His Motherless Little Twins (2 page)

“Bear down, Gabrielle, and push,” Neil said.

“I am,” Gabby gasped.

“Breathe,” Dinah said. “Come on, Gabby. Take a deep breath, then push that baby out.”

“He's waiting for you, Gabrielle,” Neil prompted. “Bryce Evans is waiting for you.”

Gabby bore down for a final time as Dinah helped her through her final contraction. Then, suddenly, it was over. Bryce was here. But…dear God, he was blue. Dinah saw it immediately, felt her stomach roil, and exchanged a quick look with Dr. Ranard. A look that said everything.

“Let me see him,” Gabby said to the deathly quiet room. “My baby…”

Dinah eased Gabby back into a flat position on the bed, propped a pillow under her head then ran to the end of the bed to see what she could do for Dr. Ranard. Or for the limp little newborn in his hands.

“He isn't crying,” Gabby gasped, fighting to sit back up. Thrashing wildly, she was trying to toss off the sheets covering her. “Neil, he isn't crying! What's wrong?”

“Take care of Gabrielle,” Neil whispered to Dinah. “Don't let her see…”

Even before he'd finished speaking, Dinah positioned herself between Neil and the bed, so Gabby couldn't see Neil's resuscitation attempts and the next minutes went by in a blur as she tried to calm the grief-stricken mother and help the doctor with the baby.

“Did he aspirate?” Dinah whispered to Neil, although she didn't believe so. As a pediatric trauma nurse, her first guess
was something cardiac, or related to the lungs, judging from the baby's listlessness and bluish pallor.

Not again! Dear God, not again!
How could she face another newborn dying?
Bryce had a chance to survive, Molly never had. She had to stay focused on that!
This
was the baby who needed her now. This was Bryce Evans, not Molly Collins.

“Is he alive?” Gabby screamed. “Neil, you've got to tell me, is he alive? I've got to get to my baby.” She launched herself up, but Dinah stopped her, applying a firm hand into her shoulder.

More minutes ticked by, and Bryce still struggled. Outside, the floods were getting worse. The hospital had promised to send a medic with supplies, but each second seemed like an hour—a frantic, futile hour in which they were losing a battle. All the while, Dinah was forced to physically restrain Gabby from flying across the room to Neil. Neil didn't need that. Neither did the baby, who was not improving. She hated doing that. Hated it more than anyone could imagine, because she knew how it felt. Knew how Gabby felt, needing desperately to get there and being pulled away against her will.

Then suddenly Bryce quit breathing and Dinah was thrown back to that day when baby Molly had died in her arms. Regret, instant and brutal, assaulted her, causing a feeling of panic to rise up and strangle the breath from her. For a moment she was back there in that hospital room, struggling and crying like Gabby was, begging them not to take Molly away from her.

“Is that CPR?” Gabby cried, snapping Dinah back into the moment. “Is Neil giving him CPR?”

More minutes blurred in the battle as Bryce began showing signs of reviving. Bryce had Neil to fight for him, and Neil loved him. That was so obvious. There'd been no one to care
for Molly. No one had loved her. Except
her
. And in the end, that hadn't been enough.

Now the melancholia threatened to pull her under.

 

“You!”

The voice from the doorway startled Dinah from her thoughts of Molly, and she jumped. “You!” she snapped right back at him. Of all the people who could have come, it would be
him
, Mr Hit-and-Run himself. And he was standing there, holding out a pediatric oxygen mask.

Dinah yanked the mask from the man's hands, and rushed to put it on Bryce. Then the medic opened the oxygen tank valve once the mask was in place.

“It was a slight tap,” he said. “No damage.”

“And you didn't stop to see if you'd damaged my car, or injured me,” Dinah snarled under her breath to keep her problem with this man quiet, as she pulled a pediatric IV needle from the bag of supplies he'd brought and prepared to insert it into the baby's thread-sized vein. It's what she did, no one had to tell her. No one had to help her. It's simply what she was trained to do, and did instinctively.

