Hoping and praying Hank McLeod wouldn’t die.
CHAPTER TWO
ONCE she’d managed to get the poor woman to calm down, Hailey took Mrs. McLeod to the family center waiting area, leaving her in the kind, compassionate care of the elderly volunteer behind the desk.
It was the nature of the emergency department to move quickly from one patient to the next. She loved emergency nursing but sometimes, like now, she regretted not being able to follow patients for longer than a few hours.
As she tried to get caught up with the rest of the patients on her team, she couldn’t prevent her gaze from straying to Dr. Carter. Those moments when they’d stared at each other while Mrs. McLeod had cried in her arms had touched her heart—a heart she’d assumed was long frozen.
Cedar Bluff was so different from the big city trauma center where she’d worked before. Here, it seemed as if everyone took their patient’s welfare more seriously. No, not more seriously, that wasn’t the right word.
Personally. The staff took their patient’s welfare personally. Maybe because the community was so close. Because they ran into each other at the grocery store, at church or even at the park.
“Hailey, I put another admission for you in room seven,” the charge nurse informed her.
“Okay, thanks.” It was just after six o’clock in the evening and she was somewhat surprised she hadn’t had a new admission sooner. Not that she was complaining. The slightly slower pace made it easier to be thorough with every patient.
She enjoyed working with people, mostly because it helped her to remember that everyone had difficult situations to work through. Some worse than others.
She glanced down at her paperwork as she headed toward room two. A seven-year-old boy with a dislocated shoulder and possible broken arm. Her steps slowed as a chill snaked down her spine. One of the things every emergency nurse learned early on was to look out for the various signs of suspected abuse. A dislocated shoulder could be the result of a parent yanking on a child’s arm, and abuse cases often presented with broken limbs.
Quelling her nervousness, she entered the room, mentally prepared for the worst. A young boy was lying on the cart, dried tears on his face. His mother, a pretty and obviously pregnant woman, was sitting beside him, holding his uninjured hand.
“Hello, my name is Hailey and I’ll be your nurse for this evening,” she said, quickly introducing herself. Deliberately focusing her gaze on the child, she crossed over to the other side of his gurney. “Ben, can you tell me what happened? “
The child glanced up at his mother, as if seeking permission, and the pregnant woman offered a strained smile. “Go ahead, Ben. Tell the nurse what happened.”
“I was climbing the tree and I slipped,” he said. “My arm hurts real bad.”
“I know—we’re going to give you something for the pain. But can you tell me what happened after you slipped? How did you hurt your arm?” Hailey sensed the boy’s mother was frowning at her, but she kept her gaze on the boy. His story seemed a bit fishy.
“When I fell, I grabbed a branch, but it broke.” He sent another nervous glance at his mother.
“It’s okay, Ben. I’m not mad at you,” the woman told him softly.
“But I wasn’t supposed to climb the tree,” Ben said in a wobbly voice, sniffling loudly.
“No, you weren’t. But I’m not mad at you. Go ahead and finish your story.”
Hailey glanced at the pretty honey-blonde-haired mother, acknowledging that she sounded sincere. But she wasn’t going to let the woman off the hook yet. “What happened after the branch broke, Ben? Did you fall to the ground?”
“No, I didn’t fall, I jumped. The branch didn’t break all the way. I was hanging in the air when I felt my arm start hurting. When I jumped, I fell backwards on the same arm.” His wide eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Shh, it’s okay, Ben.” The pregnant mother sent Hailey a resigned glance. “It’s not the first time Ben’s had a broken bone. He’s a bit accident prone.”
Accident prone? The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. She highly doubted it. The way the child was so afraid of his mother’s reaction didn’t sit well with her at all. “All right, Ben, I need to look at your arm for a minute.”
She gently palpated the extremity, reassured that there was a good pulse in his wrist. “I’m going to get the doctor to take a look at this arm, Ben. I think you’re going to need X-rays. Do you know what an X-ray is?”
“Yeah. I know. It doesn’t hurt.” The calm acceptance in the child’s eyes bothered her. No child should be that familiar with X-rays.
Hailey left Ben’s room and crossed over to the closest computer, intent on bringing up the child’s past medical history to look more closely at his most recent accidents.
“Where’s Ben?” a male voice demanded. She glanced up in time to see Dr. Seth Taylor standing near Dr. Carter. The expression on Dr. Taylor’s face looked grim. “Kylie told me to meet her here.”
Hailey glanced at her patient’s name. Sure enough, Ben Taylor. Was this the reason no one had looked closely at this child’s multiple injuries? Because he was the son of a doctor on staff?
“I don’t know, Seth. But calm down, we’ll find him.”
“Um, Dr. Taylor?” Hailey spoke up. “Ben was just placed over here in room seven.”
“Thanks.” Relief flared in his eyes as he headed straight for Ben’s room. Dr. Carter crossed over to where she was standing.
“What happened to Ben Taylor?” he asked.
“Dislocated shoulder and possible broken arm,” Hailey answered. “I’m worried about him. Hasn’t anyone considered getting Child Protective Services involved? “
“Child protective services?” Dr. Carter stared at her for a few seconds and then started to laugh. “For Seth and Kylie? No, Hailey, you’re way off base.”
She bristled at his casual dismissal. “Oh, really? Just because his father is a doctor here doesn’t mean this boy isn’t the subject of physical abuse.”
Simon’s laughter ended abruptly. “You’re serious!” he exclaimed, his eyes widening comically. “Come on, Hailey, I know Seth and Kylie. They’re not hurting Ben.”
“Then why is Ben so accident-prone?” She’d pulled up the boy’s medical record. Six months ago he’d had a gash to his leg that was deep enough to need stitches. And another six months before that he was admitted for hypothermia after falling into Lake Michigan. And before that he was hit by a car while riding his bike.
Accident prone was an understatement.
“Because he’s a mischievous kid who’s probably looking for attention now that his mother has another baby on the way,” he pointed out reasonably.
“Maybe.” She couldn’t deny his theory made sense, if Ben was telling the truth about climbing the tree against his mother’s wishes. She glanced at the boy’s history again. Falling into Lake Michigan couldn’t be construed as abuse. Neglect? Maybe. But his mother hadn’t been the one driving the car that had hit him. More neglect?
Or was she simply overreacting?
“Seriously,