A Family-Style Christmas and Yuletide Homecoming Read online

  A blast from a motorcycle passing them made her jump. It zoomed ahead then slowed as the cab caught up. Puzzled, she watched, wondering what the motorcycle driver was doing. She found out as soon as the cab came up beside him again. In the bright streetlights, she saw the driver look sideways and, with a cheeky grin, wink at her.

  Caitlin only stared back as he kept pace, still looking at her. He didn’t look like anyone she would know. His well-shaped mouth had an insolent twist to it, his eyes shaded by his helmet seemed to laugh at her. Not her type.

  Then he tossed a wave in her direction and with a twist of his wrist and a flick of his foot, was off again.

  Caitlin shook her head at his audacity, watching as he wove expertly around the cab and the vehicle slightly ahead of them. Then a car swerved unexpectedly.

  She heard a sickening thud as the car hit the biker. The bike wove once, then dropped, spinning in one direction while the driver shot off in another.

  The cab driver slammed on the brakes and swerved to miss the driver.

  “Stop,” yelled Caitlin, leaning over the seat. “I’m a nurse. Stop.”

  The cabbie screeched to a halt twenty feet away from the driver, who now lay in a crumpled heap on the side of the road.

  The car that caused the accident slowed, then sped away.

  Caitlin’s breath left her in a swoosh, her hands shaking as she fumbled for the catch on the door. Finally she pushed it open and shot out of the cab. She ran to the driver who was moaning softly.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she breathed at the sound. He was still alive.

  Ignoring the expensive hose bought for this, her special night, the drizzle dripping down her neck, she dropped onto the wet pavement.

  The cabbie came up behind her. “I called an ambulance, and the police,” he said.

  “Get me something to cover him with,” she called out, as she automatically did her own assessment of the situation, drawing on her limited experience with emergencies. The man had a pulse, was breathing, albeit shallowly, and blood from a head injury ran in an ugly rivulet down his forehead. His leg was twisted at a grotesque angle. His leather coat was ripped.

  Possible broken femur and spine injury, Caitlin thought, noting the angle of his leg. He was in big trouble. She knelt close to keep him from moving, her finger on his pulse as she counted and prayed.

  The cab driver came back with an overcoat. “This is the best I could do. I got a first-aid kit, too.”

  Caitlin opened the kit as he spread the coat over the prone man. Right about now she regretted not having had more emergency training. In her ward at the hospital, she only got the patients from the operating room or emergency. All the critical care had been done by either paramedics or emergency room nurses.

  Caitlin willed the ambulance to come, praying as she dug through the kit for a bandage to stop the bleeding from the most serious cut on his head. Her sore knees trembled with tension, she almost shivered in the damp weather, but she was afraid to shift position.

  The man at her feet moaned, tried to roll over but was stopped by Caitlin’s knees. He cried out, and his eyes flew open, staring straight up at Caitlin. “Hey, angel, you found me,” he murmured, then his face twisted in pain.

  Caitlin felt relief sluice through her in an icy wave even as she steeled herself against the sounds of his pain. Thankfully he was conscious. That meant no major head injury other than the cut on his temple. She carefully laid the pad on his head wound, applying pressure. “Can you feel your hands, your feet?”

  “Yeah.” She could tell that even that one word was an effort. “Feel too much.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Doesn’t matter...” He bit his lip. “Please stay.”

  “Are you allergic to anything?”

  “No.” He blinked, looking up at her, then arched his back and cried out again, grabbing her hand.

  Caitlin winced at his strength. “Can you tell me where it hurts the most?”

  “Everywhere.” His words were slurred, and Caitlin feared he would lose consciousness after all.

  “What’s your name?” she repeated.

  “You’re a pain,” he mumbled, still clinging to her hand. “Everything’s a pain.” He squeezed her hand, hard, moaning. “Who are you, angel?”

  “I’m Caitlin. Tell me your name. Stay with me.”

  But though his hand clung tightly, he wouldn’t answer.

