by Fiona Lowe
Chapter 9
What just happened? Katrina felt as if she’d been sideswiped by a truck as Josh’s usually warm gaze turned the dark blue gray of an ice storm. One minute he was ready to undress her, and now he was firing metaphorical daggers into her. Why had she even said you’re not a surgeon? It wasn’t like she wanted memories of her worst mistake right here with them in the barn, especially when they were making out.
You’re almost thirty years old and you’re making out with a guy in a barn. Surgeon or not, this doesn’t come close to being sensible. New start, remember?
“It doesn’t mean anything, Josh.”
His nostrils flared. “People don’t say things that mean nothing, Katrina.”
The sound of a horn repeatedly beeping made the horses whinny and snort.
“Josh!” Dillon’s voice rang out. “Katrina! You here? We need the doc.”
Josh’s arms fell away from hers and he strode out of the barn. She hastily rehooked her bra and finger-combed her hair as she ran after him. Dillon was in the yard, and the moment he saw them he called out, “It’s okay. No one’s bleeding to death.”
“What’s happened?” Katrina asked at the same time as Josh while they piled into the outfit.
“Some kids were riding the four-wheeler and Sam Duckett fell off the back. Nothing’s broken and he was walking around playing after, but now he’s just puked.”
“That’s not good.” Again, Josh’s words rolled over hers.
“You two have to start saying ‘jinx,’” Dillon said as they bounced across the pasture they’d walked over only half an hour ago. He pointed through the windshield. “He’s over there resting on the Ducketts’ outfit.”
“Do you have your emergency kit in your trunk?” Katrina asked Josh as they hopped out of the pickup.
“Yeah. Meet you there.” He handed her the keys before jogging over to the Ducketts.
Katrina easily located Josh’s sports car in a pasture filled with outfits and grabbed the backpack. She arrived to find Josh kneeling in the back of the pickup shining a flashlight in Sam’s eyes.
The kid was lying on his back, his usually round and smiling face pale. “That makes my head hurt worse,” he said, squinting at the light.
“Lucky I’ve finished, then.” Josh gently palpated Sam’s abdomen. “Does it hurt anywhere else?”
“You better not be playacting, son,” Christopher Duckett said sternly. “You were running around just fine ten minutes ago.”
“I don’t think he’s play-acting, sir,” Josh said firmly. “I think he may have a concussion.”
“Oh, is that all.” Chris sounded relieved. “All my kids have had a concussion at least once. It’s a rite of passage for boys.”
Katrina, who’d wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Sam’s arm, announced the reading. “Blood pressure’s normal.”
“There you go,” Chris said, slapping Josh on the back. “It’s all good. We’re sorry to have troubled you, Doc. We’ll take him home and watch him. We know the drill.”
Josh looked up from examining Sam’s ears and nose. “Actually, I’d like him to come into the ER.”
“Is that really necessary?” Chris asked skeptically. “Like I said, we know to check him every hour. Randall taught us that.”
Josh’s mouth tightened the way it did whenever he was questioned. “I strongly advise that Sam comes to the ER for observation.”
“I feel sick,” Sam moaned as he rolled over. He promptly threw up onto Josh’s knees.
“Can someone go get his mother?” Katrina called out to the small crowd.
“She’s with Bonnie at the ranch house,” Chris added anxiously.
“I’m on it,” Dillon replied, jumping back into the outfit.
Katrina threw a towel at Josh before helping Sam rinse his mouth. “Do you want to put in an IV?”
Josh nodded. “Two.”
“Two?” It seemed like overkill, but when Josh raised his gaze to hers, she read real concern. “Two it is.”
“None of my other boys puked, Doc,” Chris said, looking worried. “Maybe going to the ER is a good idea.”
“That’s a good call, Chris,” Josh said, rubbing anesthetizing gel onto Sam’s arm. “This is so you won’t feel the needles, Sam.”
The twelve-year-old boy swallowed. “I don’t like needles.”
