She placed her hand over the cut and turned again toward the fire. “And I’m telling you that I want to see about Preston.”
Graham caught sight of Taylor Jackson, who had just finished helping the attendants load Mrs. Engle into the waiting ambulance. “Jackson!” He waved to catch the attention of the tall man with a stern and caring expression, who had followed Graham, Dane and Blaze from Hideaway in his own boat.
“What’s up?”
“Over here. I’ve got a patient for you. Is there another ambulance on the way?”
“Yep, ETA of three minutes or less,” Taylor said as he hefted his backpack of medical supplies over his shoulder and carried it toward them. When he reached them, he frowned at Willow’s arm and gave a soft whistle. “Looks like the E.R.’s going to be hopping tonight.”
Willow gasped, then gave a weak, horrified cry. Graham looked up to see the two firemen carrying a limp man between them through the smoking, flaming shed. Preston.
His sister fainted. Graham caught her, then lowered her to the ground so she could lie flat. “Get a pressure dressing,” he said over his shoulder. “And start an IV. She might have lost too much blood.”
Taylor already had out a handful of four-by-four gauze pads. He placed them onto the bleeding gash and wrapped it tightly with gauze dressing with the swiftness of an expert.
“That should hold it until we can get it sutured,” Graham said, checking her pulse. It was fast, but that could be from a rush of excess adrenaline. As he checked her more closely, he noticed her skin wasn’t cool or clammy to the touch, and she had a good capillary refill.
“She doesn’t appear to be in shock. Did you bring a cardiac monitor on the boat?” he asked.
Taylor nodded. “I prepare for the worst.”
“Let’s check her out, just in case.”
Willow moaned and shifted. “No. I’m okay,” she murmured, her voice barely carrying above the roar of activity around them.
“Let us be the judges of that. You’re not in any position to complain,” Graham said.
She raised her good arm, blinking against the light of the arriving ambulance as she pushed away from Graham. “No monitor and no IV. I need to get to Preston. Where is he?”
Willow had endured enough of this pushy man’s attitude. She caught sight of the firemen loading a gurney into the back of the ambulance and saw a man with a blackened face turn toward her and open his eyes.
It was Preston. He was alive and awake. She had to get to him.
“We should call an ambulance for you, as well,” the pushy man said.
“There’s no reason why I can’t ride with Preston, is there?”
“Sorry, not right now. They’re only equipped to handle one patient at a time. You fainted, and that could be a—”
“From the shock of seeing my brother like that. Please,” she said, pushing away the monitor line the tall newcomer was attempting to attach to her. She would stand up and walk to the vehicle without their help if they were going to be so obstinate. She scrambled to her knees, hand to the ground to retain her balance.
“Okay,” said Preston’s boss, obviously a trifle irritated now. “We’ll help you to the ambulance. Just hold on, will you? I’d take you myself, but I don’t have a car right now.”
She allowed the men to help her to her feet, and glanced down at the dressing on her arm. Obviously someone knew what he was doing.
She blinked at the white of the dressing as her vision seemed to waver. So maybe she wasn’t as strong as she’d hoped. She guessed she’d let these men help her to the ambulance, where she would sit quietly in the corner until they reached the hospital.
Chapter Three
G raham stepped down the western corridor of the emergency department of Clark Memorial Hospital, south of town. Even at four in the morning, more than half the treatment rooms were filled and the staff was kept hopping with everything from chest pain to broken arms to the unusual occurrence of a knife wound.
There were also the more common cases of croupy children and upset tummies. The emergency department was a way station for all the area’s unwell, no matter how minor or serious the condition.
He entered the third treatment room on the right and found Willow lying on the bed, her face pale. A monitor was connected by wires to her chest. It beeped in steady rhythm.
She looked up as he entered, and her eyes widened. They were blue-gray, large, fringed with long dark lashes. She had her brother’s bone structure, though more delicate and refined. There was a watchfulness about her—an almost fearful tension.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m fine—just waiting to hear about Preston’s condition. They’re working on him in the trauma room, and they refuse to let me in there.”
“I just spoke with him and with Dr. Teeter, the E.R. doc,” Graham said. “Preston’s stabilized. X-rays confirmed multiple rib fractures and a pneumothorax. They actually have him in CT now.”
She raised her head and tried to sit up. Graham pressed a button to raise the bed for her. “He’s in good hands, Willow, and he’s asking about you. I’ve assured him you’re fine. Try not to worry. Dr. Teeter is pretty busy right now, so it may be a while before he can see to your arm himself, so we’ve decided—”
“Hold it a minute.” She lifted her unhurt arm. “Why is it you know so much more about my brother’s care than I do? And how do you know my name?”
“Preston and I are friends. He’s told me about you.” Though Preston hadn’t mentioned the firm point of his sister’s charmingly dimpled chin, or the vulnerable look in her dark-lashed eyes. “He said you’re an ICU nurse.”
“I used to be.” There was a hint of bitterness in her voice. “That still doesn’t tell me why you’ve been allowed to speak with him and I haven’t.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll see if that can be arranged as soon as he returns from CT. In the meantime,” Graham said, “please allow me to apologize for behaving like a total fool earlier.” Now that he had a chance to observe her more closely, he couldn’t believe he’d mistaken her for the reporter.
Whereas Jolene had closely cropped straight hair, so black it reflected blue lights, this woman had dark curls with a sheen of polished mahogany, the same shade as her brother’s hair. She looked younger than Jolene by about ten years, though Graham knew that Preston’s little sister was only two years younger than Preston. Since Preston was one year younger than Graham, that would make Willow thirty-six.
Graham gestured toward her right forearm, still wrapped with gauze. “Why don’t we see about getting your wound taken care of while we wait for Preston?”
“We?” She blinked up at him, and that firm chin rose a few millimeters. “Mister, who
