Chapter 8
During Tuesday morning rounds, Mariah skidded to a stop halfway down the hall. She rubbed her eyes.
Because what she saw couldn't be happening.
Garrison pushed Shelby—the patient who had only awakened from a coma yesterday—in a wheelchair, flanked by none other than a fierce Vaughn. As a matter of fact, his scowl seemed to create a bubble around the three of them. Nurses and techs gave him a wide berth.
The good feelings from their pleasant but odd brunch yesterday drained away in an instant.
She hurried to the trio. "What are you doing?" It was unfair how she had to tilt her head to glare at Vaughn.
He crossed his arms over a tight-fitting, gray thermal shirt and smiled. Like he had some kind of power over her, with that... chest. Or like he had leverage, since they'd had a date? Not really a date-date. More of a meal together.
Not really a full meal, either, more of a quick snack before she had to leave early. Did he always eat apples like that? Because she could go for watching him demolish a Red Delicious again.
Okay, so not a date. More of an apple-viewing party interrupted by a phone call from the hospital.
Damn it. How long had she stood here, staring? For Pete's sake, she was a professional.
She rocked back on her heels. How dare they move her patient?
Fair enough. Shelby looked pretty fit right now, which significantly lowered Mariah's fear for her patient's life, freeing space to think about things like Vaughn's pecs. She mentally shook her head. But still, Shelby's condition had been critical not twenty-four hours earlier. Her vision was only just now returning. That woman needed to rest and recover. In bed. Where she could be flippin' monitored. By medical devices to keep her from being dead.
She shouldn't be out on a stroll with her brother. Brothers.
Vaughn's spine snapped straight as he locked his glitter-swirling irises onto Mariah. A shiver worked its way through her, but regardless of how he made her feel inside, she would remain in control of this hospital situation.
"You guys. What the heck?" she tried again.
"We're taking our sister to see the patient in that room." Vaughn tilted his annoying chin toward Eric Patterson's ICU bed. Today, his words came out ice cold, a totally different man from yesterday. As if they'd never had a date... meal... apple together.
Fine. She could play this game.
"This may not be safe. I didn't give permission for her to be moved." Mariah spaced her legs shoulder-width apart and fingered the bell of her stethoscope that hung from her neck.
"We didn't ask your permission." Vaughn crossed his arms over that damned chest.
Garrison did a land-based fish impression as he stared at his brother.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
From the wheelchair, Shelby jerked her head up toward Vaughn. She squinted, but her expression held an air of concentration, like she sniffed the air between Mariah and Vaughn.
For his part, Vaughn opened his stance and leaned forward, like a fighter about to begin a round. A physical contest would end badly for one of them, Mariah had no doubt. Where had the nice guy gone who took care of the bully, cleaned spilled coffee, and then nibbled a Weight Watchers breakfast?
Beneath his narrowed gaze, she fought the urge to pull her lab coat tight around her. No, she needed to assert some control to preserve the safety of her patients. Damn it, she was responsible for their recovery.
"You sound familiar." Shelby said.
To put a hand on Shelby's arm, Mariah had to brush elbow to elbow with Vaughn. He moved not at all. Damn the heat radiating from his hard body.
"I'm Mariah West, one of the family doctors. I checked on you yesterday morning, but you were still pretty groggy. I'm also the ER doctor who has been seeing far too much of you Taggarts over the past several weeks."
"So why are you working here and not the ER, then?" Vaughn raised his hard chin again, tempting her to put a fist into it.
Would a simple thank you be too much to ask?
Best recovery was a good offense.
All right, Mr. Grumpy Expert. Let's play ball.
She popped a fist on her hip. "Mr. Taggart. Being that you live in New York City and all, you're probably used to big city medicine, but this is a rural hospital." She emphasized the word with the perfect amount of snark balanced with professional confidence. "We're not exactly flush with specialists, so we all wear multiple hats around here."
"Well, then how'd you have an orthopedics guy around for Shelby?" Vaughn lifted his chin. "He's a specialist."
