TOO LATE I’LL KNOW

--- Joan Emerson (AE215jfe@aol.com)

 

“Consultation, huh?”

 

“Sounds like it might be a pretty interesting case,” he mused as he returned the telephone receiver to its cradle.  “It’s a rather nice drive to San Diego . . . . . . . . would you like to go along?”

 

Dixie sighed.  As tempting as the offer was . . . . . . . . “I’d love to, but I just can’t get away right now,” she brooded with a shake of her head.  “I’ve got four nurses out sick, and with Gloria turning in her resignation this morning . . . . . . . .”

 

It certainly wasn’t the answer he had hoped for, but he’d long since abandoned any silly notion that she might actually let her responsibilities at the hospital slide even a fraction of an inch.  He nodded his frustrated understanding.  “I’ll call you . . . . . . . . if it all goes smoothly, I should be back no later than day after tomorrow . . . . . . . . maybe as soon as tomorrow night . . . . . . . .”

 

“We’ll have a late supper,” she promised with a smile.  “Just the two of us.”  Her eyes sparkled at the thought and she offered him a rather suggestive smile.

 

“Yeah, sure,” he grinned, his eyes radiating merriment at the suggestive prospect.  “Like it will be that quiet and all the kids will actually be asleep!”

 

“The kids are staying with Joe and Julie; they’re taking them over to that science exposition program Julie’s working on at UCLA, remember?  They won’t even be home until Sunday . . . . . . . .”

 

“Oh, yeah, right, I forgot about that,” he offered as he turned to head back down the hallway toward his office.  The sudden realization made him stop and turn to face her once more,  “You’ll be all alone then . . . . . . . .”

 

“I do think I can manage, Kell, I’m perfectly capable . . . . . . . .”  She laughed lightly at his sudden anxious perturbation.  Although she’d probably never admit it to him, she was glad the managing would only be for a day or two . . . . . . . . somehow, it just never felt quite right any more when she was all alone. 

 

The insistent jangle of the telephone suddenly interrupted their playful, lighthearted banter, clamoring for her attention.  At once all business, she was the picture of pure efficiency as she reached across the counter to answer it. 

 

Grinning broadly, Doctor Kelly Brackett headed down the corridor toward his office. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The toddler playground was a bit further than she really should have walked, but it was such a beautiful day . . . . . . . . and there was no reason at all to hurry home.  It would be fun to sit a while and watch the little ones play on the slide, sort of like old times.

 

Slowly meandering along the pathway, Dixie absently kicked at the leaves as she wandered along.  She didn’t really have anything against being alone, but it was a strange sort of feeling not to have anyone waiting at home for her.  She shook her head ruefully, silently scolding herself for the fretting.  After all, she’d spent the majority of her adult life alone . . . . . . . . and she certainly knew how to manage on her own.  Strange, though, how easily she’d fallen into the expectation that Kell and the children would be around all the time . . . . . . . .

 

Peals of laughter captured her attention, and she glanced up.  She’d reached the toddler play area, and, settling down on a bench, she sat back to watch the children play.  It was a comfortable place for her, mostly filled with pleasant memories, and a smile teased her lips as she watched, absently drawing the warm feeling around her like a cloak.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

She was picking dandelions.  Wandering from yellow tuft to yellow tuft, the toddler grabbed at the bright weeds, pulling them into a bouquet she held fast in her chubby baby hands.  Dixie smiled; Kevin had once wandered across the lawn picking every dandelion in sight and presenting them to her with all the aplomb of a child certain his bouquet was the most precious thing in all the world.  She’d carefully put them in her very best crystal vase, cherishing each one, until they’d all turned to puffy seed.  Tears marshaled in the back of her eyes at the memory.

 

Blinking fast, she shook her head and glanced in the direction of the flower-picker once more.  Her smile froze as she realized that the child was moving too close to the edge of the path . . . . . . . . and that the guard railing along the edge of the embankment was no longer there.

  

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The workmen continued reinforcing the hillside in preparation for the installation of the new guardrail.  They’d been unexpectedly thrown into the middle of this hurry-up project, necessitated by motorcycle-riding teenagers who’d crashed into the old railing and broken sections away, and they were hoping to finish before sunset.

 

“How’s it lookin’ Vic?” the foreman worriedly hollered as he watched the late afternoon sun continue its downward drop, moving closer and closer to the horizon.

 

“It’s gonna take a while longer,” Vic answered.  “Got quite a bit of shorin’ up t’ do yet.”

 

Alex grumbled.  He knew that they were doing their best, but it was becoming pretty obvious they would need at least another full day here before they could move on to the next section.  It was going to throw the work schedule off for the entire week.  Frustrated, he returned to his own tasks, resigned to the fact that they simply weren’t going to even come close to finishing it before it got too dark to continue. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Carefully, so as not to frighten the child, Dixie moved closer.  Now near enough to reach out and touch the toddler, she bent down before stretching out her hand to take hold of the little girl.  Smiling softly, she shifted her weight as she rose and turned to lead the child away from the edge of the embankment.  Suddenly the ground beneath them gave way and she grabbed hold of the child as they both slid down the side of the hillock. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“HEY!” Vic shouted hoarsely, causing Alex to spin around to face him.  It only took an instant for the scene to register and he realized that a section of the embankment along the edge of the footpath had given way before their shoring up task had been completed.  Dropping his shovel, he joined Vic and the others in a hasty scramble toward the falling woman.

