Rescue Team

by Candace Calvert

  The only thing Kate knew for sure was that an out-of-the-blue road trip and a hill country trail ride weren’t going to change things. Her father was gone, and though he’d said otherwise, she doubted he’d come through Austin again. If he did call, she probably wouldn’t answer. Their painful history—sealed by Kate’s unforgivable mistake—was etched as deeply as Wes Tanner’s initials on the side of that barn. It was there to stay. In a week she and her father would be playing phone tag again. She’d send a Thanksgiving e-card. He’d text her from his firm’s holiday party. Everything would return to normal as if today never happened. It wouldn’t feel good, but at least it wouldn’t hurt. Kate smiled ruefully. Like her aching legs.

  The kettle whistled and she poured the steaming water over a Sleepytime tea bag. Tea, then a bubble bath. And a plan for something to do tomorrow so that the excuse she made to her father didn’t feel like one more lie.

  Her cell phone rang on the counter and guilt pricked. It had to be her father.

  But it wasn’t. Her stomach did a ridiculous quiver.

  “Wes.” She glanced at the time display. Nine thirty. They’d exchanged phone numbers in case there was anything to report about his brother. It seemed only natural after they’d teamed up for his rescue. “Is Dylan okay?”

  “Better than okay.” Wes chuckled, despite the fatigue in his voice. “Mom gave permission for Hershey to sleep in his room. Which means I get to listen to that skunk chaser snore. I’m assigned to the other twin bed.”

  Kate smiled, easily imagining it. “I’m glad you’re there.”

  Wes was quiet for a moment. “I’m glad you were here.”

  “I didn’t really do anything.”

  “You kept my brother calm. Not easy. And kept me thinking straight too. Training, protocols—it feels different when it’s personal. Anyway, I wanted you to know how much it meant, Kate.”

  “Your mother thanked me. Over and over. And I have a huge slice of buttermilk pie wrapped in foil.”

  “I meant I want to thank you,” Wes insisted. “Your father said you had plans for tomorrow.”

  She winced, tried to think of something to say, but Wes continued.

  “After church, I’m going to the hospital to see Gabe. But if you’re free in the afternoon, I thought maybe we could—”

  “Wait.” She laughed despite an uptick in her pulse. “If you’re about to offer me Duster again, I’ll have to beg off. I wasn’t going to admit it, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to sit down tomorrow, let alone ride.”

  “No worries, not riding,” he said, voice rumbling with obvious amusement. “I can do civilized things too. I thought we could walk around South Congress, visit the galleries, catch some music. Maybe find a good place to eat. It’s too late for the bat boats, but—”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Bat boats. They take tourists along Lady Bird Lake to see the free-tailed Mexican bats. One and a half million of them nest under the Congress bridge.” Something in Wes’s voice made Kate think of Dylan eagerly sharing the information on the K9 training. “Austin has the largest urban bat colony in the world. People come from everywhere to watch them at sunset. You never heard about that?”

  “No,” she told him, tempted to say she was still getting used to the idea of Texas-shaped tortilla chips. “But I’ll take your word for it.” Kate was surprised to hear herself add, “And all I have planned for tomorrow afternoon is paperwork. Staff schedules, budget reports, and legal papers to review. Sounds like fun, right?”

  “No. So will you let me—?”

  “You’re not going to use the rescue word, are you?”

  “Never gave it a thought. Pick you up around three?”

  “Uh . . .” Kate hesitated, unsure. The only thing she had in common with Wes Tanner was a choking incident. Spending an afternoon with him made as much sense as saying yes to the visit from her father. And climbing onto that horse. Both had hurt.

  “Sure,” Kate told him despite frantic, whispered warnings in her head. “I’ll give you the address.”

  JUDITH USED A PAPER TOWEL to scoop the remains of an Egg McMuffin from the floor—Sunday brunch in the ER. She surveyed the waiting room. Seventeen people signed in. The elderly woman in an elaborate hat was the only potentially serious case. Indigestion at church, “reflux problems.” Judith knew from her reading that female heart attack symptoms often presented differently than men’s. Subtle, but equally worrisome. This gracious and apologetic lady told the triage nurse her discomfort was gone, but Judith would keep an eye on her. ERs were busier on weekends and staff often ran thin, increasing the waiting times. And the risk of dangerous error. Yesterday’s incident at the Northside ER more than proved that.

