excuse me. I was wondering if one of you gentlemen could point me toward the clinic.”
Six sets of guarded eyes shaded by grimy caps looked him over. “You one of those sons a bitchin’ Feds?”
He’d been warned about the local’s hostility toward the Appalachia Project and anyone affiliated with it. “Ah, no.”
“That sure looks like the vehicle that other fella drives around in, and he’s a Fed.”
He could only assume the “fella” in question was Tyson. “I don’t know what to tell you. I just got off a plane in Lexington. I’m trying to find the clinic.”
“I never heard of no clinic,” another man said, his mouth full of rotting teeth.
“No clinic around here,” another chimed in.
Clearly he wasn’t going to get anywhere here. “Got it. Second turn on the right. Thanks, guys.” He flipped the Pajero around and accelerated on the empty town road, keeping his window down instead of rolling it back up, forgoing the chill of the air conditioning for the fresh air and heavy scent of pine.
Taking a chance, he took the second right and started up. One mile turned into three, then four as he bumped along the poorly maintained road, following the turns to nowhere. He slowed to a near stop when he caught sight of a little boy and girl running around the corner of a derelict trailer. He swore, taken aback by the chickens roaming about the piles of trash that surrounded the questionable foundation. “Son of a bitch,” he said again. Someone lived in there. He’d read the reports and studied the maps and pictures of the area where he would be spending the next twelve weeks, but seeing the conditions in person was surreal. This was poverty at its worst.
Easing off the brake, he continued on, spotting another house and yet another in no better shape than the first. Finally he saw the Black Bear Gap Clinic sign and the accompanying log cabin tucked back in the trees. He pulled ahead, studying the pretty structure out of place among the ruins of a once-thriving coal town. To the left of the cabin, he glimpsed a smaller metal building that was more of an oversized shed. Here he was: home sweet home.
Sighing, he parked between a sporty red convertible and another SUV identical to the one he drove. He snatched the keys from the ignition and moved to open the door, pausing when he heard the voices heading his way.
“Please don’t leave,” the pretty woman in raspberry-colored shorts and a white tank top said as she hurried around the corner of the metal building. “You can’t just go.”
“Oh, yes I can.” The blond dressed in snug jeans and a silk shirt picked up her pace as she made her way to the convertible. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Yes you did.”
“Forget it.” The blond slammed the door and backed out, spewing dirt in her wake as she raced away.
The woman in the shorts closed her blue eyes, pressing a hand to her forehead.
Shane got out. “Rough day?”
She opened her eyes. “You could say that.”
He took the four steps separating them and extended his hand. “I’m Shane.”
“Reagan.” She returned his shake. “You aren’t by some chance a miracle replacement nurse the director forgot to tell me about?” She bit her full bottom lip, smiling her hope.
He grinned. “Nah, I’m taking over for Tyson.”
“Yeah, I kind of thought so.” She blew out a deep puff of air, rustling stray pieces of shiny brown hair falling from the messy pile on top of her head. “I imagine I can’t interest you in a crash course in nursing?”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth as he shook his head. “I’m not sure medicine’s my thing.”
“Yeah,” she said again with another small smile.
“I take it you’re the Doc.”
“Mm, that’s me.”
She wasn’t just pretty—she was gorgeous with her small, slightly tip-tilted nose, straight white teeth, flawless skin, and friendly eyes set in a spectacular face.
“And I take it that was your nurse?” He gestured to the tire tracks.
“For about ten minutes. I guess rural living isn’t for everyone.”
He glanced around at the trees surrounding them, listening for any familiar sounds of civilization. “I think we can safely call this the absolute middle of nowhere.”
She smiled fully. “It’s a little disconcerting.”
“I’m still waiting for the shock to wear off.”
She chuckled, looking over her shoulder toward the clinic. “I hate to be rude, but I should probably get back to work.”
“Heavy patient load?”
She shook her head. “Not quite.”
He recognized what could only be disappointment in her voice.
“The cabin’s unlocked. There are plenty of bedrooms to choose from—three others besides mine. See you later.” She turned away.
