Janice Lynn – New York Doc to Blushing Bride (страница 2)
He had to at least make sure she was all right.
Hadn’t Preston’s last words been for him to take care of Cara?
Sloan headed around the side of the building. She was sitting on a bench, looking up at the sky. A pale sliver of moonlight illuminated her just well enough that he could tell she was speaking, but he was too far away to make out what she said or even the sound of her whispered words.
His ribs broke loose and lassoed themselves around his heart, clamping down so tightly that he could barely breathe.
Never had he seen anything more beautiful than the ethereal image she made in the moonlight. Never had he felt such a fascination with a woman.
A commotion behind him had him spinning to see the source, but not before he saw Cara’s head jerk toward the noise also, catching him watching her. Great. Now she’d add stalker to whatever other crimes he’d possibly committed.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on that. The cause of the noise now had his full attention.
Mrs. Goines, a blue-haired little elderly lady, had fallen while going down the three steps leading out of the funeral parlor. Why she hadn’t taken the handicap ramp Sloan could only put down to her stubbornness that she wasn’t handicapped or disabled. She had lost her footing and down she’d gone.
He got to the frail little woman almost as quickly as the woman who’d been right behind her—her daughter, if Sloan remembered correctly.
“Mom? Are you okay?” she asked, confirming Sloan’s memory of who she was. She leaned over her mother, who moaned in pain.
“I can’t move.” Ignoring her daughter, Mrs. Goines’s gaze connected to Sloan’s and she groaned in obvious agony. “I can’t get up.”
Assessing the position in which she’d fallen and how she’d landed, Sloan winced. She’d landed on her right hip, leg and arm. Her hip and her shoulder had taken the brunt of her weight. He’d seen her in clinic several times since he’d come to Bloomberg. He knew her health history. She was on a biphosphanate medication to strengthen her thin bones, having struggled with osteoporosis for more than a decade. Her weakened bones hadn’t been able to withstand the impact of her fall.
“Don’t try to move, Mrs. Goines,” he ordered in a low, confident tone. “I’m going to check you, but I will need to send you to the hospital for X-rays.”
“Is everything okay?” Cara asked, joining them and hunching down next to Sloan. At his dash at the noise, she’d apparently come to investigate. Taking the elderly woman’s hand, her expression softened with a compassion that caused Sloan’s breath to catch in his throat.
“Mrs. Goines,” she chided with a click of her tongue and the twinkle in her eyes that had captured his imagination in Preston’s office photos, “were you sliding down the railings again? You know my dad warned you about that.”
The woman’s pain-filled eyes eased just a tiny bit with Cara’s distracting words. “Remember that, do you, girlie?”
“I remember a lot of things about growing up in this town. Like that you used to sneak me extra peaches when I’d go through school lunch line,” Cara told her in a gentle voice. “Can you tell me where you are?”
The woman frowned. “If you don’t know, then it should be you being checked by a doctor, not me. It’s your father’s funeral we’re at, girlie.”
“You’re right,” Cara agreed, not explaining that she was checking the woman’s neurological status with her question. “Did you hit your head when you fell?”
“If only,” Mrs. Goines moaned. “I wouldn’t be hurting nearly so much.”
“Possibly not, but I’m still glad you didn’t hit your head.” Cara looked into her eyes, studying her pupils in the glow of the porch and lit walkway. “Can you tell me where you hurt most?”
Completely ignoring Sloan now, Mrs. Goines continued to moan in pain while answering Cara’s questions.
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Sloan had to fight a smile at the transformation that had taken place. Gone was the lost, grieving daughter from moments before. In her place was a confident doctor who stepped in and took charge. Truly, she was her father’s child.
She moved efficiently and thoroughly, quickly coming to the same conclusion Sloan had while watching her examine the older woman. “She needs X-rays. I’m not sure we will be able to move her. You’ll need to call for an ambulance.”
