The Baby Who Stole the Doctor's Heart (11 page)

“Work with the webbing a little before we do this again. Make it more pliable.”

He wasn't going to help her? Wasn't going to finish this
lesson? “Pliable,” she mumbled, not ready, yet, to quit. “For the sake of the lesson, can we move on to the next step even though I can't get the leg loops tight enough? As long as I know I have to do it, it shouldn't make a difference if they're loose.”

“When you put on your harness, you put it on correctly, no matter what the reason. No exception.”

She huffed out an impatient sigh. Impatient at herself for not being able to do this simple task. Impatient with him for being so rigid about it. “Then I guess we're through for the evening, because I can't get the webbing to double back through the buckle.”

As if trying to figure out what he wanted to do, Mark shut his eyes for a moment. Was he being impatient with her? Or sorry he'd started this, because she'd failed at such a simple thing? Buying this equipment and trying to teach her had been a nice thing to do. Unexpected. So, was he regretting it now?

Without further thought, she decided he probably was, which meant it was time to leave. Time to get Sarah, take her back to their suite where Edith Weston would sit with her, then go and fix evening snacks and have a late-night session with the kids about how blood sugar can either spike or bottom out over the course of the night, depending on what they ate during the evening. But she was
so
not in the mood. Not in the mood to do anything but return to her room, hold Sarah, and remember that everything she was doing was for her daughter. Refocus on that! “Look, I appreciate the lesson, but since it doesn't look like we're going to be able to go any further than where we are…”

Suddenly, he had the belt of the leg loop in his hand, doubling it back through the buckle. Once it was adjusted, he slipped his hand between her thigh and the belt. “No more than a hand's thickness. Anything looser is wrong.”

The feel of his hand on her thigh caused her to gasp. “You…you startled me,” she lied. For, he hadn't startled her at all. But if he moved his hand another inch up, what he might do would surely rouse a gasp even louder than the one she'd just let out.

“You've got to get it right, Angela. If you don't, you could fall out of your harness if you flip upside down.”

She was definitely flipping upside down now, just not in the way he defined it. “Upside down is…” This time, as he adjusted her other leg loop then tested it for proper tightness, she didn't gasp. She merely sighed. Then looked up at him, met his eyes, saw the same fire there she knew was in her own. “Mark, I, um…we…”

The moment of decision wasn't prolonged. Mark leaned in and brushed his warm lips to Angela's, as his hand reached to caress her cheek. At first, Angela was dazed by his touch, dazed by her need for it, and she didn't respond to the tender kisses he was giving. She merely lingered there, enjoying them, reveling in them, imprinting them in her mind, her heart. But all too soon his tender kisses turned demanding, seeking her response. She moaned softly, low. Or maybe the moan was his. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered as gentleness turned into passion, and she licked her tongue across his lips, drawing out a moan that was most definitely his.

His moan startled her, woke her from her daze, caused her to break apart from him. But what she couldn't break was his stare…the longing, the raw need. “Mark, I think…”

He shushed her, reaching out his hand and running his thumb over her lips. Brushing them lightly. Causing a tingle so sensual all she could do was close her eyes for the moment, and allow it. Allow Mark. Allow anything. “It probably isn't a good idea, is it? Not with Sarah in the next room. Not with all the kids down the hall,” he said, as his fingers moved up
her cheek and entwined in her short hair, giving it a playful little tug.

Were his fingers trembling a little? Or were her nerves so unraveled that it was she who was shaking? “No, it's not,” she murmured, so enjoying his feathery caress that she regretted having to stop. “I haven't been with anyone. Nothing. Not for a long time,” she told him.

“I understand,” he said, moving his thumb back to her lips.

Which was fast becoming her favorite sensation in the world. She tilted her face up to look at him and their lips met again, but this time with all the force she could find in herself. Curling her fingers around his neck, she pulled his head toward her, demanding more ardent kisses. Their tongues danced together and in unison their breaths quickened. Mark raised his hand, slipped it alongside Angela's neck for a moment, then all restraint was lost. He crushed her hard to his chest, and the kiss was as exacting as everything else about him was. Firm, forceful, both of them giving, both of them greedy to take. It was their essence, the soul of their relationship, the kiss of the adversary finding its rightful place. And in a heartbeat Angela stopped. Looked at the buckle. Saw the word. The one word that said everything.
Warning.

“It's not about Sarah, and not about the kids down the hall. It's about my plan,” she whispered, too stunned by what she'd come so close to doing that her voice hadn't yet found its way back to her. “
You're
not in my plan.” She looked up at him. “Don't you see? This can't happen. Not now. Not…us.” She took another step backwards.