“See ya.” He stared after Reagan, sliding his gaze over her firm calves and thighs and excellent butt as she walked off, then pulled his luggage from the back, making his way into the cozy cabin with surprisingly more creature comforts than he’d expected—TV and an Xbox nestled in the entertainment center, a nice kitchen with plenty of fruit in the bowl on the countertop, glossy hardwood floors and pretty rugs. He pushed his sunglasses on top of his head as he noticed the stairs, set down his stuff, and took the steps in twos, nodding his approval at the bookshelves, plush furnishings, and technology area in the loft. He paused by the grouping of windows, studying the decent-sized pond a good hundred yards away, then went back downstairs. He grabbed his luggage before he moved down the hall, taking in the weights and treadmill in the miniature gym, then stuck his head into the area beyond, spotting the small hot tub in a greenhouse-like space. “Nice.” He continued on, glancing into vacant bedrooms until he came to the room with several suitcases in it that had yet to be unpacked. Doc’s room.
He peeked into the empty space directly across from hers, deciding immediately that this would be his. He set down his bags for the second time, eager to head over to the clinic. He and Reagan had just met, but she was certainly intriguing. What in the hell was a woman who looked like her doing in a place like this? Luckily he had the next several weeks to find out. For the first time since Ethan issued him his new assignment, he actually felt a small stirring of excitement.
~~~~
Reagan smoothed the last of the life-sized sea turtle decals in place and stepped down from the ladder, examining her work. She nodded her approval as she studied smiling jellyfish, dolphins, and schools of brightly colored fish decorating the walls she’d painted a pale blue. The stickers complemented the grinning orca whale examination table in her pediatric room well.
In the two days she’d been in The Gap she’d slept little, spending all but a handful of hours cleaning and slapping color on the walls, organizing, and taking supplies from unopened boxes no one had bothered with in the two years the clinic had been open to the community. Moments after she’d unlocked the door to her new office, it had quickly become apparent that not a single patient had been seen in the twenty-four months the facility had been operational.
She buried another wave of useless
anger as she sent a blade through the last box and transferred the small paper gowns to the drawer beneath the exam table. One room down, two to go.
Moving to the next disheveled space, which she’d painted a muted shade of mauve, she got back to her inventory, placing a handful of speculums in a drawer along with the swabs she would need for pap smears. She paused as the newly familiar doubts plaguing her stopped her in her tracks. She picked up the speculum again, turning the instrument encased within the plastic, knowing she would eventually have to use this common tool of her trade. She’d given hundreds of pelvic exams as a resident, then as a board certified physician, but she hadn’t touched a patient in the seven weeks since she walked out of the ER.
Her life had come to a standstill, her vacation to the mountains of New Hampshire forgotten while she dealt with a team of lawyers, barely avoiding a malpractice lawsuit. Then she’d done her best to endure the grueling three-week investigation into Mable Totton’s death, the final ruling a tragic act of fate—a splenic rupture due to the trauma of the car accident and an already enlarged spleen caused by an undiagnosed case of mononucleosis. In the eyes of her colleagues, Mable’s demise was a result of unfortunate circumstances, but she had yet to forgive herself for missing an opportunity to save the seven-year-old’s life.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t practice medicine.
Take some time, but eventually you’ll have to take a leap and jump back in. We’ve all lost someone, Reagan. We’ve all questioned ourselves. The best way to honor that little girl is to get back to doing what you’re so damn good at.
She sighed, remembering the words Doctor Viner had used as they sipped coffee after her Medical Board hearing. She’d taken Dr. V’s advice, giving herself the time she needed. Now she was jumping back in, hoping to help the people here in The Gap.
“Knock, knock.”
She turned, staring into the most boldly green eyes she’d ever seen. The new security guard or bodyguard or whatever the heck he was had been nice to look at with his sunglasses on. Now he was downright delicious—sun-streaked brown hair accentuating the hints of five o’ clock shadow along his strong jawline, firm lips, and a killer physique molded like glory in blue jeans and a snug top, adding to his undeniable masculinity, making him ridiculously drool-worthy. “Hi.”