Noelle, bag her while I get ready.”
The doctor worked with quick efficiency. Karah Lee stopped compressions long enough for Cheyenne to insert the breathing tube. Simultaneously, Jill established an IV in the patient’s arm, and drew blood, following normal code protocol. The breathing tube was in place in little over half a minute.
Cheyenne had been an ER doc in Columbia, Missouri, and she had obviously not gotten rusty on her skills. Rex couldn’t help being impressed by this precise teamwork.
Cheyenne secured the tube and allowed Noelle to resume bagging. “Breath sounds?”
Karah Lee pressed her stethoscope over the belly first, then moved the bell to the chest. “Good. The tube is in place.”
“Resume compressions. Sheena, I need you to call an airlift for us.”
Sheena looked up at her. “Who do I call? What do I say?”
“I’ll give you the number. Get a pad and pen and write it down.”
The young woman scrambled toward the doorway.
Cheyenne’s voice was calm but firm as she shot orders to the others. Rex took over the job of recording the proceedings on a sheet of notebook paper he found on a table.
He knew he should be observing this scene with professional detachment in order to best evaluate the staff’s strengths and weaknesses. They would need that evaluation later as they applied for hospital designation.
He couldn’t detach. He felt the desperation in this room, could hear it in the quickened breathing of each person. He wanted to reassure Jill that everything would be okay, but she might not welcome any kind of comment from him right now. Every moment they worked over Edith with no response, he was more convinced that she was gone for good. Though he knew Jill was a woman of faith, a word from him would be an intrusion. Lord, please help us. Guide our hands, give us wisdom.
Why had he asked Cheyenne to keep his identity a secret from the staff? He had seldom been more sorry about a decision. His intention had been to reconnect with Jill personally before they met in a cold, professional environment. He wanted to reassure her he wasn’t still the ogre she’d once thought he was.
If they lost Edith, it would break her heart. She didn’t need any additional stress on top of that.
Chapter Three
Fawn Morrison sat behind the counter in the lobby of the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast, entering numbers from a ledger sheet onto the computer program Blaze Farmer had set up. She loved this part of the job. It was mindless yet engaging enough to keep her from worrying about her plans for the upcoming wedding, her adjustments to college, her preparations for the pig races at the festival.
She was racing her very own pig this year. Why had she agreed to do that, with everything else going on? She was practically the sole planner for Karah Lee’s wedding, and she wasn’t getting a whole lot of help from Karah Lee.
Fawn loved her foster mother, but the woman had no fashion sense, no concept of the amount of time it would take to complete their plans. Furthermore, those plans kept changing.
The front door squeaked open and the old-fashioned bell rang above it. She glanced over her shoulder to see a tall man with broad shoulders and thick, gray-streaked auburn hair step into the lobby. He looked awkward, nervous.
He wasn’t bad-looking, for someone in his forties, at least. Bertie or Edith might threaten to stick him out in the garden to scare away the crows because he was a little on the skinny side. He had a turkey wattle beneath his chin and dark circles under his eyes.
Okay, so he wasn’t that good-looking. He just looked like maybe he had been, once upon a time.
“Be there in a minute,” Bertie called from the dining room at the far side of the lobby.
Fawn started to get up to help the man.
“Why, Bertie Meyer,” the man drawled, his voice deep as the growl of a big dog, “you’re just the person I was hoping to run into. What a welcome sight you are.”
Fawn sat back down.
Eighty-something-year-old Bertie stopped midstride in the broad entryway between the dining room and the lobby. She held an empty waffle plate, and her white apron was stained with strawberry syrup and bacon grease. Her white hair tufted down over her forehead, and her eyes looked like those of a cat caught in headlights.
“Austin?” Bertie’s voice suddenly sounded her age, which didn’t happen often.
“I bet you thought I was gone for good, huh?”
Bertie set her waffle plate on a nearby table and entered the lobby, absently wiping her hands on her apron. “I heard you and your mom had moved to California.”
Fawn frowned. Austin. Where had she heard that name before?
“Mom’s living with Aunt Esther down in Eureka Springs now,” the man said. “I went to California for a few weeks to visit my cousin, but the traffic’s a mess out there. A fella can’t even make a trip to the grocery store without risking his life.”
“Seems to me a real estate agent could make some good money in LA,” Bertie said.
There was a short pause. “Money doesn’t mean as much as I used to think it did.”
Fawn realized she was partially shielded by the greenery that Edith loved to keep on the counter. And she realized she was indulging in one of her worst habits—eavesdropping.
Her best friend Blaze and her foster mother Karah Lee had nagged her so much about it that she’d almost broken the habit. Until now. Right now she couldn’t leave without drawing attention to herself.
Bertie’s passion for hospitality drew more customers here than to any hotel or lodge in a twenty-five-mile radius, but the tone of her voice did not sound welcoming. It sounded wary.
The man walked across the lobby to her. “I’m not here to cause trouble for anyone, Bertie.” His voice softened until Fawn could barely hear what he was saying.
Austin…wasn’t his last name Barlow? Was he the guy who used to be mayor of Hideaway?
“I didn’t think you were,” Bertie said. “I’m just curious, is all.”
“Got a cottage I could rent for a couple of weeks?”
Fawn nearly snorted out loud. This place had been booked solid since early April.
She listened to the murmur of quiet voices for a moment, too low for her to hear and yet just loud enough to frustrate her when she heard a word or two now and then.
Ashamed, but unable to stop herself, Fawn finally scooted her chair back so she could hear a little better.
“Have you heard from Ramsay lately?” Bertie asked.
“Just yesterday. You might not believe this, but he’s living at a boys’ ranch up in northern Missouri. How’s that for payback after all the griping I did about Dane Gideon’s ranch for so many years?”