On the edge of her field of vision, Mariah spied dual horrified expressions on Shelby's and Garrison's faces. Really? They were surprised that big brother was a surly mess?
Time to educate.
She stepped close enough to feel his heat and smell that clean scent of shaving cream that made her mouth water. And no, she didn't miss how he stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. The tight, worn jeans fit so well on his lean hips.
Not caring about things like pride, she went on tiptoes and pinned him in place with some surliness of her own. Emotions from the hectic pace of work, the fear of practicing far outside of her comfort zone, her personal carry-on baggage that she lugged around every day, and the stress of caring for critically ill patients with little backup all wadded into a messy clump. Might as well smear her own issues on top and bingo! Crap cupcake, complete with rich and tasty defensive frosting.
She forced a slow, deep breath in and out of her lungs and tried to count to ten. Made it to five. Close enough.
"We were very lucky," she bit out, somehow managing to stay this side of professional. Barely. "Our orthopedist happened to be in town after his outreach day in the clinic. He canceled his weekend plans so he could stay and patch Shelby up in the OR and then check on her over the weekend, and we appreciated him doing so. Didn't we? Yes. You're welcome."
She lifted her hands as a warning for him to keep his mouth shut. "Anything else you want to discuss, like how I schedule my day? Or maybe how we obtain prior authorizations from insurances? Please let me know." Swiping her palm over her cheek, she tried for another count of ten. Nope. Still couldn't get past five. "No requests? Then let me tell you about the way we pulled together every last damned resource in the county to keep your friends and family alive. What? Big talker suddenly has nothing to say?"
She didn't miss how Garrison exhaled the word shit.
For Mariah's part, her lower back was damp with sweat. But way to go with the standing up part.
"Uh, no. Nothing else," Vaughn mumbled as he broke eye contact. The sensation of being hit with a wall of danger ebbed away, along with that stupid stress headache.
Shelby grabbed Mariah's hand. "Even if my boneheaded brother is too stupid to say it, thank you for making sure we all got patched back up. This time and also a few weeks ago when my nephew came in." She peered at Mariah. "And thanks for taking care of our dad when he had the stroke."
"And taking care of my girlfriend," Garrison added.
Vaughn's mouth twisted like he'd sucked an entire lemon. Good.
"My pleasure." She managed to smile sweetly at Shelby and Garrison but slid an almost-snarl past Mr. Big and Suddenly Silent.
"So, how's Eric doing?" Shelby asked.
Mariah stepped back and let go of the woman's hand. A foot away from Vaughn, the temperature dropped ten degrees. "Stable. I've been in contact with the specialists in Casper, and we've done all the tests and treatments they recommended. We talked about sending him to Casper, but neurology said it's more a matter of giving him time to wake up."
"How much time do they think he needs?" The shimmering worry in Shelby's eyes triggered a lump in Mariah's throat.
"It varies from person to person."
Shelby pinched the bridge of her nose. "He should be awake by now, right?"
"Well. Yes." She added, too quickly, "But every patient is different."
"Geez. Okay."
The men studied the floor while Shelby sniffed.
Finally, she looked back at her brother. "Garrison, could we go in now? If it's okay with Dr. West."
Mariah paused and studied Shelby for a few seconds, weighing the woman's very human need to be close to a loved one against taking a medical risk. "All right. But after you're done, I want you resting again." She stepped aside.
Garrison propelled her forward as Vaughn followed, like a big, docile puppy.
That is, if a big, docile puppy radiated barely restrained danger and smug satisfaction.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, a booming male voice echoed down the hall. "We need some help in here—now!"
Mariah leapt from her seat in the work area and ran down the hall. Before she registered that it was Vaughn who had called out, she was in Eric Patterson's room.
She froze.
Eric was awake. Despite the dark purple bruises and cuts covering most of his face, he appeared exceptionally lucid as he gestured toward a motionless Shelby, who was slumped forward, half out of her wheelchair and half lying on the hospital bed.
