Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)

Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6) Page 23

“Phooey,” Mel said. “There’s quite a nice difference in our ages.” She grabbed his thigh. “I’m catching up with you, however.”

“Then there’s the general,” Jack said. “Kind of intimidating…”

“Oh, Walt’s a pussycat,” she said. “And I think he likes Luke. They have the army in common.”

“Luke’s either going to give in or explode,” Jack said.

“How do you know he hasn’t? Given in.”

“Have you taken a good look at him? At his posture, his eyes? Believe me, he’d be a lot looser. He hasn’t unloaded in a long time.”

“Jack!” she said.

“And the funny thing is, Shelby’s downright serene,” Jack said, completely ignoring his wife’s scold. “She’s a very unusual woman.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror when it’s been a long time for us?” he asked. “It’s all over your face when you need to be taken care of.” He grinned at her.

“It is not!” she said, giving him a whack on the arm. But she laughed at him, and secretly knew he was right. She also knew why Shelby didn’t look that way. Shelby, virginal, hadn’t been satisfied by a man yet; she didn’t ache with longing for her lover. “It’s hardly ever been a long time for us,” she pointed out.

“Which is how I like it,” he said. “Then take the general,” he said. “Talk about a satisfied man…”

“You can’t possibly know that. Walt neither looks nor acts any differently than he ever did,” she insisted.

“The general looks like a beautiful woman moved in next door and he’s doing his best to be a good neighbor. He’s got a twinkle in his eye and a very sly grin.”

Mel turned toward him and narrowed her eyes. “Do you really think you know what facial expressions correspond exactly to a man’s getting laid?”

“I do,” he said with a smile. “In fact, I consider myself something of an expert.”

She sat with him for an hour, talking mostly about the new budding romances. In fact, a lot of people were preoccupied with that. No one knew what was going on outside the bar, but Shelby and Luke were there frequently for a beer, sometimes dinner as well, and they were inseparable. They tended to look at each other as though they’d been waiting days to be together just for that little while.

By contrast, the general was seen around town a little less, leaving people to wonder if he wasn’t spending that time with the movie star down the road.

It was three o’clock when the empty school bus barreled through town, Molly headed for her pickups. Like all little towns in the area, she had kids at elementary, middle and high schools to gather up at the end of the school day and bring back to town. It was a long day for the farm and ranch kids whose parents drove them into town to meet the bus in the morning, picking them up in the afternoon. As she passed the bar, she gave the bus horn a blast and waved at Mel and Jack on the porch.

“That woman is going to heaven,” Mel said. “My idea of hell is being trapped in a school bus full of noisy, bratty kids twice a day. I don’t know how she does it.”

Mel glanced at her watch; you could set it by Molly’s bus run. Her kids were due to wake from their naps and she ambled across the street to the clinic. Her pace was leisurely; it was a perfect autumn day. When she neared the porch, she heard her children crying. In itself, that wasn’t a bad sign—they could be just waking up. But Doc would usually alert them if he knew they were nearby. Absent that, he would comfort the little ones.

Something was wrong. She knew it at once, felt it in her gut, and ten steps before Doc’s porch she broke into a dead run. Up the steps, through the door, and what she saw threw her into a panic. Doc was sprawled, facedown, on the floor. Little Emma, only five months old, was right beside him, lying on her back, her face red with pain or fear or both. David, still in his playpen in the kitchen, was screaming loudly.

She honestly didn’t know who to reach for first, Doc or Emma. Emma was crying, so she was at least conscious, while Doc was motionless. She did what her instincts seemed to always urge her to do—she turned at the opened front door and screamed, “Jaaaacccckkkk!”

He had seen her break into a run up to the porch and inside. He was already on his way. By the time she screamed for him, he was there, totally in tune with her, sensing her. When she saw him coming, she lifted Emma right into his arms. Then she went to Doc, tucking his left arm to his side so she could roll him onto his back and into a supine position. “See if Emma’s all right,” she shouted to Jack. “He might’ve dropped her as he fell.”

When she got Doc on his back, his eyes were open and sightless. She checked him quickly—no pulse, no breath. “Oh, goddamn,” she said right before starting cardiopulmonary resuscitation. She began by tilting his head back, made sure his airway was clear and blew into his lungs twice—two long breaths. Next she pressed the crossed palms of her hands on his sternum to try to get his heart started and asked Jack, “Is she okay?”

“I think so,” Jack said helplessly. “She’s pissed off but not bruised or bleeding.”

Mel covered Doc’s mouth with hers and blew into his lungs again. Then, during thirty more cardiac compressions, she asked. “Any lumps on the head?”

Jack ran a hand over Emma’s smooth, bald head. “Don’t see anything.”

Mel finished pumping and went for the respiratory inflations again. Then, breathless, she said, “Check David, and if he’s okay, call someone. Mercy Air,” she said. “I need the defibrillator. I need my bag.”

Jack bolted for the kitchen. David was standing in his playpen, screaming. The second he saw Jack his cries turned to little gasps and he reached a hand toward him. “Da!” he yelled. “Da!”