“You think something was going to happen?” he asked. His voice was curt, and the scowl on his face as deep as she'd ever seen it. “It was just…” He shook his head. “Whatever it was. Nothing.”

Nothing? It was nothing to him? Suddenly, she knew why she couldn't do this. Why she'd promised herself she wouldn't. She could feel the little rent in her heart. The small crack that would have surely turned into deep heartbreak had the kiss gone on much longer. She was falling in love with this man. Fighting against it with everything she had in her, and failing anyway. Oh, she knew better. But the feeling wasn't entirely hers to control. And he'd done what she'd known all along would happen. “Nothing,” she said. “You're right. It was nothing.”

She turned, fought against the urge to run away, and mustered all the dignity she could find. Still cinched in her harness, its straps dangling everywhere, she walked into the other room, picked up Sarah, then walked to the door. Once there, she turned back to him. “I appreciate the lesson, Mark. I hope we can get past this…this
nothing
, so you can teach me the next part of it.”

He didn't say yes. Didn't said no either. In fact, he said nothing. And once she was in the hall, she hurried to her room before anybody saw the tears streaming down her face. “Why did I do that?” she asked Sarah, who was wide-awake and staring up at her. “Why did I let that happen when I knew it couldn't go anywhere?”

Sarah's answer was a little babbling that ended with
Mama
and
Daaa
…two words that weren't going to come together. Angela's answer, the one in her heart, was that she was falling in love with Mark. It wasn't a good enough answer, but it was the only one she had.

“S
COTTY
?
Are you awake?” Angela asked, hoping the boy would get up without a tussle. But he simply rolled over and ignored her. All the other children had been up an hour. They'd had breakfast, and were already on a nature hike, being led by Fallon, James and Tyler Galbraith. All, except Scotty, who was being cantankerous this morning. “It's time to get up, sleepyhead,” she said, giving him a gentle nudge.

“No!” he barked, pulling the blankets up.

More than any other child at camp, he was the one who needed the exercise, as he was nearly twenty pounds over his ideal weight. But three days in, and she was discovering that Scotty and anything that involved physical activity didn't mix well. He was seven and, to all intents and purposes, sedentary. Video games, TV, snacks…his life. Which would turn into a very bleak future for him if they didn't get his situation straightened around, get him taught, get him motivated. “No isn't an option, Scotty. It's time for you to get up, get dressed, have breakfast—”

“I said, no!”
He jerked away from Angela when she tried to pull the blanket down.

“He's not getting up?” Mark asked from the doorway. He was standing there holding Fred, who was decked in a little red plaid doggie jacket, looking quite stylish.

“I've tried everything except just pulling him out of bed,
and he's resisting it all.” She looked at the boy, who'd balled himself into an almost fetal position, with his back to them. “Any suggestions?”

He grinned. “Maybe if I toss Fred in the sack with him, that will get a response.”

“Do you like dogs, Scotty? Because we have a nice one here, who would like to be your friend.”

“No,” Scotty snapped.

Angela and Mark raised eyebrows at each other then Mark shook his head, almost apologetically. “Well, I'd like to hang around and figure this out, but Fred needs to go visit the great outdoors for his morning constitutional, and after that I have a couple of candidates to interview for the course.” He walked over to the bed, gave Scotty a little jostle on the shoulder. “And you, young man, need to get up and moving. As soon as I'm done, I'm coming back, and you and I are going to take that hike together. It'll be good for both of us.” He winked at Angela. “The longer you stay in bed, the longer the walk will be.”

“Don't want to,” Scott mumbled.

“His speech…” Angela said. “It's…it's slurred.” Without another thought she grabbed hold of Scotty and tried rolling him over. He lashed out, started kicking and punching. She took a right cross to the eye, knew instantly she'd have a shiner soon.

Mark put the dog down and ran forward to help. “Angela, are you OK?”

She waved away his concern, focusing all her energies on helping Scott. “Don't worry, I'm fine. Can you get me a blood-sugar testing kit? I can manage Scotty.”

Grabbing Fred, Mark raced from the room. “Scotty, calm down!” she told the boy. “We're trying to help you.”

“Leave me alone!” he sobbed, trying to escape her arms.

Her first thought was that he'd hurt himself, flailing the
way he had. Her second thought was that something was going wrong. “Scotty, please… Calm down, sweetheart, it's OK. It's OK,” she murmured gently over and over again as she sat down on the bed and held him firmly in her arms.

“Can you hold him still long enough for me to get his blood tested?” Mark asked, running back into the room. He had his medical bag with him, along with the blood-sugar testing kit.

