Paradise Valley (Virgin River #7)(35)

So while Cameron and the man got into the Hummer, she told her patient she had an emergency and would call her to complete the exam another time. They didn’t bother locking up for something like this; the drug cabinet and patient records were already locked. Because Mel had appointments, the children were with their aunt Brie for the afternoon, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to hurry along with Cameron until Jack or someone could come for them.

Cameron followed the man’s directions two blocks to a house that Mel recognized at once. She’d been here before, months and months ago, when she fetched thirty-two-year-old Cheryl Creighton from her alcoholic stupor and carted her off to a county-funded treatment facility. She had never seen Cheryl’s father, who this must be. But she would never forget Cheryl’s mother—she was a morbidly obese chain-smoker who wheezed with every laboring step she took. One look at her and Mel had worried about the woman’s heart. If it hadn’t been for the fact that since she first laid eyes on Mrs. Creighton they’d had a major forest fire and lost their town doctor, Mel would have had a pang of guilt for not checking on her, even though she was not a patient.

“What’s your wife’s name, Mr. Creighton?” Mel asked as they pulled up to the house.

“Dahlia,” he answered. “Dahlia Marie. She can’t breathe and she’s grippin’ at her chest.”

Cameron threw the Hummer into park and, grabbing his bag, ran up the steps, across the broken-down porch and through the front door, Mel close on his heels with her own bag. “She’ll be in the kitchen,” Mel said.

The familiar squalor greeted them; the little house hadn’t been cleaned in forever and smelled like an ashtray. As Mr. Creighton hurried behind them, she was aware of his wheezing.

As Mel had predicted, Dahlia was slumped back in her favorite kitchen chair, the mess of paperbacks, magazines, newspapers, Coke cans, ashtrays and miscellaneous food items like cookies and chips all within reaching distance. Her eyes were round and fearful, her lips turning blue while her pallid skin glistened with sweat. She had trouble breathing. “Let’s see if we can help, Dahlia,” she said.

Cameron had the stethoscope in his ears and pressed against her chest. He listened for only a second before reaching in his bag and giving her an aspirin. “Can you swallow this for me, Dahlia?” he asked. While she did so, he reached for the new blood-pressure cuff that fit around her wrist, tightened it and took an electronic reading. He lifted that hand against her breast, nearer her heart, for accuracy.

Mel was locating the emergency drugs she kept ready in her bag—atropine, epinephrine.

“Mel, can you manage the oxygen canister?”

“Of course,” she said, darting out of the house. By the time she got back, Cameron was slipping a nitro tablet under Dahlia’s tongue. She pulled out the tubing and fit the cannulas into the woman’s nose. “This will help,” she said.

“We need a transport,” Cameron said.

“We can do that,” Mel said. “Give me one second.” She saw the old-fashioned wall phone beside the refrigerator and picked it up, dialing with the rotary dial. “Preacher, hey. Cameron and I are at the Creighton house and have to take Mrs. Creighton to the hospital right now. Yes, that’s exactly what I need—both of you. Thanks.” She hung up and told Cameron, “Jack and Preacher will be right here to help.”

Cameron looked at her, smiled slightly and lifted an eyebrow.

“I’ll go get the gurney and bring it in.”

“Let me—”

“No. You handle this and start an IV. I won’t be a minute.”

By the time Mel had the gurney out of the back of the Hummer, Jack and Preacher were jogging up the block toward the house. She didn’t wait for them, but began to push the gurney toward the house, over the cracked and broken walk. When she reached the porch, the men were beside her, lifting the gurney up onto the slanted porch, avoiding the missing boards. “What is it?” Jack asked softly.

“Possible coronary,” she said just as quietly. “She needs to go to the hospital.”

“Want me to drive so you can ride in the back with Cameron?”

She grinned at him suddenly. “You boys come in so handy. Thanks.”

Jack and Preacher got the gurney as far as the kitchen doorway and lowered it like professional paramedics. Then they went into the kitchen and stood one on each side of her. “Afternoon, Dahlia,” Jack said. “Let’s take a ride. How about that?”

Cameron lifted the portable oxygen canister and IV bag, hanging on to them.

Dahlia Creighton got a very frightened look on her face and Jack said, “Dahlia, this will be easier if you just let me and Preacher do the work, okay? We’re going to lift you onto the gurney and wheel you out, easy as pie. But if you struggle or wiggle around, we could drop you, so be still and trust us. We’ll be rolling you into the Hummer in seconds. How about that, huh?”

She nodded, but she hadn’t said a word yet.

Jack and Preacher slipped arms under her thighs and behind her back, counted to three and hefted close to four hundred pounds of woman into their arms and carried her the short distance to the gurney, lowering her onto it. They pulled it up, which took enormous effort given her weight, and got her to the back of the Hummer to slide that gurney inside.

“You have gas in that truck, Mr. Creighton?” Mel asked. When he nodded, she asked, “You all right to drive? It would be better for you to follow us to the hospital so you have transportation.” He nodded again and started fishing in his pocket for his keys.