 

The small group of workmen quickly moved sideways across the hillock.  A crowd had gathered at the top of the embankment, watching, but no one was making any effort to assist from there.  It was going to be up to them.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Scrabbling for a hold on something as they tumbled downward, she managed to grab onto an outcropping shrub, jerking their plummet to a sudden stop.  The petrified child continued screaming, but Dixie could do nothing to comfort her.  The already-tenuous hold she had on the girl threatened to dissolve into nothingness, but her grip on the child’s arm was the only thing between her and rocky ground even further below them.  If she let go of the shrub, they would both continue plunging down, all the way to the bottom, and the child would almost certainly be seriously injured.  She could feel the muscles in her shoulders and back protesting, but she clung to both the shrub and the child’s arm, praying that someone would be there to help them before she could no longer hang on. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Shouts and noise filled the air, far away in the background of her awareness, but she couldn’t afford to give them any portion of her attention.  She remained focused on the only thing that mattered --- keeping the child from tumbling away.

 

“It’s okay, I’ve got her,” the voice said.  She could feel the weight on her arm lessen as he lifted the sobbing child into his arms, but she could not release her hold.  Other hands pried her cramping fingers loose and Alex slid his arm around her waist, holding her steady as Vic handed the child to his partner, grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her up the hillside.

 

In short order, they were back at the top of the embankment; Dixie slipped into nurse mode, checking to make sure the child was not injured while she worked at catching her breath.  

 

“Are you okay, Ma’am?”

 

Dixie glanced up at the workman; “Yeah, I’m fine,” she affirmed as she finished her checking and sat down on the ground, not yet ready to see if her legs would actually support her.  “Thanks.”

 

“We’ve been workin’ on that railing all day,” Alex muttered.  “Never thought th’ ground would give way like that.”  He shook his head.  “Sure you’re all right?”

 

“Positive,” she responded absently; suddenly realizing he was overly-worried and concerned for her well-being, Dixie returned her attention to the workman standing beside her, now offering his arm to help her to her feet.  “As long as she’s okay . . . . . . . .”

 

“Seems t’ be,” Alex replied as she took hold of his arm and stood up.  “Her mama’s got ’er now,” he added with a nod in the direction of the tearful mother and the frightened child.

 

“Good.”  Gingerly moving over to sit down on the bench, she added, “I think I’ll just sit here for a while . . . . . . . .”

 

Rather dubious, the workman nodded his concurrence as he headed over to join Vic and the rest of the crew.  Figuring he’d keep an eye on her while they finished their work on the guard railing, he said nothing more.

 

With all the excitement over, the crowd glanced in her direction as they slowly drifted away and youngsters returned to their play while everyone went on about their business.  Mothers began gathering up their children, thankful for their safety, and herding them away from the suddenly ominous-seeming playground.

 

“Thank you,” she offered tearfully.

 

Dixie looked up at the mother, now tightly holding the little girl in her arms.  Smiling, she patted the empty bench beside her, encouraging the young woman to sit.  “What’s her name?”

 

“Stephanie,” the mother offered quietly.  As she settled down on the bench beside Dixie, her daughter on her lap and held tightly in her arms, she whispered, “I . . . . . . . . I . . . . . . . . I don’t know what to say.”

 

Dixie shook her head.  “You don’t have to say anything,” she told the mother.  “I’m glad she’s all right.”  She reached out to touch the girl’s small hand.  “You might want to have her doctor take a look at her, though,” Dixie suggested, “just as a precaution.  I didn’t see anything to worry about, just some bruises, but it’s probably a good idea to have her checked anyway.”  She smiled at Stephanie, who was now peeking up at her from the safety of her mother’s arms.

 

The mother nodded solemnly.  “I’ll do that right away.”  She stood and started off, stopping to turn toward Dixie once more.  “Thank you,” she said quietly; then they were gone.

 

After a time, as dusk settled around the playground and the workmen raced the dark, Dixie slowly headed for home.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

It was becoming increasingly apparent that a hot bath, a heat-ing pad, and some aspirin were simply not going to do the trick.  With a sigh, she painfully inched out of bed, struggled into an easy-to-get-on, button-down-the-front dress, slid her feet into her shoes, and reluctantly headed for Harbor General. 

 

True to his word, Kell had called earlier in the evening, but she hadn’t told him about the incident at the playground.  After all, it really wasn’t that big a deal, the little girl was fine, and she’d just have some bumps and bruises to show for her misadventure.  Certainly nothing worth getting him all spun up about, especially since he was all the way down in San Diego.  It was unquestion-ably the sort of news that could wait until he was back and could see for himself that she was just fine . . . . . . . . a solution she’d carefully designed to most definitely cut into his fret factor.

 

So she’d gotten something to eat, just to keep the aspirin tablets from upsetting her stomach, taken a long, hot bath, and settled down in bed with the heating pad and a book she figured she might as well finish as long as she was alone.  And so it had been tolerable . . . . . . . . for a while.

 

But as her shoulders began to bother her more and more, and as she grudgingly acknowledged to herself that she was really feeling quite unwell, Dixie knew she’d reached the point at which she’d have to take some sort of action and have herself attended to, whether she wanted to or not.  At four in the morn-ing, though, there simply weren’t too many options open to her.   

 

Dixie pulled into the parking lot, found an empty space as close to the door as she could get, locked the car, and slowly headed toward the emergency entrance.  It had taken her a bit longer to drive out to Harbor General, but at least here she’d be spared the endless explanation ordeal she would have faced at Rampart with every doctor, nurse, and paramedic she knew stopping by to ask what in the world had happened to her.  No, she had much better sense than to put herself in that position.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“How did this happen?” the doctor asked her.

 

“I fell,” she absently replied, wishing that he’d get through with all the questions and just give her something for the pain. 

 

“Well, we really should have some x-rays done . . . . . . . .”

 

“I need to get back home,” Dixie sighed in frustration as she glanced at the clock.  Her shift at Rampart would be starting in a couple of hours.  Why couldn’t he just give her a methocarba-mol prescription and let it go at that?  Being in a hospital was definitely not her strong suit, unless she was there to work.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

He slapped up the last of the x-rays.  “See this?” he queried, pointing.  “She’s had extensive surgery sometime in the past.”

