Trauma Plan, page 15
Riley switched off the engine and felt a sudden achy emptiness despite the scent of breakfast wafting from the church courtyard and the giggles of ponytailed and frilly twins skipping past her car. Regardless of last night’s unexpected emotional connection, she and Jack Travis were far too different on fundamental levels. She still hoped that volunteering at his clinic would help her chance for returning to the ER. But if Jack was to actually draw that line in the dirt—ask her to cross over to anger, defensiveness, and lonely doubt—she wouldn’t do it. Couldn’t. Even if for a few breathless and wonderful moments she’d been tempted to skydive in his arms.
The truth was that Riley and Jack suited each other about as much as the TYGRR-mobile belonged in her garage. And she was evicting it tomorrow.
* * *
“Oh yeah . . . let’s fly!” Jack’s tires lost contact with the trail, launching his mountain bike into a gravity-defying moment of flight. Air, floating rush, freedom . . . then smooth impact with earth and dust, tires drifting into the turn. His victorious whoop echoed through the trees.
“Nailed it!” He braked to a stop, unclipped his shoe, and dropped his foot to the rocky trail, then looked back for Rob Melton. Jack grinned, watching as his friend carefully navigated the last steep yards of the cedar-lined slope. “Hey, Sarge. You missed the jump. What’s the matter? Can’t get in the mood without lights and siren?”
“Right . . .” Rob’s round face was flushed, shiny with sweat. “Just plannin’ . . . to be alive for Sunday supper.” He gulped air, grinned. “Which means if you hit a tree, Travis . . . count on someone else to haul your sorry backside outta here. You’ve tasted Rosie’s chicken. I’m not about to be late.”
“The only acceptable excuse.” Jack smiled. “Let’s take a breather.”
“No argument there.” Rob eased back on the seat of his bike. “Wish I could say the same about your clinic situation. Wish we could all take a breather from that battle. Nothing but trouble there.”
Jack bit back a curse. Then reminded himself that he’d come out here to decompress, sort some things out.
He pedaled toward the edge of the rocky outlook and stopped. Pulling off his helmet, he let his gaze sweep the expansive view. White clouds scudding across blue sky. Rolling hills, anywhere from five hundred to more than twenty-two hundred feet in elevation. Anyone who thought Texas was flat hadn’t seen the hill country. Boulders rose from the thin topsoil, small ones like he’d just soared over and far bigger ones, like the huge, pink granite domes of Enchanted Rock near Fredericksburg. Native vegetation: thick stands of cedar, sprawling live oaks interspersed with yucca and prickly pear cactus. And thanks to Lady Bird Johnson’s famous efforts, Texas wildflowers stretching as far as the eye could see: yellow, pink, red, and blue. Fiesta colors . . . like that hair wreath.
The scenery was replaced by a memory of Riley’s face under the colored lights. The ribbons in her hair, pain in her beautiful blue eyes. Tears. And her warm empathy for him. They’d shared more than he’d expected. Laughter, play, raw emotion . . . kisses. Unexpected things that he’d come here to sort out, but right now . . .
He turned toward Rob. “Was there something new with the action committee? Or just continuing plans to smoke me like a slab of brisket?”
Rob took a long swig from his water bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his glove. “You’re still on the menu. But we’ve had three complaints of vandalism in The Bluffs this past week: a garage door tagged, a streetlight broken, and beer cans jammed into a huge stone planter shaped like a cocker spaniel.”
“Time to get a real watchdog.” Jack clucked his tongue. “Like to see someone try that with Hobo. Bite marks and wheel ruts.”
“Ha! I’d bet on that.” Rob’s expression sobered. “There were two burglaries last night. A garage, with tools and a bicycle taken. And a car was broken into in a driveway—expensive set of golf clubs missing. Both of them within a quarter mile of your clinic. One of the neighbors made sure my officers understood that proximity.”
