Across the brightly lit reception room crowded with mattresses and makeshift litters, Kate saw Iris kneeling over the patient on the ambulance gurney. At her approach, Iris looked around and called urgently, "Kate!"
Iris had not called Kate by her first name since she graduated from medical school. That, in combination with the alarm on her face, assured Kate that what she was about to find on the stretcher would not be pleasant. Her heart began to pound adrenaline, preparing herself for renewal of crisis.
"All right. Iris, what have we—" Her voice was calm, reassuring and pleasant until she looked into the face of the patient on the stretcher, and then the air left her lungs in a single painful stab. "Daddy!"
Her father looked up at her, his face grim with impatience and pain. "Get hold of yourself, Katie. I'm not dying. Damn stupid concrete block tipped over on me, cracked at least three bones in my foot and might have chipped the tibia. Just slap some plaster on it and I'll be up hobbling around in no time." He scowled. "Who was that young fool who was trying to push Demerol on me when I came in? You recruiting off the streets?"
"No." Her throat was dry, and her pulse was pounding so frantically she couldn't even get an accurate count! on her father's pulse. He pushed her hand away impatiently.
"Pulse one twenty, respiration twenty-five—what do you expect? I'm in pain, here. And my blood pressure's soaring with every minute you make me lie here."
"You should have taken the Demerol," she responded automatically. Her mind was screaming, No, not this, too. I need you; this can't he happening to me... "That was Jeff Brandon, my new partner." She whipped her head around and shouted, "Tony—Joel! Give me some help getting this patient into X ray, please!"
"New partner, huh?" Surprise or admiration registered in her father's tone. "So it took something like this to finally get you to make a conmitment. It's about damn time." He tried to chuckle, but the sound was cut off with a grimace of pain. Kate's heart wrenched.
She shouted again, "Tony!" and the two paramedics appeared just as her father reprimanded, "No need to make a damn production out of this. Just get me in a cast so I can get up. I've got patients to see."
"You'll do no such thing," Kate responded, gesturing to the paramedics to move the stretcher into X ray. "You've done quite enough for one evening, thank you. Be careful," she ordered, just as though the paramedics had not been personally trained by her and had no idea how to handle a fractured limb. "Don't jostle his leg—"
Her father frowned at her intensely as she urged the stretcher along. "Now you wait just a minute—you're not going to mother me through this thing. I'll set it myself before I'll let you follow me around like a wet nurse. You've got other patients to see. Get busy!"
Iris looked up quickly. "I'll stay with him, Kate," she said a little breathlessly. That was the first time Kate noticed that Iris was holding her father's hand and had been all along—and that he hadn't objected.
At any rate, there was little time to make a decision, for the stretcher was moving quickly toward X ray, and Jeff was calling her name, and with only one last look of despair and confusion at her father, she turned toward the more urgent need.
The night went on forever. It wasn't just the demands of the patients that kept Kate in constant motion, but outside the clinic there was a world trying to right itself, and it did not seem to be able to do so without her assistance. She helped the Red Cross set up, organized local volunteers, located temporary shelters and ordered emergency supplies and medications. She supervised the transportation of patients and received half-hourly reports from the highway patrol and the power crews. She set her father's leg and left him dozing under the influence of Demerol, mumbling that he would be up to help her in an hour or so.
At midnight, an emergency telephone line was hooked up to the clinic, connecting them with the hospitals in the area. At one in the morning they were able to switch from the emergency generator to regular power. Kate felt a dim and distant twinge of admiration for how well they were coping with disaster. And when all was said and done, there were less than a half-dozen patients whose injuries were serious enough to require a transfer to the hospital.
At one forty-five Kate turned away from directing her last patient to the nearest shelter and found no one waiting for her but Dr. Brandon. "Where did everybody go?" she asked in weary surprise.
He was bending over the reception desk, making a notation on a chart. "Here, there and the other place. I've got a laceration in One; it needs a couple of stitches but nothing I can't handle. Looks like the worst is over."
