Mulberry Moon

by Catherine Anderson

  Ben stepped in close, drew her gently into his arms, and kissed her good night. He ignored that good night felt more like hello, baby. He heard her breathing quicken and knew she was aroused. Restraining himself was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. But even though he still didn’t know the story of Sissy’s life, he did know that the greatest gifts he could give her were time and the privilege to decide when she wanted their kisses to take them to a deeper level. She’d give him a sign when she got there.

  He stepped away, touched his hat, and said, “Good night. Sleep tight.”

  Once outside on Sissy’s porch, Ben took a couple of minutes to stand and breathe deeply. Sissy hadn’t been alone in growing aroused during that kiss. He felt as if his dick had turned into an ear of field corn. And, damn it, his testicles ached like a son of a bitch. He needed a woman, but it couldn’t be just any woman. His carousing days in Crystal Falls were over. He thought he heard Sissy come downstairs. Then he heard the lock click and knew for sure she had.

  “Okay,” he said to his dog. “I can finally walk straight now.”

  Ben set off toward his parked truck. He’d just unlocked the doors with his remote when a shrill scream came from Sissy’s building. Before Ben could turn around, the scream came again. Fear such as he’d never felt in his life slammed into him.

  Sissy. Something horrible had happened. As he ran he could only pray that he could bulldoze his way through the back door.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ben hit the porch with a flying leap, struck the door with all his might, and then nearly fell to the floor in a tangle with the stout frame and planked portal.

  Scrambling to keep his balance, he yelled, “Sissy! Where are you?”

  She screamed again, apparently in too much agony to speak.

  The stairs. Oh, God, Ben thought, those damned steep stairs. He raced along the hallway through the storage rooms, veered right once inside the café, and nearly fell over Sissy, who lay sprawled on the floor near the bottom step. She’d tripped, he guessed, which, unless she was on ice, was so atypical of Sissy, so nimble and quick on her feet. Ben knelt beside her. Her face had drained of color and turned chalk gray.

  “What happened? Talk to me, honey. Where are you hurt?”

  She bared her clenched teeth. He watched her struggle to speak. “Right—leg. Be-low kn-knee.”

  Ben grabbed his phone and dialed 911. He perused Sissy’s leg. No blood had seeped through her jeans. Good sign. But he knew that the bone had to be fractured. One thing he’d learned about Sissy over the last month was that she didn’t get dramatic when she got hurt. He remembered when she’d slipped on the ice, landed hard enough on her butt to crack her tailbone, and then smacked the back of her head on the frozen ground with enough force to knock some people unconscious. Never once had she so much as shed a tear, let alone screamed.

  “This is Ben Sterling. There’s an emergency at the Cauldron!” he half yelled into his phone. “Get here fast! Sissy Bentley. Fall on the stairs. I think she’s fractured her right tibia.”

  He thrust the phone back in his pocket as soon as he knew help was on the way. “It’s okay, honey. The paramedics are on their way.”

  She’d stopped screaming as soon as she saw him. It was one thing to scream for help, but she’d clench her teeth until they chipped before she reacted to the pain in front of an audience. She turned her head sideways, closed her eyes, and bit down on her lower lip.

  Ben heard sirens, but damn it, they sounded distant. Sissy was hurt, really hurt. Hurry the hell up, he silently urged them. Why weren’t they here? The fire station was at the edge of town on North Huckleberry. What was taking so long? Ben knew the wait seemed like an eternity to Sissy. In that moment, he would have given almost anything to take her place. She was such a little gal and fragile. Never should she have to endure pain like this.

  After what seemed like hours Ben saw headlights sweep over the wall. The sirens went quiet as the screech of braked tires sounded on the street. “I gotta go let ’em in. I’ll be right back. Just hold on, sweetheart.”

  Ben dashed for the front door, turned the key in the lock, and swung the glass barrier wide. Tyler Ryder, the fire chief, spilled out the driver’s side of the red ambulance. The rear doors opened, and Sheryl Moses leaped out onto the asphalt, a large medical bag clutched in one hand. A petite blonde, she didn’t look strong enough to be a firewoman and paramedic, but she performed as well as any man, sometimes better.

