One thing Cole understood for sure was if a person had to get gored, the buttocks were by far the best place. Lots of padding and minimal nerves ran through the area, unless he’d been gored deep enough to hit the obturator nerve—then there could be a lot of damage. “Can you move your leg or foot?”
Mike tested out moving his foot. It worked well enough, another good sign.
“This is Dr. Silva. She’s going to help me.”
Lizzie nodded hello, then didn’t waste a second. She grabbed large bandage scissors from the ER kit to cut off the jeans. “We need to get a better look, okay?” she asked, but only after she’d sheered through most of one pants leg.
Mike gave a tense nod with thick dust in his hair and mud smudges all over his face. His cowboy hat lay trampled a couple feet away. “Pardon my derriere, ma’am.”
“Not a problem.”
“So the bison butted you with his head before he gored you?” Cole asked, engaging him in conversation just to keep Mike focused, and so he’d feel like he was doing something.
Mike gingerly moved his hand over his abdomen. “Knocked me against the post and I fell on my face. Couldn’t breathe. Then he gored my ass.”
Lizzie stopped cutting long enough to see where Mike gestured. “You in pain in the stomach area?”
Mike nodded again. “A little, but my butt hurts like hell.”
Cole knew cowboys often had high pain thresholds. There was no telling what a little meant. Also, the fact he could talk in sentences was a good sign that one of his ribs hadn’t punctured his lungs. “I’m going to get rid of your shirt so we can see anything obvious, okay?”
Another stoic nod.
He popped the buttons on his shirt and opened the front; the guy was already bruising. “Check this out,” Cole said to Lizzie.
She gently pressed around the area. “The good news is the area doesn’t feel hard or stiff.” Though Mike definitely flinched when she touched him. “I’m going to take your blood pressure. See where we stand.” She motioned for Cole to pick up where she’d left off with cutting off the jeans and took over the examination.
While he did battle on sturdy denim with the bandage scissors, going up the back of Mike’s leg, she checked his vital signs. Fortunately the BP was in normal range, maybe a little high from the pain, and his pulse wasn’t quick or thready according to Lizzie. Mike might have been tossed around by a bison, but maybe he’d survived without rupturing his spleen or a kidney.
Cole finished cutting off the jeans and they saw the baseball-sized puncture wound on Mike’s right buttock. Blood trickled out from the angrily torn edges of flesh.
“We’ll have to leave the deep cleaning and debridement for the hospital, but we can at least go ahead and clean and bandage the wound for now,” she said and went right to work. “The hospital can do computerized tomography to look for any intra-abdominal or retroperitoneal hemorrhage or organ damage.”
Cole understood the ER would need to assess damage to his pelvis and hip, and his respect for Dr. Silva was growing leaps and bounds.
“You’ll need surgery to debride the wound.”
“How long will I be off work?”
Cole knew Mike had a ranch to run, but the healing would take as long as the puncture needed to fill in with new granulation tissue. The process of secondary intention worked from the inside out.
“That’s hard to say,” Lizzie spoke up. “Let’s just concentrate on getting you to the hospital for now and see what happens after that, okay?”
Once discharged, they’d see him in the clinic for follow-up care. Eventually, knowing Mike, he’d be the guy at the bar with a great ass-injury story, and if anyone doubted, all he’d have to do was drop his trousers. The odd thought put a smile on Cole’s face, but mostly what made him smile was the expert way Lizzie handled the situation, making him feel like nothing more than a supervisor. She had everything it took to be a fantastic doctor. All she needed was a little more polishing and general experience.
Soon the ambulance pulled into the long drive and Mike got transferred onto a gurney, and while Lizzie gave her report to the paramedic, Cole called ahead to the hospital and gave a thorough rundown of the event to the emergency-intake doctor. While he did, it occurred to him what a great team they’d made, he and Lizzie. By ten o’clock they headed back to the clinic, and, since Lizzie had taken over at the scene, he felt compelled to do a little teaching.