“We’ll be quick,” Josh said. “Katrina and I are going to put a needle in each arm at the same time. Who do you think will win?”
Katrina smiled at his distracting techniques and tightened her tourniquet. “I’d be betting on me, Sam,” she said as she slid the needle into the vein. “I used to do this every day.”
But Sam didn’t answer—his eyes were rolling into the back of his head.
“He’s fitting.” Josh threw his arms over Sam’s spasming and jerking legs to protect him from further injury. “Save the line. We’re going to need it for Dilantin.”
Katrina did her best, wrapping her hand around Sam’s jerking arm.
“Oh my God. Sam!” Amy Duckett’s frantic voice split the early-evening air. “What’s happening?”
“He’s got a concussion,” Chris said, his voice wobbling over the words.
As the boy’s limbs relaxed and Katrina taped the IV firmly in place, Josh turned to face the parents. “This is a lot more than a concussion. I’m almost certain that when he fell off the bike, he hit his head and this has caused bleeding between the brain and his skull. Now the blood is pressing on his brain.”
“His brain?” Amy gripped Chris’s arm. “So he needs to go to the hospital in Billings and see a brain doctor?”
Josh shook his head. “I’m sorry, but there’s no time for that. We need to get him to the hospital in Bear Paw and drill a hole in his skull to drain the blood.” He turned back to Katrina. “Do you know if the hospital’s got a burr hole kit?”
She didn’t know, but she’d seen Josh’s new drill in his trunk. “Dillon,” she yelled out to her brother. “Get Josh’s hand drill and a half-inch drill bit from his trunk. Lyle, find a hand brace. Now.”
“You can’t drill into my son’s head,” Amy screeched.
“I have to, Mrs. Duckett,” Josh said quietly but firmly. “If I don’t, he’ll die.”
“Amy,” Katrina said, trying to soften Josh’s very true but bald words. “I know it’s scary but we don’t have time to try to convince you. You’re going to have to trust us on this.”
“But he’s my baby,” Amy sobbed.
“Do it,” Chris said. “Save our son.”
“I’ll do my very best,” Josh said, administering drugs through the IV. “Katrina, you drive and I’ll stay in the back with Sam. Let’s go.”
Katrina jumped down just as Dillon ran up clutching a yellow drill and a container of bits. “Why do you need this stuff?”
“No time to explain,” she said, hauling open the driver’s side door. “Call the hospital and tell them we’re coming and we’ll be doing burr holes. Then go get Mom and Dad and drive the Ducketts to the hospital, okay?”
“Burr holes.” Dillon repeated the unfamiliar words carefully as he closed the door and leaned in. “Sam’s going to be okay, isn’t he?”
Josh banged on the roof of the cabin. “Drive, Katrina. Now.”
For the first time, she heard real fear in his voice, and she pressed down gently on the accelerator. The moment she’d maneuvered the vehicle out of the pasture and onto the road, she called the sheriff and asked for an escort into town. Mitch Hagen met them halfway into Bear Paw, and even with his support, it was the longest drive of her life.
When she pulled up outside the hospital, Millie was waiting with another nurse and a gurney between them. The moment she got out of the car, Josh yelled, “Go sterilize the drill bit and meet us in the OR.”
Breaking every rule of an emergency, she ran.
—
JOSH had intubated Sam and marked his temple with a Sharpie. Now he was gowned and gloved and stari
ng at the CT scan, memorizing the exact position of the blood clot. The exact spot where he had to drill.
“He’s stable,” Millie said as she rhythmically squeezed the airbag, keeping Sam oxygenated. “And both the saline and mannitol IVs are running well.”
“I’ve shaved his temple,” the scout nurse said before stepping back out of the way.
Josh wasn’t particularly religious, but he sent up a prayer to whichever deity was listening. He lacked an anesthesiologist and he’d wanted a neurosurgeon on the other end of the telephone guiding him, but despite many phone calls, no one had been able to locate one, and now they’d run out of time. So here he was. About to operate.
