Rescue Team (6 page)

Wes’s hope vanished. He might as well go back to the waiting room. “Kate Callison.”

“Yes. She sent me out here to get you.”

-  +  -

“Where do things stand?” Kate asked, catching the clinical coordinator outside the trauma room doors. She glanced inside and saw Wes Tanner crouching low to speak to his friend amid an organized tangle of IV lines. The concern on his face was obvious. “Ready for the OR?”

“Anesthesia’s already been here,” the nurse told her. “Lungs and belly looked clear on the portable films, but there’s a lot of swelling in that thigh. Blood bank is sending the first unit straight to the OR. Catheter’s in, antibiotics infusing. When surgery gives the green light, we’ll roll.”

“Good.” Kate had almost said, “Good job,” but she wondered how the nurse would take it.
Good job
as in
better than you usually do
or . . . Ugh, she hated second-guessing what she said to her staff.
Everything Kate did was measured against Sunni’s perfect leadership. “I’ll be out in triage if you need me,” she added, certain she saw a look in the nurse’s eyes that said,
“Dana called in sick because you harassed her.”

Kate’s current prescription for peace and comfort was beyond a peanut butter muffin, even with the last packet of marmalade. Far beyond. What she needed was a kind word, a human connection devoid of political ramifications.

On second thought, scratch the human connection altogether. Maybe the wayward Roady cat would be home again tonight. Maybe—

“Let’s go!” the technician directed from inside the trauma room. Gurney brakes released and wheels rolled. IV bags swayed. There was a communal
swish-swish
of hustling scrubs. And in seconds, the space was empty. Not a person in sight—nurse, physician, lab or X-ray tech, or visitor. All gone. Only the inevitable clutter remained, those empty husks of lifesaving effort: depleted bags of IV fluids, discarded medicine vials and tourniquets, a lead apron from radiology . . . and a drying puddle of blood on the floor.

-  +  -

Wes was grateful for the quiet of the hospital chapel. And that he’d heard from both Gabe’s parents and his own. They were all on the way, even Wes’s seventeen-year-old brother, Dylan, who’d called Gabe “my good pal” for most of his life. It was a rare and important connection for someone with Dylan’s special needs and limited social skills.

Wes smiled. Wait until Dylan found out that his good pal’s dog, Hershey, would be staying with the Tanners for a few days.
Only a few days. Gabe’s going to be all right.

He glanced from the simple cross above the chapel’s altar to the clock on the wall. The surgical technician had said Gabe would be in the OR at least an hour. Now would be a good time to get that other thing done. He’d promised.

With reluctance, Wes rose from the chair and walked back toward the door, where he’d stowed the hospital-issue bag holding Gabe’s belongings. And the item that wouldn’t fit in it. He shook his head, bent down to grab the bag, and—

“Hi.”

Wes stood, surprised to see Kate Callison outside the door.

-  +  -

“There’s a decent surgical waiting room with coffee and crackers and a TV,” Kate told Wes, feeling immediately foolish. He could have gone to the chapel to pray.
Not everyone wraps a cross in newspaper and hides it in the closet.
“It’s there if you want it.”

“Thanks.” Wes glanced back into the chapel. “What I really could use is a sort of . . . big . . . garbage bag.” His blue eyes, Kate noticed, were the exact shade of his scrub top. “For some of Gabe’s belongings.”

“A trash bag?” she asked, needing to break the gaze because of the ridiculous way her pulse was suddenly behaving. No more Starbucks Doubleshots. “Oh, you mean a patient belongings bag. I’ll grab—”

“No, a trash bag. Garbage-can size. It’s for . . .” He turned and reached down behind the door. “This.”

Kate’s eyes widened at the toddler-size doll with tangled hair, fading rouge, and a frilly dotted apron. But mostly at the ludicrous image of this ruggedly handsome man struggling to grapple with such a completely girlie thing. “That’s—”

“Nancy Rae,” he said, balancing the toy awkwardly in the crook of his arm. “But you can call her Nancy.” He looked from the doll’s well-worn face to Kate’s, amusement erasing his earlier discomfort. “It’s my turn to be surprised: you
do
smile, Kate Callison.”

“It’s just . . .” A laugh rose, more wonderful than any marmalade. Kate pressed her fingers to her mouth, unable to stop it. “You look so . . .”

“Idiotic, I know,” he agreed. “But I’ve got to get this to someone upstairs.”

