Farrah Rochon - Forever's Promise

“Don’t bother,” she said with a pout.

“It’s up to you whether or not you heed my medical advice,” he said, disregarding her disgruntled huff. He had zero tolerance for this kind of nonsense today.

As he backed out of the exam room, he spotted his favorite RN, Patricia Reyes, exiting the room across the hallway. She gestured to the room he’d just escaped from. “You figure out what was bothering that hot little thing in there?”

“According to her, it’s stomach pains,” Xavier answered.

“Yeah, right. I think she’s suffering from Horny Woman Syndrome. It’s been going around since a certain doctor pulled into town.”

Xavier pitched his head back and massaged the bridge of his nose. “I swear I’m not doing anything to encourage them.”

“You don’t have to, darling. You’re young, single, handsome and a doctor. You’re like a virus that every desperate woman within a twenty-mile radius wants to catch.”

“Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.”

Patricia’s laughter followed him as he made his way to the small employees’ lounge and poured himself a cup of six-hour-old coffee. He didn’t bother with sugar or cream; this was purely for survival. He’d pulled a double shift and was dead on his feet.

The door opened and Bruce Saunders, who was currently one of only two permanent E.R. physicians at Maplesville General, walked in.

“How’s it going?” Bruce asked. “I heard you had another female patient with a mysterious ailment who refused to see any doctor but Dr. Wright.”

Xavier held his hands out, exasperation weighing his shoulders down. “In the month that I’ve been here I swear that’s the tenth woman who’s managed to get past triage with some trumped-up illness.”

“This place hasn’t been this busy in a while.” Bruce chuckled, pouring himself a cup of the stale coffee. “At least some good has come from it. Yesterday, Patricia discovered that Etta Mae Watson had a staph infection on the back of her leg that she knew nothing about. Chasing after you probably saved her life.”

The door opened again, and another of the nurses said, “We have two patients waiting. A vomiting three-year-old and Jackson Pritchard with chest pains.”

“I’ll take Mr. Pritchard,” Bruce said. “I had to crack his chest open a couple of years ago.”

“He’s behind trauma curtain three. Dr. Wright, I put the three-year-old in the private exam room.”

Xavier downed the rest of his lukewarm coffee in one gulp and headed out of the lounge. At least he didn’t have to worry about a three-year-old faking an illness in hopes of being seen by the shiny new doctor.

He punched the number the nurse gave him into his electronic tablet and pulled up the patient’s chart before entering the room. The younger of two little girls was seated on the exam table. Her mother stood to the left of her, rubbing a soothing hand along the little girl’s back. One side of her shirt was streaked with a yellowish substance.

“What do we have here?” Xavier asked.

“I don’t know what’s going on with her,” the mom said. The slight tremble in her voice betrayed the anxiety she was likely trying to hide for the sake of her daughters.

Xavier waited for her to catch his gaze. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “We’ll take care of her.”

The mother nodded, though her eyes teemed with distress.

“Let’s have a look.” He leaned the child back on the table and lightly pressed her stomach. Her face contorted and she sat up straight. Xavier backed away just in time. She unloaded brilliant yellow vomit all over the floor and her hospital gown.

“There she goes again,” the older girl said.

“How many times has she vomited?” Xavier asked the mother as he grabbed a clean hospital gown from a small closet and ripped off the plastic. He lifted the soiled gown and draped the fresh one over the girl.

“I’m not sure,” the mother said.

She looked to the older child, who said in a soft voice, “Three times, I think.”

“So this would make four,” the mother said. “No, five. Someone needs to clean the parking lot outside.”

Xavier sent her a reassuring smile. “I’ll let maintenance know.”

“Is it bile?” the mother asked. “She’s vomiting bile, isn’t she?”

“Nah, it’s not bile,” Xavier said. He dipped his head, bringing it to eye level with the toddler. “What I want to know is why is it such a pretty color? Have you been eating candy?”

The little girl shook her head.

“You sure?” Xavier asked.

“I promise,” she said in a thready whisper.

The mother plopped a hand on her forehead. “Oh, God. I know what it is.” She looked to the older girl. “Did you two try dyeing eggs?” The question was met with complete silence. “Cassidy, I told you to wait until I woke from my nap.” She turned his attention to him. “I should have suspected this from the start.”

Xavier’s bullshit meter started to buzz. He wasn’t the world’s greatest parenting expert, but this seemed sketchy. What mother would leave two young children unsupervised with egg-dyeing materials in plain view?

“Were you using regular food coloring, or was it one of those egg-dyeing kits?” Xavier asked the mother.

“It’s a kit.”

“It’s probably nontoxic, but you’ll need to check the packaging just to make sure.” He stooped to the little girl’s eye level. “I’m going to get Nurse Patricia to give you some medicine. It will make you throw up again, but then I promise you’ll feel a lot better.”

The mother’s shoulders wilted in relief. She ran a hand along the little girl’s arm.

Xavier had not seen a phonier display of concern since he arrived in Maplesville. It pissed him off, because she’d had him going there for a moment with her fearful, worried act.

He straightened back to his full height and addressed the mother. “Mom, can I speak to you out in the hallway?”

A moment’s confusion flashed across her face before she shook her head and said, “I’m Kristi’s aunt, not her mom.”

Even worse. Using her niece.

“The hallway?” Xavier repeated, motioning to the door. “Wait here one minute,” he said once they’d exited the room. He went over to the nurse’s station and relayed orders to Patricia, then gestured for the aunt to follow him to the small alcove that housed the vending machines and a water fountain.

As soon as they were out of earshot of the rest of the E.R.’s occupants, he turned and said, “The only reason I’m not calling child protective services is because your niece will be fine once the ipecac makes her throw up the rest of the dye she ingested, but pull something like this again and I’ll have CPS out here before you can blink.”

The woman’s head reared back. “Excuse me?”

“Feeding a three-year-old dye?”

Her eyes grew wide. “You think I gave her the dye?”

“Don’t even try it.” Xavier crossed his arms over his chest, a disdainful sneer on his lips. “The women in this town have done some outrageous things to get into my E.R., but you came very close to crossing a line.”

Her expression morphed from shock to rage.

“Are you serious? You think I tried to poison my own niece just to meet you?” She waved her hands down the front of her body. “Do I look like I’m on the prowl for a damn man?”

Xavier took a moment to study her appearance, from her hair, that looked as if she had just gotten out of bed, to the vomit-covered T-shirt and Minnie Mouse house slippers on her feet. She hadn’t bothered with fancy clothes and the full makeup routine as the other women who’d come here trying to hit on him. She looked like someone who’d grabbed a sick child and hauled ass to the E.R.