Garrison and Vaughn sported wide-eyed expressions of disbelief. But something about the way they stared at each other didn't seem right at all. What the heck?
No time to figure them out. A nurse and a respiratory tech ran into the room.
"Get more help," Mariah said, circling the bed and easing Shelby's slack body back into the wheelchair, keeping her neck in line and protecting the airway. Vaughn rushed to help. "She's breathing." With pressure of her fingers on Shelby's carotid, Mariah held her breath for six seconds, counted, and multiplied by ten. "Heart rate one hundred." Glancing up at the respiratory tech, she asked, "Could you put a pulse ox on her? And get a set of vitals."
Damn it, she needed to figure out why Shelby had suddenly gone unconscious, several days after the initial injury.
She froze.
Only one medical condition she knew of could cause this pattern: subdural hematoma. Mariah's pulse thundered in her ears. The timing didn't fit, but she had no other explanation. And if a brain bleed had occurred, time was slipping away for Shelby. After a window of lucidity, a patient with a subdural would become unconscious again, followed quickly by death. If it was a subdural. If.
Sweat broke out on her upper lip.
"Call radiology and clear the CT scanner, stat," she called out to the ward clerk standing at the door. "We're taking Ms. Taggart down for a head scan now."
"Shelby?" Eric called in a hoarse, dry voice. He reached out, his face contorted into a rictus of pain and horror that chilled Mariah's blood.
"What happened?" she asked.
The three men in the room looked at each other. Silence. Shrugs. Not exactly guilty, but they knew something.
Staff wheeled a gurney into the room, and they eased Shelby onto it. Vaughn stepped back next to Garrison at the edge of the room. As Mariah followed the bed down the hall, she heard the rise of angry male voices flowing out of Eric's room.
No time now. She'd sort that mess out and re-evaluate Eric in a few minutes.
As the bed rolled, she asked, "Are her oxygen levels okay?" The respiratory tech nodded. "Good enough. Can you grab portable oxygen and meet us in radiology?" He ran off to get the supplies.
As Mariah took over pushing the bed while a nurse pulled at the foot of the bed. To maneuver a corner, Mariah yanked on the heavy, unwieldy gurney, leaning against the handles to turn the piece of equipment. The sudden presence of a warm body behind her made her jump. Vaughn covered her hands with his big ones.
"Let me. It's my sister. I can help." Gone was the pissy giant from half an hour ago. In his place, this serious rock of a man exuded competence.
And judging by his posture, God help anyone who got in his way.
At this point, she'd take any reasonable assistance, even from a guy whose behavior whiplashed between flirty and hostile. She ducked out from under his arms.
Dashing to the elevator, she held the door while he and the nurse maneuvered the bed through the doors. Squeezing in next to him, she pushed the down button. Vaughn's hip pressed against hers in the cramped space between bed railing and elevator wall. The guy took up an impressive amount of space. The ride down one floor took an eternity.
Fifteen agonizing minutes later, and she had the answer: normal head CT. No subdural hematoma.
Made no sense.
In the radiology work area, Mariah covered the mouthpiece of the phone and asked the nurse and radiology tech to take Shelby back to her room.
Slouching in the office chair in front of the monitors, she clutched the phone to her ear. Had she misunderstood the radiologist on the other end of the line? Maybe he had read the wrong scan. She asked again.
Normal.
She sat there, boneless, staring at the screen.
So if the loss of consciousness didn't come from the subdural, what caused it? Infection? There was no fever. Normal white count.
Once again, she called the neurologist in Casper. He had no other ideas or explanations for the change. No evidence of increased intracranial pressure on exam or on CT findings. Give it time, he said.
Damn it, Mariah was fed up with giving it time. She needed to get some answers from the people who were present when Shelby lost consciousness.
Shoving on the arms of the chair to stand, she slammed down the phone's hand piece and sped into the hall.
And ran smack dab into a rock-solid wall of heated male.