LITMIR.BIZ

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ignored the implication and let Patrick push the elevator button on the fifth floor. Amazingly the door opened right away. She rolled him inside and stood across from both of them. Patrick punched number one.

      “How am I supposed to figure out what you’re allergic to if you’re running around in the ER?” She fanned herself, looking suddenly flushed.

      “You can’t.” Gavin studied his shaky hands. How was he supposed to examine a traumatized kid when he itched all over and his back burned hotter than Hades?

      “Are you OK, Dad?” Patrick asked as he stood next to the wheelchair.

      “I’m fine.”

      “It’s just the medicine I gave him, Patrick. It will wear off. How about you? You seem to have stopped coughing.”

      “I’m good.”

      “The medicine helped?”

      “Maybe.”

      Now pale and looking droopier by the second, Bethany leaned against the adjacent wall. “And why is it no one else can take care of this emergency?”

      “Because I’m the head of the ER and the kid had his hand practically torn off by the family dog.”

      He glanced across the elevator just in time to see his new, and definitely favorite, allergy nurse fainting.

      CHAPTER TWO

      GAVIN punched in the code on the number pad of the emergency room door—it swung open to harsh fluorescent lights and a barrage of noise. Ah, home, sweet home.

      “I need an ammonia ampoule,” he said, acting like carrying a woman over his shoulder was the most natural thing in the world. Patrick followed, pushing the empty wheelchair.

      When Bethany had started to fall, he’d lunged across the elevator, catching her just above the knees, and hoisted her over his shoulder.

      With her usual ER charm, Carmen nailed him over her half-rimmed glasses. “Where have you been, and who is she?” After twenty years in the ER, nothing fazed her.

      “This my allergy nurse.” He made a circle, looking for a vacant exam room.

      “Room three is open. Hi, Patrick, darlin’.” Her icy glare cracked into a smile just for him. “You can leave the wheelchair right there.”

      Gavin headed across the ward with Patrick behind him, gently laid Bethany on the gurney in the vacant room, then adjusted the head of the bed so that her head was below her heart.

      Carmen appeared at the doorway, arms folded, a curious look on her face. She handed him the smelling salts. He’d thought he’d save her the question.

      “She passed out in the elevator when I mentioned the boy’s hand almost being ripped off by a dog.” Realizing his son had heard every word, he gave him a steady look and said, “I’ll make sure the boy is fine. These days surgeons can reattach just about everything.” Patrick nodded thoughtfully. Glancing back at Carmen, who was waiting for more explanation, Gavin said, “I caught her before she hit the floor.” He popped open and waved the smelling salts under Beth’s nose. A reflex made her shake her head side to side. “Keep an eye on her for me while I take a look at the boy, will you?”

      “Sure. We’ve only got patients crawling out of the rafters and as usual I’m short-staffed, but I’ll take care of her.” Carmen approached the bedside and applied the blood-pressure cuff to Beth’s arm. “Is this some new dating strategy?”

      Patrick laughed as if he understood what she was talking about. Carmen’s mock vitriol for Gavin disappeared when she smiled at the boy.

      Choosing to ignore her smart-aleck question, Gavin said, “Patrick, you stay with Carmen and Bethany.”

      “The boy’s in room six, we’ve got a GI bleed in room three, and there’s a possible kidney stone in eight.” Carmen’s expression changed from all business to concern when she had time to study him more closely. “What the heck happened to you?”

      “She tried to kill me.” He nodded toward Beth before heading toward room six. Halfway there, he glanced over his shoulder. “Order an IVP for room eight, draw a stat CBC, ’lytes, PT and PTT for three.”

      “Already have, but thanks for making it official,” Carmen spouted off confidently, making note of her newest patient’s BP. “Hey, Gav, what about something for pain for the possible kidney stone?” she called over her shoulder.

      He slowed his pace. “Any drug allergies?”

      “None.”

      “Demerol 75 milligrams IM.” A deep appreciation for his skilled and competent nurse made him smile. He’d left Beth in good hands. “What would I do without you?”

      “Crash and burn,” she said on a sigh as she headed for the tiny medicine alcove.

      Beth lay perfectly still, woozy yet distracted by the noise and chaos. She opened her eyes and saw Patrick’s inquisitive gaze watching her as if she’d died and come back to life. He’d been raising and lowering the height of the bed by pushing the buttons on the side rails. For a while she’d dreamed she was on a Caribbean cruise, rocking and rolling at sea.

      “Hey,” she said.

      “Hi.” He quickly moved his hand. “Dad said you fainted.”

      “How long was I out?”

      “Not very long.”

      She sat up, fighting an uphill battle with the gurney. “Can you push that and fix this?”

      The boy eagerly complied, already a pro at the bedside controls. The blood-pressure cuff automatically pumped up again. Her BP was normal. She sat up, feeling fine now. She knew she shouldn’t have skipped lunch, but she’d still felt queasy and the thought of food had made her sick. And when dinner had been postponed, well, it must have caught up with her.

      She glanced across the cavernous ER to another room. Behind the glass wall, Gavin was conversing with a doctor and a man and woman. A small boy lay behind him on the gurney. Her gaze came to rest on a teenage girl standing just outside the door. The girl chewed on her index finger and rubbed at red, swollen eyes; fear and concern furrowed her brow as she peered inside.

      The timer on Beth’s wristwatch went off. She’d set it just before they’d left the allergy department. “Oh, Patrick, it’s time to check your back.” She fished around in her pocket for her calibrator to measure any redness or induration from the tests. “Take off your shirt.” She found her pen and a piece of scrap paper in her lab coat and, when Patrick backed up so she could see, began assessing the few small welts on his back. “Most everything is normal. You’ve got a mild reaction to grass and a couple of the trees. Oh, cat fur is borderline.”

      “What does borderline mean?”

      “It means you’re probably OK. Do you have a cat?”

      “No. But I used to.” He got suddenly quiet.

      “Well, other than the grass and trees, you’re OK. Can you get me a glass of water?”

      He put his jersey back on and used the bedside sink to fill a small cup normally meant for pills. She smiled and took it gratefully, threw the contents back in one gulp and asked for another. “Do you have any candy on you? I’m starving.”

      He shook his head but just as quickly his eyes brightened. “I know where the snack machines are.” Spoken like a kid who’d spent more than his share of hours hanging around the hospital because his dad was head of the ER.

      Carmen appeared at the door with a lab tray.

      “Oh, I’m fine now. I just need to get something to eat.”

      “You know the drill,” Carmen said, setting her tray at the bedside and applying a tourniquet to Beth’s arm. “You show up in the ER and we’ve got

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