  Judith caught a glimpse of a familiar face outside the ER doors. Trista with baby Harley. On a Sunday?

  “Trista?” she called as the door whooshed open. “Is the baby having troubles?”

  “No, no,” the young mother said breathlessly, shifting the weight of the baby’s carrier in her arms. “I’m going to the pharmacy. I forgot to pick up Dad’s prescription on Friday. He needs it.” Her teeth pinned her lower lip.

  “I’m glad it’s not the baby,” Judith told her, then noticed a swollen and discolored area along Trista’s cheekbone. “Ouch. Is that a bruise, dear?”

  “Huh? Oh, this.” Trista touched her cheek. “Tripped over the dog. It doesn’t hurt. . . . I should go. Dad really needs his medicine.” Her brows lifted. “Do you think you could watch Harley for a few minutes while I get it? I’ll be real fast.”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  “I’ll hurry,” Trista promised, relief in her expression as she handed over the sleeping baby’s car seat.

  “Take your time. She’s fine here.” Judith watched the woman make a beeline for the main entrance, realizing she’d forgotten to ask if Trista received her e-mail with the photos Judith had taken a few days ago. The day the young mother admitted she had no recent pictures of her baby because her phone camera did a poor job and she didn’t own a regular camera. No photos. Hard to imagine. Judith thought of the multiple thick albums dedicated to her daughter Molly’s first year. How much money had her husband spent on rolls of film? They’d been impatient waiting for even the one-hour prints. But then Trista was a single mother, and—

  “Hi, Judith.” Lauren Barclay started to pass by but did a double-take as she looked at the infant. “Is that Harley?”

  “Sure is.”

  “What on earth . . . ?” Lauren glanced around, then back at Judith. “Did she lose her mother again?”

  - + -

  “It’s Stevie Ray Vaughan.” Kate blinked at the enormous bronze statue of the famous Dallas-born musician. Hat, poncho, electric guitar, bouquets of fresh flowers strewn around his heavy sculpted boots. On the lawn nearby, a young man in a frayed jean vest and a knit cap picked a battered guitar in fame’s shadow. A woman nursed her baby beside him, her eyes closed and face lifted toward the afternoon sun.

  “Quite a statue.” Kate rested her shoe on the low stone wall, felt an immediate twinge in her thigh, and lowered it again. She glanced sideways at Wes, dressed Austin casual in faded Levi’s and a tan chino shirt. “And tribute to a legend.”

  “You like blues guitar?” He raised his voice over excited barking from the nearby dog area. Then stepped aside, making room for a trio of joggers.

  “My father, mostly. Huge fan.” Kate scanned the Austin skyline across Lady Bird Lake: the upscale residential Austonian tower, waterfront hotels, and the crystal crown facade of the clock-embedded Frost Bank skyscraper, constructed of blue low-E glass. It was a stunning panorama of both historic and edgy architecture, made front-porch welcoming by a profusion of greenbelts and parks. She clucked her tongue, turned to Wes. “I cut my teeth on Stevie Ray. ‘Pride and Joy’—Dad and I played a mean air-guitar duet to that one.” Kate mimed an impressive stringed crescendo to prove it. “See?”

  Wes laughed. “I can imagine the two of you. Matt
seems like . . . a great guy.”

  Kate noticed that he sounded tentative, careful. The way he’d been when he picked her up today—making very few remarks about the leased house, mentioning only its proximity to great eateries like Chuy’s and Shady Grove and to Zilker Park. He’d said nothing about her remaining unpacked boxes and the bare fireplace mantel that all but begged for family photos. He hadn’t even questioned why Roady—amazingly present—had only a pathetic stump of a tail. Wes made none of the personal observations Kate had dreaded. Probably because of her trail ride remark about meddling or maybe for the same reason folks hesitated to ask the source of a dubious black eye. Fear of intruding, finding out more than they really wanted to know. What if Wes knew she’d taken the previous tenant’s cross from the wall and banished it to the closet? Or that I’ve done far worse things?