“The Alzheimer’s patient you rescued in the woods yesterday,” Kate guessed.
The same day you carried that dying baby.
The merciful laughter disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“The doll’s important to her. She’s had it for years—‘rescued’ from a church garage sale. Gabe wanted to make sure she got it.” His eyes met hers again. “Judith said you gave the okay for me to be in the trauma room. I want you to know I appreciate that. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Kate willed her heartbeat to slow. “I should thank you—and Nancy—for the laugh just now. I needed it. It’s been . . .” She let the words trail off, wary of being too honest. “If you’ll wait a minute, I’ll get that trash bag.”

“Thanks.” Wes’s smile returned, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Nancy Rae likes to travel incognito—paparazzi.”

Kate chuckled, unexpected warmth spreading again. “Be right back.”

By the time she managed to locate a janitor’s cart and snag a trash bag, Kate had convinced herself that it would be a sincere gesture of Austin Grace hospitality to show Wes to the surgery waiting room. Or maybe the cafeteria. Join him there for a few minutes.

She hurried back. Then heard the voices, even before she reached the chapel. A discreet peek from the doorway confirmed that other people had arrived. A man nearly as tall as Wes, with silver-shot black hair and similar good looks. A woman wearing faded Levi’s and an expression of motherly concern. And under Wes’s protective arm, a gangly young man shifting his weight from foot to foot. He wore an oversize blue football jersey stenciled with the number 1 and white block letters that spelled out
Team Tanner
.

Wes’s family. Kate would have known it without the personalized jersey. She could tell by the way they looked at each other and moved together in a palpable attitude of loving support. She felt it even from where she stood. On the outside looking in. Always.

Kate tucked the trash bag inside the chapel door and headed back to the ER. She took a deep breath, let it go. It had been crazy and pathetic to let fatigue, frustration, and a much-needed laugh—and that incredible smile—fool her into hoping things could change. It was a dangerous combination that could make her lose sight of the truth. She had a long history of bad choices. Getting personal with Wes Tanner would have been more of the same. They couldn’t have less in common. She had no team. No real family. And tomorrow they’d face each other at the critical stress debriefing. Something he believed in and she most certainly didn’t. Analyzing the emotional impact of Baby Doe’s death was the last thing Kate needed.

Her heart cramped as she remembered her conversation with Lauren. And the brochure she’d tossed in the trash. Abandoned babies, terrified mothers. A Safe Haven?

Kate shook her head, sensing another soul-deep truth.
There is no safe place.

J
UDITH
D
OYLE MOVED DOWN
the emergency department corridor, each brisk stride marked with a swish of her pink uniform and a
squeak-scrunch
from her SAS sneakers. And the occasional twinge of her arthritic knee. She’d probably already trekked a dozen miles through the vinyl-paved, fluorescent-lit, bustling maze that was Austin Grace Hospital.

After nearly two years, she knew every square foot like it was home. The humid, grease-scented engineering department on the basement level. The laughter and food-tray clatter of the cafeteria. The cool, blue-green, capped and masked inner sanctum that was the OR. She knew the route from the bright finger paint– and balloon-festooned halls of pediatrics to the blanket-soft, milk-and-miracle atmosphere of the newborn nursery. Judith had covered it all in the last four hours. Delivering interdepartmental mail,
pushing wheelchairs, guiding visitors, making coffee, and . . . making a difference. Yes. She believed that with every fiber of her being. But of course, it was much more than that.

“Judith!” The ER registration clerk, Beverly, poked her head through the office doorway. There was an orange speckle of cheese puffs on her chin, and her eyes were etched with fatigue—single mother, working two jobs.
No sleep, again.
“Can you restock the information pamphlets in the waiting room? I think the last cold-and-flu sheet just sailed by my window. As a paper airplane.”

“Happy to.” Judith made a mental note to double-check the patient sign-in list against her most recent head count in the waiting room. Beverly was a department veteran and a hard worker, but fatigue took its toll and that’s when mistakes happened. “And how ’bout I bring you some coffee?”

“Thanks, Judith. You’re a real lifesaver.”

“I . . .” Judith hesitated, a lump rising in her throat.
A lifesaver?

Her fingers played with her angel earring as she glanced through the registration window at the patients in the waiting room. The woman with swollen ankles, a college student with a scratch from his contact lens, a carpet layer with lower back pain, and several more. Judith knew their names, their faces, how long they’d been waiting. She’d offered magazines, cups of water, Kleenex, a listening ear. And her own private, ongoing assessments. Because even if right now everything was “same old, same old,” as Beverly liked to say, things could change at any moment. The woman with swollen ankles might develop breathing trouble. The carpet layer’s chronic back pain could be the symptom of an undiagnosed aneurysm—a bulging vessel shredding itself, ready to explode in a massive hemorrhage. The possibilities were always there, endless and frightening and so easily
found on the Internet. Insomnia was providing Judith with an unexpected medical education.