He nodded his agreement and motioned to what he held next to his ear. He’d already punched in the emergency dispatcher’s number. “I need an ambulance sent to Greenwood’s Funeral Parlor,” he told the woman who answered the call. “I’ve a ninety-two-year-old white female who’s fallen and can’t get up. Probable fractured right hip. Possibly her right humerus, as well.”
Cara, Sloan and the crowd that had gathered to see what the commotion was all about stayed with the in-pain Mrs. Goines until the ambulance pulled to a screeching halt in front of the funeral home.
Bud Arnold and his partner Tommy Woodall came up to where Mrs. Goines still lay on the concrete steps at an awkward angle. With her level of pain, moving her had risked further injury so they’d just made her as comfortable as possible where she lay.
“Hey, Dr. Trenton,” the paramedics greeted him, then turned to the moaning woman.
“Mrs. Goines, please tell me you didn’t try sliding down the handrail,” Bud said immediately when he realized who the patient was.
Obviously, there was a story behind Mrs. Goines and handrails. Sloan would get her to tell him about it soon. Maybe when he rounded on her in the morning because no doubt she’d be admitted through the emergency room tonight and he’d check on her prior to Preston’s funeral service.
“Hey, Bud,” Cara greeted him, causing the man’s eyes to bug out with recognition.
“Well, I’ll be. If it isn’t Cara Conner. Good to see you, pretty girl.” Then he recalled why she was in town and his happy greeting turned to solemn remorse. “Sorry to hear about your dad. He was a good, good man. Best doctor I ever knew.”
“Thanks, Bud. He was a good man and doctor.” She took a deep breath. “Now, let’s take care of this good woman lying here in pain. She’s going to have to be put on the stretcher. Right hip is broken. I can’t be certain if her right shoulder is broken or just shoved out of socket from the impact of her fall. Her right clavicle is fractured, too.”
Cara pushed aside the loose material of Mrs. Goines’s dress neckline. Sure enough, there was a large bump that had fortunately not broken through the skin but which did indicate that the woman’s collarbone had snapped from the impact against the concrete steps.
“I do believe you’re right, Doc,” Bud agreed. “Let’s get this feisty little lady to the emergency room.”
The two paramedics lowered the stretcher as far as it would go and positioned Mrs. Goines to where they could slide her onto the bedding.
Cara and Sloan both positioned themselves where they wouldn’t interfere with Bud and Tommy’s work but where they could help stabilize Mrs. Goines’s body as much as possible during the transfer.
“On the count of three, we’re going to lift you onto the stretcher,” Bud told their patient.
Although Mrs. Goines cried out in pain, the transfer went smoothly.
Sloan turned to Cara and smiled. “You should move back to Bloomberg. We make a good team, you and I.”
Her gaze narrowed as if he’d said something vulgar. “You and I are not a team,” she said, low enough that only he could hear. “And I will never move back to Bloomberg.”
She stood, bent and said something to Mrs. Goines, who was now strapped onto the stretcher to prevent her from falling off while they rolled her to where the ambulance waited. Then she nodded toward Bud and Tommy and disappeared inside the funeral home.
Slowly, Sloan rose to his feet, scratched his head and wondered what he’d ever done to upset Preston’s daughter so completely and totally.
And why he’d never wanted a woman to like him more.
People Cara had known her entire life shook her hand, hugged her and pressed sloppy kisses to her cheek. People told her how wonderful her father had been, what a difference he’d made in their lives, stories of how he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty time and again during his thirty-plus years of practicing medicine in Bloomberg—as if Cara didn’t know firsthand what he’d sacrificed for his patients.
She knew. Oh, how she knew.
Everyone milled around, talking to each other, saying what a shame it was the town had lost such a prominent and beloved member. All their words, their faces churned in Cara’s grieving mind, a whirlwind of emotional daggers that sliced at her very being.
Her gaze went to the one stranger in their midst. A stranger only to her, it seemed as he was the other person receiving condolences from everyone in the funeral parlor.
Acid gurgled in her stomach, threatening to gnaw a hole right through her knotted belly.
Why was
Preston had been her father, her family. Not his.