“Steer, cows and bison have eyes on the sides of their heads so they can see almost three hundred degrees. They can graze and watch for predators at the same time,” he said.
“No, suh!”
“Pardon?” Must be one of those Boston idioms?
“Really? That’s so cool. If we had three-hundred-degree vision, we wouldn’t have any blind spots when we drove.” She showed some interest, and, as usual, added her unique take on the subject.
Being in that corral had brought back a truckload of memories, and since he’d felt fairly useless back at the scene, he went on. Granted, the information would only be of use if Lizzie planned to live in Wyoming or some other ranching state. Which of course she didn’t, but nevertheless…
“They have something called a flight zone that handlers need to respect. In a corral situation the handlers are already deep in the bison’s flight zone, so the animals are in a moderate state of fear. All it takes is sudden movement or a loud noise, just about anything can cause the bison to go into a high state of fear, and that’s when they start crashing fences or goring other animals, or in this case the handler. Mike was lucky today. It could have been a lot worse.”
“And this from the man who wants nothing to do with his father’s ranch.” Lizzie’s deadpan analysis hit the bull’s eye. Cole turned his head enough to meet her smart-aleck eyes, planning to deliver an irritated stare, but the instant their eyes met they both broke into laughter. She’d called him out. What else could he do?
Maybe it was a way to de-escalate the tension from the medical emergency they’d just worked on together, or maybe she shot from the hip about ranching and he got the message, but, whatever the reason, they spent the rest of the ride into the clinic making immature comments about the cowhand who’d been gored in the backside by a bison. Childish, yes. Shamelessly enjoyable? Yes again.
Had he ever laughed until his sides hurt with Victoria?
“So a bison handler walks into a bar…” Yeah, she cracked herself up as she proceeded to tell a horrible rendition of a classic joke. He laughed along, but he also got a kick out of how “bar” sounded like bah and “handler” like handlaw when she said it, and that made him enjoy the joke even more.
Cole never acted this way with his medical peers, even if sometimes he wanted to. Nope, he always kept it professional. But then this was Lizzie, and they’d just discovered they could let their hair down together.
Which set off a whole other fantasy.
To help get his mind off his growing desire for Lizzie, he jumped right into bragging incessantly to Lotte and Rita the instant they got back to the clinic. “You should have seen her…”
*
Tuesday morning Cole sent out texts to several medical-community friends he knew on the east coast, fishing for information on their internal-medicine resident programs. Then he got right to work at the clinic while he waited for information to roll in. Lizzie stopped by and handed him a list of her second-string hospitals, as she’d promised. She’d definitely made her sights more realistic this time around, but he didn’t have a contact at a single one of those hospitals.
Midmorning, while completing a surgery referral for cholelithiasis in a forty-five-year-old woman, he got a call.
“Cole, it’s Larry.”
Lawrence Rivers didn’t call unless there was a good reason. Wasn’t that how Trevor had wound up with Elisabete Silva? “Hi, what’s up?”
“What are you doing weekend after next?”
“I’ll be right here in Cattleman Bluff until my brother get
s back, why?”
“I saw your text about resident spots and I thought I’d save you some time.”
“How’re you going to do that?”
“One of the internal-medicine first-year residents may be dropping out of our program for an assortment of personal reasons.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, but no one knows about it yet, and it’s not a sure deal. Here’s the thing, weekend after next is the annual JHH charity event, right? They’re having a formal affair at Hotel Monaco in Baltimore, and most of the east-coast hospital administrators will be there, including the resident admin from Boston University Hospital. Even if Lizzie can’t get in at our program in Boston, she can meet and make a good impression on a boatload of other administrators. It’d be a good time to try out your Professor Henry Higgins and Eliza Doolittle routine, don’t you think?”
Cole sat in order to take in everything his friend told him. Was that what he’d become where Lizzie was concerned—even bigger than a cliché, a George Bernard Shaw character?