Kate leaned against the wall, smiling at him tiredly and gratefully. "You're really something, you know that? You walked in cold in the middle of a disaster and went to work like you've been doing it all your life. I don't know what we would have done without you tonight."
He inclined his head modestly. "I was born to serve. But..." He looked at her with mock gravity. "After this is over, we've really got to discuss salary."
She laughed. It was a weak, trailing sound, but it felt good nonetheless. "You name it. After tonight it wouldn't take much to talk me into turning over the whole practice."
"After tonight I'm not sure I'd accept." His eyes smiled at her warmly, and Kate relaxed in the knowledge that she had not only acquired the perfect partner but a new friend, as well.
Then he flipped the chart closed and tossed it on the pile waiting to be filed. "I suggest we take the rest of the night in two-hour shifts. I think I know my way around well enough to be left on my own, and it looks pretty quiet. You go ahead and catch some sleep. If I get into any trouble, I'll give you a call."
Sleep. She could hardly imagine it. Her body felt like a wind-up toy, but responsibility and anxiety made the concept of sleep an alien one. "Good idea," she agreed. "But you go first. There's a sofa in my office you can use, and I'll see if I can round up an extra blanket and pillow."
"Dr. Larimer..." There was sternness in his eyes despite his rueful tone. "There's one thing about me you have yet to learn. Behind those skilled surgeon's fingers beats the heart of an incurable chauvinist. And for no other reason than the fact that you are a member of the weaker sex—" he took her elbow in a firm grip and turned her toward her office "—I'm convinced you need the rest more than I do. I'll wake you in two hours."
Kate was simply too tired to argue with him. She managed a half-dry smile and conceded, "Maybe I will just put my feet up for a minute. Two hours," she reminded him firmly, and he gave her a dismissive wave as he turned toward the examining room.
Kate was thinking rather bemusedly of Dr. Brandon and the incredible good fortune that had sent him to her as she walked into her office and turned on the desk lamp. Someone had made a pot of coffee, and she started toward it instinctively, knowing that while she might rest for a few minutes, she would never be able to relax enough to sleep. Jeff Brandon might be used to snatching moments of sleep during emergencies, but Kate's nervous system was tuned to a more sedate life-style, and she could not train herself to turn off the adrenaline once it started, although she wished desperately now she could.
She heard a movement behind her and turned. Kevin sat up from the sofa on which he had been lying, passing a hand through his hair and looking at her sleepily. "Kevin." She came to him quickly. "What is it—are you feeling worse?"
"No, I just needed to he down for a minute."
"Are you dizzy?" She felt his forehead; it was cool. She touched his eyelid to examine his pupils, and he frowned at her, brushing her hand away.
"Just tired. For Pete's sake, Katie, are you always a doctor?"
She looked at him with as much forbearance as she could muster. "As a matter of fact, yes. How's your shoulder?"
"Not bad. I took one of Iris's pills; that's probably what made me sleepy." He looked at her frankly. "You, on the other hand, look like you could use a transfusion. How is it out there?"
"Quieter." Satisfied that he was, indeed, suffering from nothing more complicated t
han exhaustion, she got up and returned to the coffeepot. "I just came in here for a little rest."
He gave her a drowsy half grin as she filled her cup and turned. "I'll share the sofa with you," he offered.
Her own lips turned down in a dry imitation of a smile. "Thanks. Maybe another time." She grimaced as she sipped the coffee. "This is awful. Did you make it?"
"Uh-huh. That's why I'm not drinking it." He slid down until his head rested against the back of the sofa, his long, lean legs comfortably sprawled before him. He watched her with gentle interest. "How's your dad?"
"He made me put a walking cast on. He's going to be all right." Her reply was absent as she tried to subdue an unfamiliar sensation of fear deep within her abdomen. She couldn't understand it. The worst was over. But thinking about her father lying broken and helpless in a makeshift hospital bed, thinking about horself, left alone and completely in charge in the midst of a disaster, brought on a wave of retrospective panic she didn't seem to be able to control. She said quickly, turning to place her coffee cup on the desk, "Which reminds me; I should go check on him."
