“How’d you end up in Trappers Cove?” Addy asked.
“My gramps left me his house here. It’s a nice town. Quiet. Good people.” He tossed his surgical gown into the bin. “Like Caden’s parents. Salt of the earth, but too permissive with their late-in-life miracle baby.”
What would it be like, Addy wondered, to know her patients as well as Rosado did? With frequent changes of duty station, military life didn’t lend itself to that kind of relationship. Another point against staying in the Army.
“Will you brief Caden’s parents?” she asked. “They’d probably rather hear from a trusted friend than a stranger.”
“Of course.” He gave her a warm smile. “And don’t you be a stranger, Doctor Connor. Come back and see us next time you’re in town.”
Addy grumbled to herself as she finished her post-op clean-up. What an outrage for a community hospital to have only a physician’s assistant on duty on Halloween, of all nights! The on-call doc, a family practitioner, had taken his sweet time coming in to stitch up the other kid’s shredded hand.
Trappers Cove hadn’t had an on-call surgeon in years, according to the PA. Typical small-town hospital, chronically understaffed and unable to lure highly paid specialists.
Jittery on the tail end of the adrenalin rush that fueled tonight’s work, Addy heaved a shaky sigh. Her patient had survived, but he had a long, rough recovery ahead of him. And for what? The momentary thrill of traumatizing an old man? This kind of senseless injury was the absolute worst.
And now came the inevitable paperwork.
Kieran was waiting on a bench opposite the nurse’s station, still in full pirate regalia and idly flipping through a celebrity gossip magazine. As soon as he caught sight of her, he sprang to his feet and enveloped her in his arms.
God, it felt so good to be held by him, and in two more days, she’d have to leave him. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back brimming tears.
“You’re shaking, love. Here.” He slid out of his velveteen coat and draped it around her shoulders.
“Aftereffect of an adrenalin surge,” she assured him, but all the same, it was lovely to be wrapped up in his warmth and woodsy scent.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re a hero, Addy.”
She snuggled into his embrace. “I just did what needed to be done.”
And that’s why she had to leave him for a while. She had other duties to attend to before she could consider her own desires.
Kieran went to fetch coffee and snacks from the vending machines while Police Chief Jess Hawthorne interviewed Addy and thanked her for saving the victim’s life.
“Chief, what will happen to that poor old man?”
“Dave? I imagine the judge will go easy on him if he commits to treatment for his PTSD. Of course, that means leaving town, and he’s gonna hate that. Dave keeps his orbit small: home, the Food Co-op, church, and the VFW.”
Stepping up beside them, Liv tsked. “It’s a damn shame help isn’t available closer.”
“True,” the chief said, snapping her notebook shut. “Small-town life comes with trade-offs.”
Liv gave Addy a pointed look. “Yeah, but health-care access shouldn’t be one of them.”
“What’s that stare about?” Addy asked once the cop left. “You know I can’t give that old man the kind of help he needs.”
“No, but this town’s badly in need of someone with your skills. And isn’t this what you’ve been looking for? A quiet home where you can breathe, recover, sink some roots?”
Addy scowled and searched the room for Kieran, or anyone who could interrupt Liv’s too-sharp questioning.
From down the hall came a metallic clang, a thump, and a string of Irish-inflected curses.
“When did I ever talk about sinking roots?”
Liv ticked off on her fingers. “Over coffee last week, at Johnson’s retirement party, on our last girl’s weekend.”
That’s the trouble with befriending someone with a mind like a steel trap—they build up an arsenal of your own words to use against you.
Kieran finally returned with three half-full paper cups and cellophane-wrapped Danish. “Sorry, ladies. Uncooperative machines.”
