Chapter 7
The thing about small-town paramedic work was that more often than not, Zane knew the person he was working on.
In paramedic school, they practiced impartiality, stressing the importance of treating the victim as a human, certainly, all the while trying to forget that the guy was your mom’s second cousin.
Sometimes the practicing helped.
But when it came to the real world, it wasn’t that straightforward.
He had yet to arrive on the scene of some horrific accident with someone he knew well, thank the Lord, but it was bound to happen at some point.
Which was one reason he found it hard to breathe every time a call for an ambulance came in.
This day was no different, even though the call came over from Bartlett.
Less than a minute after receiving the call, Zane was in the passenger seat of the ambulance with Melissa, the other paramedic, while Whitey drove like mad down the street.
Because the emergency was in Bartlett, it was less likely he’d know the person, but still.
Whitey pulled up to a well-appointed rambler in a nicer section of town.
Zane knew that most Silver Plummers would argue that a “nicer section of Bartlett” didn’t exist, but it looked pretty well-kept to him.
The minute Whitey threw the ambulance into park, Zane and Melissa jumped out and ran up to the house.
A woman stood at the open door. “He’s right over here.” Her richly made-up face was smeared with tears, her voice reedy.
Zane quickly gave what he hoped was a comforting nod before stepping through the doorway and into the kitchen. The man looked to be in his sixties and was lying on the tile floor, his breathing rapid and erratic. He had a throw pillow under his head.
At least he’s breathing—and at least I’ve never seen him before.
Zane, Whitey, and Melissa got to work. He knew from the dispatcher’s message that the man had been having chest pain and his wife had called right away.
“Mr…?” Zane tossed a glance at the trembling woman crouching near the man’s head.
“His name is Scott,” she supplied, her fingers a blotchy red from wringing them.
“Scott, your job is to stay with us, okay?” Zane fitted an oxygen mask over the man’s head, careful not to snap the elastic against the back of his bald head. “We will do everything else. We’re here to help. Just focus on breathing.”
The man’s face, still beet red, cleared his throat as if to try to speak.
“Try not to talk, Scott,” Zane said.
Possibly a heart attack. One of the deadliest emergencies there was. At least the man still had some color. Still, Zane felt the blood rushing in his ears.
“His heart rate is stable, Zane,” Melissa said. “BP is one-twenty-six over eighty-four. Swelling in the face and neck. No swelling in the legs.”
They looked at one another, and Whitey, kneeling next to them, said what they were all thinking. “It might not be the heart.”
Okay, if the chest pain didn’t seem to be heart-related, then what was it? Zane felt along Mr. Jorgenson’s throat and neck, his movements quick and deft. Maybe anaphylaxis.
“Is he allergic to anything? What medications is he on?” he asked, fighting to stay calm. It could be any number of things, but they didn’t have time to sit there and play “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.”
His wife was already bringing a prescription bottle over. “He started this two days ago. He doesn’t have any allergies.”
Cefuroxime. It was great for strep throat but sometimes caused allergic reactions.
Once Zane’s mind shifted to allergy, things fell into place. He injected epinephrine into Scott’s thigh muscle and then positioned the stretcher next to him. Once he was properly secured, they were ready to mobilize.
“Prepare to lift,” Zane told his team. “And lift.”
This was the part where Zane could finally relax a fraction. This was more straightforward, the steps and calls and movements so ingrained from years of paramedic work. Just seeing Scott’s breathing settling a bit, his head and body secured on the stretcher by straps, helped calm Zane.
We’re on the right track.
Scott’s wife followed them out to the street then drove her car behind the ambulance as Whitey sped to the hospital in Rexburg.
Now that Scott was mostly out of danger, Zane could breathe.
But breathing meant his mind could get back online, and he’d start thinking and remembering.
That was one of the worst parts of this job, the memories.
Memories of the times when things didn’t go as they hoped.
When they were too late or when they witnessed too much.
