"It varies from person to person."
Shelby pinched the bridge of her nose. "He should be awake by now, right?"
"Well. Yes." She added, too quickly, "But every patient is different."
"Geez. Okay."
The men studied the floor while Shelby sniffed.
Finally, she looked back at her brother. "Garrison, could we go in now? If it's okay with Dr. West."
Mariah paused and studied Shelby for a few seconds, weighing the woman's very human need to be close to a loved one against taking a medical risk. "All right. But after you're done, I want you resting again." She stepped aside.
Garrison propelled her forward as Vaughn followed, like a big, docile puppy.
That is, if a big, docile puppy radiated barely restrained danger and smug satisfaction.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, a booming male voice echoed down the hall. "We need some help in here—now!"
Mariah leapt from her seat in the work area and ran down the hall. Before she registered that it was Vaughn who had called out, she was in Eric Patterson's room.
She froze.
Eric was awake. Despite the dark purple bruises and cuts covering most of his face, he appeared exceptionally lucid as he gestured toward a motionless Shelby, who was slumped forward, half out of her wheelchair and half lying on the hospital bed.
Garrison and Vaughn sported wide-eyed expressions of disbelief. But something about the way they stared at each other didn't seem right at all. What the heck?
No time to figure them out. A nurse and a respiratory tech ran into the room.
"Get more help," Mariah said, circling the bed and easing Shelby's slack body back into the wheelchair, keeping her neck in line and protecting the airway. Vaughn rushed to help. "She's breathing." With pressure of her fingers on Shelby's carotid, Mariah held her breath for six seconds, counted, and multiplied by ten. "Heart rate one hundred." Glancing up at the respiratory tech, she asked, "Could you put a pulse ox on her? And get a set of vitals."
Damn it, she needed to figure out why Shelby had suddenly gone unconscious, several days after the initial injury.
She froze.
Only one medical condition she knew of could cause this pattern: subdural hematoma. Mariah's pulse thundered in her ears. The timing didn't fit, but she had no other explanation. And if a brain bleed had occurred, time was slipping away for Shelby. After a window of lucidity, a patient with a subdural would become unconscious again, followed quickly by death. If it was a subdural. If.
Sweat broke out on her upper lip.
"Call radiology and clear the CT scanner, stat," she called out to the ward clerk standing at the door. "We're taking Ms. Taggart down for a head scan now."
"Shelby?" Eric called in a hoarse, dry voice. He reached out, his face contorted into a rictus of pain and horror that chilled Mariah's blood.
"What happened?" she asked.
The three men in the room looked at each other. Silence. Shrugs. Not exactly guilty, but they knew something.
Staff wheeled a gurney into the room, and they eased Shelby onto it. Vaughn stepped back next to Garrison at the edge of the room. As Mariah followed the bed down the hall, she heard the rise of angry male voices flowing out of Eric's room.
No time now. She'd sort that mess out and re-evaluate Eric in a few minutes.
As the bed rolled, she asked, "Are her oxygen levels okay?" The respiratory tech nodded. "Good enough. Can you grab portable oxygen and meet us in radiology?" He ran off to get the supplies.
As Mariah took over pushing the bed while a nurse pulled at the foot of the bed. To maneuver a corner, Mariah yanked on the heavy, unwieldy gurney, leaning against the handles to turn the piece of equipment. The sudden presence of a warm body behind her made her jump. Vaughn covered her hands with his big ones.
"Let me. It's my sister. I can help." Gone was the pissy giant from half an hour ago. In his place, this serious rock of a man exuded competence.
And judging by his posture, God help anyone who got in his way.
At this point, she'd take any reasonable assistance, even from a guy whose behavior whiplashed between flirty and hostile. She ducked out from under his arms.
Dashing to the elevator, she held the door while he and the nurse maneuvered the bed through the doors. Squeezing in next to him, she pushed the down button. Vaughn's hip pressed against hers in the cramped space between bed railing and elevator wall. The guy took up an impressive amount of space. The ride down one floor took an eternity.
