Bride for a Single Dad. Laura Iding
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let her go, not like this. Reaching across the table, he caught her hand. “Jillian, wait.”
She froze, staring down at their joined hands. Then she looked up at him, her gaze uncertain. “For what?”
Stroking a thumb over the soft skin of her hand, he held her gaze. “You dropped the forceps in the ED and now this. Jillian, you’re not a klutz. But you certainly seem upset. I hope you don’t mind my asking, but is something wrong?”
There was a long pause, but then she tugged her hand from his. “I honestly don’t know. But, really, I do need to get going. Please, excuse me.” She picked up her purse. “Thanks for lunch, Alec. I hope you hear from the hospital administration soon so you can find the person you’re searching for.”
He watched her walk away, feeling bad about the abrupt way she’d pulled away from him. He also couldn’t help wondering what was wrong. She’d said she didn’t know but, as a physician, she must have an idea.
He signaled for the check, sternly reminding himself that Jillian’s medical problems weren’t any of his concern. His problem was to find the person stealing percocets from the hospital and putting them in the hands of children.
No way was he searching for anything on a personal level. Especially not a potential wife for himself or mother for Shelby.
* * *
Jillian spent the rest of her weekend trying to wrench the image of Alec talking to his daughter out of her head. She had thought him an attractive man before she’d known about his daughter. Yes, it had been a bit of a shock to find out he was a dad, but seeing him in his sensitive caring mode had made trying to pry him out of her mind even harder.
Reading professional medical journals helped to a certain extent, because there was always so much to learn. After a couple of hours, though, her mind drifted back to Alec. Disgusted, she considered calling the ED to see if they needed additional help. Anything was better than sitting around, dwelling on her lack of a personal life.
Especially when the void hadn’t bothered her until now.
When her phone rang early Saturday evening, she was surprised and just a little disappointed when the caller was one of her colleagues, Craig Bartlet.
“Hey, Jillian. Would you do me a favor?”
“Sure.” At the moment she would have agreed to almost anything. “What do you need? Someone to cover your shift?”
“Sort of. Trinity Medical Center and Children’s Memorial Hospital are sponsoring the Festival of the Arts down at the lakefront this weekend. I’m supposed to be volunteering in the first-aid station tomorrow, but my son is sick. Would you mind taking my shift from one to four in the afternoon?”
“Sure.” Helping out in the first-aid station didn’t sound too hard. And besides, she didn’t mind a little volunteer work.
“Thanks a lot, Jillian.” Greg sounded relieved. “I owe you.”
“No, you don’t. It’s not a big deal at all. Just take care of yourself and your son.”
“I will.”
The next day Jillian headed down to the lakefront early, so she could make sure to find a parking spot. The art museum was a beautiful modern white structure overlooking the shores of Lake Michigan. There were various art displays set up along the lakefront and she took a few minutes to browse through works by local artists before heading over to the small trailer with the universal red cross on the front.
There was a man and a woman inside. The guy looked somewhat familiar. He stepped forward. “Hi. Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m Dr. Jillian Davis, I’m here to cover Craig’s shift.”
“Ah, that explains it. I didn’t think you were Craig.” His green eyes twinkled. “I’m Adam, and my shift is over.” He glanced at the woman. “Mary, would you mind giving Jillian the rundown of how we’re set up?”
“No problem.” The woman smiled at her. “I’m Mary Drover, the person who’s stuck here all day.” She rolled her eyes at Adam when he laughed. “Thanks for helping out. When I’m not here, you can get in touch with me on this two-way radio.”
“Nice meeting you, Jillian. See you later, Mary.” Adam gave them both a little wave as he left the trailer.
Mary spent a few minutes showing her around. The trailer was set up very much like a mini-emergency room.
“All right, I’m going to walk around outside for a while,” Mary told her. “Remember to call me if you need me.”
Jillian nodded. She hadn’t known what to expect from the first-aid station, but alone in the trailer, she looked around and thought maybe she should have brought something to read in order to keep busy.
It turned out her optimism was premature. Within ten minutes she heard a little boy crying and a young mother rushed in, her blouse smeared with blood. “My son Joey fell and hit the back of his head on the pavement.”
“All right, let’s take a look.” Jillian indicated the mother should set Joey, who looked to be about five, on the small exam table. They boy was still crying and she tried to soothe him while she examined the back of his head. “There, now, Joey, it’s all right. I know your head hurts, but you’re fine now.” Luckily the cut was pretty small, but there was some tissue swelling. “I don’t think it needs stitches,” she said to his mother. “But he does have a small lump here and I’d like to apply a cold pack.”
“No stitches? Are you sure? There was so much blood!” The woman held onto the boy, trying to ease his crying.
“Head wounds bleed a lot, but we’ll use the ice first and see how it goes.” Jillian smiled at the boy as his sobs quieted to smaller hiccups. She cracked a cold pack and mixed the chemical contents to activate it before placing it on his head. “There now, you’re so brave. How would you like a lollipop? If your mom says it’s OK,” she amended.
“Sure.” Joey’s mother appeared relieved when her son stopped crying and chose a grape sucker. “Thanks. I’m glad it’s not serious.”
“No, he should be fine.” Jillian wondered if most of the patients she’d see during the afternoon would be children. She didn’t really mind. Sometimes kids came into the Trinity Medical Center’s ED by mistake, instead of going to Children’s Memorial, which was right next door. She wasn’t a pediatrician by trade, but she could handle kids if needed.
Her next patient proved her theory wrong, when a frail elderly lady came in, after nearly fainting in the heat.
Jillian managed to get the woman to drink some Gatorade and assessed her to make sure she wasn’t having some sort of stroke or any other undiagnosed illness. However, after about thirty minutes, the woman seemed much better and Jillian allowed her to leave, although she cautioned her that if she became light-headed again to call 911.
“I will, dear. Thank you.”
The trailer was quiet for another fifteen minutes before her door opened again.
“Jillian!”
She was just as surprised to see Alec, holding a young girl whose heart-shaped face was streaked with tears. “Alec. What’s wrong?”
“Shelby’s arm swelled up from a bee sting.” He set his daughter on the exam table.
“Is she allergic?” Jillian asked, getting another cold pack ready.
“I don’t know.” Alec looked worried. “She’s never been stung by a bee before. I figured we needed to come here just in case she needed some epinephrine.”
Smart thinking on Alec’s part. “Hi, Shelby, my name is Dr. Jillian.” The girl’s sobs had quieted to small sniffles. Gently taking Shelby’s arm, she examined the large reddened area right above her elbow. “Do you remember what happened?”
“A