 

“Yeah, but she included it right here in the medical history.”

 

“Well, she looks like she’s gone ten rounds with someone, and she certainly didn’t come out on top!”

 

“No broken bones, but the ligaments here,” he added, pointing to the MRI scan, “and here . . . . . . . .” 

 

“She’s already antsy to get out of here.  What should we do?”

 

He sighed.  It was his call; he was in charge.  Doctor Stanley Danvers was many things, and cautious was most definitely right at the top of the list.  “Give her something for the pain . . . . . . . . and a sedative; we’ll argue with her later about the admission.”

 

Nodding in agreement, Doctor Jensen headed toward the door.

 

“Don’t tell her about the sedative, Brent,” Danvers added.  “And keep her sedated for a couple of days.  That’ll give us some time to sort it all out . . . . . . . . and give her a little time to recover.”  

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The phone was ringing as he came through the door.  Dropping his overnight case into the chair, he grabbed up the receiver.  “Doctor Brackett.”

 

He hadn’t known the man was a doctor.  He shook his head in amazement.  “Sergeant Claffee,” he said.  “Hold for a minute? 

 

“Sure,” Kell assented, slightly annoyed.  He wanted to see Dixie; covering the mouthpiece with his hand, he called her name, but she didn’t answer.  He sighed in frustration; he hadn’t been able to connect up with her at all yesterday . . . . . . . . talking to someone who was probably looking for donations for the annual police fundraising drive was not high on his current priority list.

 

Putting the phone on hold, the sergeant finished up with the patrol officer, scribbling an address down on a slip of paper and handing it to him.  “Head on over in that direction; make sure he doesn’t take off.”  As the officer left, he picked up the phone once more.  “Thanks for waiting, Doctor.  I’d like to ask you to come down to the station . . . . . . . .”

 

“Why?” he asked in puzzlement.  “Is there some problem?”

 

“Miss McCall . . . . . . . .” the sergeant began, consulting his notes.

 

“Dixie?” he interrupted.  “Has something happened to Dixie?”

 

“I would really prefer to discuss it in person.  Can you come down to the station?”

 

“What happened?” he demanded, fighting to control the fear threatening to overwhelm his rising anger.  “Is Dixie all right?”

 

“We can discuss it when you get here,” the sergeant responded.

 

“I’m on my way,” he replied in worried frustration as he slammed down the receiver and headed for the door at a run.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Where is she?” he demanded.

 

“I can’t tell you that,” the sergeant replied evenly.

 

“What do you mean you can’t tell me?” he shouted.  “Where is she?”  Confused and worried, he bounced out of the chair.

 

“Sit down!”

 

Kell sighed in frustration and plopped back down in the chair.  He couldn’t figure out what was going on, and all he really wanted was to find out about Dixie.

 

“Look,” he queried as he worked at pushing back the rising tide of fear, “can’t you just tell me if she’s all right?”

 

“She’s being taken care of,” the sergeant replied.

 

“What does that mean?  ‘Taken care of’ for what?”

 

“Suppose we start at the beginning.  Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

 

“What happened about what?  I have no idea what you want to know!”  He slammed his fists on the table in frustration.  “I’ve been in San Diego . . . . . . . .”

 

“Since when?”

 

“Day before yesterday,” he said, fighting to keep his anger at bay.  “At San Diego Medical Center, to consult on a case.”  After a moment, he offered, “I talked to Dixie . . . . . . . . night before last . . . . . . . . she was fine.”  Looking across the table at the police sergeant, he pleaded, “Tell me what this is all about!”

 

Fine, huh?  Shaking his head, the sergeant stood up.  “You can make a phone call,” he said; “I suggest you make it to a lawyer.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“They think I WHAT?!”

 

“Kell, listen to me,” Martin Stephenson pleaded quietly.  “You’ve got . . . . . . . .”

 

“What I’ve GOT to do is to know about Dixie!” he interrupted.  “Find out what happened to her, Martin.  That’s all I want right now . . . . . . . . to know about Dixie.”

 

“Kell,” Martin replied quietly, “if you’ll sit down and listen, I’ll tell you everything I know.  Okay?”

 

“Fine,” he soughed as he flopped into the chair and, with his elbows on the table, propped his head up in his hands.  This was absolutely mind-boggling.  He felt as if he were caught up in some weird nightmarish dream, as if he had fallen into some strange alternative universe where nothing was the way it was supposed to be.  And what about Dixie?  He had to see Dixie.

 

“First of all, I don’t know what’s happened to Dixie, at least not exactly.  I do know that she’s at Harbor General . . . . . . . .”

 

“Harbor General?” Kell interrupted as he fought to focus on the conversation.  “Why?”

 

“Kell,” he entreated, “you’re listening, remember?”

 

Kell sighed as he worked at controlling the turmoil within him.  Something had obviously happened to Dixie, but for them to think that he was somehow responsible . . . . . . . . he was having trouble getting his mind around it . . . . . . . . how the hell could anyone possibly think he could’ve ever done anything to pur-posely hurt her . . . . . . . . hurt Dixie . . . . . . . . his Dixie . . . . . . . .

 

“Apparently she walked into emergency herself.  The doctor on duty there called the police and requested the investigation.”  Looking at the papers in front of him, he added, “This doctor, someone by the name of Danvers, seems to think Dixie is a battered spouse.”

 

Kell worked at grasping this fact; “A . . . . . . . . battered . . . . . . . . he thinks I . . . . . . . . I . . . . . . . .”

 

“Kell,” Martin interposed.  “Right now it’s just an investigation.  We’ll get it all straightened out and cleared up.”

 

“I . . . . . . . . NEVER . . . . . . . . hurt . . . . . . . . her . . . . . . . . NEVER!”

 

This was beyond belief.

 

“I know, Kell,” he offered quietly, but the doctor was beyond hearing.

