The Bride Wore Red Boots Read Free

for a while. That was scary, huh?”
    â€œDr. Mia?” He finally recognized her.
    â€œHi,” she said. “This is a surprise, isn’t it?”
    â€œYou saved me,” he whispered in a thick, hoarse rasp. “Nobody ever saves me.”
    For the first time Mia truly looked at the two nurses who stood with her. Their eyes reflected the stunned surprise she felt.
    â€œOf course I saved you,” she said. “Anybody would save you, Rory. You probably haven’t needed saving very often, that’s all.”
    â€œOnce. I ate some peanut butter when my mom wasn’t at home. I couldn’t breathe, but Mrs. Anderson next door didn’t believe me. ” His voice strengthened as he spoke. “I can’t eat peanut butter.”
    â€œWhat did you eat today? Do you remember? Right before you couldn’t breathe?”
    He shook his head vehemently. “A cupcake. A chocolate one. I can eat chocolate.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œI had one little Three Musketeer. Bitsy gave it to me. She said the nurses said it was okay to have one because my stomach feels better.”
    Bitsy again. Rory looked solely at Mia and avoided the nurses’ eyes, as if he feared they’d contradict his story.
    â€œAnd you don’t remember any other food?” Mia asked.
    â€œI didn’t eat nothing else. I swear.”
    â€œIt’s all right. It really is. All I care about is finding what made you sick. Look, I’m going to go out and talk to some more nurses—”
    â€œNo! Stay here.” He stretched out his arm, his fingers spread beseechingly.
    â€œAll right.” She let him grab her hand and looked at him quizzically. “But you’re fine now.”
    â€œNo.”
    He was so certain of his answer. Mia couldn’t bear to ignore his wishes, although it made no logical sense. At that moment a white-coated man with a Lincoln-esque figure appeared in the doorway.
    â€œMy, my, what’s going on here? Is that you Rory?”
    Rory clung to Mia’s hand and didn’t answer. Mia looked over the newcomer, not recognizing him, although his badge identified him as Frederick Wilson, MD.
    His eyes brushed over Mia, and he dismissed her with a quick “Good afternoon.” No questions, no request for an update from her, the medical expert already on the case. She bristled but stayed quietly beside Rory, squeezing his hand.
    â€œHow’s our man?” Dr. Wilson asked. You doing okay, Champ?” He oozed the schmoozy bedside manner she found obsequious, and the child who’d been talkative up to now merely stared at the ceiling.
    Dr. Wilson chuckled. “That’s our Rory. Not great talk show material, but he plays a mean game of chess from what I hear. A silent, brilliant kind of man. I’m Fred Wilson.” He held out a hand. “You must be one of the techs or NAs?”
    She stared at him in disbelief. A nursing assistant? Who was this idiot? She looked down and remembered her badge was in her pocket. She fished it out and shoved it at him. “I’m Dr . Amelia Crockett, and I’ve been handling Rory’s case since the incident about fifteen minutes ago.
    â€œCrockett. Crockett.” He stared off as if accessing information in space somewhere. “The young general surgeon who’s working now toward a second certification in pediatric surgery. Sorry, I’ve been here two weeks and have tried to brush up on all the staff resumes. I’m the new chief of staff here in peds. Up from Johns Hopkins.”
    She had heard his name and that he was a mover and shaker.
    â€œDr. Wilson,” she acknowledged.
    â€œSo, since you’re a surgeon and not familiar with Rory’s whole case, maybe I’ll trouble you to get me up to speed on the anaphylaxis, and then I’ll take over so you can get back to what I’m sure is a busy schedule.” Dr. Wilson crossed his arms and