Read Online Not Just a Cowboy (Texas Rescue) by Caro Carson - Free Book Online
Authors: Caro Carson
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wanted to be sure her staff got to eat first. All of her staff, including the temporarily assigned fire crews. Still, she could get coffee. She refused to have so weak a stomach that she couldn’t tolerate coffee.
She entered the mess tent just as Karen was scooping mashed potatoes from the steam tray into a portable plastic container. “The Red Cross called, just like you said they would. We’re giving them our leftover food.”
“These aren’t leftovers. We need this food.”
Karen stopped in mid-scoop, surprised. “Dinner hours are over. Everyone’s eaten.”
“No, they haven’t. The fire crews are still out there.” Patricia wanted to yank the giant spoon out of Karen’s hand. She clenched her clipboard tighter instead.
“Oh, that fire might go until dawn. You never know.” With a plop, Karen dumped more mashed potatoes into the plastic container.
“Don’t do that.” Patricia’s tone of voice made Karen and the cook both look at her oddly. She realized she’d stretched out her hand to physically stop Karen.
She snatched her hand back. “I haven’t eaten yet. How about emergency? Has anyone checked with them to be sure they’ve all had their break?” Feeling clumsy, she switched her radio back to the hospital channel, ready to call the ER.
She had to wait. Others were talking on the channel, but she shot Karen a look that made her wait, too. Don’t you dare give away one more scoop of those mashed potatoes. What kind of supervisor gave away her own people’s food?
Patricia was being a little irrational, and she knew it. The rules of safe food handling wouldn’t allow them to keep food warm until dawn, but Patricia couldn’t let go of this idea that she had to have dinner with Luke. He’d wanted to eat a meal with her, and she’d made a big deal out of saying no, although he’d been thoughtful enough to bring her a sandwich the night before.
The radio traffic caught her attention. The ER had definitely been too busy to eat. A firefighter had fallen from a ladder. Too many bones broken to treat here; no MRI facility on site to be certain organs weren’t perforated. A med-evac helicopter was on its way to transport him to San Antonio. Patricia had been listening to the town’s police radio when the real news had been right here in her own hospital.
“Don’t touch that food,” Patricia ordered, and she threw open the door and left the tent. Her neat and orderly complex seemed like a maze in the dark, and she nearly tripped on a tent’s spike as she tried to take a shortcut to the emergency room.
A fireman fell from a ladder. His arms must have been tired. Luke’s arms were tired. I made him swing a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer! After he’d come into my tent exhausted from cutting down trees with an ax the day before. He fell from the ladder. His arms were tired.
She didn’t know which firefighter it was, of course. There were firefighters in town from all over Texas. She just wanted desperately to get to the ER to find out, because she was being irrational and weak and she hated herself for it.
The helicopter sounded close. Patricia started running.
Chapter Seven
S he was too late.
The lights over the emergency room’s door were bright enough for Patricia to see a stretcher being rolled to the waiting helicopter by personnel in scrubs. They had a distance to go, because the helicopter had landed as far from the tent city as possible. Wind from the blades still beat rhythmically at the complex. Strands of Patricia’s hair came loose from her bun and whipped painfully at her eyes.
She cleared them away and blinked twice at the group of firemen who were walking past her. They were absolutely filthy, their heads uncovered, their coats undone. Underneath, they wore polo shirts instead of black Ts. Houston, their coats read.
Patricia, breathing a bit hard from her short run, counted them silently. Six. Were there usually six people manning a ladder truck? Was there a seventh
She entered the mess tent just as Karen was scooping mashed potatoes from the steam tray into a portable plastic container. “The Red Cross called, just like you said they would. We’re giving them our leftover food.”
“These aren’t leftovers. We need this food.”
Karen stopped in mid-scoop, surprised. “Dinner hours are over. Everyone’s eaten.”
“No, they haven’t. The fire crews are still out there.” Patricia wanted to yank the giant spoon out of Karen’s hand. She clenched her clipboard tighter instead.
“Oh, that fire might go until dawn. You never know.” With a plop, Karen dumped more mashed potatoes into the plastic container.
“Don’t do that.” Patricia’s tone of voice made Karen and the cook both look at her oddly. She realized she’d stretched out her hand to physically stop Karen.
She snatched her hand back. “I haven’t eaten yet. How about emergency? Has anyone checked with them to be sure they’ve all had their break?” Feeling clumsy, she switched her radio back to the hospital channel, ready to call the ER.
She had to wait. Others were talking on the channel, but she shot Karen a look that made her wait, too. Don’t you dare give away one more scoop of those mashed potatoes. What kind of supervisor gave away her own people’s food?
Patricia was being a little irrational, and she knew it. The rules of safe food handling wouldn’t allow them to keep food warm until dawn, but Patricia couldn’t let go of this idea that she had to have dinner with Luke. He’d wanted to eat a meal with her, and she’d made a big deal out of saying no, although he’d been thoughtful enough to bring her a sandwich the night before.
The radio traffic caught her attention. The ER had definitely been too busy to eat. A firefighter had fallen from a ladder. Too many bones broken to treat here; no MRI facility on site to be certain organs weren’t perforated. A med-evac helicopter was on its way to transport him to San Antonio. Patricia had been listening to the town’s police radio when the real news had been right here in her own hospital.
“Don’t touch that food,” Patricia ordered, and she threw open the door and left the tent. Her neat and orderly complex seemed like a maze in the dark, and she nearly tripped on a tent’s spike as she tried to take a shortcut to the emergency room.
A fireman fell from a ladder. His arms must have been tired. Luke’s arms were tired. I made him swing a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer! After he’d come into my tent exhausted from cutting down trees with an ax the day before. He fell from the ladder. His arms were tired.
She didn’t know which firefighter it was, of course. There were firefighters in town from all over Texas. She just wanted desperately to get to the ER to find out, because she was being irrational and weak and she hated herself for it.
The helicopter sounded close. Patricia started running.
Chapter Seven
S he was too late.
The lights over the emergency room’s door were bright enough for Patricia to see a stretcher being rolled to the waiting helicopter by personnel in scrubs. They had a distance to go, because the helicopter had landed as far from the tent city as possible. Wind from the blades still beat rhythmically at the complex. Strands of Patricia’s hair came loose from her bun and whipped painfully at her eyes.
She cleared them away and blinked twice at the group of firemen who were walking past her. They were absolutely filthy, their heads uncovered, their coats undone. Underneath, they wore polo shirts instead of black Ts. Houston, their coats read.
Patricia, breathing a bit hard from her short run, counted them silently. Six. Were there usually six people manning a ladder truck? Was there a seventh
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