As she set about her work, she noticed that Bryce was already pinking up. Not enough to think he was out of danger, but enough to be encouraged.

“You take care of Gabby,” the medic whispered to Neil. “She needs you right now, and I'll take care of the baby.”

Neil handed off the responsibility without hesitation, and the two men exchanged quiet words for a moment. “Thanks, Eric,” Neil finally said, then ran to Gabrielle.

“You're a doctor?” Dinah asked.

“Eric Ramsey, pediatric surgeon, with a secondary in trauma.” He pulled a bag of fluid from his supplies and hooked it to the line once Dinah had inserted the IV catheter.
Then he adjusted the drip of fluid into the baby's veins, and immediately listened to Bryce's chest.

The next few minutes they worked side by side in total silence, both doing what they knew needed to be done to stabilize their tiny patient.

“He's a fighter,” Eric finally pronounced, turning around to Gabby. “We've got him as stabilized as we can, so now I need to get him to the hospital. But I want you to hold him first.”

She took her baby, and the way she clung to him nearly broke Dinah's heart. No one had loved little Molly like that…someone should have. She couldn't bear watching, the memories were too painful and she had to turn away.

“I was in a hurry…emergency.” Eric stepped up behind her. “Otherwise I wouldn't have driven off like that.”

“What?” Dinah asked.

“The accident. I had an emergency. I'm sorry, but—”

“But we all do what we have to do, don't we?” she whispered. “It doesn't matter what we do to the people around us, as long as it's good for us. I get it. You don't need to apologize.”

“Yes, I do.” Eric took a step back, shook his head. “Look, Neil thinks Bryce's problem might be TGV.” Transposition of the great vessels, where the two main arteries leaving the heart were reversed. Normally, blood from the heart's right ventricle was carried by the pulmonary artery to the lungs, and blood from the left ventricle was taken by the aorta to the body. In the case of TGV, it was just the opposite, leaving the oxygenated blood meant to circulate through the body being pumped back into the lungs. “And at this point, I have no reason to disagree because the symptoms fit. Things may turn out differently once we get the baby—”

“You think it's TGV, too?” Dinah's mind raced through the procedures. There would be a first surgery, called a septostomy, to do an immediate, life-saving correction. In that, a
hole was literally opened up to allow better flow of the blood. It was a temporary measure to be followed by another surgery to make the permanent repair. She'd treated babies who'd had the surgery, seen good outcomes, seen bad outcomes.

“You'll drive.”

“Where?” she asked.

“To the hospital. You'll drive, I'll take care of the baby.”

 

The tension in the cab of the truck was so thick Dinah could have sliced through it with a scalpel. They'd been en route five minutes now, taking a back road that skirted the valley. It was muddy and slick, but it wasn't washed out. And it was on higher ground, which was what made it a safer bet than taking the road down below the house, where the water was at least as high as the bottom of the truck door. Flash-flood warnings were out now, and all the lower roads were being closed. So she and Eric were driving along what amounted to little more than a fire trail, and Dinah was so nervous that her grip on the steering-wheel hurt. All the while, neither she nor Eric had spoken a word to each other since his initial instruction to her on getting to the hospital.

Yet in his defense, Eric was busy tending to Bryce, holding him in his lap and continually checking his pulse, his respiratory status, being so tender, so caring with him while she was fighting to stay straight and to avoid the bumps and ruts, most of which she couldn't even see.

It crossed her mind that he was the doctor Molly should have had. He would have cared more than Charles had, even when hope had died. Charles, the man she'd almost married. How could she have been so wrong about him? Even thinking about it made her cringe.

Once or twice, Bryce let out a little cry then settled down again. And once or twice her heart lurched. Under the best
of circumstances, this was a difficult situation. These
weren't
the best of circumstances, and she fretted about the outcome every inch of the way to the hospital.

“Are you competent?” she finally asked, not at all sorry to be so blunt. Truth was, she wanted to hear his voice, feel some reassurance that he could handle this situation and make everything right for the baby.

“Competent at what?”

