She slowed to check the staff assignment board, then headed down the corridor toward her office, confident she was right. The triage nurse could have needed the day off for any number of reasons. She’d be back, ready to work. Harley’s mother would recover from her new-mom jitters, reassured that her daughter was safe enough to go home. Things would return to status quo here in the ER, the same way Kate had pulled herself together last night. “I’m fine. Work is great.”
She thought of what she’d said to Wes Tanner in the parking lot and told herself it was still true. “No one here needs to be rescued.”
“Oh, thank you.” Kate smiled with surprise as Judith Doyle set a Starbucks cup on her desk and pulled paper napkins from the pocket of her volunteer smock. “Did I look like I needed a caffeine jolt? And may I please reimburse you for this?”
“No and no.” Judith lifted her own paper cup. “I’m using you as an excuse to feed my own shameless habit. Pumpkin spice latte—don’t ask how many I’ve had since September.” Her expression grew almost wistful. “There’s something about the scent, like family gathered around a holiday table. Home. You know?”
“Mmm.” Kate nodded, thinking of Lauren’s question about Thanksgiving. She reminded herself to send a harvest-themed e-card to her father. “Dare I ask the status of our waiting room?” She tapped the census screen on her desk computer. “It looks like we had a rush about an hour ago.”
“Fourteen. A woman with emphysema was taken straight back to a room; she’s a regular, and the triage nurse recognized her right away. No problem. And . . .” Judith set down her cup to tick one manicured finger against the others. “A man with gout, a kindergartner who cut his chin at recess, a young woman with a headache—she’s had them before; no stiffness in her neck—a high school football player with his ankle wrapped in ice . . .”
Kate glanced at the computer to confirm the list Judith was reciting from memory. She never ceased to be amazed at the dedication of this volunteer; Judith had even been here on Sundays and holidays.
“Family gathered around a holiday table.” Kate had never thought to ask Judith if she had any family in the Austin area. Though her beautiful wedding ring set would indicate as much.
“And the longest wait time is only around forty-five minutes,” Judith finished. “No complaints yet. Though I forgot my puzzle stash today. So if we get a backlog of toddlers, I may be forced to tap-dance and juggle tongue depressors.”
Kate laughed, then felt a wave of regret. She had no doubt that her own mother would have been much like Judith Doyle. Kind, funny, compassionate, young for her age. Full of life.
“I saw that Harley Forrester was discharged home.” Judith’s eyes showed concern. “The baby brought in after trouble breathing at home?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve gotten to know her mother, Trista, a bit over the past couple of weeks,” she explained. “Harley’s grandfather goes to outpatient rehab in the afternoons. Trista drives him. She doesn’t feel comfortable sitting in that waiting room—and we have the big TV in ours.”
“And you.” Kate smiled. “We have you, Judith. That’s why she waits here.”
Judith’s cheeks flushed. “I do try to keep a certain distance. We learned that in volunteer training. But until today, Trista’s baby wasn’t actually our patient. She’s so young and inexperienced. So I—”
“Kate?” The registration clerk leaned through the doorway. “Mr. Lyon’s here to see you.”
“Which Mr. Lyon?” Kate asked, hoping it wasn’t—
“Barrett.”
Kate suppressed a groan.
“I’ll go.” Judith retrieved her latte.
“Thank you again. For everything.” Kate had an irrational urge to ask the selfless volunteer to trade places with her. Stay here, meet with the hospital attorney, and let Kate handle the crowded waiting room. Right now, juggling tongue depressors sounded a lot more appealing than another rendezvous with legal. Especially with Barrett Lyon.
Much more of this and Kate might need rescue after all.
In less than twenty minutes, she was almost convinced of it.
“I’m not sure I understand what you’re suggesting,” Kate said, stomach churning. She leaned forward in her chair, staring across the desk at the youngest partner of the Lyon legal firm. “The police are trying to locate the mother of that baby. It’s only been one day. No one’s blaming the hospital.”
“Except for our self-appointed community health care vigilante.” Barrett Lyon’s eyes, gray as his well-cut jacket, narrowed a fraction. “This person, Waiting for Care—”
“Compassion,” Kate corrected, suspecting the attractive attorney had none whatsoever. “Waiting for Compassion. But the letters and online posts have only alluded to medical settings. No specific hospitals have been named.”