 

“What . . . . . . . . why?  What happened to her?”  None of this made any sense.  Why would they, how could they, think that?

 

“It doesn’t say,” Martin replied, “and I’ve petitioned for her medical records, but it will be a while before we get them.  At any rate, this Danvers had her admitted . . . . . . . .”

 

“Dixie told them . . . . . . . . I hurt her?” Kell quietly mourned, his voice radiating agony.  He was beside himself now, unable to keep the rising tide of fear and despair from overwhelming him.

 

Martin looked across the table.  “It says here that she told them she fell; they’ve had her sedated since she was admitted, so no one’s talked to her since then.”

 

“Sedated?”

 

Martin nodded.  “And Danvers insists he’s going to keep her that way, so no one is going to talk to her any time soon.” 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“You told them she was still sedated?”

 

Danvers speculated.  “I thought it would be best to keep them out of here until we knew what sort of state she was in . . . . . . . .  At any rate, they’ve got the guy down at the station, so she ought to be all right now . . . . . . . . for the time being, anyway.”

 

“Yeah, let’s hope so,” Brent Jensen nodded in agreement as he thumbed through the chart.  “Guess we’ll see soon enough,” he ruminated as he punched at the elevator call button.

 

Stanley Danvers was quiet; this sort of case always bothered him.  And far too often, he’d watched the woman go back again and again as the cycle of battering continued.  There was simply no justification for that sort of abuse, no reason for anyone . . . . . . . .  His musings were interrupted as the elevator door swished open; the two men stepped into the car.  Absently punching the but-ton for the fifth floor, he found himself wondering just what sort of excuse he was going to hear this time from this woman . . . . . . . .

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Just . . . . . . . . take . . . . . . . . it . . . . . . . . . out.  NOW.”

 

“I can’t do that,” the flustered student nurse tearfully sighed.  The doctor ordered it . . . . . . . . it says so on your chart . . . . . . . .”

 

“I don’t care.  Take it out.”

 

The student nurse shook her head.

 

“Fine,” she muttered, “I’ll do it myself,” and, much to the young lady’s chagrin, Dixie proceeded to do just that. 

 

Dixie looked up as the two doctors came into the room.  She glanced over at the student nurse once more.  “Get . . . . . . . . my . . . . . . . . dress,” she ordered.  Eyes blazing, she made no effort to control her temper as she turned her attention to the two doctors.  “Just what gave you the right . . . . . . . .?  

 

“Now, take it easy,” Doctor Danvers soothed in his most compassionate of bedside manners, hoping for appeasement.  “We were just doing what was best for you.”

 

“Without asking me?  When I was fully capable of deciding?”  Dixie’s anger washed over the two doctors, the bedside manner totally ignored.  “Just how long have you had me here, not car-ing what I wanted?” she demanded.  “And what was in this IV?”

 

“Only a couple of days,” replied Doctor Jensen soothingly.

 

“A couple of DAYS?!” she shouted.  “You can’t do that!”  Even as she proffered the comment, Dixie realized it was a moot point; they had already done it.  “Why?”

 

“You needed time to recover,” Doctor Danvers told her quietly.  “I couldn’t let you go home again and risk your being hurt further.”

 

Dixie looked at the doctor in puzzlement.  “What?  Try saying something that makes a little sense, Doctor!”

 

Figuring he might as well get to the heart of the matter, the doc-tor enlightened, “No boyfriend . . . . . . . . or husband . . . . . . . .”

 

Her husband.  Kell.  If she’d been here for two days, he was most certainly back from San Diego.  He’d have no idea where she was . . . . . . . . not to mention that she’d missed her scheduled shift at Rampart for the past two days as well . . . . . . . .

 

“. . . . . . . . since the police have him, it’s safe for you . . . . . . . .”

 

What?  What did that sorry excuse for a doctor just say?  She’d been thinking about Kell . . . . . . . . “What?  What did you say?”

 

“I said, since the police have him now . . . . . . . .”

 

“Police?  Have who?”  She worked to grasp insight; “Kell?  Why?”

 

“So you’ll be safe.  Of course, they’ll need to talk to you and they will want you to press charges . . . . . . . .”

 

Police?  Press charges?  This doctor was . . . . . . . . actually suggesting . . . . . . . . implying that . . . . . . . . Kell had . . . . . . . .?

 

Dixie was not at all sure how any of this had happened, but she knew it was up to her to get it straightened out.  She looked at the doctor, anger blazing in her dark blue eyes.  “You have exactly one minute to bring me release forms,” she icily intoned.  “You had no permission, no right to keep me here.”  Fury flooded from her eyes, “You’ve made outrageous accusations that are simply out and out lies . . . . . . . . you . . . . . . . .”  She bit back her words.  “Get the papers.  Now . . . . . . . . I’m leaving.”

 

Dismissing him from her thoughts for the moment, she slid off the edge of the bed and turned her back to the student nurse.  “Please undo this!” she demanded; the doctor nodded and the nurse moved to comply as she added, “And get me my dress!”  To the two doctors, she ordered, “Out!”   

 

They went.

 

Resigned now to her patient’s temper tantrum, and thoroughly confused in regard to what was happening between the woman and the two doctors, the student nurse dutifully went over to the closet, retrieved the dress, and helped Dixie slip into it.  Agitated, Dixie was ready and impatiently waiting when Danvers returned. 

 

“This is not a good idea,” he told her as he handed her the paperwork.  He knew he couldn’t legally stop her from signing herself out of the hospital, but he felt duty-bound to try, anyway.

 

“You have no clue just how good an idea it is,” she angrily re-plied as she snatched the paperwork and scrawled her signature across it.  She tossed it onto the bed and stormed out the door.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Ron Crockett stared across the desk at her, shaking his head in disbelief.  “How do you manage these things?” he chaffed.