The last time he’d stood in an OR was the day he’d walked away from surgery. Now he had to drill a hole in a kid’s head. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
Katrina, fully scrubbed, watched him from behind her surgical mask, her green eyes fixed on him. Unlike the many other times when he’d found it almost impossible to read her, right now he clearly saw worry and faith. Faith in him. It had been a long time since he’d seen that sort of confidence in him in the eyes of a woman. If Ashley had ever had it, it had started to fade the moment he’d given up surgery. It had vanished completely by the time he’d left Chicago.
“We’re ready,” Katrina said. “You’re ready.”
He was never going to be ready, but he appreciated the support, given he was embarking on unknown territory and he had no choice about it. “Let’s do this.”
He sucked in a breath and held out his hand. “Scalpel.” Making a quick, clean incision was the easy part, and Katrina controlled the bleeding while he used retractors to locate the white bone of Sam’s skull.
Katrina handed him the drill. “It’s got a clutch mechanism, Josh, so don’t stop halfway or it will reset.”
Shit. “Good to know.” Plunging a drill bit into Sam’s brain wasn’t something he wanted to do. “Millie, hold his head perfectly still.”
“Doing that now,” Millie said calmly, although her eyes held grave concern.
“Here we go.” His gloved hand closed around the drill. “One, two, three.”
The whirr of the drill screamed loudly, seeming to go on forever. Every part of him yelled at him to stop. Surely, he’d gone in far enough? Panic sang loudly and he desperately wanted to overrule the clutch mechanism. His finger twitched, ready to do it, but the drill suddenly stopped on its own.
He huffed out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding and exchanged a look of relief with Katrina. “How do I reverse this sucker?”
She pointed her gloved finger. “That button there.”
A moment later he’d removed the drill and was using a blunt hook to carefully remove bone fragments. There was no sign of a clot or blood. Dread gripped him. What if he’d gone in at the wrong place?
Acid burned his gut as he raised his gaze to the scan seeking reassurance before dropping it back to Sam’s head. Come on. Bleed.
After three excruciating seconds, a tiny trickle of blood finally dripped onto the surgical drape. It quickly increased to a steady flow.
Sheer relief threatened to buckle his knees. “Thank God.”
“You did it,” Katrina said softly, her eyes filled with empathy.
“I did it.” A crazy-sounding laugh burst out of him. “I don’t want to ever have to do it again.”
“Hopefully, you never will.” She passed him the drain tube. “I had no idea there would be so much blood.”
“You and me both,” he said, meeting her eyes and reading admiration in their depths. “How’s he doing, Millie?”
“Vitals are stable, Josh. You did great.”
“Excellent.”
As he stitched the drain tube in place, the scout nurse said, “The MontMedAir helicopter just touched down with Will.”
“Who?”
“Doctor Will Bartlett,” Millie qualified overly fast in contrast to her usual laid-back drawl.
“He’s part of the MontMedAir team,” the scout nurse continued. “Usually they send a nurse and a paramedic, but when it’s serious like this, he’s on board. Every nurse in the hospital gives thanks when that happens.”
“Why’s that?” Katrina asked.
The nurse fanned herself. “Because the man looks like he just stepped off a surfboard and onto a Hawaiian beach.” She laughed. “I guess that should be an Australian beach. He has the sexiest accent.”
“In that case,” Katrina said, her eyes dancing, “I’m definitely looking forward to meeting him.”
“Can we focus on the job at hand, please,” Josh reminded his distracted nursing staff.
The OR phone rang and all conversation stopped while the scrub nurse answered it. “It’s the neurosurgeon from Billings.”
“Now he calls,” Josh said, rolling his eyes as the paradox of the situation hit him. But nothing was going to dent his euphoria that he’d located the clot. Sam wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least he’d soon be in the neurological unit at Billings. Josh knew he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying for a few more hours. “Put the good doctor on speakerphone so he can speak with Bear Paw’s scratch neurological team.”