“Correct. And any number of Austin-area facilities could have discovered a newborn infant on a bathroom floor yesterday.” Despite the obvious barb, Barrett’s eyes softened. He sighed, splaying his hands on the desk. “Kate, I know this is the last thing you need on your plate right now. Yes, it’s possible that the police will locate the mother who abandoned that baby and prosecute her. That would be good.”
Good? Kate tasted bile.
“But we have to be prepared if someone who may have standing in the case comes forward and accuses the hospital of wrongdoing. We need to look at the possibility of shared liability.”
“Meaning the triage nurse.” Kate thought of Dana Connor.
“If she initiated care of that mother and accepted professional responsibility.” Barrett nodded. “It helps things that this nurse isn’t regular staff; given that she’s contracted with a nursing registry, she may be covered by outside insurance. We’ll be looking into that. And at the chain of command within the emergency department.”
Kate swallowed. “Including me.”
Barrett was quiet for a moment. “Again, this is all necessary preparation. On the whole, designed to protect the hospital and the staff. I’m here for you, too, Kate.” He slid back his sleeve to check his watch. “It’s nearly lunchtime.” The gray eyes met hers and Barrett smiled, perfect teeth against a flawless tan. “We could discuss this further, say at the Shore View Grill? Been there yet?”
“No,” Kate answered, uncomfortable on a whole new level. “I can’t leave. We’re short staffed. I really should go check on things out there.”
“Of course.” Barrett stood. “I’ll be in touch, and—oh, one last question?”
Kate waited.
“The man in the waiting room yesterday, the one who accepted the baby from the janitor . . .”
“Wes Tanner?”
“Yes, that’s the name. He’s an EMT, isn’t he?”
“He was here as a visitor,” Kate explained, beginning to have a bad feeling. “And a volunteer for search and rescue. But I think he did say he was also an EMT.”
“Which, of course, implies training, certifications. Hmmm.” Barrett reached for his briefcase. “Perhaps Mr. Tanner should have done more. I’ll see what I can find out about him.”
Kate opened her mouth, closed it. Pushed papers around on her desk until the hospital’s attorney was safely out the door. Then propped her head in her hands. Lunch? The only thing on Kate’s menu today was a handful of antacids.
- + -
Wes halted Duster along a deer trail that disappeared into dense cedar, waiting as Gabe came up alongside. His friend was riding the Tanners’ three-year-old Appaloosa mare, Clementine. She nickered at Duster, then stood quietly. “How’d Clem do when you crossed the creek back there?”
“If I say, ‘No problem,’ are you going to trot out a llama, then set off a string of firecrackers? Fire up a chain saw, maybe?” Gabe pulled off his orange Longhorns ball cap and wiped a beefy arm across his forehead. “You call me out for a missing person that ends up being a plastic toy, then expect me to train your horse along the way? You’re gonna owe me, Tanner.” He smiled. “I see S
alt Lick barbecue in my future.”
Wes grinned. “When I get the green light on adding a mounted detail to our team, we’ll be that much more ready. You’ll appreciate riding, not walking.”
“If we get that grant for equipment, train some more volunteers, and—”
“We’ll do it.” Wes checked his watch. “Hey, I don’t know about continuing with this. We’ve been out here for nearly an hour and a half. Nothing. And it’s not like the old girl walked off.”
“Could be something dragged her off. Dog, coyote. That doll sits at more diners than I do. She probably smells like fried chicken.” Gabe squinted downhill. “There’s a renter down there?”
“In the trailer under the trees.” Wes lifted his field glasses, scanning the grove less than a quarter mile away. “No truck, though. Gone somewhere. Not that he’d answer the door if he was home, I hear.” He shook his head. “Look, I’ve got a pump to install and you’ve probably got . . .” Wes gave an exaggerated grimace, never missing a chance to bait his friend about his family’s funeral home. But Gabe knew the respect Wes had for the compassion that guided that business. And Wes could easily imagine the satisfaction this good man felt in being part of a team dedicated to finding people alive. “Don’t tell me what’s on your schedule today.”
“My lips are in rigor.” Gabe glanced at the stand of trees in the distance. “How ’bout we give it twenty more minutes? You follow that sorry deer trail while I make a quick pass around the renter’s trailer. One last shot at putting a smile on our piano teacher’s face. If we come up empty, we’ll make up a story about Miss Nancy Rae taking the Greyhound bus to SeaWorld. Then con your mom into searching the thrift shops for her identical twin.” He shrugged. “It’ll give me a chance to take your mare over that creek again.”