“Your medical skills. Are you a good doctor?”

“I've been told that's the case.” He twisted slightly in his seat to look at her. “But, then, everyone is entitled to his,
or her
, opinion, I suppose.”

“I suppose,” Dinah muttered. Something about this man put her in a very bad mood. Something about every man had put her in a bad mood lately, but this one in particular made her shiver. Shiver with anger was what it was, which she didn't like one little bit. Didn't like any reaction in her caused by any man. And didn't trust herself enough to know the distinctions.

“Are
you
competent?” he asked in return, the slightest trace of a smile crinkling his lips.

She was going to ignore that smile. Totally ignore it and pretend she hadn't even seen it. “Competent at what?”

“Being a nurse.”

“I'm not a nurse.” Keeping her voice noncommittal wasn't easy, but she did it, and did it so well she nearly believed her own words. Still, those words hurt, and the wound still bled. “I'm a cook. Here to take over for my sister when she's on maternity leave.”

“A cook with good skills in labor and delivery, as well as CPR. And you did a mighty fine job of getting that IV needle into a newborn, which is not easy, especially when the newborn is so sick. So, did they teach you those things in culinary school?”

He was smiling fully now. The man actually had the audacity to sit there and smile at her. But she was still going to ignore it. Had to be impervious… Couldn't get distracted. “Did they teach you your bad manners in medical school?”

“If I apologized for the accident again, would that make things better between us?”

“Why do things have to be better between us?” she asked, then hastily added, “But you do owe me a sincere apology and not one that's meant only to get you away from me as quickly as possible.”

“Look, I told you I was in a hurry. I'm sorry I hit you, sorry I ran off and left you there, but in case you haven't noticed, the town is going crazy. We're flooding, the areas below us are submerging, the hospital is full of people with nowhere to go, some of them have injuries. I had to get to the emergency department, and stopping for something that amounted to nothing was a waste of my time.”

“And I thought White Elk was going to be civil,” she snapped. Gripping the steering-wheel more from anger than nervousness, she kept her eyes fixed straight ahead. “But I was wrong.”

“No, you weren't wrong. Had it been any other time, under any other circumstances, I would have stopped and given you that sincere apology. But you were…not a priority. Getting to the hospital was.”

OK, she understood that. And maybe he was right. No, he
was
right. And she was overreacting. Which she'd been accused of doing a lot of lately. “It's been a bad day,” she conceded. A bad day, a worse week and an even worse month. And everything was still spiraling downward. “I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“No apologies necessary. And you're right, it's been a bad day for everyone.” He glanced down at his tiny patient. “But mostly for him.”

Suddenly, all the anger and frustration drained right out of her. Sick children had a way of putting everything else into proper perspective, had a way of bringing everything else around them to a grinding halt. “How's he doing?”

“Struggling. But fighting. He's one tough little boy. So, are you a friend of Gabby's?”

“No, I only met her today, right before I helped deliver Bryce. But I'm Angela Blanchard's sister. And I'm really here to take over for her in the kitchen.”

“Funny. I would have sworn you were a nurse. A damn good one, if I had to make a bet on it.”

“I was a pediatric nurse and, yes, I like to think I was a damn good one, but that's in the past,” she said. “I burned out.” That wasn't the truth, but it was an easy explanation and people didn't question it.

“Sorry to hear that. Especially since you seem so…passionate about it. That's medicine's loss.”

He sounded genuinely sorry, which surprised her. When she'd tendered her resignation, no one had even tried talking her out of her decision to quit. Then, when she'd closed all those doors on her life and walked away, no one had been sorry to see her go. No one had even blinked. But by then she'd become an awkward moment for the man who was supposed to love her. He was an upwardly mobile doctor, she was a downwardly spiraling nurse he found quite easy to leave.
You're too emotional, Dinah. You overreacted. Got yourself too involved in something you had no business getting involved in. Maybe you should have stayed in cooking school.

But she believed Eric Ramsey sounded sorry she'd left nursing.

Except she didn't trust herself to believe anything. Not anymore.