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, and she had the answer: normal head CT. No subdural hematoma.
Made no sense.
In the radiology work area, Mariah covered the mouthpiece of the phone and asked the nurse and radiology tech to take Shelby back to her room.
Slouching in the office chair in front of the monitors, she clutched the phone to her ear. Had she misunderstood the radiologist on the other end of the line? Maybe he had read the wrong scan. She asked again.
Normal.
She sat there, boneless, staring at the screen.
So if the loss of consciousness didn't come from the subdural, what caused it? Infection? There was no fever. Normal white count.
Once again, she called the neurologist in Casper. He had no other ideas or explanations for the change. No evidence of increased intracranial pressure on exam or on CT findings. Give it time, he said.
Damn it, Mariah was fed up with giving it time. She needed to get some answers from the people who were present when Shelby lost consciousness.
Shoving on the arms of the chair to stand, she slammed down the phone's hand piece and sped into the hall.
And ran smack dab into a rock-solid wall of heated male.
Chapter 9
Vaughn grabbed her out of instinct but loosened his grip when he felt Mariah's delicate frame stiffen beneath his palms. The top of her head with that glossy chestnut hair stopped a few inches below his chin.
He tried not to notice how perfectly she fit next to him, how that white coat couldn't totally hide her figure. His traitorous arms twitched with the need to wrap around her. A ridiculous notion, given the situation brewing with his sister. Hell, he still needed to hunt down and destroy that fucking creature that had put his sister in this hospital in the first place.
He had no time and no business thinking about anything besides professional matters when it came to the woman in front of him.
Okay, maybe another brunch date. Where he could watch her eat large quantities of food.
Christ.
Through some miracle of whatever gods still had his back, Vaughn managed to hold his shit together. What he really wanted was to back Mariah flush against the wall and press every inch of his body hard against hers, from her black pants to her plum-colored shirt that made her green eyes glow. But he didn't move a muscle.
Instead, he inhaled her mint aroma, which made his mouth fucking water, the craving stronger than when he wanted alcohol. Her scent also fired up his power again, and he gave in, mentally throwing the latch as he grimaced against the headache when the damned ability reached out to surround her and protect her.
Protect her from what? Danger? Only person here was... him.
Well, crap.
"Sorry there," she said.
Her breathy voice erased all rational thought, but he couldn't help himself. His biceps flexed, drawing her into his chest. Like she belonged there. So right.
So wrong.
No one belonged this close to Vaughn. Hell, he was practically radioactive. Everything he touched went to hell, and he'd be damned if Mariah would be hurt because of him.
Also, they were in a professional situation here.
Her small palms seared him through his shirt as she pushed back.
Pushed back.
Of course she did.
Faster than when the bell signaled the end of a fight round, he let go of her.
Damn her wide eyes and open mouth, but he
wanted more of her, from the bow of her fuller upper lip to the tip of her pert nose.
His power flowed from him in a wave of crushing need to keep her safe, sucking the air from his lungs. That damned gift wanted to cocoon Mariah as surely as his physical arms. This was more than familiarity from their date together yesterday.
His head ached.
He swallowed a lump of what felt like gravel mixed with failure. "So, did you figure out what's going on with Shelby?" Mariah flinched. Time to tone down the angry voice. It wasn't her fault his brain waves fritzed when he was around her.
The inward roll of her lips had as much of an impact as if she'd dragged them over his skin. Fuck. Then that soft, pink mouth was moving.
"...no bleed in the brain, which is good. But I don't have an explanation for her loss of consciousness."
Eric had filled him in on what had happened back in that hospital room. Shelby had used her power to pull Eric back to the world of the living, but the cost was that she went into another coma. Whether she would recover this time was anyone's guess.