“Sold. Meet you back here in twenty.”
But in less than ten minutes, Wes’s radio crackled to life with Gabe’s victorious whoop. “Guess who I found in the grove?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Swear.” Gabe laughed. “She’s sorta grubby, but I’d still call it a live find.” The radio was breaking up. “Got her tied . . . my saddle. And we’re headed—” Gabe smothered a curse. “What the . . . What’s . . . wire? Blast it, Clem’s tangled up in . . .”
“Gabe?”
A single, gut-wrenching blast echoed up the shallow gully—the unmistakable discharge of a shotgun. Clementine’s panicked snorts were followed in less than a heartbeat by Gabe’s shout: “I’m shot!”
“HEEYAAH!” Wes urged Duster into the gully, the horse’s hooves scrabbling on loose rocks and chest-high cedar branches flogging them both. No time to find a trail, no time to waste. Shot? Hunters? Drug operation? Wes carried a concealed Springfield pistol but had never had to use it. He’d given what little he knew to 911 dispatch before spurring Duster, but he sure wasn’t going to wait.
The ground dropped from under them and Wes grabbed a hunk of Duster’s mane as gravity pitched him forward.
“Gabe?” he huffed into the radio clipped to his vest. “I’m almost there. Answer me.”
Oh no. Clementine trotted by a few yards below, riderless except for the doll tied behind the saddle. Then the terrain leveled out and the grove loomed not far ahead. He spurred Duster on.
“Gabe?” Wes’s lips met the radio again.
“Here . . .” There was a groan. “My leg . . . Shotgun rigged in a tree . . . Trip wire. Not a shooter. Can’t see one, anyway.”
Thank you, Lord. He’s alive. “I see you now, buddy. Hang on.”
In seconds Wes had reined Duster to a skidding halt and vaulted to the ground. He looped the lead rope over a branch, grabbed his rescue kit, and ran toward where Gabe lay sprawled in the dirt. Pale as a fish belly, face contorted with pain. And on the ground beneath him . . . too much blood.
Wes dropped to his knees beside his friend, grateful for the faint sounds of sirens in the distance. He scanned the clearing around them, what he could see of the rusty trailer. Gabe was right; no sign of anyone else.
“I think I’ll be . . . okay.” Gabe tried to raise himself on one elbow.
“Don’t—don’t try to sit up. Stay down. Let me get some pressure on that.” Wes’s gaze moved over Gabe quickly. Head, neck, chest, belly, all without obvious injury. But all that blood . . .
“It caught me in the hip and leg.” Gabe’s face glistened with sweat. His expression was anxious. “Clem bolted. Don’t know if she got hit.”
“She’s walking. You’re first.” Wes pulled the rescue blanket and medical pouch from his pack. “I’m going to get some pressure on that wound while I update the police and medics. They need to know what they’re walking into here. Meanwhile, I’ll keep one eye on that trailer. We don’t need any more trouble.” Wes spread the foil blanket over his friend. “I’m sorry, buddy. You wouldn’t be out here if I hadn’t—”
“It’s okay.” Gabe smiled weakly. “Just promise you’ll get that doll to her mama.”
“Promise.” Wes tore open several heavy wound pads, pulled on some gloves. “This is going to hurt.”
In ten minutes the scene was secured, several armed deputies providing watchful cover while fire department paramedics attended Gabe, getting vital signs, starting oxygen and two large-bore IVs. Twenty minutes later, they hauled him uphill on a rescue litter to a waiting ambulance. Wes waited as they loaded him, his arms full of Gabe’s gear—including a very dusty Nancy Rae.
“I’m not gonna ask,” a deputy assured Wes, eyeing the doll with an amused look. “But don’t worry about the horses. Gary’s a posse member; he’s getting them watered and he’ll make sure they’re okay until your dad can get here to trailer them back.” He glanced downhill, where fellow law enforcement investigators swarmed, radios squawking. “We’ll be on scene awhile. At least until we locate Mr. Let’s-Jerry-Rig-a-Gun-to-an-Oak-Tree. Doesn’t even look like he had anything to protect down there. No pot farm or weapons arsenal.” The deputy shook his head. “There’s all kinds of crazy in this world. Glad your friend wasn’t hit worse.”
