Margaret Watson - A Thanksgiving To Remember

Tina’s temper flared. “You know that’s not true in an emergency,” she said, her voice cold. “He was alone in the car and the police haven’t brought his ID in yet. I’m sure you’ll get the information as soon as it’s available. But we need that scan now.”

The technician gave her patient a dubious glance, then shrugged. “If you say so. All I do is fill out the paperwork.”

Tina smoothed a protective hand over the bandage on the unconscious man’s head as she struggled to control her temper.

He came around the desk to help her push the gurney into a cubicle. “They’re not exactly standing in line here at two in the morning.”

Tina stood in the waiting room while the technician performed the tests on her patient, pacing from one side to the other. “What’s the matter with you?” she muttered to herself. “This guy is just another patient.”

But he wasn’t just another patient. For some reason, Tina felt unusually protective toward the unnamed man. Maybe it was because he was completely helpless and alone, no one waiting anxiously for him in the waiting room, no one to hold his hand as he lay unconscious. Or maybe it was because of the doctor’s quick, careless assumption that he was a criminal.

Or maybe it was because she found him attractive. She forced herself to face the truth. Even though his face was pasty-white and a bandage covered half his head, he was still a very handsome man. Thick eyelashes fanned out against his pale cheeks. His face was lean, but there were lines around his eyes that told her he smiled frequently. She wondered what color those eyes were, wondered if she would see kindness or indifference in them when he woke up.

It didn’t matter, she told herself, appalled at the direction her thoughts were taking. She didn’t moon over men she was nursing. She was a professional, dedicated to giving her patients the best care she possibly could. And as a professional, she didn’t get involved with her patients, either.

Thank goodness she had remembered that, she told herself firmly.

The door to the X-ray cubicle opened and the technician wheeled out the gurney. “Here’s your boy,” he said, maneuvering the gurney into place next to the desk.

“What did you find?” Tina found herself leaning toward the technician, her heart pounding.

The technician shrugged. “I have no idea. The radiologist has been busy tonight and it’ll be a while before he gets to your scans. A lot of people got hurt in that mess at the Steeles’ ball. After David and Lisa Steele got themselves shot, everyone panicked and tried to get out at the same time. They’re still getting people into the emergency room.”

“You’re right. I just thought you might have taken a look.”

The technician shook his head. “I put them in the box for the doc to look at. He’ll get to them as soon as he can.”

“All right.” Tina swallowed her disappointment. The technician wasn’t the one who would diagnose any problems, anyway. “I’ll go ahead and take him up to his room.”

The unnamed man lay still and unmoving as Tina pushed the heavy gurney to the elevator, then rolled him into the room he’d been assigned. She was absurdly happy that he was on the floor where she usually worked. His breathing was steady and regular as she hooked him up to the monitors that would keep track of his vital signs. Finally, when she was finished, she stood back and looked at him for a moment.

Lights flashed and blinked, and a low, steady hum seemed to fill the room. The numbers on the monitor attached to his intravenous line glowed at her, and she looked around at the stark, cheerless room. Anyone who woke up alone in a hospital room would be frightened and confused.

She didn’t want this man to wake up with only machines for company. Although her legs ached after working for more than twelve hours and her tired eyes were gritty and hot, she sat down in the chair next to the bed.

She’d only been there for a few minutes when someone walked into the room. Tina turned around and faced a beefy man in a slightly-too-small suit who walked over to the bed and stared down at her patient.

“Is he awake yet?”

She jumped up from her chair and stepped between the man and her patient, and the man took a step backward. “Who are you?” she demanded.

He pulled a wallet out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket and flashed a badge at her. “Detective Bob Jones, Grand Springs Police Department.” He held the badge in front of her nose long enough for her to read it, then snapped the wallet shut and replaced it in his pocket. He nodded toward the bed. “Is he awake?”

“No, he’s still unconscious,” Tina answered.

Bob Jones peered around her at the man on the bed, as if he suspected she wasn’t telling him the truth. “How long before he wakes up?”

“No one knows,” she said coolly. “And when he does wake up, it may be a while before you can question him.”

The detective glanced over at her, and Tina felt him assessing her. Finally he nodded. “I’ll talk to his doctor,” he said, his voice dismissive.

“He’ll tell you the same thing.” Tina lifted her chin into the air.

The detective shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Tina glanced behind her, but her patient was still unconscious. “Have you found out who he was and located his family?” she asked.

“We found his driver’s license. His name is Tom Flynt. We’re trying to locate his family, but so far no luck.” He looked at her more intently. It felt like a laser had suddenly swung around on her. “Has he said anything to you?”

“He’s been unconscious since the paramedics brought him into the ER,” she said.

The detective’s gaze was penetrating as he watched her. “There’s something else you ought to know about this guy,” he said after a moment.

Tina bristled at the way the detective referred to her patient as “this guy.”

“What’s that?”

Jones nodded at the man lying on the hospital bed. “The paramedics found a gun in a holster, strapped to his back.”

Tina felt her stomach swoop away from her. “What does that mean?”

“I’ve got no idea. But since David and Lisa Steele were shot and killed tonight and he ran out of the ball, it makes me very interested in talking to Mr. Flynt.” He paused, and his shrewd gaze raked over her again, pausing at her name tag. “Keep that in mind, Ms. White. And let me know when he wakes up.”

He turned and walked out the door without looking back.

Tina listened to his footsteps fade away, then sank back down in the chair next to the bed. “Who are you?” she whispered, watching his face.

But he didn’t move, didn’t respond. She would have to wait until he woke up for answers, just like everyone else. “At least we know your name now,” she said. “Your name is Tom. Tom Flynt.”

She watched for some sign that he had heard her, some glimmer of recognition, but there was nothing. Sighing, she leaned forward and rested her arms on the bed rail. “You can wake up anytime now,” she said. “Everyone wants to know what you were doing at the ball, and why you ran out of the hotel. Why were you there, Tom Flynt? Were you chasing a killer?”

Her voice was low in the darkened room, but her attention was focused completely on her patient. “I don’t think you shot the Steeles,” she murmured. “You don’t look like a criminal.”

She blushed when she heard her words, wondering where they had come from. It was too late and she was too tired, she told herself. It made her speak before she thought. But it didn’t matter. No one else could hear her, least of all the unconscious Tom Flynt.

Better, though, to concentrate on her job. His right hand was curled slightly, and she took his fingers gently in hers. “You don’t want to crimp your IV line,” she said softly. Even though he couldn’t hear her, it felt right to talk to him, to let him know he wasn’t alone. “The night nurse wouldn’t like it if she had to get someone up here to start another IV.”