“Great.” Jack narrowed his eyes. “Let me guess. My patients did it. Maybe that girl with the penicillin reaction. High on Benadryl . . . and itching for a round of golf.” His fingers clenched inside his biking gloves. “I don’t believe these people, Rob! Did I tell you that Bandy got hold of one of their e-mails? It actually criticized us for trying to resuscitate that pregnant teenager.” Jack shook his head. “Apparently we should have had the common decency to drag her bludgeoned body somewhere out of public view—never mind that doing that could have made her a quadriplegic.” His gut twisted. “Andrea Nichols was trying to connect the crimes to my clinic?”
“Not Andrea. It was the opinion of the man who lives next door to the Paytons.”
“Payton? The developer who’s planning the condo project?”
“Yes, it was his clubs that were stolen. You didn’t know he lives in The Bluffs?”
“Nope.” Jack grimaced. “Small, suffocating world.”
Rob was quiet for a few moments. “You’re still going to be there for the city council meeting?”
“Wearing my combat boots.” Jack tried to read the expression on Rob’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been asked to provide an overview of crime stats. A comparison before and after the clinic began its current operations. And since you took over as director.”
“You were asked by . . . ?”
“The council.” Rob sighed. “You won’t like the graphs in the PowerPoint presentation.”
“And do those statistics take into account closures of other clinics? The downturn in the economy, job losses, increasing homelessness, or—” Jack continued despite a twinge of guilt—“cutbacks in your police force?”
“You’re right. And I’ll address all that.” Familiar compassion flooded Rob’s eyes. “Look, you know I support what you’re doing with that clinic. You’re helping people who have nowhere else to turn. And you helped us reunite more than a few runaways with families. Countless hours, money out of your own pocket . . .” Rob smiled. “If I didn’t think you’d hurl that water bottle at my head, I’d say that helping those folks is a calling for you. A kind of ministry.” He pretended to dodge as Jack aimed the bottle. “Despite that, let me say that Bandy’s rat terrier has more tact than you. Those neighbors aren’t bad people, Jack. They’re scared people. Wary of what they don’t understand. Protective of their families and their property. So they install security gates, form committees—”
“And stand there gawking while Gilbert DeSoto burns? Snapping pictures? I’m sorry, Rob, but don’t ask me to feel empathy because they’re scared. And don’t ever expect me to turn the other cheek when my patient’s face is on fire! As long as I’m in charge of the clinic, I’ll be fighting for my patients. Keeping them safe. Nobody’s going to stop me. I don’t care if they outnumber me a thousand to one.”
Rob pressed his lips together. “There’s some talk that a private investigator’s been asking around about you.”
Jack’s stomach lurched. And I know what he’ll find.
“Hired by our good neighbors?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual, unconcerned.
“I don’t know. It could be just talk, people stirring the pot. I’ll check into it, let you know.” Rob glanced out toward the miniature roofs and ribbon roads of the town in the distance. “We were in Boerne for services this morning. You remember our church. You came at Christmastime.”
Jack smiled, remembering. “Couldn’t say no to your kids—or live camels. Nice bait and switch to get me there.” He hesitated, measuring his words. He liked Rob, admired him. “I’m still not good with all that. Church and . . .”
“No problem.” Rob raised his gloved palms. “Not pushing. I was only going to say that we saw your new nurse there this morning.”
Jack’s stomach dropped like his brakes had failed at the edge of a cliff.
“Riley Hale. You know, the nurse you mentioned in the Express-News article,” Rob said, watching Jack’s face with growing amusement. “Come to think of it, the only volunteer you’ve ever mentioned. In the extremely limited times you’ve even agreed to talk with reporters . . .”
“Okay. I get it.” Jack told himself not to say anything else. Remembered that he’d climbed onto his bike today to find time to think—or escape, maybe. He’d thought of calling Riley today but wasn’t sure what to say.
“So how was she?” Jack asked, instantly regretting it. How was she? Stupid question. What did he expect? Changed because of what happened between them last night?
“We only spoke for a minute.” Rob shrugged. “I try to make sure I don’t make folks uncomfortable. Because of my work. You know, there’s always that awkward moment after you’ve introduced yourself, when they try to place you. They finally do and then wonder if you’re going to say something about the circumstances surrounding the last time you saw them. Sometimes it dredges up things they don’t want to think about.” He shook his head. “I’m sure it’s the same for you.”
