Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Beckett
As I wander down the sidewalk of Main Street in Hemlock, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, a piercing scream slices through the air. Instinct and training taking over, I rush to the plant store, where the pained sound came from, my heart racing.
Inside, a woman is lying on the ground, unconscious and pale-faced.
Immediately, I switch into nurse mode. For me, helping in emergency situations when I’m off the clock has become second nature. More than once, I’ve been asked to help a fellow traveler with a medical emergency on a plane.
Small towns have their pros and cons. And this is the con. All the passersby have made their way in and are hovering. A whole bunch of nosy Nellies.
Though when I focus on the woman who needs my help, they all disappear from my mind.
Beside her, another woman prods her arm, trying to wake her up.
“Joey. Joey, wake up,” the dark-haired woman says, her voice frantic.
I rest my hand on her shoulder, making her aware of presence, then ask, “Mind if I step in and take over?”
She looks at me wide-eyed, as if I’ve grown three heads.
“S-sorry,” I stammer, realizing she doesn’t have the full picture. “I’m a nurse at Pacific Care Hospital. I work in the emergency room.”
With a shaky breath out, she nods. Then she moves aside, giving me room to assess her friend.
“My boyfriend’s dog knocked her off the stool,” she blurts out. “She cut her hand on a ceramic pot and fainted. She’s never been very good with blood.”
“Do you know if she hit her head?”
She shakes her head. “No. She sat up right away, but when she looked at her hand and saw the blood, she passed out.”
“Gotcha.” I dip my chin. “It was probably just a vasovagal response to seeing the blood. Could you find a glass of water for her, and maybe something with sugar?”
As she scurries off, I check the pulse of the unconscious woman. It’s slow, but that’s typical after a fainting spell. Reassured that the situation isn’t dire, I scan for injuries aside from the nasty cut on her hand. It’s not deep enough for stitches, but it’ll hurt for a few days.
In one swift motion, I take off my hoodie and ball it up. Then, carefully, I place it behind her head so it’s not resting on the hard wooden floor. Stretching to one side, I snag the leg of a low stool and pull it over, then prop the woman’s legs up to help restore blood flow to the brain.
When I grasp her shoulder gently, her eyelids twitch, her dark lashes dancing across the tops of her cheeks, and soon, her eyes are open, her gaze drowsy.
“Hey there,” I say, giving her a smile. “Welcome back.”
Her large brown eyes lock on me, confusion swimming in them. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose become less noticeable as the color returns to her face.
After a heartbeat, she sucks in a breath, her eyes darting around the shop, brimming with panic.
The crowd of prying onlookers has migrated, closing in on us in this already small space.
With a look over my shoulder, I give them my most stern nurse on duty expression. “Do you mind giving us some space?”
They don’t move. Of course they don’t. A few are on their phones, cameras pointed at us, probably gossiping already.
Typically, I’m levelheaded. Some may say I’m too calm in tense situations. But at this moment? I’m enraged. Whatever happened to common decency, respect, and privacy?
I take a deep, steadying inhale and add the authoritative voice I’ve used for years in the ER to the glower I direct at them. “If you aren’t helping, stop gawking and get out.”
Eyes that were once prying have now gone wide with shock. Yet they’re still not moving.
“Now,” I bellow, my voice echoing off the walls.
There’s a collective jolt, then the whole group scurries out of the store without so much as a whisper.
Finally.
The woman on the ground shifts, pressing her trembling hands to the floor like she’s going to get up.
Still kneeling beside her, I place my hand on her shoulder once more. “Stay lying down for me. Okay?” The sharp tone is gone, replaced with one I use to put patients at ease.
With a nod, she croaks out a quiet “thank you.”
“I’m Beckett, by the way,” I say when the shop goes silent. “I heard a scream, and when I ran in, I found you lying on the ground.”
Her dark brown eyes grow wide, their rich hue catching the light as shock flickers across her face. She looks like the woman I found at her side when I showed up, their expressions of concern when studying me nearly identical.
“I’m a nurse at Pacific Care Hospital. Not some random dude off the street.” I wince as I replay the words in my head. Smooth. “I guess technically I am random, since we haven’t met.”
This is officially my worst attempt at lightening the mood.
Rather than frown or back away, she gives me a genuine smile.
“Frank!” A booming voice breaks through the silence, and a moment later, a tall man with glasses perched on his nose bursts into the store. Face panic-stricken, he scans the store, looking for Frank, whoever that is.
