by Dana Volney
“None that I know of. Or they stay away on Thursdays. It’s always PB&J for dinner. Tomorrow is pizza. Rosana’s donates every week.”
“That’s pretty charitable.” She’d loved that about the work she’d done in other countries—the people and businesses that were usually so willing to help out their fellow man. Casper was a great community for that, too. Shoot, don’t forget about tomorrow night. She really needed to put her schedule in her phone; if she forgot about the Ellison party, there’d be hell to pay. The hospital needed to snag a few more major donors if that new trauma center was ever going to get built.
“She’s been a lifesaver this year, for sure.” Fisher scooped out a blob of purple goo and used the back of the spoon to spread it on the bread, then capped it off with another piece and set it on the top tray beside him. “And the kids love pizza. It’s our busiest night, and I think that’s why. It also takes a load off, not having to make anything that day.”
“What else do you serve throughout the week?” She continued her part in their little assembly line, concentrating on her hand-eye coordination.
“Basic kid fare, although, let’s face it: if you were a hungry kid, would you really be picky? I’m not. Mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, corn, chicken when someone donates it or it’s on sale at the wholesaler.”
“From grocery stores?” Ugh, her questions were not personable at all. How in the world was she supposed to gain insight into this man’s life if she just kept asking him about his nonprofit?
“Yeah. I’ve been doing this a while and have built a rapport with the managers of most of the stores in town. They’re good about remembering us when they have too much of something that will go bad soon.”
There was a scream from the main area, and Silver’s head shot up, searching out the sound in the crowd. Kids bustled around the area that was devoid of tables, and another cry sounded over the murmurs.
Silver was out the side door and jogging toward the large group that had gathered. She didn’t realize Fisher had followed her until he was by her side, clearing a path.
“What happened?” he asked.
“She was just walking over here and fell,” a girl answered.
A girl who wore her hair in a French braid and looked to be around ten years old was lying on the floor. Silver knelt down beside her.
“Where does it hurt?” she asked slowly, in a calm voice. The voice she used to use on a daily basis with patients.
The little girl didn’t say anything but instead slowly rolled over onto her left side, gripping her midsection. “My stomach,” her words were slow, but the pain was clear in her squished features.
“She’s been complaining all day that she didn’t feel good.” Another little girl with straight brown hair and glasses leaned in, her brow furrowed.
“What’s her name?” Silver asked.
“Miranda.”
“Miranda, my name is Dr. Silver.” Dammit. She was sticking to her ruse even in a potential emergency. “Can you show me specifically where it hurts?”
The young girl closed her eyes, perspiration shining her pale face.
“Miranda, where’s the pain?” Silver added more insistence to her tone.
Miranda sluggishly rubbed her right side above her hip.
“Okay, I need you to lie on your back. Can you do that for me?”
“I’m going to throw up,” Miranda declared between distressed sobs.
Silver found Fisher’s eyes in the crowd. “Can you get me a pail?”
He nodded and disappeared.
“I need some room here; you can all go back to what you were doing. Miranda is going to be okay,” Silver raised her voice to the crowd of small faces, but no one moved.
“You heard the doctor,” Fisher’s voice carried. “Give them space.”
All signs pointed to Miranda’s appendix. She needed a hospital now. Silver felt around in her back pocket for her phone, not finding it. Ah, dammit, she’d left it in her coat. She didn’t want to yell, “Call 911!” in a room full of kids, most of whom looked terribly upset that their friend hadn’t stood up yet.
She pressed the back of her hand to Miranda’s neck, checking for a fever. Yep, she was hot all right. Thank goodness the group had listened to Fisher and only her friend remained. Silver lifted the bright yellow shirt on the girl’s right side and started to press down with her index and middle finger very lightly. CCH was a five-minute drive to the hospital, but it was faster by ambulance.
“Ouch, no, stop, that hurts.” Miranda scrunched up in pain and gingerly tried to roll back onto her left side.