“Right.” The last time I saw Riley, I spilled my guts about Abby. And then she ended up in my arms, and . . . Is she thinking about that today?
“Anyway—” Rob resettled his helmet—“in spite of your cynical outlook, there are good people out there. And when you’re ready, I’ll introduce you. But it looks like you’ve already met one of them.” He grinned. “Even without the old camel bait and switch.”
Jack reached for his helmet. “You up for that new stretch of trail?”
“Are you crazy? It’s not even fully groomed yet. No biggie for you. But these tire tracks are leading toward Rosie’s chicken.”
Jack grinned. “Chicken being the key word.” He glanced at his watch. “Meet you back at the Hummer in fifteen?”
“Deal.”
Jack picked his way through the brush, found temporary trail markers, and climbed to the first outcropping of rocks. He peered down as far as he could see. Steep, rough, but not that much of a risk. Probably. He checked the strap on his helmet and began the descent, bargaining with himself that if he made it to the bottom in one piece, he’d call Riley. If he ended up on a gurney at Alamo Grace . . . he’d probably see her anyway. She was going to be there. Arranging for some sort of “fellowship gathering” in support of staff caring for Jane Doe and her baby. A prayer group to help them deal with the stress.
Jack’s lips compressed into a grimace that had little to do with the jolting impact of the dirt trail. Even a trainload of camels couldn’t snag him into something like that. And it proved that despite what he’d started to feel last night, he and Riley were as different as two people could be. He’d tried to bridge that wide chasm with Abby, and look what had happened there. Rob meant well, but he was wrong. There were some things that Jack would never be ready for.
But this trail . . . Jack clenched his teeth as his wheel twisted in a rut, then corrected. He picked up speed, forging downward. This rocky trail was exactly what he needed.
17
“It’s an injection for your back pain,” Kate explained, uneasy. The thirty-one-year-old man had been polite, charming even, but this sudden intensity—hinting at agitation—was making her nervous. “It’s a hip shot, so I’ll need you to lie back, please.” She reached for the privacy curtain, indicating for him to lie back on the gurney. He didn’t.
“What’s the name of it?” The man’s rugged jaw tensed.
“Ketorolac.” Kate met his eyes. They were a remarkable jade green, appearing especially large because his brows and lashes were so fair. Still, he’d managed to tan, a warm bronzy gold. From working outside, probably. As a contractor, he’d said. They’d chatted, joked out in the triage office. She’d brushed aside his innocuous attempts at flirting but thought he was a nice-enough guy and empathized with his stoicism against the spasms of low back pain. He’d sustained fractures while working on an oil-drilling operation several years ago.
But now . . . she wished she’d asked the male nurse to handle this. This gorgeous guy was acting squirrelly.
“It does a good job on musculoskeletal pain,” Kate continued, tearing open an alcohol swab. “And the bonus is that it doesn’t leave you groggy. Which is good, considering that you work around heavy machinery, and—”
“It’s the same as Toradol, right?” he interrupted, slipping down from the gurney to stand. Even a bit skewed to one side with the pain, he towered over her, maybe six-foot-three to her own five-two. He was lean and powerful as a coiled spring even beneath the shapeless exam gown. She hated her intruding thought of the psych patient who’d hurled the oxygen tank. And of Jane Doe’s battered face.
“Yes,” Kate answered, glad she’d left the door open and that Riley was watching from the nurses’ desk. She stepped around the bedside table to create some distance. “It’s a non-narcotic pain reliever. We use it a lot because it’s so effective. Even with kidney stones. And they say that pain’s almost like—”
“Childbirth,” he said, the charming smile returning as quickly as it had disappeared. “My dad had a kidney stone once. They told him it was as rough as labor pains. Mom was completely sympathetic—I was a nine-pound baby.” He reached up to drag his fingers through his thick mane of wavy hair and Kate noticed the scars again: pearly ropes against his tan. They covered the entire back of his right hand and extended up his forearm. A burn, she’d guess. From some years back. They did nothing to detract from his good looks but, added to his spinal fractures, it was obvious this man was no stranger to pain.
