Lisa Jackson - Born To Die

Trace felt like an idiot. What had he been thinking, going out with his kid’s teacher last year? It had been a mistake, and he’d known it from the second she invited him to dinner. He’d told himself that it was because of Eli, that she wanted to discuss his son and the trouble Eli was having in school, but Trace had known better, sensed it.

And yet he’d gone out with her four times. Well, five, if he included that last night of their final argument after trying to rekindle something that had never really sparked.

He’d only ended up disappointing everyone involved, himself included.

He sighed. Jocelyn Wallis had thought she could be the woman to heal the scar left by Eli’s mother walking out on them. She hadn’t believed Trace when he’d told her he wasn’t interested in a relationship, that he was okay raising his kid alone.

She wasn’t the only one. Eli couldn’t seem to forget the few times that his father had been with his teacher.

Yep, he’d made a royal mess of things.

Now his son said, “She wasn’t at school today.”

“Miss Wallis? Doesn’t matter. Someone was. Someone had playground duty.”

“Mr. Beene was on duty ’cuz Miss Wallis wasn’t there. He’s a substitute.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Eli assured him. “It was that stupid butt Cory Deter!”

“I know you’re mad, but no name calling, okay?”

“But he is.” Eli swiped at his nose with the sleeve of his jacket and set his jaw again. “He’s a stupid butt.”

“C’mon, Eli. It’s not nice to talk about someone like—”

“He pushed me!”

“And that was wrong,” Trace agreed equably.

“Yeah, it was!” Eli glared at him, offended his father didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of Cory Deter’s actions.

“Okay, so maybe he is a stupid butt.”

Eli relaxed a bit.

“Just keep it between us, okay?” Trace pointed a finger at Eli, then swung it back toward himself, repeating the motion several times. “Our secret.”

“Everybody already knows he’s a butt.”

“Okay, whatever. You don’t have to say it again.”

“But Becky Tremont and her friend Tonia, they laughed at me.” Eli’s face was suddenly flushed with color. Embarrassment. Even at seven, what girls thought mattered.

“Don’t worry about them,” Trace said. “Hang in, okay? We’re almost there.” They reached the bottom of the hill just as the railroad crossing signs flashed and the alarms clanged, and Trace gritted his teeth as a train with graffiti-decorated boxcars and empty flatbeds sped past. Traffic backed up behind the crossing bars.

Come on, come on, he thought, frustrated with anything that slowed them down. He was worried about his son, wondered how badly he was hurt. “We’re almost there,” he said again and patted a hand on Eli’s small shoulder.

Eventually the train passed, and they, along with a snake of other vehicles, were allowed to pass. One more stoplight and they’d be at the clinic.

“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?”