Fisher was back with a bowl.
“Call 911.” She lowered her voice as she swiveled her head to look up at him, all the while keeping her palm placed tenderly on Miranda’s right side. “I’m fairly certain it’s her appendix and it needs to come out now.”
He knelt beside her and pulled his phone from his jeans pocket, his lips pressed together as he kept his gaze on Silver and waited for 911 to answer.
“I’m over at Combat Children’s Hunger on A Street. We need an ambulance. Possible appendix issue with a girl.” His sentences were choppy as he answered the operator’s questions. “Eleven. I’m not her dad. She’s not in good shape. Lots of pain. Despondent.”
Silver wanted to ride with the little girl. Hell, once upon a time she’d have followed her all the way to get a CT scan then into the operating room and removed the appendix herself. Full service. That’s what she’d been trained to do.
But she couldn’t do that anymore.
“Where’s her phone?” Fisher asked Miranda’s friend, who ran full speed to a backpack fifteen feet away and then back again. “Her mom works at a dentist’s office right near the hospital. She’ll meet her there.”
“They’re probably going to rush her right into a CT scan then surgery.” Silver turned her attention back to her patient. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you to the hospital, and you’ll be in good hands there.”
The sirens wailed closer, and Fisher rushed to the front door, ushering in two EMTs a few seconds later.
Ronald and Jane, dressed in standard blue EMT uniforms from PWMC, rushed through the doors, one with a kit and the other holding a yellow board.
“Hey, Doc,” Ronald greeted Silver as his partner checked the young girl’s vitals.
Please don’t call me by my last name. Dammit, this thing with Fisher had gone too far, and it was only the first day. “Her name is Miranda. She’s complaining of pain in her abdomen. I’d say appendix. Her friend said it’s been at least a day. Her stomach is swollen on the right side and tender to the touch. She’s pale, lethargic, and diaphoretic. I’m worried about sepsis.”
The EMTs loaded Miranda onto the transport board. “Will do. Are you coming?” Jane asked.
“No.” Silver glanced at Fisher, who was focused on the little girl, his lips turned down and his eyes dull.
Oh, how she wanted to be back in control and doing what she absolutely loved most in the world. But Miranda would receive excellent care with the surgeon on duty. Silver hired only the best and made sure the staff she’d kept on after she took over was top-notch. “Her mother’s been notified and will be there when you arrive. Can you make sure she gets to her daughter? The release forms will need to be signed quickly.”
Jane nodded.
“It’s going to be okay,” Silver told the little girl. She walked briskly with them to the back of the bus, holding the girl’s hand and making sure a genuine, reassuring smile reinforced her words.
“Where’s my mommy?” Miranda squeaked out.
“She’ll be there. Jane is going to take care of you in the ambulance, and you’ll see your mom shortly. You’re going to be okay.”
Lights flashed and sirens whirred as Miranda and the EMTs pulled away. Silver watched as the ambulance rushed down the street and disappeared with a right turn.
A chill finally reached her core, and she wrapped her arms around
her chest.
She wanted Miranda to be okay, and she didn’t wish that pain on anyone. But wow. What a high. She hadn’t felt that rush, that surge of adrenaline taking over, in a long time. She smiled to herself. It was nice to know she could still assess under pressure. Still help without doing the actual surgery. Being stuck behind a desk with paperwork was not as satisfying as she’d hoped it would be. She needed more. Something different. Her last ten minutes had proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.
It had been a year since the accident though; it might be time to regroup and really figure her life out. Live again, instead of letting life happen to her. Lorelei and Maisy could help her with options—the three of them brainstormed the hell out of all kinds of problems together.
She cradled her right thumb between her left thumb and index finger, rubbing absently.
“That was something.” Fisher’s deep, gravelly tone almost made her jump, so deep was she in her thought hole.
