Page 10 of The Way Back Home
Crouching beside the prone figure, Noah checked for a pulse along the neck. He felt a weak but steady beat against his fingertips and breathed a sigh of relief. The kid’s breaths were quick and shallow though, with rasping wheezes that suggested possible broken ribs.
Immediate medical treatment was needed, but Noah wouldn’t risk adding to the damage without further assessment. He deftly felt around the neck and did a couple of quick reflex tests. Assuring himself that the neck wasn’t broken, he then proceeded to do the same with arms and legs. His large hands spanned the kid’s back easily, his fingers searching through the thin flannel, feeling gently along the ribs for breaks or unnatural protrusions. Another surprise: the drastic curve inward, just below the lowest rib.
Noah cursed, then gently rolled the figure over, his field training suspending judgment. First and foremost, he was a doctor, conducting a necessary physical examination to determine if it was safe to transport the patient.
His hands started at the tiny waist, moving meticulously upward until he could no longer ignore the obvious.
This was no teenage boy.
T, he thought with a snort. Clearly, it wasn’t short for Tom, Tony, or Tim. Why had Mona let him believe otherwise?
Noah completed his field evaluation quickly and professionally, pushing everything else into the background. Her health was the only thing that he needed to be concerned with. That, and keeping her away from the sheriff, which was another thing he and Mona were going to talk about.
Spying her pack a few feet away, he slipped it over his shoulder. Then, with care, he eased one arm behind her knees and another beneath her back. She was so light and small; he fit her easily against his chest.
Noah carried her to his cabin, his steps carefully placed, his focus on minimizing movements that might exacerbate her injuries. Not for the first time, he appreciated the privacy of the place and the fact that it wasn’t visible from the ranch house.
He took the girl into his bedroom, reasoning that it was situated in the back and therefore the safest space he had. He had briefly considered the couch in the living area but nixed that idea, as itwould put her in plain sight of anyone who came to his door. His instincts were telling him he needed to keep this as quiet as possible for the time being, and Noah tended to trust his instincts about things like that.
Her skin was cold and clammy—a result of overexertion in the cool night air. Getting her warm was his priority. He laid her carefully on the bed and covered her with no less than three thick blankets. Then he built a fire in the stone fireplace dominating one wall. Finally, he put some water into a kettle on the stove and began to assemble a treatment kit, pulling out his cell phone as he did.
Mona picked up on the second ring. “Yes?” Her normally warm, cheery voice was cool and annoyed.
“I got her.” Noah kept his voice low.
“No, I’m quite happy with my current phone service, thank you,” she said, leading him to believe the sheriff was lingering, awaiting T’s return.
“She needs medical attention right now. Mona, please tell me she’s over eighteen.”
Noah heard her slight intake of breath, but she covered it well.
“Yes, I’m quite sure.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “Right. Okay, I’ll call you in the morning and give you an update.”
“Young man, it is four days before Christmas. Why don’t you quit wasting my time and call your mother instead?”
Noah’s lips curved slightly when he heard the click. Mona was tough and clever and, for some reason, veryprotective of the unconscious, injured woman in his bed. He just didn’t know why.
Before long, the fire was roaring pleasantly, and everything he needed was comfortably within reach. Noah pulled up a chair alongside the bed and started peeling back the blankets. Still unconscious, she didn’t even flinch.
For the first time, he got a good look at her face and sucked in a breath. She wasbeautiful. Waves of glossy black hair spilled over his pillow, cascading in loose waterfalls around her face. Equally dark and thick, her lashes extended well beyond her eyes, feathering across perfectly smooth, pale peachy skin. A delicate nose, high cheekbones, and full, dark pink lips completed the picture.
How could he have ever thought she was a kid? And a boy at that?
Shaking his head, he got to work. Lifting her lids, he angled his slim light and was pleased to see her pupils were responsive. He pulled the covers back more and cursed when he saw that one side of her blue flannel shirt was stiff and dark. She’d been bleeding, and from the looks of it, quite a bit.
He hated acting without express permission, but he didn’t dare wait for her to regain consciousness. She could be out for hours. He couldn’t justify prioritizing consent over care, not with that amount of blood and possible compound fractures.
Decision made, Noah grabbed some surgical scissors from his kit and began to cut away the flannel. Underneath was a light thermal shirt, also soakedthrough. He cut through that too, revealing a dark green knitted tank.
Noah hesitated only briefly before discarding that as well. He had to find the source of the bleeding; modesty would have to take second place. He also needed to examine her ribs and immobilize her shoulder, which had swollen to at least twice its normal size. Forcing it back into place after an hour of swelling had undoubtedly caused damage.
Noah dipped a washcloth into the heated water and began cleaning away the blood, section by section. Finding no visible injuries, he moved on, rolling her gently onto her stomach. There, Noah discovered the huge gash along her left shoulder blade. It didn’t appear to be bleeding anymore, but it was deep and ugly. He cleaned the wound, thankful that she remained unconscious for that part. After putting in a couple of quick stitches, he slathered it with antibacterial ointment and added a dressing.
Next, he grabbed a couple of chemical ice packs and twisted sharply to activate them. Arranging them along her shoulder and upper arm, he held them in place with large press-and-seal sticky pads. There wasn’t much he could do about her bruised ribs except encourage her to take deep breaths when she regained consciousness.
Satisfied that he’d taken care of her upper body, he fetched one of his favorite flannel shirts, well-worn but clean and soft, and wrapped it around her. Doing so set off odd little pulses in his chest, but he rationalized it away as excess adrenaline from the night’s activities.