  Ryder sped through the opening, acknowledging Ben with only a jerk of his head. Having dined at the café, he didn’t need directions to the stairs. Talking on his cell phone, he raced to the back of the restaurant to crouch over Sissy, with Sheryl close on his heels. Cody Charles, a young Mel Gibson look-alike who’d been riding shotgun with Ryder, reached the door last, steering a folded gurney ahead of him. Ben began shoving chairs and tables out of the way to form a wider path for Sissy to be ferried out.

  When he got back to the woman he loved, he couldn’t get close enough to let her know he was there. Sheryl was palpating Sissy’s body to check for other injuries. Then she grabbed scissors from the bag and cut the right leg of Sissy’s jeans open from hem to thigh. Sissy’s shin had already turned bright red with a blue tint, telling Ben that blood welled beneath her skin.

  “Horizontal, but stable,” Sheryl said to Ryder. “That’s my guess, anyway.”

  Sissy began to breathe fast, each intake shallow.

  Sheryl pushed her bag open wider. “Nitrous. Authorization to administer. Great deal of pain here, Chief.”

  Ryder echoed Sheryl’s words into the phone and gave his paramedic a thumbs-up. Ben decided the fire chief was talking with medical personnel at St. Matthew’s in Crystal Falls, the closest facility that could handle anything serious.

  Sheryl put a mask over Sissy’s mouth and nose. Seemingly from out of nowhere, Chandler Oliver appeared with a portable tank. Within seconds, Sissy was breathing the gas, and the rise and fall of her chest slowed. Her dark lashes swept up and down over her glazed blue eyes.

  Next, Sheryl slipped an uninflated neck brace under Sissy’s head, fastened it at her chin, and started squeezing an oval-shaped rubber pump. The brace billowed quickly to stabilize Sissy’s cervical spine. Then Sheryl and Chandler slid a body board under Sissy, both of them taking as much care as possible not to move her. Ben’s knees felt as if they’d turned to jelly. After a fall like that, Sissy could have other broken bones, or even have a spinal fracture.

  Ben was forced back when the crew of three lifted Sissy onto the gurney, which Chandler had unfolded.

  “I’ll insert the IV en route,” Sheryl barked. “Let’s go. Move it, guys. Let’s go.”

  Ben ran after them. He stood on the sidewalk and watched as Sissy was put into the ambulance. She seemed to be in less pain now. Sheryl jumped in back with her patient. Tyler Ryder met Ben’s gaze as he strode the length of the vehicle to get back in the driver’s seat.

  “You can follow us,” he said. “No room for you in there. They’ll be in close contact with the hospital and working on her as I drive. She’ll get some intravenous analgesic on the way. My guess is, she broke only the leg. But we won’t know for sure until they take X-rays.”

  Ben stepped up to the door as the chief climbed inside the cab. “Tell her—” He broke off and swallowed. “Tell her I love her and I’m right behind the ambulance.”

  Just as the ambulance left, a county sheriff’s truck sped around the corner and parked at an angle at the curb. Barney jumped out and slapped on his Stetson as he leaped onto the sidewalk. “I was way out on Seven Curves Road when I got the call. What happened?”

  “She fell on the stairs. I was about to leave when I heard her scream.”

  Barney strode inside and went straight to the stairs with Ben right behind him. His trained gaze swept the scene for clues. Then he jabbed a fi
nger and asked, “What the hell is that round, silver thing?”

  Ben scanned the risers. On a step below the apartment door, he saw the foil ball that Sissy had given Snickers. “Oh, God. It’s a sparkly thing she made for a pack rat. After she locked up, she must have stepped on it going back up the stairs. Look, I’ll explain later, okay? I’m out of here. I’m following the ambulance.” Ben stepped into the hall. “I busted down the back door. That has to be fixed. Her place can’t be left wide open all night.” He stopped midstride. “Finnegan is around here somewhere. The kitten’s upstairs. Can you take care of them until I make it back here?”

  Barney nodded. “I’ll call in the troops. Just go. Got it handled. Keep your damned foot out of the carburetor.”