  “Right,” Kate agreed at last. “Dad can be sort of cool.”

  She drew in a breath of autumn-scented air, reassuring herself that this unexpected day offered a respite from all pressures: memories stirred by her father’s visit, work, and the frustrating uncertainty of the upcoming performance review. She looked forward to exploring Austin despite the fact that she’d awakened miserably saddle sore, inches from embarrassingly bowlegged. Pulling on jeans had been torture, stretching her short legs to scale Wes’s mountain of a truck a Herculean feat. She’d had to tilt sideways on the drive to spare her aching backside.

  “I’m enjoying this,” Kate said, surprising herself more than a little. But it was true. And simple. She was here because Wes wanted to thank her for helping his brother and because she needed a day off. Past relationship mistakes had no bearing on today. As long as Kate stuck to the plan of keeping Wes Tanner physically and emotionally at a safe distance.

  “Good. I’m glad. And I’m starving. I know some great places where you can eat without having to sit down.” His grin crinkled his eyes. “Not that I noticed anything, cowgirl.”

  Before Kate could think of a comeback, Wes’s hand found hers. Strong, sure, warm. She thought about sliding hers away, but this unexpected connection felt too good. Just for now, these few minutes. Even if it meant her plan for keeping him at a distance had shortened by a few risky inches.

  - + -

  Lauren glanced across the visitors’ table and reminded herself that even on lunch break she was still a peer counselor. Right now that meant hearing an employee vent about her friend Kate Callison. This triage nurse wasn’t mincing words.

  “That’s why you didn’t come to the debriefing?” Lauren asked. “Because Kate was there?”

  “Mostly.” Dana sighed, pushing her sandwich away. “I don’t understand why she went anyway. Albert said she didn’t share anything and that she skipped out halfway through.” She pressed her fingers to her brow. “She’s been powwowing with the hospital legal department. Everyone knows that. And believe me, nobody’s happy about it.”

  Lauren chose her words. “Kate came to the debriefing because she was part of the incident with Baby Doe.” She saw Dana’s eyes widen at the mention of the dead infant. “And because she wanted to show support for her team. That kind of tragedy affects us all.” Lauren waited. Don’t push . . .

  “I couldn’t face triage today. They still don’t know if that mother came through our department.” Dana breathed through her nose, exhaled. “Did you read the article in the Statesman? The comments from that Waiting for Compassion person?”

  “After the Baby Doe incident?”

  “Yes.” Dana squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. “I know he was pointing a finger at me. Saying I’m responsible for letting that baby die.”

  Lauren knew it would do no good to tell this nurse it wasn’t so. Or to point out that another waiting room vigilante letter had surfaced online today, about another ER across town—or at least that was the hint. This was an ongoing agenda. Not aimed at any one specific person. But she doubted Dana would believe that right now. “That letter must have made you feel really bad.”

  Dana’s eyes shone with sudden tears. “I became a nurse because I care. I know that sounds corny, but it’s true. I’ve always tried my best. But it’s getting harder all the time. Sicker people, fewer staff, more regulations and compliance requirements that pull time from patient care. All that computer time required for records . . . I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.” She swiped at a tear before it could fall. “I keep going over that night in my mind. Wondering if I missed something in the waiting room, asking myself if there was some way I could have stopped what happened. It was a horrible shift. I tried to tell Kate what it was like . . .”

  “And?”

  “She didn’t want to hear it.” Dana’s lips compressed. “Talk about no compassion.”

  Lauren winced. “I sometimes think of things I wish I’d said in certain situations. If you could do that meeting over again, what would you want to say to Kate?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe . . .” Dana’s chest heaved in a sigh. “I’d just ask her if she’s ever made a mistake in her life.”

  - + -

  Wes watched with amusement as Kate devoured her meal. Or tried to. “How you doin’ with your first taste of SoCo trailer food?”