Unfortunately, no one in the family would ever spill the secret about the Taggarts' strange powers. Which left one doctor very frustrated and worried. Not that a medical professional knowing what Shelby had done would be able to help. According to Garrison and Kerr, their sister's ability had grown a few weeks ago. No one knew the price of that power changing.
Icy terror crystallized in his veins. Maybe this was the end game for his sister. For all of them. What if the Taggart kids could tolerate only so much of a shift in their power, and beyond that, their heads imploded?
A horrible thought, considering he was talking about his sister.
A fist formed way down deep in his chest. Damn. It wasn't fair. None of the bullshit his family had to deal with was fair.
He must have mumbled something marginally coherent, because Mariah answered, "That's it. I'm going to call Casper back and get Shelby transferred."
"No!" he said, grabbing her shoulder.
"What? Why not?"
He gave her the two inches it took for her to slide free of his grip. "I mean, you said that we just need to give it time, right?" You call that a recovery line? Lame. Why not put up a billboard that read: unstable freak, steer clear?
"Sure, but I'm not a neurologist, and what's going on with her, I can't explain." When she swallowed, the movement of her throat froze him in place. He couldn't stop staring at the graceful line of her neck. "Whatever is happening to your sister is way out of the scope of care for any doctor at this hospital."
"You saying you can't hack it?" Damn it. Stop saying stupid shit.
Her pale skin went ashen. "What?"
How'd that foot taste, shoved into his mouth?
Christ, she didn't deserve to be the target of his ping-ponging moods. Didn't matter that his fear of screwing up any relationship with a woman drove those hot-and-cold responses. But it sure seemed like every time he dared to hope that he could have a normal relationship, reality reminded him why hope was a crappy plan. And without a filter stopping these knee-jerk verbal reactions to his warring desires and fears... no one deserved to be treated like this.
"What I'm saying is, you took care of Shelby and Eric in the ER and when they were critically ill. That's pretty good. Uh, good skills. What services can be done in Casper that can't be done here?"
Her mouth opened and closed. She tugged on the stethoscope around her neck. He recognized it as her nervous tic by now. "I feel that we aren't making any progress, and in fact backslid this morning, for a reason I can't determine."
"Eric's awake."
"Sure, but why?"
"Time? Patience?"
"Maybe." How badly he wanted to run his fingertip over the skin to smooth the furrows between her dark brows.
"We'd really like to keep our family all here in Copper River." Keep them close. Protect them from whatever was stalking the Taggart family.
"Even if it's not optimal care? That doesn't make any sense."
Smart woman, trying to put pieces together, even if the pieces didn't fit. He needed to shut that activity down, fast.
"That's our family's decision." He tried to cap the statement with as much finality as he could muster but remain civil.
"Well. Okay, then."
She chewed her lower lip; what he wanted was to crush his mouth to hers. That decision would be yet another in a long string of mistakes on his part.
So he settled for a half measure. "I'm sorry to be so short with you. Now, and earlier yesterday. It's just"—no way could he explain the real reason—"uh, I'm worried about my family."
Her shoulders lifted and fell. "Understandable." The woman had more grace in her right pinkie than he ever could hope to possess. Maybe he could repair the damage. Maybe he could get a second chance.
Or maybe, instead of mooning over the woman in front of him, he should act like a big brother and focus on his sick sister.
"All right. I'll go sit with Shelby." He tried to soften his stupidity with a passable smile that felt all wrong. When had he truly smiled last? Well over a year ago.
Except for the coffee incident with pretty doctor the other day. And at brunch yesterday. She'd made him smile, and for those brief moments, his life had been filled with light and happiness.
The muscles in his neck tensed with an effort to hold back any more inappropriate statements.
"Okay." She didn't meet his eyes. "I'll be back in a bit to check in on her again."
Her quick steps faded down the hall. As Mariah turned into the stairwell doorway, he caught one more glimpse of her glossy brown hair as it slid over her shoulders with the movement.