“Look,” he said, glancing at the syringe on the bedside table, “I don’t think I need a shot.” He shrugged his big shoulders, his expression sheepish. “I’m sorry. I probably should have told the doctor that I’m not so good with needles. Big baby.” He chuckled. “Still.”
“Oh.” She suppressed a laugh, relieved. A fear of needles. Why hadn’t she thought of that instead of making it something sinister? I need a day off . . . and less caffeine. “No problem. No one’s going to force you, Griff.”
He smiled, obviously pleased that she’d remembered his name. “Thank you for understanding. You’ve been really nice.” The amazing green eyes held hers for a moment. “When I can stand up straight and I’m dressed in something that has more basic dignity, I’d like to buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Thanks, but—”
“A steak, then? Build you a house?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll ask the doctor to come back and talk with you about medication.” Kate lifted a brow. “What kind of house?”
“Any kind you want . . . California Kate.” He smiled warmly. “Thank you.”
California Kate. She had no doubt Griff was watching her as she walked away—and wasn’t exactly sure that she hated it. There was no way she’d breach administrative policy regarding professional behavior. Still, Kate couldn’t remember the last time she’d been tempted by the attentions of a man, even off duty; certainly not since she’d moved to Texas. With her history of bad choices—such regrettable choices—a relationship should be the last thing on her mind. But today she was tired, vulnerable.
Around 1:30 that morning, she’d pulled on her clothes and driven back to the hospital. She sat in her car for forty minutes, trying to convince herself that it wouldn’t look strange to take the elevator up to the NICU and volunteer to rock Baby Girl Doe. A few of the medical floor nurses and a hospital operator had already done that; the Express-News ran photos. It was natural to want to help. The NICU census was high and the night shift always needed an extra hand.
Kate needed to feel that baby in her arms, and—
She’d driven back home. To an apartment emptying into moving boxes.
She was tired. And just now realized that maybe rocking the baby wouldn’t have made much difference. Maybe she needed to be held. It could be as simple as that.
“Kate!”
She smiled at Riley, mouthed, “Be right there.” Then took a few moments to fill the ER doc in on Griff Payton’s situation and dispose of the unused syringe. When she returned to the nurses’ desk, Riley had refilled her coffee mug.
“Thanks, Rah-lee, although I’m vowing this will be my last caffeine for the day. Too jumpy.”
“Jumpy?” Riley glanced toward the exam rooms. “Something to do with that hulking patient you were talking to? Hard not to notice that mass of red hair—he looks like the Lion King. I almost walked over there when I saw you backing away. Problem?”
Kate smiled over the rim of her cup. “My ever-vigilant pal. No, it was fine. He’s needle-shy, that’s all. But appreciative—he offered to build me a house.” Kate laughed at the look on Riley’s face. “He’s a contractor.”
“And . . . ?”
And I’m a sleep-deprived idiot. Kate waved her hand. “And nothing else.” She tapped Riley’s briefcase. “So why are you here on a Sunday afternoon?”
“I wanted to check on the staff, how they’re coping with all that’s been going on with Jane Doe and her baby.” She studied Kate’s face for a moment. “You know, see if anyone was feeling ‘jumpy’ or anything.”
“Unh-uh.” Kate raised her palms in a flash. “Too much coffee. No counseling required here.” She smiled slowly. “But how about you? I saw your name in the paper. Jack making you crazy yet?”
“No, I’m fine.” Riley glanced away, but not before Kate caught a glimpse of what she’d swear looked like a blush.
“Kate?” The doctor strode to the nurses’ desk, nodding at Riley before turning back to Kate.
“I’m guessing you didn’t talk my patient into an injection,” Kate said, noticing the usually jovial doctor’s slight frown.
“No. I’m giving him a prescription for hydrocodone. Don’t really want to, but he seems to be allergic—conveniently, maybe—to everything else.”
Oh no. “You think he’s abusing pain medication?”
