“Got an emergency,” Heather said as she poked her head into Kacey’s office. “Eli O’Halleran. Seven years old. Hurt on the playground. The school called his father and sent him here.”
“He’s a patient?” The name didn’t ring any bells with Kacey. Seated at her desk, she’d just opened a container of blueberry yogurt for lunch. She hadn’t had a chance to catch her breath since the minute she’d walked through the door to exam room two. Elmer Grimes, her first patient of the day, had taken up more than his allotted time with her. She’d been running late ever since.
“Eli O’Halleran hasn’t been in before. The boy’s pediatrician was Dr. Levoy over in Middleton.”
“And he retired last year.” Kacey nodded, already pushing the yogurt container aside. She’d received several referrals from patients who hadn’t been happy with Levoy’s replacement, and though she was a GP, rather than a pediatrician, she’d spent a lot of time in pediatrics in medical school. She liked kids and had considered going back and specializing in pediatrics, but then all hell had broken loose in her personal life and she’d decided to return to Grizzly Falls.
“The school sent him here rather than over to St. Bart’s as we’re closer,” Heather said, mentioning the nearest hospital. “They came in about five minutes ago, and I’ve already taken all his insurance and personal information. I’ve also got a call into Levoy’s office, requesting the boy’s files.” She offered a knowing grin. “I figured we could squeeze him in before the afternoon patients. That you wouldn’t turn him away.”
“All right, let’s take a look at him.” Kacey pushed her chair away from the desk.
“He and his dad are in exam three. I’ve set up his preliminary info on the computer.”
“Good.” Kacey was already slipping her arms through the sleeves of the lab coat she’d just shed. She’d gotten used to having her life interrupted at the most inopportune of moments. All part of the job of country doctor. “You said you talked to someone at the school?”
“The nurse, Eloise Phelps.” Heather peeled off toward the front desk as Kacey made her way to the examination room, tapped lightly on the door, and pushed it open.
She found a slim boy sitting on the examination table. With a shock of unruly dishwater blond hair, he was whitefaced, blinking hard against tears and sniffling as he cradled his left arm, which was supported by a sling.
His father, expression grim, stood next to the exam table.
Dressed in battered jeans, plaid shirt, and worn boots, which were a staple around this part of Montana, he was tall, maybe six-two, with a rangy build and wide shoulders. A day or two’s worth of dark hair covered a square jaw, and he stared at her with deep-set, angry eyes. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked about to spit nails.
“I’m Dr. Lambert,” she told the boy and, glancing at the chart on the laptop Heather had left, added, “You must be Eli.”
The kid nodded and pressed his lips together. He was trying to be brave and, she guessed, might be more scared than hurt.
“Trace O’Halleran.” The cowboy introduced himself, extending his hand, his gaze focused on the name tag on her lab coat, which read: DR. ACACIA LAMBERT. His hand was big. Calloused and strong. His face was tanned, weathered from the sun, his brown hair showing streaks of blond, again, she assumed, from hours outside. His eyes were a startling shade of blue, his jaw hard, his nose appearing to have been broken at least once, probably twice, and he couldn’t scare up the ghost of a smile. “I’m Eli’s dad.”
She shook his hand, then let it fall. “So, what happened?”
“Playground accident,” Trace said. “Tell her,” he said, prodding the boy gently.
“I got pushed off the jungle gym.” Anger flared in the boy’s brown eyes.
“Why don’t you tell me about it while I look at your arm? That’s okay, right?”
Eli glanced at his dad, who nodded. “I guess.”
After quickly washing her hands at the small sink located in the room, she dried them with a paper towel, then pulled on a pair of latex gloves as she stepped closer to the boy. Gently, she removed the sling and splint, some cotton padding, and a small ice pack, all the while watching as he blanched even further. “Hurts, huh?”
Eli couldn’t speak but nodded, his eye filling with tears, which seemed to embarrass him further.
“So how did the accident happen?”
“Cory Deter pushed me off the jungle gym.” Eli was blinking rapidly now, and his jaw tightened. “He’s a jerk!”
“Well, I guess so, if he did this,” she agreed. “So, then what happened?”
“I fell! And… and I put my hands out like this. .” He extended his arms, winced, and sucked in his breath. His left arm fell back to his side as he turned ashen again.
“Okay, so you broke your fall by stretching out your arms.” She was nodding. “When?” She glanced at the dad.
“Don’t know exactly,” Eli’s father said. He was staring at her hard, as if trying to figure her out. “I got the call about forty minutes ago, so I assume it was right after it happened.”
“Okay.” She said gently to Eli, “Now, I’m gonna need to take a look at your arm a little more closely. Okay?”
From beneath his beetled eyebrows, the boy glared up at her suspiciously.
“It’s okay,” his father said, placing a big hand over the kid’s, but his expression was as concerned as his son’s.
“ ’Kay,” Eli finally said.
Gently she examined the boy. Testing his movements, running her fingers along the muscles and joints, watching his reaction. All the while, Trace hovered.
“I don’t think it’s broken,” she said finally, “but we can’t be sure without X-rays. There’s always the chance of a stress fracture.”
A muscle in Trace’s jaw worked. “That’s what the nurse at the school said, and she also said he was running a fever. He’s had a cold he hasn’t been able to shake.”
“Since you’re here,” she said to Eli, “let’s double-check that temp, then take a look at your throat and maybe your ears.”
Reluctantly, Eli agreed. His temperature was 100.1, his lymph nodes were slightly swollen, his eardrums were red, and his throat was so inflamed, she swabbed it to check for strep. “Looks like you probably need some antibiotics,” she said. “I’m betting your throat is pretty sore.”
“Really sore.” Eli bobbed his head emphatically.
Trace frowned. “You didn’t say anything.”
“Didn’t hurt before,” his son said.
“It can come on fast. Looks like a double ear infection, and I’m betting on strep throat,” Kacey said to Trace before moving her gaze to his son. “But you, Eli, should feel better in a couple of days,” she promised. “So, now, let’s get an X-ray of that arm, okay? The lab is in the next building.” She turned to her laptop and made a note, then said to Trace, “You can take him over there and have the X-rays taken. They’ll send them over, and I’ll look at them. It won’t take long. We’ll meet up here again, after I check them. If I think you should see an orthopedist, I’ll let you know and set up an appointment with Dr. Belding in Missoula. Or whomever you want.” She offered a reassuring smile, which wasn’t returned. “I’ve worked with Dr. Belding. She’s good.”
Trace nodded curtly. “Thanks.” To his son, he said, “Let’s go, bud.”
Heather appeared with the request forms for the lab just as Trace was helping Eli from the examination table. “Do you need anything else?” she asked Kacey.
“I think we’re okay. Thanks.”
As Heather returned to her desk, Kacey handed Trace the request forms, then, to make the boy feel more at ease, said to Eli, “Look, I know a shortcut, so I’ll walk you over. Is that okay?” She smiled at Eli. “Just in case your dad gets lost.”
“He won’t! He was an Army Ranger.”
Trace snorted and held the door open. “That was a few years back.”
“But you were!” Eli insisted.
“Back in the Dark Ages,” he admitted as they headed through a series of short hallways and out a back door, where the wind knifed through her lab coat and snow was collecting in the planters.
“Right here,” she said, holding her coat closed with one hand while hurrying down the short walkway. Before she could reach the door, Trace pulled it open and waited for her and his son to walk inside.