“She’ll be fine.” Silver squeezed her arms tighter, the brown fabric of her sweater not stopping the freezing temperature surrounding her. “Appendicitis is common, and the surgery is routine. There shouldn’t be any complications. It’s a good thing she was here and not home alone.”
“So, you’re a doctor. A damn fine one, at that.” He shoved his hands in his pockets; standing so close his spicy scent cut through the cold and filled her lungs.
Fisher couldn’t have been any more perfect if he tried. Too bad they hadn’t met under different circumstances—one where she wasn’t lying.
“I am.” She turned to the door, the biting air getting the better of her.
“That sure came in handy.” He chuckled as he walked beside her and opened the door for her.
And a gentleman. Her insides heated a bit; hopefully, he’d attribute the pink on her cheeks to the dipping temperature.
“I think you could’ve figured out she needed 911 if I hadn’t been around.”
He shrugged. “You never know.”
Yeah, he would’ve been just fine.
All eyes were on them; the big room filled with children was silent, minus a couple of whispers.
“Miranda is going to be okay. She’s on her way to the hospital and will get the care she needs.” Fisher’s reassurance rang out loudly, sure to reach the kids in the back. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
Groups huddled up, and the silence was replaced with chatter as Silver and Fisher made their way back to the kitchen.
She never would’ve predicted all this when she ate her Cheerios this morning.
“Do you work over at Prairie Wind?” Fisher asked, taking his station in the kitchen.
She started up their little assembly line of sandwich-making again, grasping the knife with her right hand and quickly switching to her left when the pain started after the first swipe of peanut butter.
“I do.” Now’s my chance. She should just tell him all in one sentence and be done with the incognito act that she never had meant to happen in the first place. Her heartbeat thudded, one quick pulse after the next, and she gripped the handle of the knife harder. This was it.
“Good place.”
“It is. I’ve only been back for a year. I was abroad before that.”
“Which country?”
Why? Why had she changed the subject? She hadn’t even given him the chance to ask what exactly she did—which area she worked in or her job duties.
She pressed a little too hard on the knife, and an impression of the edge sank into the bread. “Different areas in Africa mostly.” She spread more peanut butter than she should have to cover up her mistake.
“I bet they appreciated your skills.”
“I like to think so.” They sure hadn’t needed her when her ability to practice surgery had been ripped from her. The program she’d worked for had offered her a position, administrative in nature, but the thought of watching other people do what she longed for had been too much. When the CEO of PWMC had reached out and offered her the medical director position, it seemed like her only option to keep money coming in while licking her wounds back in her hometown. So far a year of licking her wounds had only made them worse. She was done with that. She had to move forward.
Fisher was moving forward—kind of. At least he’d decided he didn’t want to be healed or get better. How could he come to such a serious decision and still be spreading jelly on a piece of bread, acting like nothing in the world was wrong?
She had to find a way to tell Fisher the truth and talk to him about his options. She’d keep coming back until she did.
chapter THREE
Fisher watched the kids settle in to dinner, his lips turning down at the lack of excited chatter he was used to hearing. They had to be still affected by Miranda’s impromptu trip to the hospital. After all, it had happened less than an hour ago.
He set the last sandwich on Wallace’s plate and turned to put the metal serving tray in the sink. Silver was squatting and moving things around on the bottom shelf of the pantry.
“You can just set the bins in there.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on the stainless-steel countertop. “You don’t have to move all that stuff.”
“I’m putting all the like items together.” She stood and brushed off her hands. “All done. What’s next?”
Silver had been a natural, talking to the kids like they were real people. Oddly enough, he’d come across more adults who wanted to help out but froze up when it came to talking to the kids, not at them. He glanced at the students again. Sending them home in somber moods wasn’t an option. Most of these kids had a lot to deal with without piling on distress from a place that was supposed to be safe.
“Follow me,” he told Silver, holding open the door to the kitchen. “Grab your jacket.”