 

“I didn’t do this . . . . . . . . I have no idea how it all happened,” she sighed softly as tears threatened to spill from her desolation-clouded blue eyes.  “But I have to get it straightened out!”

 

In an effort to calm her, he quietly suggested, “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me exactly how the two of you managed to . . . . . . . . get into . . . . . . . . this . . . . . . . . mess?”

 

“Because I can’t.  I don’t know,” she tearfully lamented.  “I don’t understand any of this . . . . . . . . I just don’t know . . . . . . . .”

 

“Well, tell me what you do know, then.”

 

She sighed.  “I went to Emergency at Harbor General . . . . . . . .”

 

“Not to Rampart?”

 

“If I went to Rampart, then I’d have had to explain to everyone what had happened at the playground; I thought it would be easier just to go over to Harbor General . . . . . . . .”

 

“And what did happen?”

 

Dixie sighed.  I sort of, well . . . . . . . . fell . . . . . . . . down a hillside.  A little girl was on the edge of the pathway, the railing was broken, and I went to get her.  The ground just kind of . . . . . . . . collapsed . . . . . . . . and we fell.”  She shrugged, then added, “The workmen repairing the railing helped us get back up.  The mother took her little girl, I walked home . . . . . . . . end of story.”

 

“But later you went to the hospital?”

 

“Yeah,” she admitted.  “I wasn’t feeling too well, and Kell was down in San Diego for a consultation, so . . . . . . . .”

 

“So you went to Harbor General?”

 

She nodded.  “I told them what happened, that I fell; I thought they’d send me home with some methocarbamol.  Next thing I know, it’s two days later and they’re making absurd accusations, blaming Kell.”  She sniffled; “Kell’s back, but he’s not home and I can’t find him anywhere . . . . . . . .”  No longer able to keep the tears from sliding down her cheeks, she looked at him in despair.

 

Finding the revelation of her unanticipated vulnerability to be an interesting counterpoint to his own expectations, he decided to jump into the fray himself.  He poured her a cup of coffee; “Here,” he said, shoving the cup across the desk in her direction, “drink this while I make a few calls and see what we can do.” 

 

She smiled gratefully, accepting both the cup and the help. 

 

Finding it a just bit amusing to discover that the crisp, efficient Nurse McCall actually had a chink or two in her armor, Crockett kept an eye on her as he worked at tracking down the information he needed.  It was all fairly routine stuff as far as he was concerned, and it didn’t take long for him to accomplish, but it seemed to be sufficient time for Dixie to have more or less pulled herself together again, her distress artfully masked by a deceptive outward manner of calm, business-like efficiency.   

 

The police captain stepped to the door of his office, signaling an officer to come over.  Quietly, he explained what he wanted and sent the officer off; turning back toward the distraught woman sitting in front of his desk, he said evenly, “If you’re finished with your coffee, we can go now.”

 

Dixie looked up at him as she put the cup on the desk and carefully inched her way up out of the chair.  Silently observing the disparity between what she admitted to and what her current condition obviously was, Crockett quickly moved to assist her.  Gently taking hold of her arm, he led her out of the office. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Not necessarily.”  He knew that wasn’t the answer the doctor wanted to hear, but it was the only answer he had . . . . . . . . at the moment.

 

Kell sighed heavily.  “Fine,” he offered dispiritedly after a long moment of silence.  Any fight he had had left in him had long since evaporated; his thoughts were consumed with what might have happened to Dixie.  “I don’t care, as long as you find out about Dixie.”

 

He’d anticipated some sort of fuss from Kell about remaining at the police station; the reality of his acquiescence worried Martin.  In preparation for leaving, the lawyer worked at gathering up his notes.  Surprised by an unexpected knock, he glanced in the direction of the door as it opened to admit Sergeant Claffee.

 

“Yes, Sergeant?”

 

Sergeant Claffee’s large frame filled the doorway.  He glanced around the small room; the doctor sat at the table, his head bur-ied in his arms, offering no acknowledgement of the sergeant’s presence.  “Just a small matter I need to clear up,” he began.

 

“And what might that be?” queried Martin.

 

The sergeant came into the room and sat down beside the lawyer.  Pulling his notepad from his pocket, he glanced across the table at Kell as he flipped through the pages; suddenly he asked, “How do you and your wife get along?”

 

“Sorry, we have nothing to say at this time,” Martin immediately replied, effectively cutting off any reply Kell might have offered.

 

Sergeant Claffee rolled his eyes; he’d figured he wouldn’t get an answer, but he had expected some sort of protest from the doctor.  Instead, he’d remained motionless and quiet, as if he hadn’t even heard the question.  Interesting, very interesting.  

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“No, he’s fine, but we can’t go in there now,” Captain Crockett told her as he led her on down the hallway past the closed door.  “First, we’ll need to talk with Sergeant Claffee . . . . . . . .”

 

Fiery anger blazed in her blue eyes, effectively banishing any remnants of vulnerability that might have momentarily lingered there.  “Just hide and watch!” she mumbled and, spinning around, she grabbed the doorknob and pushed open the door. 

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Wait a minute!” Crockett vainly hollered, but now that she knew where he was, Dixie was having no part of waiting any longer.  The police captain rolled his eyes and went after her.

 

Sadness spilled from her eyes.  She stood in the doorway, frozen, her gaze riveted to him.  “I didn’t do this,” she whispered huskily.

 

Dixie?  He lifted his head; could it really be?  Was it a dream?  He’d swear he’d heard her voice . . . . . . . .

 

Sergeant Claffee pushed away from the table, knocking the chair over in his haste to rise; at the same time, Captain Crockett came up behind her.

 

Kelly Brackett was faster.  Bolting from the chair, it took a brief instant and only a couple of strides for him to reach her side and pull her into his arms.  The mitigation of his distress was palpable; his agony shattered forever by the sound of her voice.

