When Hearts Collide Read Free Page B

watching and waiting. For now, he was breathing on his own and his heartbeat was regular. He needed fluids and he needed oxygen, but there was no more Molly could do. So she sat beside him, talking softly, holding his hand, and stroking the strands of wavy black hair that draped his pale forehead like a Cocker Spaniel’s. Her hands trembled with post adrenaline rush, and the activity felt good. As her shoulders relaxed and her heartbeat no longer hammered in her head, she felt the tension ease out of her body. At least he was alive.
    Molly prayed Pearce would survive until the ambulance arrived. What were his injuries? The gash on the left side of his head would require stitches. She felt the lump. It had increased. The acorn-sized swelling now felt like an overripe kiwi. Her stomach twisted in knots. If it was swelling this much on the outside, how much swelling was on the inside, pressing on his brain?
    Molly was sure he’d sustained a significant head injury. His chances were good, but only if he got to a hospital in time to have it drained. The fractured leg might be the least of his problems. But what was going on with his abdomen? A lacerated spleen or kidney? Also a good prognosis, if treated in time.
    Time. The biggest factor.
    The head injury might account for his ramblings about Gracie and foster care. She would follow the ambulance to the hospital, get Gracie checked over, and then find someone to take over her care. She studied his face. He looked so peaceful, his eyelids almost transparent, mouth soft, turned up at the corners.
    But he was so still, too still. His skin was cool to her touch. She tucked the blanket around his shoulders, then slid her fingers along his neck to a point below his jaw. His pulse bounded through the artery. She counted. Ninety-six. It was accelerated, but at least there were no irregular beats. So far his heart seemed to be tolerating the injury he’d sustained.
    She stroked the salt and pepper sideburns, hoping he would be all right for his daughter’s sake. She’d grown up without a father, without parents at all, and she’d never wish that on anyone. Her thoughts were disturbed by the wail of a siren in the distance. It began as a whisper, but within seconds it blared through the night air. She saw the strobe lights flashing intermittently through the dense wall of trees. Each second its brightness increased, along with the penetrating cry of the siren. Would it wake Gracie?
    The window was open. If the child roused, Molly would hear her. Hopefully she would stay sleeping until the paramedics took over and transported her father to the hospital. She would follow and have them examine Gracie. The child seemed fine, but Molly needed a doctor to check her. The ambulance screeched to a stop, the side doors flew open, and two paramedics jumped out. They were beside her in seconds. “What happened?”
    Without waiting for her answer, they were pulling equipment out of a large navy duffel bag. They slid an oxygen mask on Pearce’s face and a blood pressure cuff on his arm. One attendant wrenched open Pearce’s shirt, the other stuck electrodes on his chest with wires extending to a portable cardiac monitor. Waves of electrical impulses traced across the portable screen. The cuff filled with air, then deflated. The digital readout showed 95/60.
    “His name is Pearce Taylor. He swerved to miss a deer. His tires caught the edge of the road, and the car crashed into the tree.”
    “You got him out?” the gangly twenty-something paramedic asked. His tone was terse, full of youthful arrogance and disdain.
    Molly instantly felt defensive. “There’s a gas leak. I thought the car might explode. I stabilized his neck and used the blanket like a hammock to slide him out.”
    An oximeter clip was placed on Pearce’s thumb. Instantly a number flashed on the screen. 91. It was too low.
    “Is the oxygen as high as it can go?” Molly asked before answering his question.
    “It’s on