“He's running out of energy. I'll keep him as still as I can.”

Mark took hold of Scotty's hand and Scotty immediately yanked it back. The balance between needing to do the procedure and not hurting Scotty was precarious, but Mark took his hand again and successfully stilled him for a moment.

“No! I don't want that,” Scotty screamed. “Leave me alone.” He bucked up when Mark tried to prick his finger, caught Angela unawares, knocked her off the side of the bed. If it hadn't been for Mark standing directly behind her, bracing himself against her to add support, she would have been thrown to the floor.

“Get yourself into position to prick his finger,” Mark said. “Because I can't do it from this angle.”

“How about we trade places? You hold him, I'll get his blood.” So Mark held Scotty, his voice gently reassuring the boy, while Angela did the deed, pressing the lancet to Scotty's index finger. After she pressed it, she squeezed out a drop of blood onto the test strip. It was an easy thing to do, really, but for her a monumental procedure. Handing off the strip to Mark, she made her way back onto the side of the bed, trying again to hold Scotty during his tantrum.

“Four hundred and twenty,” Mark said.

Dear God, that was high! She knew the numbers, knew what they meant and, suddenly, she felt sick to her stomach. “Mark, how could that have happened to him?” One of the
conditions of the camp was that the kids didn't get to have contraband food. Nothing from the outside. And since kids will be kids, it was established with the parents that frequent checks would be made of the lockers and beds. Yet somehow Scotty had managed to circumvent their efforts.

“Well, I think the bag of cookies under the blanket is probably a start.” He held it up for her to see. Empty. Totally empty, without so much as a crumb left. “Who knows what else he's been sneaking?” He looked down at Scotty, who hadn't gone exactly limp but who wasn't fighting the fight any longer. “Scotty, what else?” he asked. “I need to know what else you were eating all night.”

“Nothing,” the boy insisted. “They're not mine.”

“Look, son. We want to help you. I've got to give you medicine and it would be better if I know what you've eaten.”

Scotty's eyes welled with tears and it seemed to Angela that he might have just made the connection with the way he was feeling to the foods he'd eaten. She hoped so, anyway.

“She made me eat them.” He nodded toward Angela, who'd finally let go of the boy but hadn't left his bed, just in case. “She said it was OK.”

Mark glanced at Angela then back at Scotty. “You're not in trouble. We're not going to punish you, but you have to be honest with us.”

Scotty refused to say anything more. Big tears were rolling down his cheeks, and he was sniffling. His eyes were also fluttering shut, and not so focused when they were open. “We'll figure it out later, Scotty,” she said, pulling the boy back into her arms. “First thing we need to do, though, is take care of you.” Looking up at Mark, she said, “We'll be fine while you make whatever arrangements you have to make for his treatment.”

“Actually, I don't want to leave him here. He's obviously got quite a tolerance for high blood sugar, but just in case
something happens, I can't leave right now. What I need for you to do is go to the clinic, ask Walt for fast-acting insulin and tell him I need his help down here.” They traded places, he on the bed, holding Scotty, she standing up.

“He's on the hike with the children and the Galbraith family.”

“Then you'll have to get it.” He told her the brand name, instructed her to get a syringe. “And the portable EKG machine. “I want to monitor him while I bring his blood sugar back down, and for a myriad of reasons, including cardiac complications, I don't want to bring it down too slowly. So I need to keep him monitored. But before you go, can you take his blood pressure for me?”

“Sure.” The procedure was easy enough. While she'd never done it before, she'd seen it done dozens of times. So first she picked up the cuff.

“Wrap the cuff around his upper arm,” Mark instructed, moving over a little to let her in as Scotty started to struggle again, though not as hard this time. “Shut off the valve, pump up the bulb.”

“What do I listen for?” she asked.

“Put the bell of the stethoscope over the pulse point in his arm then pump up the cuff. When it meets with enough resistance that you can't pump it easily, open the valve just a little, then listen. You'll hear two distinct things. The first will be the beginning of his heartbeat. Note the number on the meter when you hear it. Then the next thing will be the end of the heartbeat. Note that number, too.”

She understood what the numbers meant. Had studied that after she'd learned the word sphygmomanometer.

“Don't touch me!” Scotty cried as she tried slipping the cuff onto his arm.

“Whoa,” Mark said, motioning for Angela to stop for a moment. “You've got to let her do this, Scotty.”

“No, I don't!” he yelled. “It hurts!”

“A little bit. But I'll let you do it to me twice, if you hold still long enough to let me do it to you once.”