“Wes Tanner, please call 7674. Wes Tanner, 7674.” The overhead PA system crackled, went silent again.

Judith suspected the young man was being paged by the family of the gunshot victim. She’d seen them gathered in the chapel, a room used by visitors for respite and prayer, and by staff during Lauren Barclay’s fellowship gatherings. It was the one room in the hospital that Judith never visited. Never would. She had no use for chapels, church, or God himself. Not since he’d allowed a medical mistake to steal her husband’s life. A good, loving man who would never know grandchildren or toast a golden anniversary. Judith battled the familiar snarl of anger and pain, tamped it down. Then she grabbed a fresh stack of brochures and strode toward the waiting room, the angels beating silvery wings against her neck.

God had allowed human error to make Judith a widow. She couldn’t change that, but it also left her determined that the senseless tragedy would never happen to anyone else.
Not on my watch.

Her throat squeezed at the thought of the tiny baby left to die in the bathroom. It shouldn’t have happened.

She’d check the census statistics and the staffing schedule. All she had left was time waiting to be filled. There was no reason she couldn’t volunteer on the night shift too.

-  +  -

“I heard your friend’s doing better.” Lauren joined Wes Tanner at the cafeteria table. Though he’d managed to get hold of some clean clothes, he still looked emotionally rumpled. “So now how are
you
doing? Peer counselors—we have to ask, right?” Lauren tried not to imagine what Kate would think of that. But then, this might
be a good time to feel Wes out about the debriefing. If he was still planning to be there.

“If I say, ‘I wish it was me full of shotgun pellets,’ will you rat me out to the social worker?” He dragged his hand along his jaw. “I feel bad. But a whole lot better now that Gabe’s out of surgery and there were no complications. No damage to the major vessels or the hip joint. They’ll be watching for infection, of course.”

Lauren nodded. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d wanted to trade places with her younger sister, spare Jessica pain. “They arrested the man who rigged that gun?”

“Right.” Wes half groaned, half laughed. “He’s been feuding with his brother for, like, ten years. Over something he can’t even remember. But he sure wasn’t going to let him come ‘poking around’ his property. Can you believe that? Gabe got shot—could have been killed—because this lunatic can’t forgive his brother?”

“Don’t get me started.” Lauren shook her head. “Last summer one of the ER techs got in a phone argument with his ex, put his car in reverse, and backed over a pharmaceutical rep in the parking lot. Fractured leg—and the lawsuit that welcomed Kate to her new job.”

Wes’s brows drew together.

“She got you past security to see your friend before surgery?”

“Yes.” Something that looked like a smile played across his lips. “And helped me with another problem—long story. I’m surprised, considering all she had to say against what we’re doing with the ER staff tomorrow.”

“You’re still planning to be there?”

“Yes. Gabe will be upstairs, so it works on all counts. Do you know how many people will attend the debriefing?”

“About nine, I think. Counting the facilitators, you, and me. And Kate.”

Wes’s eyes widened. “How’d you manage that? Hypnosis?”

Lauren weighed her response. “I told Kate it might score points with her team. It hasn’t been easy to take the lead after Sunni. They have different styles of leadership, and—” She stopped, catching a glimpse of scrubs in the distance, then waved her hand. “Kate. Join us.”

-  +  -

Wes could tell by the look on Kate’s face that joining them wasn’t something she wanted to do. Even less when Lauren got paged and had to return to the ICU within minutes. He had a quick, irrational wish that Nancy Rae were here to mediate. He tried to remember how Kate’s face looked, transformed by that unexpected smile in the chapel. Not possible.

Kate cleared her throat. “Horses?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You and your friend were on horseback when he was shot?”

“Right.” Why did he have the feeling Kate was about to add tetanus exposure to his growing list of Gabe guilt? But her eyes softened instead. Big, dark, vulnerable . . .
beautiful
. He’d be laughed out of the county if anyone knew he’d just thought of Bambi.

“My father and I used to ride,” Kate told him, voice as soft as her eyes. “Summer vacations when I was little. We rented a cabin near Donner Lake in the Sierra mountains. He bought me fringed chaps with my initials made to look like a brand. Mom didn’t ride, but she’d pack us a lunch, and . . .” Kate swallowed, glanced across the room. When she met his gaze again, the vulnerable softness was gone.

“Duster and Clementine,” Wes offered. “My sorrel gelding and my father’s young mare. Gabe was helping me put Clem through
some field training. For a search-and-rescue demonstration we’re doing Saturday—
I’m
doing—on my folks’ ranch.” Wes took a chance, stubbornly holding on to the image of a little cowgirl with her daddy. “If you’d like to come by, the horses will be there. Saddled and ready to go.” He hoped she heard a shrug in his voice—and couldn’t tell he was holding his breath.

