stopped to peer around the corner of the building, her finger to her lips to ensure Terry’s silence. She didn’t need to worry. Terry had no desire to draw attention to her presence.
But why was the girl so concerned with secrecy? If she’d fetched Terry without her parents’ permission, that could be yet another complication to the rule she was already transgressing.
Manuela beckoned, and together they slipped around the corner and through the door. The room was a combination kitchen and living room, with a card table, a few straight chairs and a set of shelves against the wall holding plastic dishes and dented metal pots. An elderly woman, stirring something on a battered camp stove in the corner, stared at them incuriously and went back to her cooking.
Terry followed Manuela through a curtained door. At a guess, the whole family slept here on a motley collection of beds and cots jammed together. Juan lay on one of the cots, and to her relief, his mother sat next to him. Manuela grabbed an armful of clothes from the floor.
“Sorry.” In the dim light, it seemed her cheeks were flushed. “Mama and I try to keep it neat, but it’s hard.”
“I understand.” Six people were living in a room the size of the laundry room at the Flanagan house. No wonder it seemed cluttered. “Let’s have a look at Juan.”
Nodding to the mother, she bent over the cot. “Hi, there, Juan. Remember me?” She smiled reassuringly, trying to hide her dismay. His skin was hot and dry, his eyes sunken in his small face. She glanced at Manuela. “Any chance we can get more light in here?”
Nodding, she switched on a battery-powered lantern.
No electricity, overcrowded conditions, inadequate cooking facilities—surely someone like Matthew Dixon could do better than this for his employees, even if they were here for only a short period of time.
She checked the boy’s vital signs and cautiously removed the bandage on his head, relieved to find no sign of infection. “It doesn’t look as if his injury is causing this, Manuela. Has anyone else been sick?”
Manuela translated quickly for her mother and then nodded. “Some of the other children have had fever and stomach upsets.”
“Why didn’t their parents bring them to the clinic?”
Manuela shrugged, face impassive. If she knew the answer, she wasn’t going to tell.
“Tell your mother I’d like to have Juan checked out by the doctor.” She glanced at her watch. “Since it’s so late, maybe the best thing is to take him to the E.R.”
The mother seemed to understand that phrase. Nodding, she scooped Juan up, wrapping him in a frayed cotton blanket.
Terry followed them out, hoping she was making the right choice. Harriet would come to the camp if she called her, but by the time she’d tracked her down, they could be at the E.R. Jake wasn’t on duty tonight, so…
That train of thought sputtered out. Why exactly did she have his schedule down pat in her mind?
Mrs. Ortiz hurried outside. She stopped so suddenly that Terry nearly bumped into her. Mel Jordan, the crew chief, stood a few feet away, glaring at them.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He planted beefy hands on his hips.
Terry stepped around the woman. “Juan is running a fever. We’re taking him in to have the doctor look at him.”
“You people aren’t supposed to be here.” He jerked his head toward the building. “Take the kid back inside. You don’t want to go running around this time of night.”
Mrs. Ortiz started to turn, but Terry caught her arm. Manuela moved to her mother’s other side, so that the three of them faced the man.
“My car is at the clinic.” She tried to keep her voice pleasant, suppressing the urge to rage at the man. “I’ll run them to the hospital and bring them back. It’s not necessary for you to come.”
His face darkened. “I told you you’re not supposed to be here, interfering in what doesn’t concern you.” He took a step toward her, the movement threatening. “Just get out and take your do-good notions with you. We don’t need outsiders around here stirring up trouble.”
Her heart thudded, but she wouldn’t let him see fear. “You’ve got trouble already. The child is sick. You can’t keep him from medical care. Or any of the other children.”
It was obvious why none of the parents had brought their children to the clinic. Mrs. Ortiz trembled. Surely she didn’t think the man would dare become violent….
And if he does, what will you do, Terry? Once again you’ve leaped into a situation without thinking.
Well, she didn’t need to think about it to know these people needed help. What kind of a paramedic would she be if she walked away? One way or another, she was getting this child to a physician.
A pair of headlights slashed through the dusk as a car bucketed down the lane. Distracted, the crew chief spun to stare as the car pulled to a stop a few feet away, the beams outlining their figures.
She was caught in the act. She wouldn’t have to take Juan to a doctor. Jake had come to him.
Jake took his time turning off the ignition and getting out of the car. He needed the extra minutes to get his anger under control. One day into the program, and Terry had broken his rules already.
She’d also, from the tension in their stances when his headlights had picked them out, put herself in a bad situation. There had been something menacing about the way the crew chief confronted her, moderating Jake’s anger with fear for her.
The man—Jordan, he remembered—swung toward him. “What is this? A convention? Don’t you people have enough to do without bothering us?”
Jake let his gaze rest on the man until Jordan shifted his weight nervously. Then he turned toward Terry.
Her shoulders tensed, as if expecting an assault. But no matter how tempted he might be, he owed Terry a certain amount of professional courtesy.
“What do we have, Ms. Flanagan?”
Her breath caught a little. “Juan Ortiz, age six. You’ll recall he was treated in the E.R. Temp 103, upset stomach, dehydrated. I was about to bring him to the E.R. when Mr. Jordan intervened.”
He knew enough about Terry to know she couldn’t turn away from a sick child. His gaze sliced to Jordan. “Why were you trying to keep them from taking the child to the hospital?”
Jordan’s face twisted into a conciliatory smile. “Look, it was just a misunderstanding. I’d never do a thing like that.”
He felt Terry’s rejection of the words as if they were touching. Well, they’d deal with Jordan later. The important thing now was the child.
“Let’s go inside and examine Juan. Then we can see what else is necessary.”
The girl, Manuela, explained to her mother in a flood of Spanish, and they all trooped into the cement block building that appeared to be home.
A
