have been driving around dazed and confused if her blood glucose levels were low. That would explain the chocolate….
The “normal” reading that flashed on the screen blew that theory. Still, Noah consoled himself as he drew her limp body forward, resting her head against his chest and pulling at the sodden T-shirt that clung to her like a second skin, he was a veterinarian, not some MD in a city hospital.
It wasn’t his fault he didn’t have all the answers.
After she was safely wrapped in a space blanket to raise her body temperature and he had checked her vital signs, Noah finally sat back on his heels and caught his breath.
Unconscious but stable, he thought with quiet satisfaction.
Now it was just a waiting game. Waiting for her tocome around. Waiting for help to arrive. Other than keeping her warm, what else could he do?
The gash that had been so pale was filling with blood now, reassuring Noah that her body was warming and her circulation was slowly returning to normal. He pulled out a wad of gauze and taped it to her cheek, then reached into his jeans for his cell phone. After pushing numbers for a moment or two, it occurred to him that his phone was as waterlogged as he was.
Maybe he was in shock, too. For the first time since he had witnessed the Jeep on the bridge, Noah’s own condition registered with him: the chattering lips, the cough that had racked his body since he had hauled her into the truck, the cut on his arm where her dog had bitten him. And he could sit here and wait as patiently as you please, but unless he let Mitch know where he was and what had happened, the help Noah had stupidly assumed would descend at any moment simply wasn’t going to appear.
No one knew they were here.
Reluctant to leave her, yet knowing he had to, Noah headed for the hall. Casting an anxious glance into the lounge, he picked up the phone, fully expecting a dial tone to fill his ear. He stood tapping the phone for the longest time before realization dawned: the lines were down.
Noah was too darn responsible for his own good sometimes, and though normally it didn’t faze him, at that moment his sense of responsibility threatened to overwhelm him. The mother of all storms was about to hit, he had a clinic full of animals and an unconscious stranger in his lounge, and no one knew she was here.
No one.
“So what are you gonna do, Noah?” Noah always spoke to himself, just as he spoke to his animals. Okay, he rarely received an eloquent response, but at least it made him feel as if there were an adult in the room. “Deal with it,” came his response, and Madge barked her approval as he dashed out to the clinic and poured a generous amount of antiseptic onto the bite on his arm and quickly bandaged it. Then he peeled off his wet clothes and changed into operating blues. Turning on the radio for the animals, he rounded up flashlights and batteries as the lights ominously flickered, a sure sign they were about to lose power. He wondered then if he should move the woman; bring her over to the small studio apartment he sometimes used at the clinic. He had the backup generator there. But after a moment’s contemplation he decided against it. She seemed comfortable where she was, and if need be, he could work by the beam of a flashlight to repair her cheek, or carry her over to the clinic and do it there. The most important thing now was to keep her still and warm.
W HO WAS SHE ?
Over and over the question buzzed through his mind.
Whoever she was, she needed his help, needed her cheek to be sutured and her scrapes bathed and dressed. Gathering the necessary equipment, Noah headed back into the house, wishing it wasn’t so in need of renovations, wishing the living room door he’d taken off the hinges in a moment of do-it-yourself madness was backin place so he could close it on the nervous animals that watched him.
“She’s going to be okay,” Noah said firmly to them. “But right now, I want you
The “normal” reading that flashed on the screen blew that theory. Still, Noah consoled himself as he drew her limp body forward, resting her head against his chest and pulling at the sodden T-shirt that clung to her like a second skin, he was a veterinarian, not some MD in a city hospital.
It wasn’t his fault he didn’t have all the answers.
After she was safely wrapped in a space blanket to raise her body temperature and he had checked her vital signs, Noah finally sat back on his heels and caught his breath.
Unconscious but stable, he thought with quiet satisfaction.
Now it was just a waiting game. Waiting for her tocome around. Waiting for help to arrive. Other than keeping her warm, what else could he do?
The gash that had been so pale was filling with blood now, reassuring Noah that her body was warming and her circulation was slowly returning to normal. He pulled out a wad of gauze and taped it to her cheek, then reached into his jeans for his cell phone. After pushing numbers for a moment or two, it occurred to him that his phone was as waterlogged as he was.
Maybe he was in shock, too. For the first time since he had witnessed the Jeep on the bridge, Noah’s own condition registered with him: the chattering lips, the cough that had racked his body since he had hauled her into the truck, the cut on his arm where her dog had bitten him. And he could sit here and wait as patiently as you please, but unless he let Mitch know where he was and what had happened, the help Noah had stupidly assumed would descend at any moment simply wasn’t going to appear.
No one knew they were here.
Reluctant to leave her, yet knowing he had to, Noah headed for the hall. Casting an anxious glance into the lounge, he picked up the phone, fully expecting a dial tone to fill his ear. He stood tapping the phone for the longest time before realization dawned: the lines were down.
Noah was too darn responsible for his own good sometimes, and though normally it didn’t faze him, at that moment his sense of responsibility threatened to overwhelm him. The mother of all storms was about to hit, he had a clinic full of animals and an unconscious stranger in his lounge, and no one knew she was here.
No one.
“So what are you gonna do, Noah?” Noah always spoke to himself, just as he spoke to his animals. Okay, he rarely received an eloquent response, but at least it made him feel as if there were an adult in the room. “Deal with it,” came his response, and Madge barked her approval as he dashed out to the clinic and poured a generous amount of antiseptic onto the bite on his arm and quickly bandaged it. Then he peeled off his wet clothes and changed into operating blues. Turning on the radio for the animals, he rounded up flashlights and batteries as the lights ominously flickered, a sure sign they were about to lose power. He wondered then if he should move the woman; bring her over to the small studio apartment he sometimes used at the clinic. He had the backup generator there. But after a moment’s contemplation he decided against it. She seemed comfortable where she was, and if need be, he could work by the beam of a flashlight to repair her cheek, or carry her over to the clinic and do it there. The most important thing now was to keep her still and warm.
W HO WAS SHE ?
Over and over the question buzzed through his mind.
Whoever she was, she needed his help, needed her cheek to be sutured and her scrapes bathed and dressed. Gathering the necessary equipment, Noah headed back into the house, wishing it wasn’t so in need of renovations, wishing the living room door he’d taken off the hinges in a moment of do-it-yourself madness was backin place so he could close it on the nervous animals that watched him.
“She’s going to be okay,” Noah said firmly to them. “But right now, I want you
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