“Right.” Wes glanced at Gabe. His face was partially covered by an oxygen mask, eyes closed and color improved. Far more relaxed after a titrated dose of morphine. Wes shifted his grip on the doll, and a thought struck him with sickening clarity: it wasn’t only Gabe who’d been at risk. Amelia had dropped her doll in that grove, an old woman lost, confused, and stumbling in the dark. She could have tripped that lethal booby trap.
“Which hospital?” the deputy asked as Wes climbed into the ambulance beside Gabe.
“Trauma center’s packed,” Wes told him, reporting what he’d heard from the fire department a few moments ago. “Gabe’s vital signs are fairly stable, so dispatch will direct them to the closest hospital that can have a surgical team ready and waiting.”
An EMT jogged toward the rear of the idling transport rig. “Got our destination. Austin Grace ER.”
Austin Grace. Wes glanced down at his clothes and forearms, sticky with drying blood despite the gloves. Second time in two days he’d be at that hospital in this condition. He thought of Kate Callison. “No one here needs to be rescued.”
He wished that were true.
- + -
Lauren sat down opposite Kate at a table outside the ER. She eyed Kate’s paper plate. “What on earth is that?”
“Muff—mmph, excuse me.” Kate swallowed a couple of times, dabbed at her lips. “Sorry. Whole wheat English muffin. Peanut butter, cream cheese, and orange marmalade—as much as I could scrape out of the last little foil package in the staff refrigerator. I needed . . .” Peanut butter . . . and peace. She smiled sheepishly. “Comfort food. Don’t judge.”
“Cross my heart. I’ve seen the bottom of a few Blue Bell ice cream cartons myself.” Lauren tipped her head. “I figured things were bad when you asked the ICU if they could spare me for a few hours.”
“You can’t know how much I appreciate you helping out. And being the one friendly face in my
hostile world.” Kate frowned. “Legal came to see me.”
“Can I assume that means Barrett Lyon?”
“He had the nerve to ask me to lunch minutes after describing his plan to defend the hospital from any possible litigation that might happen as a result of Baby Doe. Which could include pointing the finger at individual staff. Throwing any or all of us to—”
“The Lyons,” Lauren finished. “Pun intended. That man sure does seem intent on proving my mom’s advice that good-lookin’ isn’t nearly good enough.”
Kate glanced around the tables, lowering her voice. “He even implied that Wes Tanner could have some responsibility for what happened. Because he was there. And because he’s an EMT. Lyon said he was going to see what he could find out about him.”
“Unbelievable.” Lauren’s eyes narrowed. “That completely fries me. A decent man steps up to help and . . .” She reached over and dabbed her finger at some muffin crumbs. “Maybe we should share that comfort food. I was in the waiting room too, if you recall.”
“He didn’t mention you. And he thinks that if the mother’s found, blame could fall on her. Even as far as prosecution.” Kate’s throat tightened unexpectedly as she recalled what she’d said to the young woman who was almost certainly “Ava Smith.” “That’s why we’re here. To help.” What kind of help was this?
“Lyon could be right about the mother.” Lauren pulled several sheets of paper and a stack of brochures from her tote bag. “I’ve been doing that research on Texas’s Baby Moses law—Safe Haven.”
Kate’s stomach quivered as Lauren nudged the brochure toward her. On its cover was a photo of an obviously distraught young woman. Below, in bold red letters, it read, No one ever has to abandon a child again.
“The statistics will break your heart,” Lauren continued. “Out of a hundred babies abandoned each year, sixteen will be found dead. In parking lots, Dumpsters . . . bathrooms.” She tapped a sheet of paper with yellow highlighting. “Texas adopted the law in 1999—after thirteen babies were abandoned in Houston in a single year. Thirteen in one city—my city. Now all fifty states have similar laws to protect unwanted babies. And their mothers. Of course, the ideal situation is to assist the mother earlier, arrange for adoption. There’s contact information for all that in the brochure. But with the Safe Haven law, a woman can anonymously surrender her infant after birth, no questions asked.” Lauren pointed to the brochure. “But it says right there that the baby has to be placed in the care of a designated Safe Haven site. Handed directly to a person. At a hospital, child welfare agency, EMS provider . . .”
Rescue Team Page 5