  “Please, Lord, keep him with us,” she prayed aloud. “Keep him safe, help him. Please send that ambulance, now.”

  She watched him as she prayed. His eyes were shut, his lashes lying in dark spikes against his high cheekbones. His hair hung over his forehead, some of the strands caught in the trickle of blood from the wound on his forehead, curling in the damp.

  He looked to be in his late twenties, well built, she reasoned from the weight of his body against her legs, the breadth of his shoulders. It made his vulnerability all the more heart-wrenching. Caitlin wanted to check his pulse, but his hand still held hers in a death grip.

  “Can I do anything?” The cab driver hovered over her.

  Caitlin glanced over her shoulder, feeling utterly helpless.

  “Pray the ambulance comes quickly,” she said, shivering with reaction. The wind had picked up, chilling her.

  In her peripheral vision she saw a few people coming out of their houses, some offering help. Someone even dropped a coat across her shoulders.

  The victim’s hand still clutched hers. Thankfully the flow of blood from his forehead eased, and Caitlin could put her finger on his pulse. It was weak, but then his grip loosened and his pulse slowed. Her prayers became more urgent as his eyes remained closed and beneath her trembling fingers she felt his life ebb away.

  “Please, Lord, don’t let him go. He’s so young,” she whispered, watching him. Nothing.

  His breathing slowed.

  Caitlin lifted his hand, clasped it against hers, her other hand still on his nonexistent pulse. Please don’t take him.

  Then, suddenly, his pulse returned, his hand tightened on hers.

  His eyes fluttered open.

  “You’re still praying,” he gasped.

  “Yes, I am,” Caitlin replied, relief turning her bones to rubber. He was still with her, he was still alive. “Thank you, Lord,” she breathed.

  She knew it wasn’t over yet. His broken femur and the accompanying loss of blood were life threatening.

  But she was reassured by the solid answer she received—a touch of God’s hand on the situation.

  “You’re wasting your time praying,” he said, his teeth clenched against the pain.

  “No, I’m not,” Caitlin whispered, shaky with reaction.

  Then came the welcome wail of an ambulance’s sirens and its blue and red lights, flashing through the gathering dusk.

  “What happened?” A paramedic ran up to Caitlin while the driver jumped out and pulled the stretcher out of the back.

  “Motorcycle accident.” As relief weakened her legs, she forced herself to stay calm, to be the professional nurse she was, relating what she had seen of the accident and how she’d treated his injuries. The police could deal with the driver of the car. She was more concerned about her patient. As the older of the paramedics immediately positioned himself at the victim’s head, stabilizing it, she said, “I’m a nurse so tell me what to do.”

  “Just step back for now, ma’am.”

  She quickly got up and out of the way, her knees aching. She drew the stranger’s coat around her, shivering against the chill wind.

  The paramedic at the victim’s head had his knees on either side, stabilizing him as he checked his breathing, the pulse at his throat. “Give me O2, ten liters, non-rebreather,” he called out to his partner as he lifted the victim’
s eyelids.

  “He’s conscious. Superficial head injury,” the young paramedic said as he started an IV.

  “I need a C collar, large.”

  “Spine seems okay, no internal injuries so far. Fracture of right femur. Both arms, okay. Possible sprain.”

  “Got the fracture stabilized.”

  “Let’s get him on the board.”

  The older paramedic at his head looked up at Caitlin. “We’ll need your help, now, ma’am.”

  She nodded, and positioned herself. “Watch for that fracture,” she couldn’t help saying.

  “On three.” They rolled him onto the board, the paramedic still holding his head. With quick, efficient movements they had the victim strapped in, stabilizing him. Someone handed her her purse while she watched. The paramedics placed foam on either side of his head, taped the foam in, strapped the spine board on the stretcher and slid him into the ambulance, headfirst. It was all done with a calm efficiency that drew Caitlin along, comforting her. Routine she understood. What she didn’t understand was her reluctance to let this man go.