“I don’t ride anymore,” she said abruptly, checking her watch.

“Does your father?”

Kate frowned, pushed her coffee away. “I don’t know. We don’t talk.”

Wes thought of the hermit and the rigged shotgun.

“So,” Kate said, standing, “I suppose I’ll see you at the debriefing tomorrow.” She looked at him like she was imagining a scorpion in her shoe.

“Yep.”

Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. “I guess it won’t be only the baby they’ll talk about. With all that news coverage this afternoon.”

“News?”

“About Sunni Sprague.”

Wes’s pulse quickened. “I heard there might be a new development, but I didn’t see that report. What’s going on?”

“The sheriff said there could be a break in her case. And that there would be more information coming soon. I got the impression they thought they’d be locating a body.” Kate’s eyes clouded. “I think not knowing is worse.”

Wes wasn’t sure if he nodded. But finally they agreed on something.

His mother’s body hadn’t been found for nearly a year. Not knowing—searching, struggling to hope against worsening odds—was far worse.

-  +  -

“You’re still here?” Kate asked, spotting Judith in the hospital gazebo. “You’re making me feel like a slacker. I’m on my way home.”

“Me too.” Judith’s smile was warm. “I was sorting through some photos I took of Harley a few minutes ago.”

“But she was discharged hours ago. She’s having trouble again?”

“No. Her grandfather’s rehab appointment,” Judith reminded. “Trista drives him here every weekday. Harley’s fine. But when Trista told me that she didn’t have a camera and hadn’t had any photos done since her baby was born . . .” Judith’s earrings swayed as she shook her head in obvious disbelief. “Of course I took some. And said I’d e-mail them. Want to see?”

“Sure.” Kate sat down beside her, scrolled through the digital photos as Judith narrated. “These are great. She’s such a cute baby.” She kept going and found shots of lush foliage, hills, and water. “These landscapes are nice too. Where is that?”

“I took these along the Barton Creek Greenbelt. It’s beautiful along there and it goes all the way to Zilker Park. Which is quite lovely too. There’s a botanical garden, an outdoor theater, so many great things for families.”

Kate nodded. “I’m embarrassed to admit that I live within walking distance. Lauren’s been badgering me to jog with her at the park. I think you’ve convinced me.” She scrolled back to the baby photos, smiled. “This was really nice. You’re completely amazing, Judith. What would we do without you?”

“You’ll never have to find out,” the volunteer promised as if she were making a sacred pledge.

“Good.” Kate noticed the sun glinting off Judith’s wedding ring
set. “Though I would think your family might object if we abuse your generosity.”

The woman’s barely perceptible wince was enough to make Kate wish she could take the words back. “I’m a widow. Three years this month. My daughter’s in San Antonio; Molly and her husband are attorneys. They’ve been trying to make me a grandmother for nearly two years. Now they’re talking about adoption. . . .” Judith lifted her chin, the smile returning. “So you see, I have plenty of time on my hands.”

“Maybe the next time I need an espresso Doubleshot and you get a yen for a pumpkin spice latte, we should walk over to Starbucks and have it there. Away from the hospital. Where we can really talk.”

Judith’s gaze held Kate’s for a moment. “I like the idea.”

“Me too.” Kate glanced at her watch. “I’d better get going. I need to hit the computer at home, do some planning. We have a meeting tomorrow.”

“That critical stress debriefing. Beverly told me. It’s not my place to say so, but I think it can only be good to foster a cohesive team. Taking care of yourselves—and each other—is part of that. Healthy staff, happy patients.”

“I . . .” Kate hesitated, then decided to go ahead. “Did you know Sunni Sprague?”

Judith’s expression clouded and Kate felt certain she was struggling with a polite way to say what everyone else had.
“You’ll never compare to Sunni.”

“I’m sorry,” Kate apologized. “I can only imagine how awful it was—still is—for everyone. She was probably a personal friend.”

“No.” Judith sighed. “You don’t need to apologize. I know how difficult your position is in light of that situation, Kate. No person
is perfect. No place is perfect. But we all have to try to be the best we can be.”

Kate was halfway down Ben White Boulevard and starting to think about dinner when she noticed that the young woman was gone. The corner empty. No grieving mother, no candle, no heartbreaking poster with its painful plea for a funeral. She wondered if the woman had finally accomplished that—buried her baby. Gone home.

Then Kate remembered what she’d told Wes Tanner about the break in Sunni’s case. That she thought it meant they were close to finding a body. And that finding out something awful was better than . . .
not knowing.
Her heart crowded her chest and she wasn’t sure if the sudden ache was for the young mother or Sunni or . . .