Then she was gone.
The air went stale, lifeless.
Chapter 10
Mariah lost all hope of ever catching up after her third train wreck of a patient visit in as many hours at the rural clinic attached to the hospital. Normally, a patient with ten major medical issues and a laundry list of concerns to discuss? Bring it on. She loved the challenge. But today she was too distracted to delve into the long, complicated appointments.
Didn't help that the face of a certain man kept popping up at inopportune times, pulling her concentration in directions it shouldn't go. Crazy how she kept thinking about him and his changing moods. Explainable by his worry for family, sure. But whenever she talked with Vaughn, it felt like he held back important information. Or secrets.
She was a fine one to talk about secrets. She had a roomful of them.
She took in a big breath and blew it out slowly. Focus on work.
Last patient of the day would be a doozy.
After a pause, she knocked on the room holding Patricia Brand, the widowed matriarch of the Brand family who Mariah had just yesterday discharged from the hospital for aspiration pneumonia secondary to multiple sclerosis.
"Hello, Mrs. Brand," she called as she shut the door behind her. "How are you doing today?"
"What's it to you? You're late, by the way," the woman in the wheelchair snarled and sniffed. Made perfect sense to Mariah. Unfortunately, not all of Mrs. Brand's bad attitude could be chalked up to a long battle with multiple sclerosis with increasing complications and the resultant depression. Some of that bearish temperament was simply... her. Maybe some of the attitude had to do with her family, too.
Well, most of them.
The other woman in the room, her daughter, Izzy, shook her head and mouthed sorry, her face drawn and lined. Her long, blonde hair hung in limp, unkempt waves. Her blue eyes flicked up briefly, then she stared at the floor.
"You're right, and I'm sorry to make you wait." Mariah plowed ahead. "My goal is for you to feel better, Mrs. Brand. And I have to say that you look better than a few days ago."
"No thanks to you. Would have gotten better on my own anyway." The woman's atrophied hands flopped on her lap. When she inhaled, the on-demand portable oxygen tank gave a puff of air into her nostrils.
"Mom, please," Izzy whisp
ered.
"Hush up. This is my visit. I don't even know why you're here anyway."
"Because you can't drive. And you need someone to push your wheelchair while the power chair is in the shop."
"Besides that."
Izzy clamped her mouth closed and peered into space, away from her mother.
At least Izzy had a mother present. A twinge caught Mariah between the ribs and she mentally shook it off.
Mariah plowed ahead. She refused to calculate how many more minutes of work remained in this never-ending day. "Has your breathing changed any since you left the hospital?"
"No. It's crappy as usual." Mrs. Brand sniffed. "Not sure why you couldn't fix that particular problem while I was in the hospital." A wet cough punctuated her words.
Izzy grimaced.
Mariah groaned to herself. The reason she couldn't completely fix the woman's lungs was due to equal parts an incurable underlying health condition and the fact that she kept smoking two packs per day.
No problem. Mariah could handle grumpy, ill patients all day long. "Any other issues like palpitations or chest pain?"
"No."
"Good. How about ankle swelling or fevers?"
"No." She waved her thin fingers near her face. "I must be perfectly fine, then. Good job, super doc." The harsh laugh held zero humor.
Mariah rolled her neck as she exhaled. "So I know that having multiple sclerosis makes it more likely to get certain health problems, like pneumonia. But also having a chronic illness can cause depression or anxiety."
Mrs. Brand grimaced. "What are you, a rocket scientist?"
Keep trying. "Sometimes being ill can make people angry or lash out at people they love." She paused. "Have you ever noticed yourself doing that?"
Izzy studied at the floor.
Mrs. Brand sneered, "What business is it of yours?"
Taking another calm, centering breath, Mariah answered, "My business is your health. I want you to be as healthy as you can be, inside and out."
"How about a total body transplant?" There, a flash of fear and vulnerability flitted over the woman's lined face. Getting closer.
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