 

“Dix?” he whispered hoarsely, “You’re okay?”  A life raft in a sea of despair . . . . . . . . he held on, not about to let her go . . . . . . . . not for anything . . . . . . . . not for anyone.

 

“I didn’t do this,” she tearfully repeated as she clung to him.

 

And in that moment, nothing else mattered to either of them.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Kell had felt her flinch as he’d pulled her into the hug; unmindful of the others in the room, he kept hold of her as he maneuvered over to the chair in which he had been sitting.  He eased down into the chair once more, gently pulling her into his lap, never relinquishing his hold on her.  The doctor in him acknowledged that, somehow or other, she’d been hurt; in due time he would concern himself with that piece of this puzzle.  For right now, her presence was the one and only thing he needed to know. 

 

Pulling the door closed behind him, Crockett remained standing in the doorway.  Claffee stood rooted to the spot, paused, ready for the captain’s next move.  Crockett folded his arms across his chest; he already had most of the story and he figured as long as they were here now, he’d get the rest of his answers if he just listened for a few minutes.  He had plenty of time . . . . . . . .

 

Neither of them seemed aware of the others in the room.  For each of them, the presence of the other healed the anguish and was the only thing that mattered.

 

“I never said that . . . . . . . . I never told them you . . . . . . . .”

 

Kell hushed her, his fingers gently brushing across her lips; whis-pering, “I know.”  He wiped at the tears on her cheek, working to keep his own in check.  “You want to tell me what happened?”

 

Snuggled in his arms, she settled her head on his shoulder, sniffling back tears.  “I . . . . . . . . sort of . . . . . . . . fell . . . . . . . . I told them I fell . . . . . . . . I thought they’d just give me some methocarbamol and send me home; instead they . . . . . . . .”

 

“You ‘sort of’ fell?” he interrupted.  “How?  Where?” he anxiously queried as he brushed stray locks of hair back from her face.

 

“At the playground.  I walked over . . . . . . . . by the slide.  She got too close to the edge of the path.  The rail was broken and I thought she’d fall, so I went over to get her.  And . . . . . . . . .”

 

“Ah-ha . . . . . . . . playing perils of Pauline again, huh?” he interrupted with a soft chuckle.  “I told you once before, you can’t do that without paying a price . . . . . . . .”

 

“I was not!” she asserted with some small amount of playful irritation.  “I already had her, I was walking her away from the edge and everything just kind of . . . . . . . . collapsed.  The men working on the guard railing helped us get back up . . . . . . . .”

 

“Why didn’t you say something about it when I called?”

 

She lifted her head from his shoulder to look into his eyes.  “Oh, yeah, sure,” she groused lightly, “like you could do anything about it all the way down there in San Diego!”  Dropping her gaze, she added, “Besides, I didn’t think it was anything serious and I thought it could wait until you got back . . . . . . . .”

 

“Why go all the way out to Harbor General?” he asked, shifting gears just a bit as he worked at filling in the remaining gaps.

 

She couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.  “Like I would really go to Rampart and have to explain it all . . . . . . . . in excruciating detail . . . . . . . . at least five million times . . . . . . . .”  Sighing in frustration, she favored him with one of her patented Nurse-McCall-roll-of-the-eyes looks.

 

Crockett watched the interplay between the two of them with bemused interest.  He’d known them for several years, counted them among his friends.  Although it seemed virtually impossible that Kelly Brackett could have been responsible for hurting his wife, he’d seen others he never would have suspected caught up in such destructive behavior, hurting the ones they professed to love.  He knew that, no matter what face people presented to the world, things could be very different behind closed doors. 

 

But there was an unpracticed gentleness in his manner with her, an unpretended tenderness he could not hide.  And it was readily apparent that the phrase “wearing your heart on your sleeve” had obviously been coined just for her . . . . . . . . there was no way she was ever going to hide the fact that she adored him, felt safe being with him, harbored no fear . . . . . . . .

 

A knock at the door startled him from his musings; he turned and opened it.  Stepping outside the room, he spoke briefly to the officer, and was back inside in the space of a couple of minutes.

 

More to get everyone’s attention than because of a need to do so, the police captain cleared his throat, then spoke quietly.  “This is Alex Sandoval,” he said, gesturing toward the gentleman standing beside him.  Directing his comments to Alex, he added, “We won’t keep you long, Sir, but if you could answer a couple of questions for us, clear up a couple of things . . . . . . . .”

 

Dixie looked up as the captain began speaking.  Blinking back lingering tears, she offered Alex a diffident smile of recognition.

 

“Sure, I’d be glad t’,” he interrupted.  Glancing at her, he continued, “Is this about th’ accident out at th’ playground?  It was an accident, ya know.”  Not waiting for an answer, he turned his attention toward Dixie, adding, “You are okay, right?” 

 

Dixie nodded with another smile as Ron moved over to stand beside her.  Still speaking to the workman, the captain requested, “Tell us what you know about this accident.”

 

Alex was clearly uncomfortable.  With a sigh, he said, “Some kids ridin’ motorcycles broke up sections of th’ guard rail and we was out there puttin’ up new.  Lots of damage from the heavy rains we had lately, though, and we had t’ shore it up lots . . . . . . . .”  Nodding toward Dixie, he added, “The lady grabbed a little kid when the ground gave way, kept ’er from gettin’ killed, I s’pect.  We was workin’ there; hauled ’em back up topside . . . . . . . .”  After a moment, he shrugged and added, “There wasn’t nothin’ we could-a done anyhow, t’ keep it frum collapsin’ I mean, it jes’ happened.”

 

“I’m sure it wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Crockett interjected.  “It’s a good thing you were right there to help them, though,” he offered.  “I think that’s probably about all we need to know.”

 

Looking askance, Alex faltered, “Are we . . . . . . . . in trouble?”

 

Crockett shook his head.  “No, no . . . . . . . . not at all.  We just wanted to verify what had happened.” 