  “I’m coming,” Caitlin decided suddenly. She handed the coat to someone and scooted into the ambulance before it sped away.

  Caitlin’s head ached in the overly bright lights of the ambulance’s interior as she braced herself against the movement. She sat down on the long bench beside the stretcher. Vaguely she heard the driver on the radio, “Patch me into the hospital...”

  Caitlin felt as if her breath still had to catch up to her.

  The older paramedic switched the oxygen to a fixture in the wall of the ambulance.

  “What can I do?” she asked, reaction setting in. She was a nurse, and she needed to be busy.

  “Here’s a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope. Get me a set of vitals.” He smiled at her as he handed her the equipment. “I’m Stan.”

  “I’m Caitlin.” She unrolled the cuff and stuck the stethoscope in her ears.

  “Hey, guy, you with me?” Stan asked the victim while he did a head-to-toe check again, opening the patient’s leather jacket and his shirt to check his chest and stomach. “What’s his name?” he asked Caitlin, as he worked.

  “I don’t know.” Caitlin looked up at Stan, then down at the patient. His face was hidden by the oxygen mask, his eyes shut. His skin had a waxy pallor that concerned her.

  The driver called back, “Is he awake?”

  “Yes, but poor response. He’s a little shocky,” said Stan, as he steadied himself in the moving ambulance.

  “Vitals are b.p. 118 on 76, pulse 116, respirations 24,” Caitlin told him, pulling the stethoscope out of her ears.

  Stan nodded as he pressed on the patient’s sternum. The ambulance swayed around a corner and then with a short wail of sirens, came to a stop.

  “Let’s go, Caitlin,” Stan said as he pulled a blanket over the patient. The door swung open, and Caitlin grabbed the coat and purse, exiting with the stretcher into a murmur of voices.

  She strode alongside the stretcher as they entered the warmth and light of the hospital, watching the unknown man. His eyes flickered open, looked wildly around.

  Caitlin lightly touched his face and he homed in on her. He blinked, and through the oxygen mask she saw his lips move. He lifted his hand toward her, then with a grimace of pain, faded away again.

  Stan gave the triage nurse and doctor a quick rundown of what he knew and what they had done.

  “Put him in the trauma room,” she said and Caitlin stood back while they wheeled the stranger down the hall and away from her.

  It was over, but she still couldn’t walk away.

  Caitlin felt the noise and heat press in on her aching head. For a brief moment, she felt all alone in a room full of people caught up in their own pains and sorrows.

  She found an empty chair and sat on the edge, bunching her purse on her lap. Unbelievably the delicate shawl was still wound around her shoulder but her nylons sported a large hole in one knee, she noted with a disoriented feeling.

  As an orthopedic nurse she rarely saw death. When she did, it was in a hospital setting where there was immediate help. Routine. What she had seen tonight was raw and powerful—a potent reminder of how fragile life was.

  She heard a measured tread and looked up as the paramedic named Stan stood in front of her.

  “Caitlin, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She smiled weakly up at him, surprised he remembered her name. “How is he?”

  “They’ve got him stabilized. They’re going to get him into O.R. right away. He’s been asking for you by name. Do you know him?”

  “No. I gave my name when I was trying to find out about him.” Caitlin frowned, surprised this man who must be in a tremendous amount of pain would remember her. “Can I see him?”

  “He’s headed for the operation room. But if you wait, you might catch a glimpse of him as he’s wheeled by.”

  Caitlin got up, her knees still trembling. She followed Stan down the hallway, her shoes clicking loudly on the floor. “Just wait here,” he said. “I’ve got to go now. Take care, Caitlin.”

  Nodding, Caitlin waited until the curtain on the cubicle was pushed aside and the stretcher wheeled out.

  Caitlin caught up to the stretcher, walking quickly alongside it.

  “Are you Caitlin?” the nurse pushing the stretcher asked.

