Found: A Mother for His Son. Dianne Drake

and instead of bothering her to come bring me here, I drove myself. I am feeling a little tired, though. It’s…coming on me right now. A…groggy…feeling…”

      So was the deathly pallor washing down over his face. His speech was slowing and slurring, too, and Jenna knew this great hulk of a man was about to go out on her. “Look, let’s get you to the exam room, where you can lie down.” She hadn’t even seen the exam rooms yet. “After that we’ll figure out what needs to be done.”

      “Appreciate that, ma’am.” He sighed heavily, struggling to keep himself upright.

      “Jenna,” she said, grasping him tightly around the waist as his knees started to dip. “Any man I have to carry like this gets to call me by my first name.”

      “Jenna,” he said, straining to stay upright now. “Pretty name. Got a daughter…name’s Jennifer. Is Jenna short for…?”

      The interminably long trip down the hall to the exam rooms ended at the first room, where Jenna pushed open the door with her foot and was thankful to see an exam table not more than five steps ahead of her. Mr. Wilkerson had turned into deadweight, and while Jenna was up to hefting a pretty large man, Isaiah Wilkerson was larger than the average, and every bit of him was rock-hard muscle. “It’s Jenna. Jenna Joann Lawson.”

      “Pleased to…make…your acquaintance, Jenna,” Isaiah grunted as he dropped down onto the hard surface of the exam table and immediately plopped down onto his back.

      Jenna sprang around the table to crank up the head, then she turned on the overhead light. “Look, I really need to call the doctor,” she told him as she scurried to assess the various medical supplies in the room. It was a nice, tidy little exam room. The equipment was outdated, but still very functional, and it put her in the mind of something from the 1960s. It probably was, come to think of it. Dermott had, most likely, acquired the practice, as well as the equipment, from its original owner. Wooden exam table, not chrome or steel. Wooden cabinet. Old-fashioned sink. Overall, it had a nice, homey feel to it, and she liked it.

      “No doctor! Like I told you before, I don’t want…to interrupt him when he’s out with the boy. They need…their time together,” Isaiah said, his voice growing weaker. “If you think I need a doctor…all that bad, I’ll drive myself…over to Muledeer.”

      Now, that was just plain crazy. “You won’t make it to Muledeer,” she said, laying a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder as he tried to sit up. “You won’t even make it to the front door.”

      “I’m the patient here. Don’t I have…some rights? Some say…in who treats me?” His voice finally trailed off to a whisper and Jenna took his pulse to make sure nothing besides the obvious was going on. It was strong. His respirations were good, too. A little shallow, but not alarmingly so.

      And, yes, he did have a say in who treated him. But in his current condition, in a one-doctor town, those rights didn’t mean much. “Look, Isaiah, the first thing I need you to do is trust me. OK? You’ve lost a lot of blood and I don’t want you passing out, but that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t take it easy. So lie back, close your eyes, concentrate on breathing, and I’ll take a good look at your cut. If I can treat it, I will. But if it requires a doctor…”

      “Do your…best…Don’t interrupt…”

      “I know. Don’t interrupt Dr. Callahan.” Stubborn, stubborn man. Well, she’d just have to be more stubborn than he was. “Like I said, trust me, Isaiah.” She completely removed the towel from his arm. “I’ve been a nurse for quite a while now, and I know what I’m doing.”

      She also knew his cut was so deep that it required stitches. Which she could do, but wouldn’t. It wasn’t her place since the doctor was only a few blocks away. “Isaiah, I want you to rest here for a few minutes, will you? Since I’m new, I don’t know where the supplies are, and I’ve got to go on a little hunt for a few items. You’re not bleeding right now, so I want you to stay still. And relax.” He needed a sedative, and a painkiller, which she couldn’t prescribe, so that gave her even more cause to call Dermott. Even if it was against her patient’s will.

      “I’m not going to lose my arm, or anything like that, am I?” he choked out.

      “Good heavens, no. You’re going to get some stitches, but that’s about the worst of it.” As a precaution, before she left the room, Jenna took his blood pressure, and wasn’t surprised that it was low, but not critically. With all his bleeding, hypotension was bound to happen. “Just rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said, then ducked out of the exam room.

      One her way to find a supply closet, she dialed Dermott’s phone. It rang twice, and when he picked up, rather than saying hello, he led off with, “Care to join us for ice cream? Wasn’t peppermint your favorite flavor?”

      He remembered that? Had he ever even seen her eat ice cream?

      “Dermott, I’m with Isaiah Wilkerson. He put his hand through a window, and he doesn’t want me calling you.”

      Dermott cleared his throat. “How bad is it?”

      “Not critical, but pretty bad. He has a four-inch gash in his right forearm, about three inches above his wrist, that will need stitches. And he’s threatening to go to a doctor in Muledeer if I call you in to take care of him. I mean, he really doesn’t want you.”

      “I’ll be there in ten minutes, but don’t tell him I’m coming because he absolutely will walk out if there’s any way he can do it. And in the meantime, go ahead and stick in an IV for me. He probably needs his fluid volume pumped up some. Use Ringer’s for now, since he’s been bleeding, and add about 5 of Valium to relax him…and keep him down on the table. IV bags are in the gray supply cabinet, top shelf. The Valium is in the locked medicine cabinet in my office. The key is in my office wall safe, and the combination is…” He paused for a moment, then went on, “Eleven-fourteen. And if you have time, get him cleaned up and prepped for me. Isaiah’s a big complainer, by the way.” He chuckled. “Nice man, but squeamish when it comes to doctors.”

      Eleven-fourteen. That was her birthday. November fourteenth. Maybe he’d known about her ice cream preferences, but surely this was a coincidence. Dermott couldn’t have known when her birthday was. Could he? She thought about it for a moment, and shook off the notion of it being anything more than a coincidence. His safe combination was merely happenstance. That’s all!

      Ten minutes later, true to his word, Dermott was there, standing in the hall outside the exam room, looking in while Jenna finished anchoring the IV and injecting the Valium into it. Before he could speak, Jenna raised her finger to her lips, warning him to be quiet. Then she gestured to the furthest end of the hall for their rendezvous, and met him there a minute later, after she’d put an extra sheet over her patient. “Bleeding’s stopped, blood pressure’s low—ninety over sixty-five—pulse and respirations normal. And the last thing he told me before he nodded off was that I was not to call you. So, what’s that all about, Dermott? He claimed he didn’t want to interrupt you from having ice cream with Max, which might be true, except he threatened to drive for two hours to find another doctor, and that’s just absurd.”

      “People here don’t want to disturb me. After my wife died I cut back on my hours so I’d have more time with Max. People here respect that, and try to help me do it. That’s all it is. Nothing devious. Nothing secretive. They just want to help me.”

      “Maybe. Although making a trip to Muledeer when you’re in Mr. Wilkerson’s condition still doesn’t make any sense.” It would be nice to think that people could be that caring, though.

      Dermott shrugged, but didn’t respond. “Is the wound clean, or jagged?”

      Apparently, the topic was closed, if not in discussion then most certainly in the body language Dermott was putting up. Stiff shoulders, deep scowl, impatient eyes. Secretive or not, it was strange. “Good, clean edges. Looks like one slice.”

      “Any