He disappears through a door at the back, and a moment later, he returns, cradling an Australian Shepherd like a fussy baby. I struggle to keep a straight face as the dog’s tongue dangles from its mouth, dirt and leaves tangled in its disheveled fur.
The woman I sent for water reappears and makes a beeline for me, while the man and his dog exit through the front door.
“Sorry it took so long. Frank was napping on top of my purse and wouldn’t get up, so I couldn’t get to the candy. Here.” She holds out the bottle of water and a small handful of candy.
“Can you sit up for me?” I ask the woman who’s still lying prone on the floor.
With a nod, she places her hands on the floor and pushes up.
I rest one hand on her upper back for stability as I help her into a sitting position.
“Have a little water and then eat these.” I twist the cap off the water and pass it to her, then open a few of the candies so she doesn’t have to struggle with the wrappers.
“Looks like you fainted. Probably because of the blood.”
She lifts the water bottle to her lips, her hand trembling, and takes small sips. Right away, her shoulders relax and the color returns to her face.
“My sister’s name is Josephine, by the way,” the other woman says. “We call her Joey. After she faints, she’s usually a little out of it.”
“Does this happen often?” I question.
“Just around blood. Can’t even watch a horror film without passing out cold.” She grimaces. “And Halloween is a nightmare for her.”
“I’m sitting right here, Charlie,” Joey interjects, her words muffled by the candy she’s popped into her mouth. Candies, by the look of it.
“Uh. It might have been best to eat those one at a time. You look like you’re on the brink of a choking hazard.”
She stares up at me, her eyes owlish and her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. “You said eat these. I thought you meant all of them at once!”
Her sister snorts, then breaks into uncontrollable laughter.
“Charles, stop laughing!” Her mouth is still full, her words barely discernible through all that sugar.
I’m trying to bite back a laugh myself.
Looking away from her, I press my lips together in a thin line, forcing myself to remain composed. When I’ve collected myself, I turn back. “When you’re done with those, let’s get your cut cleaned up. Okay?”
She lowers her gaze and gives a small nod.
Standing, I turn to Charlie. “Do you have a first aid kit?”
“Yep. Be right back.” Her sister jogs to the back room.
I focus on Joey once again, realizing now that there’s an air of familiarity to her.
Like I’ve met her before. I did live in Hemlock for a few years when I was a kid, so it’s possible we’ve crossed paths, but I’m sure I would’ve remembered her.
The delicate smattering of freckles across her cheeks, the lush auburn hair, and the expressive brown eyes would’ve branded themselves into my memory.
Her sister appears with the first aid kit, her reappearance causing those thoughts to dissipate.
“I’m going to clean your wound,” I tell Joey, “but please don’t look at it.”
“You got it, nurse.” She gives me a curt, affirmative nod.
Chuckling at her response, I take her hand and get to work. The ragged cut across her palm is bloody and angry, and when I run the antiseptic wipe over it, she drops her head back, focus fixed on the ceiling, and hisses.
“You’re doing well. Stay with me now,” I coax.
“I want to stay. I really do. But my autonomic nervous system is thinking about running away.” She draws in a sharp breath when I swipe away the dirt embedded in the cut.
A laugh bubbles out of me. This woman is hilarious.
“Man.” She sighs. “This gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘rub some soil on it,’ doesn’t it?”
I zero in on her face, head tilted, considering whether to correct her. If I did, would that make me look like an asshole?
“What’s wrong?” she asks, her brows pinched together with confusion.
“Uh, it’s actually ‘rub some dirt on it,’” I say, head ducked, focused on the wound again.
She cocks her head to the side. “Interesting. I’ve been saying that wrong for years, then. You learn something new every day, I guess.”
I disguise my laugh by clearing my throat. If she’s been saying that for years, how come no one has corrected her?
My eyes catch on a stray leaf stuck in her long, dark hair. The corner of my mouth twitches up.
“What?” She frowns.
I delicately pluck the vibrant green leaf from her hair and hold it between us.
Every cell in my body urges me to weave my fingers through her long, silky hair.
Instead, I clear my throat, ridding myself of those thoughts.
Then I quickly finish cleaning and bandaging her hand up and help her stand, ensuring she’s steady on her feet before I leave.
“You should be all set. Keep an eye on that cut so it doesn’t get infected, okay? ”
“Thank you,” both women say, and in unison, they eye one another, brows furrowed.
Yep, they’re definitely sisters.