 

Kell held out his hand.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.

 

Nodding at Dixie, Alex shook hands.  Ushering him out the door, Crockett added his thanks; “Officer Tomas will take you back.”

 

Petulant, Dixie looked up at the police captain as he returned to the room, pulling the door closed once more.  “Did you think I lied?” she gruffly demanded.

 

A smile teased his lips as he shook his head.  “No, no, not at all.  We just like to verify things, make sure we’ve gotten all the facts, sorted things out correctly.”

 

Dixie sighed.  “So now do you believe me?”  As Crockett and Claffee both nodded, she pushed.  “And we can go home?”

 

Crockett looked across the room.  “Sergeant Claffee?

 

The sergeant shrugged; “Sure.”

 

Dixie looked between the two men, still obviously concerned.  “You know what happened, so now this is all settled . . . . . . . . all done and over with . . . . . . . . and you know that you were wrong about it . . . . . . . . right?”

 

Crockett nodded his agreement.  “All settled, no problem here.”  He smiled at her as he added, “Why don’t you get out of here?”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“I know it’s asking a lot, Rick, especially with you just being back from your vacation, but could you set it up for me?  Today?”

 

Doctor Richard Aven shrugged.  “Sure, it won’t take much doing at all.  Mind telling me what happened?”

 

“I’ll explain when we get there.  You’ll be sure to take care of everything?”

 

“No problem . . . . . . . . consider it done.”

 

“Thanks.  See you soon.”

 

Rather perplexed, Rick shook his head in puzzlement as he hung up the telephone.  After a moment, he picked up the receiver once more and punched at the buttons.  Suddenly changing his mind, he dropped the receiver into the cradle and hurried out of the office.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

“Do we really have to do this?”

 

Smiling softly at her, he nodded.  “Yeah, but you don’t have to go if you don’t want to.  It’s no big deal; I’ll be back here before you know it.”

 

She shook her head.  ‘Oh, no,” she firmly averred.  “If you’re going, I’m going!”  After a minute, she hesitantly enquired, “What are you going to do?”

 

“Just talk, Sweetheart, just talk.”  He smiled as he carefully put his arm around her waist.  “Ready?”

 

She looked at him.  “You’ll be there with me, all the time, right?”

 

He laughed lightly.  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Love.”

 

They headed for the car.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The car cut in front of him and careened around the corner, tires squealing.  He slammed down the brake pedal, thankful he’d already slowed down in preparation for making the turn.  Some-how, he managed to swerve sufficiently to avoid a collision.

 

Breathing heavily, he looked over at her.  “You okay?”

 

“Yeah . . . . . . . .” she began; noticing the car turning into the hospital parking lot, she switched gears, reflecting, “Must be an emergency . . . . . . . .”  She watched as they, too, turned into the parking lot.  “Kell, that’s Stephanie’s mother!”

 

Kell looked over at the other car; the mother had jumped out and was now frantically working at the child’s car seat straps. 

 

“Go help her!” Dixie urged.  “I’ll be right along.”

 

Nodding, Kell jogged over as Dixie got out of the car and headed in their direction.

 

“Ma’am?  I’m a doctor . . . . . . . .”

 

“She’s breathing real funny, and her face is all swollen up!”

 

Kell reached in to undo the restraining straps, and quickly examined the child.  Anaphylactic shock.  He gathered the toddler into his arms and headed for the entrance.

 

Dixie came up and put her arm around her shoulders.  “Don’t worry; they’ll take good care of Stephanie; she’ll be just fine.”  Stephanie’s mother looked at Dixie as the nurse encouraged her toward the entrance.  Recognizing her from the playground, she tearfully offered, “I took her to the doctor, just like you said.  Got some medicine, only the drug store didn’t have it in until this afternoon, so I just gave her some a half an hour ago.”  Her tears fell fast and furious.  “This is all my fault!  I should’ve gotten her the medicine sooner!”

 

“No, I’m sure it’s not that at all.”  Dixie worked at comforting her as she asked, “Did you bring the medicine with you?”

 

Nodding, the mother held out the medicine bottle; Dixie took it as they followed Kell, still carrying the child, into the hospital.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

Turning away from the x-rays, he thumbed through the chart once again, growing more and more annoyed as he read.  This was impossible . . . . . . . . and addressing it simply couldn’t wait.

 

He strode toward the elevator, his anger mounting with each step.  By the time he reached Emergency, he was seething.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Looking around, he grabbed the nearest doctor and the two men hustled the child into the treatment room.

 

Dixie and Stephanie’s mother approached the treatment room door.  “Dixie!” he exclaimed in surprise as he came out of the elevator.

 

Pausing at the door, she looked around at the sounding of her name.  This was neither the time nor the place for personal greetings; she slipped into her proficient nurse attitude.  “Doctor Aven,” she acknowledged crisply as she pushed open the door and the three of them stepped into the treatment room.

 

Dixie parked the mother in a chair by the counter and moved to the treatment table where Kell, assisted by a staff doctor, was working on the child.  She walked around the table to Kell’s side and, holding out the bottle of medicine for him to see, she reported, “She’s only had one dose, approximately thirty minutes ago.”

 

Kell glanced at the bottle, nodding.  The epinephrine was doing its job and the child was responding well.  Without thinking, Dixie automatically reached over to take the child’s pulse as Kell glanced over at the mother.  “She’s having a bad reaction to the medication,” he told her.  “But she’s going to be just fine.” 

 

“Pulse, one hundred two,” she reported; “respiration, thirty-six.” 

 

Doctor Aven reached over to the table and retrieved the blood pressure cuff.  Handing it to her, he grinned to himself as he watched her work; he’d tried for years to get her to join his staff, but she was determined to stay at Rampart.  He figured as long as she was here, he might as well take advantage of her widely touted nursing efficiency.  He doubted he’d get another chance any time soon.