Her brows knitted together before she slung her jacket over her arm. He headed straight for the front door. Snow was everywhere, and, thanks to the cold temperature, it was still soft. He bent over, balled a fist of snow in his bare hands, and spun to face Silver. Whoa. His vision blurred for a few too many seconds, and he blinked, clamping his jaw tightly. He never got used to these symptoms, which seemed to be happening more frequently.
“Get ready. You might want to start making a pile.” He hid the snowball behind his back and walked into the room like he wasn’t planning on starting a war. He bounced the ball in his right hand a couple of times, cold liquid running down his hot palm. “Snowball fight!” he yelled then lobbed the ball in the direction of the closest table before jogging back outside. Hoots and hollers followed him.
He took aim as they came rushing out. He should’ve taken a moment to make his own pile of snow bombs before declaring war, but oh well.
He spied Silver to his left. She’d set up by the row of evergreens that had a wall of blown over snow beside the building to form a barrier, and she had a dozen or so snowballs made at her feet. Smart woman. He hustled to her side, throwing one at the first kid trying to form a ball in his hand.
She picked up two from her stockpile and handed him one. She bounced it a couple of times in her right hand but threw it with her left, hitting Chelsea in the shoulder. He picked up more from her stash and handed two to her. She threw a ball the size of her palm right before one smacked her square on the cheek. She erupted with laughter—a strong laugh, followed by a wide grin that brightened her blue eyes.
He chuckled, ducked at an incoming ball, and tossed one back in the same general direction.
They balled snow as fast as they could. It was them against the kids.
Damn, he should’ve grabbed his own jacket.
Suddenly, she was smearing snow all over his face and laughter completely surrounded him.
“Gotcha,” Silver managed between gasps of laughter.
“I see how it is.” He hunched down and swiped up snow as he whirled around, intending to splash snow in her face. But his estimation of her proximity was off, and instead of throwing snow at her, he cau
ght her in his arms and they tumbled to the ground. He tried to break his fall so as not to land completely on her. He failed, only managing to get one hand on the ground to brace his weight.
It was a good thing there was a fair amount of snow to pad the fall; he was practically twice her size. Their legs were intertwined, his body pressed down on hers, and his heart pumped harder.
His nose was inches from hers; he could feel the heat coming off her body. She smelled sweet even through the cold. He took in her pink cheeks and lips, which parted as her chest rose. His gaze flicked up to her wide eyes that watched him; no panic or rush to move filled her gaze, only easiness.
His chest tightened when he tried to take a breath. He didn’t break eye contact but concentrated on his breathing. In. Out. He wasn’t running out of air anytime soon.
Her gaze traveled over his face and down to his lips.
Kiss her.
No. Kissing Silver wasn’t in his plans. Or a part of his future. Starting anything with her wasn’t an option. He shifted to one side so that she wasn’t trapped any longer. He had to. Before he did something stupid and reckless and fueled by a desire nagging deep in his gut.
Without missing a beat, she smushed more snow into the back of his head as she rolled away from him. He scooped up snow with the hand he wasn’t using to brace himself on the ground and looked up just in time to see her take off after Ashley and Kendra, who’d been pelting them nonstop. He threw an unformed snowball in her direction, watching it dissipate high in the evening sky.
The parking lot lights kicked on. He’d have to shut down the fun just as fast as he’d started it.
Silver disappeared around a tree, and Fisher wiped both palms down his face, the melted ice running down his neck before he stood up.
“What’s all this?” Henry adjusted his leather gloves, tramping through the snow.
“Every man for himself.” The kids were screaming and running around laughing. Job well done today. This part is what gave him satisfaction—happy kids who didn’t have to worry about anything other than being a child while they were at CCH. The events like the one tomorrow night hosted by the Ellisons, where he’d have to wear his real leather shoes and a tie, were only a means to an end. Hobnobbing with current and potential donors was crucial. The future of CCH, his legacy, depended on it.
