tilted back in exhaustion, while even more hovered near the entrance, propping up the walls, slugging back steaming coffee and wolfing down fat sandwiches handed out by a group of women.
Sandwiches? Coffee? And where had all these people come from? It looked like a temporary ops center—or a tea party for big hulking men.
“Good, you’re here.” A voice at her elbow distracted her from the chaos and Cassidy turned to see the head nurse holding out a clipboard.
She accepted the board, feeling a little shell-shocked. “What on earth’s going on?”
Fran Gilbert followed her gaze. “The town’s disaster committee in action,” she explained with a shrug, as though it happened every day.
Disaster—? Oh, no. Cassidy gulped down a sudden sick feeling. Please don’t tell me...! Shaking off her pessimistic thoughts, she frowned at the older woman. “Disaster? How bad?”
Fran frowned in confusion. “Bad?” Then realizing what Cassidy was thinking, she said, “No! God, no. Cassidy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She gave Cassidy a quick hug. “I just meant that the disaster committee responds whenever the rescue teams go out. The junior league ladies take turns providing hot food and drinks. To practice they set up basic first-aid stations for minor injuries. When news came through that the hikers were being brought down, they moved operations here.”
“Oh.” Cassidy let out a whoosh of relief, a little awed at the way the community mobilized when the need arose. Any disaster in a big city was met with looting and rioting.
“They say it’s to practice for a real disaster but I think it’s just an excuse to get out and socialize.”
Cassidy nodded. “Okay, no disaster. What do we have?” she asked, as Fran led her towards the ER cubicles.
“Mostly minor but too many for poor Monty to cope with,” the older woman said, before launching into a rapid-fire report worthy of a busy city ER nurse.
Rebecca Thornton, she told Cassidy, had slipped and fallen off the trail. She’d broken her leg and her husband had climbed down the steep embankment to get to her. He’d slipped near the bottom in the treacherous conditions and knocked himself out. Several others had then climbed down to carry the injured couple out but had found their way blocked by huge boulders. With the gully rapidly filling with water, the group still on the trail had elected to return and alert the authorities. They hadn’t made it back yet and a team was still out, looking for them.
Dr. Montgomery looked up briefly from checking a young man’s bruised and lacerated arm. “Glad they found you,” he said with an absent smile, before turning to give the attending nurse instructions.
Soon Cassidy was swamped, treating a broken leg and collarbone, a fractured wrist and a concussion. There was a bruised and swollen knee that she suspected might be cartilage damage, a host of cuts and scrapes, and hypothermia along with exhaustion and dehydration.
And that was just the hiking party.
Once they’d been examined, treated and transferred to the wards for fluids and observation, Cassidy turned her attention to the rescue crew. Among the expected lacerations and contusions, she diagnosed torn ankle ligaments, a dislocated shoulder and a broken finger. Pretty mild considering the awful night they’d endured, she mused, sending one nurse to the suture room and another to X-rays.
She’d just left Hank Henderson propped up with an ice pack on his foot when the elderly doctor called to ask her opinion about the shoulder injury.
After examining Andy Littleton, Cassidy decided there didn’t seem to be any serious ligament damage that would require surgery. She told Andy to take a deep breath and quickly pulled his shoulder back into place. He went white and swayed alarmingly before throwing up in the kidney dish she shoved at him.
Listing drunkenly while she strapped his shoulder and arm, he made Cassidy swear a blood oath that she wouldn’t tell anyone he’d cried like a girl. Biting back a grin of sympathy, she squeezed his hand, and turned to find Harry Montgomery beaming at her like a proud teacher whose pupil had surpassed his expectations.
“Looks like old Howie’s loss is our gain, eh?” The big man chuckled, his age-spotted hand patting her shoulder awkwardly. “He said you were a bright young thing. What he didn’t say was that you have an easy way with people along with that sharp diagnostic mind.” He studied her shrewdly. “I guess the old buzzard didn’t want to lose you, eh?”
With heat rising to her cheeks, Cassidy looped her stethoscope around her neck. She felt like a new resident under scrutiny. Besides, one didn’t have to be Einstein to pick up the question behind the compliment. The question of why she was treating runny noses and middle-ear infections in a small mountain hospital instead of running her own ER—which was what she’d originally intended.
“He’s a wonderful man,” she replied with a warm smile. “And I loved the daily challenges in ER.” Thrusting her hands into her lab-coat pockets, she chose her words carefully. “But big city ERs are like operating in a war zone, and when you lose count of the number of ODs, stabbings and rapes you treat...” She sighed. “I realized I needed a change—to get back to basics. Howie mentioned Crescent Lake and I thought it might be the perfect place to try out something more community-oriented.”
She didn’t say that hearing it was deep in the Cascades and a continent away from Boston had sounded appealing. She’d been desperate to get away and work on forgetting the career-damaging fallout of treating a real-life hero injured in the line of duty. A “hero” who’d turned out to be anything but.
She shuddered at the memory. God, she’d been stupidly naïve and had paid a very high price. Then again, how could anyone have known the handsome vice cop wasn’t one of the good guys?
The charming wounded-hero act had been just that—an act. He’d used it to lull people—her—into a false sense of security. He’d pursued her with flowers, gifts and romantic dinners then stolen her hospital security card, giving him access to the ER dispensary as well as a stack of prescription pads, which he’d used by forging her signature. In the end there’d been a full-scale police investigation—with her as the prime suspect.
In truth, all she’d really been guilty of had been bad judgment. She’d trusted someone who’d proved to be anything but trustworthy. In hindsight he’d been too good to be true: too romantic and too sensitive for it not to have been a very clever performance from a man who knew exactly what women wanted.
By the time she’d realized something was wrong, the media frenzy had crucified her, calling her professional competence into question. It had been a nightmare.
Fortunately for her, Lance Turnbull had been under internal investigation. One that had involved a dozen other women doctors around the city. Cassidy had eventually been cleared of all charges but the damage had been done. She’d suffered through snide comments and cruel jokes from her colleagues until she’d finally buckled under the stress.
“GP work is pretty boring compared to the excitement of ER,” the old doctor warned, wrenching her from her disturbing thoughts. “Especially here in the boondocks.”
Relieved to focus on something other than her past failures, Cassidy looked around at the controlled chaos and sent him a small smile. “I wouldn’t exactly call it boring,” she said, her smile turning into a grin when his deep chuckle filled the hallway.
“No, it isn’t,” he agreed, “especially during tourist season. But off season gets pretty quiet.”
“I can do quiet. And I’m impressed with the way everyone bands together. It’s wonderful knowing that there are still places where people are willing to step in and help their neighbors without expecting something in return.”
“That’s what’s kept me here for sixty years,” he said, moving to the door. “The warm community spirit. You don’t find that in the city.” He turned and studied her intently. “I’ve watched you over the past two weeks, Cassidy, and you’re