  Ben knew the troops meant his family. His heart welled with gladness that he had such a great support system, but only for an instant. Then all he could think about was Sissy, how bad her injuries might be, and how he would manage to take care of her without everything at his ranch going to hell in a handbasket.

  * * *

  It took bloody forever to reach St. Matthew’s. Ben had to find a slot in visitor parking while the emergency vehicle circled in under the ER portico. By the time he reached the automatic sliding doors, Sissy was nowhere to be seen. At the front desk, Ben identified himself as Sissy’s brother. He knew he’d never get information about her condition unless he lied. He learned that she’d been taken into the bowels of the emergency care section.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Sterling,” the receptionist said. “She’s got no ID on her. The paramedics from Mystic Creek knew her name, but we need a lot more information. Can you go to admitting and fill out some paperwork for her, please?”

  Shit. Ben knew so many little, personal things about Sissy that, collectively, they’d become huge, but he was sadly lacking in knowledge to fill out admittance information for her. A stern-looking woman gave him a clipboard to which were attached forms. He went to sit on a black vinyl chair. Filling out the paperwork was a bitch. He lied and said his parents were her mother and father. He guessed at harmless answers, but when he got to medical history, he couldn’t make things up.

  Why in the hell had he never asked Sissy if she’d undergone any surgeries, or if she was allergic to anything, especially medications? He couldn’t even get online and try to hunt down her parents. She’d never told him their names.

  Ben got up and approached the desk. The harassed woman gave him an unsmiling look. Ben handed her the clipboard. “Uh, this medical history? I can’t fill it out. She left home at eighteen, so for the last eight years we haven’t been in close contact. Plus, brothers and sisters don’t talk about health stuff much.”

  “That’s fine,” the woman said as if she’d heard all this before. She grabbed the clipboard. “When she comes back around, a nurse can ask her questions.”

  Relieved, Ben resumed his seat. That lasted ten seconds. He paced. He sat. He paced. He didn’t want to go to the john for fear a doctor might come out and not find him. If not for that damned rat, Sissy wouldn’t be in the hospital. Deep down, Ben knew it was more his own fault than it was Snickers’s. If he had only ratproofed the building when he should have, none of this would have happened.

  Finally, a doctor in pale green scrubs entered the waiting room. They sat in a quiet corner to talk. The man was taking Sissy in for surgery. He explained to Ben what he planned to do, saying something about a metal brace and bolts in the bone, but none of the words sank into Ben’s brain. His stomach bunched into knots. His heart felt as if it was pounding hard enough to crack his ribs.

  After that one-sided conversation, all Ben could do was wait. It seemed to him that hours passed before the doctor entered the waiting area again, and once more Ben could barely register what he said. All that stuck in his gray matter was that no invasive surgery had been necessary. The horizontal fracture of the tibia was stable, whatever the hell that meant, and over time it would heal.

  * * *

  After what seemed like forever, Ben was informed by a weary-looking CNA that Sissy had been moved from recovery to a private room. Family members could see her there now.

  “She may be asleep,” the assistant warned. “She came out from under the anesthesia fine, and now we want to let her rest as long as possible.”

  Ben found the elevators and went up to locate the room. As he stepped inside, he could barely make out Sissy’s small form on the hospital bed. The lights had been dimmed. She lay with her arms at her sides and her injured leg elevated on pillows. Through the sheet and blanket, he could detect the unnatural angles and shape of either a brace or a cast.

  A beige chair that looked as if it reclined was positioned at the far side of the bed. Ben, taking care not to let his boots rap on the tile, circled to take a seat. He’d just gotten settled when a plump older woman with faded red hair entered the room. She checked Sissy’s IV tube, giving it a flick with her middle finger. Then she glanced briefly at the digital screen to check Sissy’s vitals.

  “So, you are Ms. Bentley’s—brother?”

  Startled by the question, Ben said, “I was told to be quiet.”

  The woman chuckled. “Our talking won’t disturb her. She’s still sleepy from the anesthesia, and I just added some analgesic to her IV, a nice, slow drip of la-la land to keep her comfortable. A horizontal fracture that goes clear through the bone is extremely painful.”

  Ben tried to swallow. His throat was parched. “Did the doc put bolts in her leg? I remember him saying he might. But when he talked with me later, my brain took a vacation.”