His thoughts tumbled to Mabel—as they usually did. Maybe she would be there. If they were on better terms, he might know if she still had the same clinical.
Within minutes of arriving and handing over Scott to the ER team, two things were clear: Scott was going to be okay, and Mabel wasn’t on shift.
Dang. He always wanted to see her, but especially when there’d been such a close call.
When there was so much stress and adrenaline involved, the thought of seeing Mabel seemed like the only thing that would help.
In fact, being around Mabel usually took the thinking right out of any equation he was dealing with.
“It’s Zane, isn’t it?” Scott’s wife approached him. She’d cleaned her face with some tissues.
She pointed down the hall. “They’re going to let me be with him in a few minutes. They’re just getting him set up with what he needs. What you did at the house was amazing.” Now that the biggest dangers had passed, her face shone with worn-out admiration.
“I’m just glad we figured out what was going on. And there still could be some heart-related stuff too. They’ll probably send him up to the second floor for a full workup, to make sure.”
She shook her head, and her eyes filled with tears. He knew this look. Of someone who’d nearly lost the most important person in her life.
Zane’s robust presence nearly failed him for a moment at that look. He wanted that with someone. The loneliness he felt without it could have crippled him right then.
“Well, I’m just so grateful. There doesn’t seem to be adequate words,” the woman said.
“I’m glad he’ll be okay.”
She offered her hand, and now with the fear gone from the situation, he could see a glimpse of what she was really like. “I’m Liza, by the way. Scott and I own a restaurant in Bartlett. Is being a paramedic full-time work for you?”
“Not exactly. Not around here. I’m also a firefighter. The two jobs combined pay the bills.”
Whitey grinned at the two of them as he was coming out of the little bathroom near the double door. “He’s not just a firefighter. He’s fire chief now.”
Liza beamed and clutched his elbow, leaning in close. “Wow. Isn’t that exciting!”
Zane didn’t know how to handle praise well; he never had. It usually made him uncomfortable, and if she hadn’t been holding on to him, he could have begun backing up to the door.
“It is exciting some days. But other days, I just find myself winding the hoses over and over again.”
She laughed, and Zane noticed she glanced at his ring finger. Oh no.
“Zane,” she said, straightening her back, “do you have a girlfriend?”
His mouth tasted like ashes as Mabel flashed through his mind. She was the only woman to come to mind when he was asked a question like that. “I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”
Thankfully, Whitey had already started heading for the doors to go start the ambulance. Because if he’d heard the direction this conversation was heading, he would have doubled over with laughter.
“Sorry to ask such a personal question.” Liza gave an apologetic frown.
“I know my daughter hates being asked questions like that. Carolina graduated cum laude from the University of Arizona Law two years ago.” Liza’s gaze took in Zane.
“She works as an attorney in a firm in Rexburg. And she still gets asked when she’s getting married.
” She rolled her eyes. “So I try not to meddle like that. But for the record, she’s single too. ”
“She sounds wonderful. You’re a lucky mom; I’m sure.”
“Yes, I am.” Liza hesitated, but Zane needed to get out of there.
He said goodbye, wished her and Scott well, and turned to head out of the emergency room.
When he saw California Surfer Dude himself, too-young-to-be-an-anesthesiologist Dallin Conforth, Zane stopped short.
Conforth was getting out of a white Beamer in the staff parking lot across the way.
The man was just so smug. Annoying. Zane had no idea what Mabel saw in him, or if she was seeing him at all.
But he did know something passed between them, and it had made his stomach sick with regret.
A fire lit in Zane’s chest.
He was simply tired of feeling this way, like he could never be with the woman he loved. If Mabel wanted a guy like Dr. Conforth, then she could go for him. Fatigue hit him, bone-deep. Everything hurt, even blinking his eyes caused pain.
No more yearning for someone who would never want him back. Maybe she had before. But not now.
His mind fogged, clearing just in time to see the man at his shoulder, a frisson of anger seeping from him, his fists clenched.