“Hang in there, buddy,” Jack said, laying Emma in her crib. He ran back to the front of the clinic, found Mel’s bag behind the reception desk and placed it beside her, open. Then he ran to the treatment room, grabbed the case that held the defibrillator and took it to her. By the time he got back, she had ripped Doc’s shirt open.

“Aw, Jesus, Doc,” she groaned, breathing into him again.

Jack was picking up the phone when he heard the sound of heavy, running footfalls and Preacher stopped short in the opened doorway. He took a quick look, assessed and ran into the clinic, kneeling opposite Mel. She was counting. “I can help,” he said, brushing her hands away to take over the chest compressions.

Mel immediately flipped open the defibrillator case and turned on the switch. The portable defibrillator was the same as the type carried on commercial air carriers with patches as opposed to paddles. She put the patches on Doc’s chest and said, “Pay attention for the shock, Preach.” The machine purred and a mechanical voice came from it. Assessing patient. Stand by. Clear for shock. “Clear!” Mel said. Preacher pulled back his hands and Mel pressed the button, delivering the jolt. She felt for a pulse. No response. “Dammit, Doc,” she muttered.

Mel dug around in her bag while Preacher pushed air into the old man’s lungs, then resumed compressions. She started an IV quickly and attached a bag of Ringer’s, holding it high. It was taken out of her hands by Jack, automatically assisting. She then examined the labels of two vials and drew two syringes. She added epinephrine to the IV. Next, the atropine.

Jack was beside her, crouched, holding the Ringer’s over his head. “Airlift’s on the way. I called Shelby to help. And June Hudson in Grace Valley.”

“That’s all you can do,” Mel said, taking the bag of Ringer’s. “Bring me an IV stand from the treatment room so you can take care of the kids.” When he returned and hung up the bag, she switched on the machine again. “Shocking, Preach.” The mechanical voice alerted them. Assessing patient. Stand by. Clear for shock. “Clear!” Preacher pulled back his hands and Mel pressed the button again. Doc’s body arched with the jolt.

Mel put the stethoscope in her ears, listening to his chest. “Jesus, Doc, don’t do this,” she said. “God, I need you!” She brushed Preacher’s hands away and began her own chest compressions. “Breathe for him on thirty—two big breaths,” she told Preacher. “Ten, eleven, twelve…”

Mel wasn’t even aware that the kids had stopped crying. Jack stood behind her, holding them both against him. Mel tried another eppie, shocked him twice more, listened to his chest. He was completely unresponsive. By the time she could hear the sound of rotor blades, tears were running down her cheeks, falling onto Doc’s chest, and she wouldn’t stop compressing. Preacher sat back on his heels. “Don’t stop!” she barked at him. Slowly, the big man leaned forward and put two more useless breaths into the old man.

“How can you do this?” Mel cried to the lifeless form beneath her hands.

Paramedics ran into the clinic and took their places on either side of Doc, scooting Preacher and Mel out of the way. They rushed through a quick assessment while Mel rattled off what drugs had been administered, how many times she’d used the defibrillator. The electrodes for a portable electrocardiogram were attached to his chest as compressions were continued.

Mel backed away and came up against Jack and the kids. He held one on each hip. She turned against his chest. He can’t just die like that, she thought in despair. David had been crying so hard that his breath came in jagged little hiccups of emotion and he buried his wet face in his father’s shoulder. Mel took Emma into her arms, looked her over briefly to be sure she was all right, then her attention was again focused on the paramedics’ resuscitation.

Minutes passed as they worked on him. Shelby arrived, running up the porch steps and into the clinic. “Take the baby,” Jack said. “We found her on the floor beside Doc. I think he might’ve dropped her as he fell. Neither one of us has had a chance to undress her and look her over closely, but she seems okay.”

Shelby took the baby out of the reception area and a few minutes later she was back, holding a now-quiet baby against her shoulder. “I took all her clothes off and she seems to be fine. No bumps or marks or anything.”

“He might’ve felt it coming and laid her on the floor,” Mel said. “He wasn’t on top of her.” She turned her watery eyes up to Jack. “Which could’ve killed her.”

Jack squeezed her shoulder.

After twenty minutes, one of the paramedics sat back on his heels and looked at Mel over his shoulder. “Any idea if he has a DNR?” which stood for do not resuscitate.

“We never talked about it,” she said.

“He’s flat, Mel. We’re gonna have to pronounce,” he said.

“No!” Mel shouted, taking a step forward.

Jack hung on to her shoulder, preventing her from going any farther. “Mel, he’s gone. He’s been gone.”

“No,” she said more quietly, shaking her head.

“You didn’t have any response. We haven’t had any,” the man said. “Who’s your coroner?”

“You’re working on him,” she sniffed. “If it’s not a homicide, Doc handles it, signs a death certificate.”

“He’s pumped full of drugs and electricity, ma’am,” the other paramedic said. “Would you like us to transport?”

She sucked in a breath. “Take him to Redding for an autopsy. I have to know what happened to him.”

“Yes, ma’am. But I bet we know.”

She was shaking her head. “He didn’t have heart problems.”

The paramedic stood up. “Yeah, that’s the thing. You can treat heart problems. You just can’t make it through a massive coronary, fatal stroke or aneurysm if you don’t know the problem exists. I have some paperwork. Stay right here.”