13. Kent #2
County paramedics arrived, bringing a folding wheeled gurney across the lawn.
Kent and Cecilia assisted the two EMTs in lifting the patient onto the vacuum mattress, securing the safety straps across her chest and hips.
Within minutes, the ambulance doors closed with a heavy thud, and the vehicle maneuvered down the driveway, its siren chiming softly as it joined the main road toward the bigger town of Greenfield.
As the crowd began to disperse back toward the pumpkin stalls and cider press, Cecilia gathered her aluminum kit and stood up, smoothing her navy trousers.
"I'll follow up with the hospital intake desk later this evening to get the orthopedic report," she said, her tone remaining strictly professional.
"I was just about to leave when it happened, so I’m going to head out now.
Call me if you need extra wraps for the farmhands who cleared the timber. "
"I'll do that. Thank you," Kent answered, his expression remaining warm yet maintaining a clear professional boundary.
Cecilia offered a brief nod before moving toward her sedan parked near the road.
Kent moved to the rear bumper of his truck, unbuttoning his sleeves to roll them above his elbows so he could sanitize his hands with a bottle of antiseptic gel.
Though the immediate physical crisis had concluded, an expectant tension lingered in the crisp October air.
He raised his gaze, searching the thinning crowd gathered close to the market pavilion.
Teddy stood near the farm stand, her canvas jacket dark against the sunlit cedar framing.
She hadn't retreated into the farmhouse or hidden behind her ledgers.
She'd watched the entire triage process from the perimeter, her frame motionless, her dark eyes expansive while watching the aftermath. He knew she’d had the same realization he had.
As Kent capped the gel bottle and placed it onto the tailgate, Teddy moved.
She didn't hesitate or wait for him to acknowledge her.
She crossed the open grass between the farm stand and the truck, her posture straight, her chin lifted with resolute intention that contained no hesitation.
She didn't look toward her sisters or glance back at the cider barn.
Her focus remained locked entirely on Kent.
She halted two paces away from the tailgate, the crisp wind rustling the dark strands of hair loose. The space between suddenly didn’t feel as vast as it had been.
"Are you alright?" Teddy asked, genuine concern shining in her eyes. There was something about her that seemed far more open. Less guarded.
Kent held her gaze, noting the transformation in her expression. "I'm fine," he answered softly. "The injury was clean, and the paramedics will have her in x-ray within twenty minutes, and the elderly lady just had some nasty cuts and bruises."
Teddy swallowed, her throat moving as she held his eyes without flinching. "I saw how the triage was handled. You and Cecilia did a great job."
He looked for any signs of sarcasm or jealousy but didn’t see any. She really meant it.
"She's a capable clinician," Kent stated, keeping his tone honest and unhurried. "She offered professional help when it was needed." He paused, giving her room to process his words. "That's all it was, just in case you were wondering."
"I know," Teddy said. She moved a little bit closer, closing the remaining distance until she stood beside the truck tailgate. "I didn't cross the lawn to ask about her."
Kent braced an arm against the metal lip of the truck bed, leaning slightly closer while maintaining a respectful space. "Why did you come over?"
Teddy looked up toward his features, her dark eyes shining with an unvarnished vulnerability that he'd never seen in her before.
"Because you told me that the initial action had to come from me," she answered, with a shy smile.
"You told me that if I wanted a future here, I needed to be the one who opened the door.
So I'm standing here, telling you that this is me opening the door. "
His lips parted as he drew in a surprised breath. But before he could respond, she smiled, and walked toward the farmhouse.
By the time the sun was starting to fade, the remaining autumn visitors started to disperse toward the parking grove in clusters, their earlier panic completely dissolved by the swift, professional resolution of the platform collapse.
The red emergency beacons of the county ambulance had long faded down the hemlock corridor of Marchetti Lane and every timber header in the staging frame remained supported by the emergency jacks Kent had placed with the assistance of Beckett and Micah.
Kent stood at the tailgate of his truck and wiped his hands on a clean cotton towel.
The sharp aroma of rubbing alcohol and pine resin mingled with the sweet fragrance of crushed apples lingering in the late afternoon air.
His eyes scanned the clearing, watching the gentle rustle of autumn leaves as the crowd grew smaller.
On the porch, the four Marchetti daughters gathered in a tight semicircle around Hannah, Nell, Sarah Miller and Mary Kincaid. Beckett and Micah stood off to the side, quiet but there for support if the sisters needed it. Kent joined them.
Teddy’s dark eyes were open and searching as she assessed the four older women. The heavy canvas triage bag lay open on the pine bench, its specialized trauma supplies neatly re-stacked in synchronized order by hands that knew the exact position of every bandage.
Teddy drew a deep breath, her gaze moving from the canvas pack to the composed features of Sarah.
She narrowed her eyes as she directed her question at Sarah.
"That wasn't the response of casual festival volunteers.
You cleared the perimeter, produced specialized surgical splints, and provided county dispatch with emergency medical codes without hesitation.
How does a group of rural farm volunteers execute a crisis protocol with that level of military precision? "