—
AN hour later, Katrina drove a quiet Josh back to his house. His mouth may have been still but his body sure wasn’t. He was wound so tight that he vibrated with constant motion. If he wasn’t drumming his fingers on the dash, he was tapping his foot. She wondered if it was the effects of the emergency or if it had something to do with his reaction in the barn when she’d said he wasn’t a surgeon. Or both. Either way, she sure as heck wasn’t about to ask him about it.
She’d figured Sam’s accident had saved her from herself and talking about the kiss was just tempting fate. Besides, unlike this afternoon, there was not one iota of a sexual vibe coming from him at all. She’d inadvertently killed it, which was probably a very good thing.
She turned Bessie into the driveway of the cottage and pulled up behind Josh’s car.
“How did that get here?” Josh asked, finally breaking the silence.
“Bear Paw magic.”
He rolled his eyes. “Really?”
She shut off the engine. “Totally. That and Dillon had your keys.”
He laughed, and for some reason, the deep timbre sound made her think of smooth and velvety red wine. Merlot that warmed from the inside out.
“Thank him for me.”
“I can do that.”
“But will you?”
This time she rolled her eyes at his pedant tendencies. “Yes, Josh. I will thank him for you.”
It had been a huge few hours on the back of a long day, and she’d expected him to open his door and say good night, but instead he stayed seated, staring out into the starry night.
Shafts of moonlight cast shadows on his face, outlining his weariness. “Tough day.”
“Very tough day.”
“A brown trouser day,” he said with a wry smile as he turned his phone over and over in his hand.
Without thinking, she reached out and put her hand over his for a moment, stopping the movement. “Sam’s one lucky kid. Incredibly lucky to have you here, and you can probably afford to relax some now.”
“Not yet.” His leg started tapping again. “Not until I get the call from Billings.”
That he was still so worried about Sam bothered her, and she could picture him pacing up and down until his phone rang. “When do you think that will be?”
“Around midnight.”
“Do you want company while you wait?” Can you hear yourself?
Oh for heaven’s sake, I can spend fifteen minutes alone with the guy without anything happening.
Yeah, right.
Surprise mixing in with gratitude lit up his eyes. “Yeah. A debrief would be good.”
See? We’re having a debrief. Two professionals supporting each other.
She hopped out of Bessie and almost ran into his back when he suddenly stopped and gazed up into th
e inky night sky.
“God, I never knew there were so many stars.”
She smiled because she never got tired of watching them, either. “That’s why they call it big sky country.”
He crossed the short distance to the house and opened the door for her. “I thought they called it glacier country.”
She stepped inside and walked directly to the kitchen. “Well, that, too. And there’s Yellowstone, the Indian nations, the Wild West history. It’s Montana. It’s got everything.”
“Everything very spread out.” He opened the fridge and passed her a soda. “That really hit me today when I knew I didn’t have time to evacuate Sam.”
His cell rang and he stared at it for a moment. “This is it.” Picking it up, he pressed it to his ear. “Josh Stanton.”
She carefully watched his face, looking for signs of good news or bad as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line. But no matter how hard she studied him, she couldn’t decode anything. The guy had a poker face.
As he listened, he rubbed his free hand through his hair and pulled his earlobe. Finally, he said, “Thanks for the call. I appreciate it,” and he slowly placed the phone on the counter.
She leaned forward, anxiety making her chest tight. “So?”
He grabbed her around the waist, spun her around and then kissed her hard and fast. So fast it was all over before she’d realized it had even started. When he set her down, her body sobbed at the loss of contact.
“Sam’s awake,” he said, his face creased in a huge smile and alive with joy.
She raised her hand and high-fived him. “That’s so great.”
He nodded so fast his curls bounced. “His vitals are stable, he knows the date and the name of the president and he’s told the nurses he’s starving hungry.”
She laughed. “He really is back to normal.”
“It’s a hell of a relief.” He suddenly looked utterly exhausted and rubbed his face with his palms. “I gotta tell you, I really wasn’t expecting to do brain surgery as part of my work here.”