  “Ah . . .” Her expression was a comic mix of bliss and frustration. Coleslaw dribbled from a tortilla stuffed with chicken and fried avocado and shoved sideways into a paper snow-cone cup. She brushed at a sprinkle of crumbs on her clingy navy-blue cardigan. “This is fabulous. The chicken’s coated in sesame seeds, almonds, cornflakes, and . . . chili powder, I think.” She raised her voice to compete with a boisterous group of college students at a nearby table and lively bluegrass fiddling from somewhere across the street. “Messy, but incredible.”

  “And merciful.” Wes pointed at the rails along the large mobile food cart, providing holes to hold the cones for diners who preferred to stand. “I kept my promise.”

  The Mighty Cone, one of many trendy food carts on South Congress, also offered red-painted picnic tables and strings of globe bulbs to add light and romance to a gravel parking lot with construction zone ambience. Upscale food, no frills. He’d gotten a kick out of seeing Kate’s reaction to the fleet of carts and trailers boasting names like Wurst Tex, Coat and Thai, and Austin Frigid Frog. And the girlish delight on her face when she spotted Hey Cupcake!, a shiny aluminum Airstream with a huge pink cupcake hoisted atop. Kate had nearly squealed; apparently pink frosting was a counterbalance to her natural tendency toward prickly. Wes was determined to find more ways to make that happen.

  “It’s hard to believe—” Kate dabbed her lips with a napkin—“that this craziness is all within walking distance of that impressive state capitol building.” She glanced toward the street, where lights and neon signs began to preen in the deepening dusk.

  “That’s Austin. Politics, arts, film, music—opera to Dixie Chicks—technology, business, ecology.” Wes shrugged. “Weird. And determined to stay that way.” He finished off the last of his venison cone dog.

  “Austin has the university too.” Kate nodded toward the table of students.

  “UT. Got my degree there.” Wes wiped his fingers. “Interesting that your father’s also an engineer.”

  He doubted pink frosting would ease the immediate discomfort in Kate’s eyes.

  She was quiet for a moment, fanfolding her napkin and smoothing it out again. “I guess you could tell Dad and I aren’t close. He was obsessed with work when I was a kid. Gone a lot.” Kate dredged up a meager smile. “Except for the dude ranch vacations.” She glanced down at the napkin again. “When my mother got sick with cancer, he started drinking a lot. So even when Dad was there, he wasn’t really . . . there. Then she died and it was just the two of us. In this oppressive silence.” Her eyes were huge in the dwindling light. “You probably can’t imagine that. Not with your family.”

  I can. Wes wanted to tell Kate he’d lived it. In those long months after his mother drove into the river. During a search that seemed endles
s . . . hopeless. All those nights he pretended to be sleeping and heard his father choking on grief. Wes wanted to say he understood that wounded silence. But he couldn’t think of a way to begin.

  “Anyway,” Kate continued, “I do appreciate your helping me entertain him yesterday. I know I gave you a hard time about that trail ride.” She shifted her hips, grimaced. “But you more than got your revenge, I’d say.”

  She smiled, the string lights reflecting in her eyes. Wes was grateful; the earlier sadness had him fighting an urge to put his arms around her. Hold her close and offer any comfort he could. She wouldn’t welcome his attempt even if she needed it badly. “Dylan made me promise to tell you hello. And to say he thinks you’re really pretty.”

  Kate laughed; then her expression grew thoughtful. “Is he on the spectrum? For autism?”

  “Yes. Mom and Dad have worked really hard for years, made sure he got every possible kind of help. Dylan’s made huge strides considering that he wasn’t diagnosed until he was four. After he came to live with us.” Wes read the confusion on Kate’s face. “He’s adopted. So is my sister.” He realized he’d backed himself into a corner, regardless of his earlier hesitation. “Miranda is my stepmother. My mother was killed in an accident when I was seven.” The empathy in Kate’s expression touched him. “Anyway, Miranda discovered she couldn’t have children. So they decided to adopt.” Wes smiled. “And foster. We had fourteen foster kids through that house before I moved out. More afterward. The patter of little feet in Justin boots.” He shook his head. “If our Baby Doe had lived, he probably would have found his way to the Tanner ranch.”