Pygmalion aside, Cole promised Lawrence that Elisabete was hirable, beyond hirable, then he told him all about the recent goring incident. He owed her a hand up, not only for her, but for Flora’s future. He could introduce her to a number of important people there and if she made a good impression at the charity event she was bound to find a resident program sooner rather than later. She had a baby to support, she needed a job when Trevor and Julie got home, which was only a few weeks away.
“Send the invitation. We’ll be there.”
After Cole hung up a long list of worries queued up in his mind. Would Lizzie even agree to going? Would she be prepared for the upscale event? She certainly didn’t have the wardrobe for a charity ball at a grand hotel; he’d have to buy her a dress. And not let on what his intentions were, because she’d have a fit if she knew it was a setup. His outlook grew grim, but he was determined to make this opportunity work for her.
If he was successful she’d meet and impress the perfect hospital administrator who’d find a place for her either in the current resident program, or maybe give her some sort of hospital staff position while she waited for next year’s list of openings.
All Cole could do was put her in the right place at the right time. The rest would be completely up to Lizzie to make the magic happen. Which was why he’d have to step up their nightly medical conversations, and, while she wasn’t looking, sneak in a few tidbits about proper charity-ball etiquette.
He rubbed his palms together, then quickly got lost in another thought—if he was successful, he might never see her again. Some of the excitement dissipated.
*
Wednesday, Cole beat Lizzie home from work and found the large package he’d ordered the other morning waiting for him. He tore open the cardboard box to get to the baby jumper seat inside. A bright and friendly-looking, freestanding baby jumper required assembly, so he got right to work in order to surprise Lizzie, and most especially Flora, when they got home.
The rotating, comfortable-looking seat would let Flora’s legs dangle and her toes touch the ground, which would help develop large motor skills when she pushed off and jumped. Plus, it would be a safe place to keep her while Lizzie needed both of her hands. Like, for instance—and the true reason he’d gotten it—while they sat at the dinner table. Flora could dangle, jump and play with the colorful creatures and attached toys to her heart’s content.
Once he’d finished the setup, Cole smiled, taking great joy in getting something special for Flora. The more time he spent around her, the cuter she got, and sometimes, when the timing didn’t work out right and he didn’t see her, he missed her.
Had he once missed Victoria’s son, Eddie? Nope.
Midgrin, Lizzie breezed into the kitchen with Flora in her car carrier seat, and Cole stood proudly beside the jumper toy waiting for them to reach the dining room. Flora was making some loud baby sounds, not fussing, just exploring her voice, and once Lizzie pushed through the door she stopped on a dime.
“What’s this?”
“Flora’s new jumping toy.”
“You got this?” He nodded. “Did you know that Gina has one of these at her house and she says Flora loves it?” He shook his head. “Oh, my Gawd, Flora, lookie!” It might as well have been Christmas.
Lizzie set the car carrier on the dining table and Cole did the honors of taking Flora out, enjoying the sturdy feel of her growing body. “Look at this, Flora. What do you think?” Her little legs started kicking before he could even set her in the seat. She squealed the minute her bottom hit the vinyl. Cole flipped on the switch and loud jungle-animal sounds started along with silly music. The baby loved it and kicked her legs, setting off more bouncing.
A tight squeeze on his arm drew his attention away from Flora to Lizzie. She looked sincerely up at him. “This is so sweet of you. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” And it was, since he enjoyed watching Flora almost as much as Lizzie.
The love he saw in Lizzie’s eyes for her daughter seemed to reach inside his chest and grab his heart. What must that kind of love feel like? One thing he knew for sure, the simple gift had brought a roomful of joy into the house, and he wouldn’t trade having the two of them here for anything.
And yet, his most important task at this point in time was to find Lizzie a job and send her away. His wide grin suddenly felt all wrong.