"He was fine fifteen minutes ago," Kevin informed her calmly. "He was sleeping, and Iris was sitting with him."
Kate didn't know whether she was more puzzled because Kevin had been thoughtful enough to look in on her father or because someone other than herself was sitting up with her father while he was ill. She said, "Iris? But I told her to go home and get some rest. Why would she want to sit up with Dad?"
Kevin's laugh was low and amused, and it annoyed her, because he seemed to be laughing at something she didn't understand. "Katie, you are so blind sometimes. It must come from keeping your head buried in all those medical journals."
She frowned at him, too tired to try to figure out what he was talking about. "How did you hear about Dad, anyway? Where've you been the past few hours?"
"Right behind you, mostly."
She stared at him. "I didn't know that. I thought you'd gone."
He chuckled again, shaking his head. "Good old Katie. At least that hasn't changed. You're still the only person in the world to whom I'm completely invisible."
She was certain that wasn't a compliment, and it made her feel guilty, both because it was true and it was unkind. How many times through the night had she looked up to find Kevin there just when she needed him? With his contacts and his power he could have been out of this town within an hour after the storm struck, and Katie was still confused as to why he had chosen to stay. Yet he had been here, catching her when she stumbled, coming up with the answers when she was at an impasse, performing feats of superhuman strength and endurance. When she thought about it, Kevin Dawson's behavior through the night had been among the most bizarre elements of a totally incredible experience. When she needed him, he had been there, supporting, encouraging, helping, yet between those moments of crisis she had completely forgotten about him. That realization made her ashamed.
She said, somewhat uncomfortably, "Listen, go back to sleep. I'm just going to stay long enough to—" she picked up her coffee cup again and made a face "—drink some of this garbage; then I've got to get back to work."
"Nope." He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles on the coffee table. "I feel too guilty about taking your bed. You're the one who needs to sleep."
She shrugged and took her coffee over to the window. She pulled back the curtain and looked out into a black, unreadable night, glad that the darkness hid from her the evidence of what they had lived through this evening. Kevin's silence was comfortable and undemanding behind her, and once again she was glad of his presence.
"It's stopped raining," she said after a time.
"A few hours ago."
Kate took a deep breath and was surprised to find it hurt her chest. She placed her cup on the windowsill and leaned her head against the wall, staring blankly out the window. For some reason she was thinking of the yellow roses that had just begun to bloom on the trellis at the side of her house. That only made her chest tighter, and she said with dull humor, "At six o'clock this evening, what was the biggest problem in your life, Kevin?"
"How to get you to take me to dinner," he responded promptly.
She tried to smile, but it fell short. "And mine was how to get rid of you."
It swept over her in sudden, unexpected waves of horror—the sounds, the sights, the madness that had in a space of minutes transformed an ordinary evening in an ordinary little town into a scene from hell. She gripped the window ledge, steeling herself against it, and she was shocked to feel her shoulders shaking, then a wetness on her face, and then an awful choked noise that sounded like a sob came from her throat.
Swiftly, Kevin was beside her. She felt his warm hand on her shoulder, a gentle turning pressure, and then her face was pressed against his chest, her fists bunched against his shirt, and she gave herself over to the sobs that fought their way up from deep within the center of her and came more rapidly than she could take a breath. It was primal, it was unpreventable, it was the aftermath of shock and fear and loss, and she couldn't have controlled it if she had wanted to. She thought about her house, her rose trellis, her car; she thought about her father and all her patients—the pain, the terror, the loss. She thought about that nerve-racking hour in surgery, and the chances they had taken made her weak. And then she thought about sitting before the fire with Kevin, drinking Grand Marnier and tossing light insults back and forth, and she cried harder and clung to him more desperately.
Kevin's arm tightened around her shoulders, and his face touched her hair. "It's okay, sweetheart; it's all over. It's okay now; take it easy."