  “It wasn’t necessary. It’s a stable break.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The nurse smoothed Sissy’s hair back from her forehead, something he’d longed to do himself. “Well, it means that although the bone is broken all the way through, it was forced only slightly out of alignment. With stable fractures, a surgeon will sometimes apply a metal brace on the outside of the leg to support the compromised bone. He secures that brace by drilling a bolt into the bone above and below the break.”

  A swirling grayness overtook Ben’s mind. Bolts in her bone?

  “This young lady was very lucky. Her tibia remained almost aligned, and the surgeon was able to shift it slightly. He decided that a boot brace will temporarily work to support it. When the leg stops swelling, he’ll apply a regular cast.” She pulled up the sheet and blanket to reveal the large red boot on Sissy’s leg, which reached to hug her thigh. “I’m going to unfasten the straps on this to have a peek. If her leg is swelling, I’ll need to make adjustments. The trick is to keep the bone firmly supported while allowing room for swelling, so every hour I need to check on her.”

  Ben thought he had a strong stomach, but he battled against an urge to gag when he saw Sissy’s discolored and swollen leg.

  “It’s not pretty,” the older woman observed. “But open fractures are worse. The bruising and swelling will slowly dissipate.”

  That wouldn’t happen fast enough to suit Ben. “What’ll happen if the leg swells more than you expect before you return to check on her again?”

  “We can watch her on the monitors and know if she gets uncomfortable. Plus, I’ll be checking once an hour until we get through the rapid swelling phase.” She smiled as she refastened the boot. “For a brother, you’re very devoted.”

  Ben met the woman’s gaze. He’d always been a lousy liar, and he saw no point in testing his talent now. “Please don’t kick me out of here. I’m the closest thing to family that she has.”

  “Boyfriend? Significant other?”

  “Friend, aiming for lover.”

  A broad grin moved over the woman’s mouth. “She has an aunt and an uncle out in the third-floor waiting room.”

  Ben’s heart leaped with hope. “She does? Thank God! Maybe they know her medical history.”

  The nurse chuckled
. “I suspect they’re just more friends who love her so much that they’ll lie to see her. The uncle’s name is Fred Black.”

  “Blackie’s here?” Ben sighed. “If Sissy could pick an uncle, he’d be it.”

  “And her aunt is a woman named Marilyn Fears.”

  “Aw, Marilyn.” Ben dredged up a smile and gave the nurse an imploring look. “Please don’t give them their walking papers. Sissy needs people who love her right now.”

  The woman shrugged. “I’m old-school. You say you’re her brother. They say they’re her aunt and uncle. Until she wakes up and tells me differently, you’re blood relatives as far as I’m concerned.”

  Ben wanted to hug her. “Are there visitation rules? I mean, like, are you going to chase me out of here at the stroke of midnight?”

  “Visitor hours end at ten.” She glanced at the wall clock. It read ten minutes after twelve. “A few CNAs will come in throughout the night. I’ll tell them it is in her best interest to have one family member in the room with her in case she wakes up.” She held up a rigid forefinger. “One. Tell the aunt and uncle that they can come in separately, and not to wake her. The longer she sleeps, the better. When she does wake up, she’ll be in a lot of pain. We’ll be on it. Only one person can sit with her all night. I’m assuming that will be you.”

  Ben nodded. Damn straight, it would be him, even if he had to arm wrestle Blackie. He wouldn’t leave Sissy unless he was carried out of there, and he figured, with a little ego to make him feel invincible, that it would take four men and a stun gun to accomplish that. “I appreciate your breaking the rules to let me be with her.”

  The nurse grabbed the clipboard, jotted some notes, and then turned to leave the room. “I never break hospital rules.”

  Ben detested leaving Sissy, but he wandered up the hall to find Blackie and Marilyn. While they each took turns going in to sit with Sissy, Ben found a john and then went downstairs to the cafeteria, where free coffee was kept in large pump carafes. Chilled sandwiches and salads were available in a vending cooler. Ben considered eating, but his stomach roiled. He filled a couple of coffee cups for Blackie and Marilyn.