*
That night after dinner and after Flora had been nursed and put to bed, Lizzie headed to meet Cole in the library loft above the living room. She loved these meetings with him, not only for the wealth of medical knowledge he shared, but also for the one-on-one time alone with Cole. Since he’d kissed her cowboy-style on the open range under that never-ending Wyoming sky, though, he’d pulled back. Way back. Most days he seemed more like the guy she’d originally met when she’d first arrived. Distant and standoffish. Except they’d shared a good belly laugh the other day on the drive back from the Waltons’. And this afternoon he’d surprised the heck out of her with that impulsive gift for Flora. She shook her head, missing the man who’d helped with Flora and who’d diplomatically shown her the error of her pigheaded ways with the clinic personnel when she’d first arrived in Cattleman Bluff. She’d caught a glimpse of who he could be today and wanted more. But all the years in foster care had trained her never to get her hopes up. People never wanted her for long, so they just kept passing her around.
Lizzie didn’t have enough time to sort out her confused thoughts. Once she hit the top of the spiral steps to the library, he was already waiting at the table they shared nightly, a hot mug of something steaming to his right. Probably Sweet Dreams herbal tea. A barely there smile didn’t come close to his eyes, but he stood and, like a trained gentleman, waited for her dutifully.
“What’s on the agenda tonight?” she said, trying to ignore the lackluster greeting, walking heavy-footed toward her chair.
He sat back down and weaved his fingers together, resting his hands on the table between them. “I was wondering if you’d consider taking a trip with me to Baltimore?”
He’d blindsided her with a crazy question and she nearly fell off her chair before she’d completely sat down. “What’s in Baltimore?” Was this a test?
“What will be in Baltimore? Nearly every single university-hospital resident-program administrator this side of the Mississippi.”
She didn’t bother to scoot back into the chair, but stayed balancing on the front edge. “I’m listening.”
“Weekend after next the prestigious Johns Hopkins Hospital is hosting their annual charity event, and we’ve been invited.”
“That’s where you work, right?”
He nodded.
“Why invite me?”
“Were you not listening? You’ll be introduced to the people who can get you into their resident programs. Make the right impression, it can open doors for you.”
Nerves twined together making an uncomfortable ball in
her stomach. She didn’t dare get her hopes up since she’d learned the hard way by failing to get placed this year. Plus she wasn’t exactly known for her charm. “I can’t do that. I’ll blow it for sure.”
For the first time since that afternoon with Flora jumping in her chair, she saw an honest reaction from him. He torqued his face in disbelief. “That’s not the Lizzie I know. When you put your mind to it, you can do anything.”
Did he know her that well?
Feeling like a little girl, she held her breath and glanced upward, her heart jumping its beat. Uncensored honesty kicked in and she let him see the unconfident shadow that followed her everywhere, the part of her she’d locked away all her life in order to get through the tough stuff. Her usual fake facade of confidence and tough Boston girl had been her survival, but right now… He’d pushed her just past her comfort zone, enough to see her true reaction, and she couldn’t let him see any more.
Was a measly old charity ball really going to be her undoing?
He must have read her panic and appeared at her side while barely seeming to move. His large hand squeezed her shoulder. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know how to act around rich people. I won’t belong there. I’ll stand out like a copper penny with a bunch of silver dollars.”
Cole squeezed her shoulder tighter and dropped to her eye level. “Honey, you’re the silver dollar. We just need to let them discover that.”
Well, that did it. First he bought her baby a wonderful gift, now he paid her the sweetest compliment she’d ever heard. She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tight to hide the unwelcomed tears springing up and dripping over her lids. His arms wrapped around her back, one warm hand massaging up and down. She thought she could stay like this for eternity and never get tired of Cole holding her—and how she’d missed him since their kiss—but she needed to pull herself together. There were at least a hundred questions she had right that instant, and she figured she’d think of a thousand more as the night went on. He’d just proved he had confidence in her; the least she could do was not let him down. “How do we pull this off? And, yes, I did say ‘we’ because there’s no way I can do this without you.”
Father for Her Newborn Baby (Cowboys, Doctors...Daddies) Page 9