  “Yes,” Caitlin replied quietly, looking down at the stranger, his face still obscured by the oxygen mask. His eyes were open, focused intently on her, his hair still matted with blood. Caitlin couldn’t stop staring at him. His high cheekbones and full mouth gave his features a fascinating appeal.

  He reached out for her and once again, Caitlin caught his hand. “You’ll be okay,” she said as they hurried down the hallway. “I’ll be praying for you. You’re in good hands.”

  “I am now,” he said, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask, his hand squeezing hers.

  Chapter Two

  This is ridiculous, Caitlin thought as she strode down the hallway to her own unit. You don’t know anything about that motorcycle victim. He’s not your concern. For the past two hours she had wandered around the emergency department then gone for coffee. It was now nine-thirty, and she’d decided to see this through to the end and go up to the ward where the unknown man would be taken after surgery.

  It was the best way she knew of avoiding home and facing the questions of her family when she showed up there. It seemed the only logical thing to do.

  Sort of logical, she thought, ignoring her self-doubts over this impulsive, un-Caitlin-like behavior.

  She approached the desk of the ward she had been working at since she graduated from nursing school. It was as familiar to her as her own street.

  And so was the face of the nurse at the desk.

  “Hey, Caitlin, what are you doing here?” Danielle asked, leaning her elbows on the desk, fully prepared to chat. “Thought you and Charles had a date?”

  “We did. I cut it short.” She knew she had taken a chance coming up here instead of going home. Danielle Jones and Caitlin had been friends since nursing school. Danielle knew all Caitlin’s secrets. But coming to her ward seemed the less painful of two evils. “You busy?”

  “Steady. Got a guy coming up from O.R. in a while. Motorcycle accident.”

  Caitlin felt a guilty flush climb up her cheeks. “I know,” she said. “I saw it happen.”

  Danielle frowned, shaking her head. “That must have been horrible. That why you cut your date with Charles short?” She glanced over Caitlin’s dress. “By the way you look gorgeous, sweetie. That bronze dress sets off your blond hair just perfectly.”

  “Thanks,” Caitlin said, ignoring her first question. She walked around the desk, glancing at the assignment board. “Mrs.
Johnson’s been discharged over the weekend?”

  “She had a miraculous recovery when her reluctant daughter said she would come to the house to help.” Danielle picked up a pen, made a few more notes on a chart then looked back up at Caitlin. “So, how is the very handsome Charles Frost?”

  Caitlin felt a pain clutch her chest at the mention of her boyfriend’s name. Ex-boyfriend she reminded herself. “He got a promotion,” she murmured, flipping through some papers on the desk, deliberately avoiding the reality of what she had done.

  “Wow, you must be pleased.”

  “As punch.” Caitlin stopped her pointless fiddling.

  “You don’t sound pleased.” Danielle tapped the pencil on the desk. “Sit down. I’ve got time.”

  Caitlin was just about to say no, but Danielle looked concerned and she needed a sympathetic ear. Who better than her best friend? So she sat down, unwinding her shawl from her neck.

  Danielle reached over and laid a gentle hand on her friend’s shoulder. “What’s wrong, Caitlin?”

  She opted for the direct approach and told her the day’s events.

  “I broke up with Charles tonight,” she said, her tone deliberate.

  “What?”

  “He said he had good news.” Caitlin plowed on, ignoring Danielle’s expression of utter surprise. “Unfortunately like an optimistic idiot, I thought he meant...” Her voice trailed off as she took a quick breath, embarrassed.

  “He was going to propose.” Danielle finished off the sentence.

  “I should have known,” Caitlin said angrily, crushing the scarf on her lap. She loosed it, carefully smoothing it out again, glancing up at her friend. “The past few months we’ve been drifting apart, but I kept hoping things would change for both of us,” she said with a wry laugh.

  “Well, then, it’s a good thing you broke up with him. If I find out in a couple of dates this isn’t the kind of guy I want to spend the rest of my life with, phwwt...” Danielle made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Out he goes. Companionship I can get from my friends and pets. Hanging on is a waste of time.”