But the tears wouldn't stop; they soaked her face and his shirt, and her fingers tightened on the material that covered his chest as she pressed herself closer. It wasn't over; it was a nightmare that was never ending. Tomorrow it would begin all over again—the demands, the horror, sorting through the wreckage, assessing the loss, people who needed her and people she couldn't help. Even now it waited for her, and she didn't know how much more she could take. She was afraid she wasn't strong enough; she knew she wasn't strong enough.
"Oh, Kevin, I can't deal with this. I wasn't meant to deal with this. I—I'm so afraid. People could have died."
"Hush." Swiftly, his arm tightened, and she felt his lips brush her hair. "No one died. No one's going to. Because of you. You did fine, Katie. It's all over."
"No, no..." The sobs were making her voice unintelligible, muffled in his chest. Turmoil and panic and rage were all twisted inside her, making her helpless and robbing her of reason. "You don't understand."
"Yes, I do, love. It's okay; I promise."
"No, I can't—I don't... I didn't ask for this! I only want—everything to be normal... and quiet... I want to go home... Oh, Kevin, I'm so afraid, and I want to go home, but there's—no home to go to! Kevin, hold me, hold me..."
"I'm holding you, love." She could feel his arm, long muscled and lean, pressing her close, and his whisper, calm and intense, and his breath, warm on her face. Her arms went around his waist, and she held him tightly as the sobs of panic and hysteria and devastation choked in her throat. She was so afraid, and Kevin was so strong—Kevin who had always been there; Kevin, whom she needed so badly. She lifted her face and saw the blur of his eyes, dark and calm and filled with tenderness, so close to hers. She felt his fingers on the back of her neck, beneath the ruffle of her hair, and then her mouth was on his, and she was drinking from him, deeply.
She tasted the salt of her own tears and the moisture that bathed her throat. She felt need, deep and raw, rising up from within her, and his strength, his energy, infusing her, and his mouth, opening on hers, claiming hers, blotting out all else with a great, powerful urgency that was met and fueled by her own. His fingers threaded through her hair, hard against her scalp, holding her head and turning it to accommodate the mind-stripping demand of his kiss. And then, with sudden gentleness, his tongue entered her mouth, tasting her
and exploring her, and it was no longer strength that filled her but a glorious weakness, a flood of heat that swept downward to ache between her thighs in a definitive, unquestioning need.
The tears ware gone, consumed by the flare of desire that was rising within her. The tightening in her stomach that once had been panic was now unmistakably arousal; the sound that formed in her throat was a whimper of wanting, not a sob. Her fingers spread along the hard musculature of his back, pressing him closer. She tasted him, she opened herself to him, she let him fill her and draw from her, for as much as he took from her, she wanted to give more; the more he gave of himself, the more she wanted. And all she could think was, helplessly, intensely, Kevin...yes...yes...
But she did not say it, and he left her with pulses pounding and muscles quivering, her senses stripped and open and waiting for him. She looked up at him, breathless and shocked and questioning, and through the haze of her own uncertainty and need she saw his face.
He looked as stunned as she felt, confused and disbelieving and strangely hesitant. She could see the sheen of moisture on his parted lips that came from her own and the flush of arousal on his skin. His breath was not quite steady, and his eyes were bright and dark with an inner fire. Those eyes swept her face and her throat and her breasts, and everywhere his gaze touched, a new spark of eagerness and need awoke.
But when his eyes returned to hers, there was something within them that Kate had never expected to see from him, something that found no answer within her. There was strength there, and decision, and even as she drew a confused breath to question he said softly, "No, Katie, it's okay. I understand."
He reached behind his waist and took her hand, freeing it from contact with him, and even as his fingers closed around hers, he was stepping away. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them lightly; then he smiled. It was a stiff, forced expression. '"It's forgotten, okay?" he said gently. "Now come over here and sit down. All you need is a little rest."
After The Storm (Men Made in America-- Mississippi) Page 8
