LITMIR.BIZ

      Near Mercy Medical’s emergency entrance Kate Carpenter stood about twenty yards from the square concrete slab with the big red X in the center of a circle marked with a blue H. This was where the medical evacuation helicopters landed. One was on its way with a fifty-eight-year-old male. Possible heart attack. The patient was from Pahrump. Because her mother lived there, she knew it was an hour from Las Vegas on a winding two-lane road. Medical intervention would have taken too long if he’d been brought in by regular ambulance.

      Mercy Medical Center E.R. nurses alternated meeting the medevac chopper and today was Kate’s turn. The emergency-room doctor had already seen the EKG strip and was keeping in touch with the situation via radio and the readings from the heart monitor hooked up to the patient. This was a level-three trauma center, and it was where she’d met Joe Morgan for the first time. Talk about trauma.

      She still couldn’t believe he’d shown up last night without warning. Not that a warning would have helped her on the inside, but her outside would have looked a lot better. At least she could have put on lip gloss and mascara. A woman shouldn’t have to meet the man from her past without benefit of cosmetics.

      She’d half expected to see him when the calendar said his twelve months overseas were over. But one day had turned into another and time had passed without any word from Joe. Finally, she’d figured he was one of those guys who was nothing more than a sperm donor. The look on his face when he’d seen his son for the first time told her she’d been wrong. That worried her more, even though he’d never asked to hold J.T.

      Her emotional reserves had been about depleted when she’d finally suggested they meet another time to discuss the situation. He’d agreed, then left, looking tired. He was a little leaner than when she’d last seen him and she wondered what he’d been through. His cavalier explanation about the Taliban extending their hospitality wasn’t much information, but she had her suspicions—and a very bad feeling. He might be leaner and meaner, but he still packed that Morgan punch that kicked her pulse, heart rate and respiration into the danger zone.

      Then she heard the whump, whump of helicopter blades growing louder and looked up as the bird seemed to float closer. When the rotor wash was near enough to blow her hair off her face, she gave herself a mental pinch to get her mind off personal problems and into the trauma.

      She waited impatiently until the blades stopped moving, then ducked her head and with the respiratory therapist moved the gurney to the open door of the chopper. The flight nurse helped them offload the patient and handed over Jim Bennett’s paperwork, then they wheeled him to treatment room six in the E.R.

      After transferring him to the exam table, Kate wrapped the blood-pressure cuff on his upper arm. “I’m going to get your vitals, Mr. Bennett.”

      “Okay.” The man had a full head of brown hair streaked with silver and the pallor of his face reflected his pain and fear.

      She removed the stethoscope from around her neck and plugged it into her ears, then put the bell in the bend of his arm and pumped up the cuff. After listening carefully, she noted the results. Next came pulse and respirations which she also marked on his chart. She was giving the patient a couple of aspirin when Dr. Mitch Tenney walked into the room.

      The doctor took the chart from her and flipped through it. Without looking at the patient, he said, “Mr. Bennett, you’re having an M.I.”

      “What’s that?” The man’s fearful gaze moved back and forth between them. His anxiety quotient was edging him toward panic.

      “Myocardial infarction,” Mitch said.

      “Heart attack,” Kate translated.

      “We’re going to give you some anticoagulants, a clot buster and some morphine for the pain.” Mitch looked at her. “Per my standing orders.”

      “Okay,” she said nodding.

      “Then we’re going to transfer you upstairs to the cardiac-care unit for observation.” Mitch started to walk out.

      “Am I going to die?” Mr. Bennett asked.

      Mitch finally looked at him. “Not today.”

      Kate shook her head at the doctor’s curtness. Mitch Tenney was the finest trauma specialist she’d ever seen. What he lacked in bedside manner he made up for in skill. And that’s probably the only reason he was still on staff. Mercy Medical administration had received more than one complaint and the doctor was flirting with his third strike.

      She stayed with the patient until he was transferred upstairs, then checked in at the nurse’s station. “If I’m all clear, I’m going to grab some lunch.”

      The supervisor looked up from her computer monitor. “Go, Kate. It’s late. You must be starving.”

      “Yeah. Been one of those mornings.”

      And it got just a little more unpredictable when she walked through the waiting room on her way to the cafeteria. Joe stood there dressed in a khaki flight suit, aviator sunglasses hanging from the V where his white T-shirt peeked above the zipper.

      “Hi,” he said.

      “What are you doing here?”

      Mentally she smacked her forehead. He wasn’t dressed up for Halloween. These were work clothes for a helicopter pilot. She just hadn’t connected the right dots fast enough to realize that he was her helicopter pilot. He’d brought Mr. Bennett in.

      “Scratch that,” she said, shaking her head. She wasn’t prepared to deal with him again so soon. Part of the reason she’d cut last night’s visit short was to pull herself together, but one sleepless night of thinking about him hadn’t been long enough to settle her traumatized nerves. And when he stood there looking like temptation for the taking, she knew her nerves wouldn’t be upgraded from critical to stable any time soon. “I guess what I meant

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