Racing Against the Clock

“Let’s check the film.”

He stepped to where her X rays were clipped to a fluorescent, wall-mounted box and switched on the backlight. The bulb flickered a minute, then illuminated the view of her right-upper leg.

“See that,” he said, pointing to the thin dark line that ran almost the entire length of her long bone. “That’s what we call a capillary fracture. The mildest fracture, but a fracture nonetheless. You should be in considerable pain.”

“It simply isn’t my X ray,” she denied.

“It’s got your name on it.”

“And what name is that?”

“Jane Doe.”

“Yes. A name you give all unknown female patients. Correct?”

“There have been no other Jane Does admitted tonight,” Tyler replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” But her statement caused him momentary doubt. Could it be true?

“Then someone mislabeled the X ray,” she insisted. “You’ve got me mixed up with another patient. That’s all there is to it.”

“I want to X ray your leg again.”

“No need. It’s fine. You saw me walking on it.”

“Appease me.”

“I see no point. Clearly if I can bear weight on the leg it can’t be fractured.”

She had a valid argument. Their gazes caught and he couldn’t help but feel a flare of heat low in his belly. Her eyes were sharp, intelligent. Nothing got by this one.

“You still can’t remember your name?” he asked, flicking off the light under her X ray and coming back to stand beside her.

“No.”

“I want to check your neurological signs.”

“All right.”

At least she hadn’t fought him on this. He removed a penlight from his pocket and flashed it in first one pupil and then the other. Equal and reactive.

“Do you know what day it is?” he asked, testing to see if she was oriented to time and place.

“Thursday. November, the seventh,” she replied.

He nodded. “And where are you at?”

“St. Madeline’s Hospital in Houston, Texas.”

“Here,” he said. “Squeeze my hands.”

She stared at him. “What for?”

“So I can check your grip.”

“Is this really necessary?”

“I don’t bite.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes.

Why was she so reluctant to touch him? He wriggled his fingers. “Come on.”

Slowly, she took his fingers in her hands and squeezed.

“Harder,” he said.

Her hands were soft and warm and fit perfectly in his. Delicate and feminine hands. She smelled nice, too. Like sunflowers.

“How’s that?” she asked, squeezing with all her might.

“Good.” He met her challenging glare and swallowed back his awkwardness.

“Sure you don’t want it harder?” Her voice held a note of sharp sarcasm. Her stare was disconcertingly intense. His gut knotted.

“That’s fine. You can let go now.”

She released his hands and although Tyler was relieved, he felt vaguely dissatisfied.

“Lie down,” he said. “I want to examine your abdomen again.”

“May I leave after this?”

“Perhaps.” Boy, was she a tough cookie. He had to admire her doggedness.

Sighing, she stretched out on the gurney, crossed her legs at the ankle and propped the back of her head in her palms.

He moved to her side and palpated her spleen. “Is that tender?”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t be lying simply to get out of here, would you?” he asked.

“I’m not above fudging the truth in order to get dismissed,” she admitted and Tyler suppressed a smile at her honesty. “But I’m sincere. It really doesn’t hurt.”

When he had examined her previously she’d had marked guarding of the area and had moaned in pain. Now, she seemed unaffected by his probing. Weird. Her spleen must have stopped bleeding spontaneously. He’d never seen it happen, but he’d heard it was possible. He took her blood pressure—116/78. Textbook normal.