Scotty didn't respond. He was beginning to fade out. So Angela stepped back up and took a second try at it, but the instant she got the cuff on the boy's arm, he revved up once more, but not with so much fight in him this time. “You promise?” he mumbled.

“I'll even let you listen to your heart,” Mark said as Angela finally succeeded in getting the blood-pressure cuff pumped up. She listened. Listened…. heard nothing for a moment, wondered if she'd failed. But then there it was. A distinct thudding. An amazing thing. “Systolic is…one fifty.” She continued listening… “Diastolic is one hundred. Want me to take it again to make sure?”

Mark shook his head, smiled. “I trust you.”

I trust you
. Those words rang in her ears while she ran to the clinic to find the insulin and EKG machine, and she was still clinging to them when she came back to the room, only to find Mark sitting on the side of the bed, looking at a very listless little boy.

“What happened?” she asked.

“It's catching up with him. He's going lethargic.”

“Not a coma?” she gasped.

“No. I think he just finally ran out of energy. Blood-sugar swings can really be exhausting. Our little fighter here has dozed off.”

“Before or after he took your blood pressure?” She handed Mark the vial of insulin.

“Before, but I'll make good on my promise. Maybe even turn him into a junior doctor of sorts. Training him in a couple of procedures might make him think about his own situation.” He held out the syringe to her. “Care to be the one?”

“I don't want to hurt him,” she said, looking down at the syringe.

“What will hurt him is not giving him that insulin. Scotty's got needles in his future, probably for the rest of his life if he doesn't get himself under control. And if you're going to work around diabetic kids, you've got to learn to do this because there might not always be a doctor around when you need one. Saving a child's life could be up to you, and you alone, Angela. And after you've learned this end of a diabetic crisis, you're going to have to learn what to do on the other end when the blood sugar drops so low that a sugar snack won't get it back up fast enough.”

“OK, then, where does he get it?” she asked, stepping up to the bed, feeling the full impact of Mark's words. He was right. She did have to learn. But he hadn't offered to teach her and she felt the sting of his rejection once more. Not good enough for his class, not good enough to teach. It hurt, but she bit back the emotion. This wasn't the time to get into it.

“Arm's as good a place as any. So is the belly or the thigh. Choose your site. And don't jab it deep. It's meant to be…”

“Subcutaneous,” she said, trying to sound resolute even though she still felt stung. “A subcutaneous injection, also called sub-cu, is administered as a bolus into the subcutis, which is the layer of skin directly below the dermis and epidermis, collectively referred to as the cutis.” She gave Scott the shot then stepped back. “And a bolus, by the way, is from the Latin for ball. It's the administration of a medication, with the purpose of raising its concentration in blood to an effective level. The administration can be given intravenously, by intramuscular or subcutaneous injection.”

“Very good,” he said, standing. “An admirable body of knowledge.”

“Go ahead and say it,” she snapped, finally not able to hold it in.

“What?”

“That it's an admirable body of knowledge for someone who doesn't know anything, as I don't…except for my little bits of book learning, which you probably think is silly. That's what you were thinking, wasn't it?”

Mark glanced down at the child, who was now fast asleep. “Look, I know we messed things up between us with that kiss, but we've got to work together.”

“That kiss isn't what messed things up. Like you said, it was…nothing.” A simple word that had stabbed her even more than she'd realized. “What's messed us up is
us
. I don't know why, don't care to spend time trying to figure it out. You'll be getting involved in your course soon, I've got my program to look after. And there really shouldn't be too many times in the future when our paths will cross. That's the way it is, and it's fine by me.”

He didn't answer her right off. Not until he'd taken another blood-sugar reading. “Three-eighty.”

She nodded, pleased he was doing better. “Does he need to go to the hospital?”

“Not now. If I can't get his blood sugar down sufficiently then, yes, we'll take him. But I want to watch him for a while because I think he's going to respond to treatment pretty well right here, and the hospital can be traumatic. I want to spare him that, if I can. So, what I'd like you to do is go get his mother down here. Someone's enabling this child, and she's likely to be the one. Now would be as good a time as any to have a serious talk with her, because he's too young to be going through this.”

“You really think Helen gave him the cookies?” It wouldn't surprise her, but it did make her wonder why his mother would do that. Didn't she understand what could
happen? Had she never seen the dire consequences of long-term, uncontrolled diabetes—complications heaped on other complications? It suddenly occurred to Angela that the parents needed a boot camp, too. Maybe a day or two tacked on when the parents came, stayed, took classes with their children. Or, at the end, maybe the children could teach a class to the parents. It was only a kernel of an idea, but she liked it, thought it worth developing. Actually felt excited about it. But felt overwhelmed by all the things that could go wrong.