Chapter 2
ABCDE ABCDE. For the love of little puppies. AB freaking C. Airway, breathing, circulation, disability, exposure. Concentrate.
The trauma resuscitation mantra was for amateurs, and Mariah West was many months out of residency. But she would do whatever was needed to stay laser focused on the two patients in front of her. Sure, she could handle multiple patients at once, but it got dicey when they were in such critical condition. In the rural Bondurant Valley Hospital, the family doctor on call also covered the ER since the patient volumes and acuity were typically low.
Typically low. Except when she went on call. Then all flipping hell broke loose. Or so it always seemed, thanks to her doctor's superstitions about having a karmic black cloud.
Tonight, Bondurant Valley Hospital's small emergency department vibrated as nurses, doctors, and EMS personnel scrambled to stabilize these two seriously injured patients.
Staff threaded additional large bore IVs into the patients' arms. Both subjects were breathing on their own. No airway compromise at this time, although both had head injuries, so their status could change rapidly.
Mariah glanced over at the stone-faced man who had planted himself on the far edge of the room. According to a nurse's whisper, he was Vaughn Taggart, the oldest brother of the unconscious woman in front of her and son of Mr. Austin Taggart, head of a local ranching family and one of Mariah's regular clinic patients.
Vaughn had insisted on coming into the ER with the patients. But instead of getting in the way, he hadn't moved from his vigilant position against the wall. The intensity of his scowl made Mariah want to rub the back of her neck.
Or hide.
He observed the care team with a quiet grimness, but the tight lines bracketing his hard mouth made him look concerned, not terrifying. His Adam's apple bobbed, shifting cords of muscles around in his neck. He reminded Mariah of the guys at her brother's MMA gym in Salt Lake City. Always tense, clenched, and primed for a fight.
Shaking her head, she tried to ignore the man and concentrate on the secondary evaluation of her patients.
Right as she leaned over to reassess her male patient, the trauma bay door slammed open and she jumped, losing her grip on the stethoscope bell. Garrison Taggart stormed into the room. The second oldest Taggart sibling. Mariah had met him a few weeks ago; she'd cared for his girlfriend, Sara, and his only son, Zach, when they had been injured.
Wow. This family could not buy a break.
Garrison stalked straight over to the unhappy man plastered to the wall. Vaughn stood there like a bronze cowboy sculpture. In fact, with both men next to each other, it was clear that Vaughn was a harder, bigger version of Garrison, like the rough draft before the final product. Vaughn's face wasn't so much handsome as compelling. Dark brown, almost black eyes narrowed beneath thick brows. A crooked nose suggested this wasn't his first confrontation, and the tilt of his thick chin told her it wouldn't be the last. His dark brown hair had red glints, like embers in a banked fire.
Not breaking stride or momentum, Garrison lifted a thick, shearling jacket-clad forearm and slammed his brother in his chest, the boom reverberating through the trauma bay, making everyone freeze. How did Vaughn remain standing after such a hard impact? The two men glared at each other. Nurses' jaws dropped open.
What the hell? Sweat prickled Mariah's chest.
"You've got some nerve, coming back here now, after all this time. What I'd give to punch your lights out." Garrison's voice filled the room.
"So do it," his brother gritted out. His body was tense, but his arms remained down. Although, given his massive frame, he could likely fend off any attacker and then some.
Damn it. Were those two bulls going to go at it in her ER? Because she only had experience as a ringside doctor, not as an actual MMA fight referee. No way did she want to get between the two glowering men.
He reset his grip on Vaughn's leather jacket lapels, making the glass cabinet doors rattle. Then Garrison growled.
Yep. Definitely going to brawl.
Not happening. Not here and not if she had anything to say about it.
Rule one of trauma management? Make sure the environment is safe to care for patients. Control the situation.
Control? Safety? Funny, since the first half of her life had been all about a lack of safety and zero control of her situation. Well, then. Nothing like making up for lost time in a public forum.
She took a big breath and snapped, "Take it outside, guys. That crap has no business in here."
Everyone in the room pivoted and stared at Mariah. Even the machine beeps seemed to stop.
Attention. Damn it. Heat flowed over her chest and neck. She pushed her discomfort aside; patients' lives depended on her ability to maintain order and focus on their care.
Over Garrison's shoulder, Vaughn's gaze locked onto her until she shivered. It wasn't so much that the action was inappropriate. It was his blank, detached exterior that stole the air from her lungs. The coldness. Like he didn't care if Garrison beat the hell out of him. Didn't care if he made a scene. Didn't care what anyone thought.
If she had felt inadequate before, his cold assessment triggered too many memories and took her insecurities to a whole other level. Exactly what she could not afford today. And frankly, his opinion meant nothing. She had one job to do, and it didn't involve this hulk of a man.
With a flex to his massive shoulders, Vaughn pushed against the wall and lifted his hands, dislodging his brother's grip. He stormed out, followed by Garrison. In their wake, clods of sandy mud and snow dropped from their thick boots onto the trauma bay floor.
The air whooshed out of the room, and everyone continued to stand still for a few seconds.
Then with a ripple, like shaking themselves awake, Mariah and the staff all turned back to caring for the patients. The low voices and sounds of medical devices resumed.
An invisible band she hadn't realized had been cinched around her chest released. She could breathe again. A fleeting headache came and went across her temples.
Exhaling deeply, she turned back to her patients.
ABCDE. Airway, breathing, circulation, disability, expos