 

“IV is in,” he reported; startled, Dixie looked across the table, sighing in frustration as she adjusted the oxygen.  Some days it didn’t pay to even get up . . . . . . . . there were how many doc-tors in this hospital, and she had to end up in a treatment room with Stanley Danvers once again?  Sheesh; she’d already seen enough of that man to last her a lifetime . . . . . . . . or longer.

 

The Nurse-McCall-roll-of-the-eyes look she offered was not lost on the hospital’s chief of staff.  But she said nothing and he chose, for the moment, not to make it an issue.  The group finished treating the toddler and as Doctor Danvers made arrangements for her admission, she spoke to the mother, explaining what would happen next.  She offered an encouraging smile as the child was moved up to pediatrics.

 

“Phew!” she sighed as the door closed behind the mother.  Kell laughed lightly as took hold of her arm and circumspectly settled her in the chair.

 

“Well, I always said I’d get you over here, one way or another!” Rick Aven laughed.  Kell chuckled as he shook Rick’s hand while Dixie smiled and shrugged, but the merry tone was abandoned as he turned serious and offered an introduction.  “This is Stanley Danvers.  He’s new to our staff, came in to fill Jason’s position.”

 

“I heard that Jason took Chicago Memorial up on their offer; he’s a good man, they’re lucky to get him,” Kell replied easily; turning, he offered his hand to Danvers; “Kelly Brackett; good to meet you.”

 

“Kell is the head of Emergency over at Rampart General,” Rick continued, giving his staff doctor a pointed look.  “And I understand,” he added as he handed Kell the chart he’d brought with him, “you’ve already met Dixie . . . . . . . .”

 

Stanley sighed inwardly, surprised to have discovered that she was a nurse.  Obviously she was involved with this doctor, and he was a friend of Aven’s; he idly meditated on what this all might mean for his continued association with the hospital. 

 

Aven turned and slapped the x-rays up as the door opened and Brent Jensen stopped in the doorway.  “Gentlemen,” said the chief of staff as he invited the intern to come in, “I believe this is your case?”  He stood, looking between the two, obviously annoyed and expecting some sort of explanation.  Jensen supposed this was about keeping her sedated, but he was unsure what he ought to say about it.  He stood, silent, waiting until the last possible moment to offer any sort of comment.

 

Silence filled the room, broken only by Kell’s page-turning as he thumbed through the chart.  Glancing in Dixie’s direction, he stepped over to examine the x-rays, then turned to the two doctors.

 

Brent Jensen, feeling very much at a disadvantage, nervously sized up the situation as best as he could, his eyes darting around the room.  Emergency was his very first rotation as an intern; if he’d messed up big time already, he didn’t hold too much hope for his future in medicine.  “I’m not sure I understand, Doctor . . . . . . . .”

 

“She said she fell,” Danvers abruptly offered.  Stepping over to indicate the x-rays, he continued, “These injuries are not at all consistent with what would be expected to occur as the result of a fall.”  He looked at the doctor . . . . . . . . silent . . . . . . . . waiting . . . . . . . . defiant. 

 

Unwavering, Kell returned the look, quietly volunteering, “Dixie never lies.” 

 

“I took what I considered to be necessary and appropriate action to care for the patient.  Nothing more.”

 

“After the day I’ve had with the police, I’m not at all sure it was either necessary or appropriate,” Kell responded with a sigh.

 

“Kell,” Rick began in an effort to settle the matter; Kell held up a hand to stop him.

 

“That’s not the issue, Rick,” he said.  “I wanted to see the x-rays.  I didn’t come over here to make a fuss or to blow this thing up into some huge issue; I wanted to see the records, wanted to know . . . . . . . . what you found . . . . . . . . the course of treatment.  That’s all.” 

 

“Is there a problem?  With the police?”

 

Kell shook his head.  “Nope; it’s all been straightened out.”  He sighed and tossed Dixie a rueful smile.  “Done and over with.”

 

“Surely they know, then, that . . . . . . . .”

 

“I would have been remiss in my patient care if I hadn’t asked for the investigation,” Danvers interrupted.  “In my opinion, the injuries are not the result of a fall and I was obligated to take every step possible to protect the welfare of my patient.”

 

“You’ll get no argument from me about that, Doctor,” Kell said quietly.  “If you’re going to make a mistake, you might just as well make it on the side of caution.”

 

“I’m not at all sure I made any mistake.”

 

Dixie rolled her eyes in annoyance.  “Didn’t we just go through all of this with the police?”  She sighed heavily.  “Just what part of ‘I fell’ are you having a problem with, Doctor?”  Sarcasm dripped from her words.

 

Kell moved to her side, lightly placing a hand on her shoulder.  “Dix,” he chided softly.

 

“No,” she protested.  “I want an answer.  What part of ‘I fell’ can’t he understand?”

 

“If it were just the bruises,” he said, “perhaps I could accept that, even though there are some,” he made a fist as he continued, “that are a perfect match to a fist . . . . . . . .”  He held his balled hand in the air for a moment, then dropped it as he pointed to the MRI scan and added, “but there’s no way for a fall to result in injury like this in the ligaments . . . . . . . .”

 

She shook her head, working to dispel her angry tears.  “You need to have a blow-by-blow?  Fine.  Pay close attention, Doctor.  That little girl who was just in here was at the playground, picking dandelions.  She got too close to the edge of the pathway, and the guard railing was down.  I went to get her, took hold of her hand . . . . . . . . we were walking away when the ground gave way beneath us and we both fell down the side of the hill.  I grabbed at a bush of some sort, held on to her with my other hand . . . . . . . . the workmen came and pulled us back up to the top of the embankment.”  She paused to catch her breath, blinking furiously to keep her tears at bay.  Frustrated, she looked at Kell as she endeavored to keep her temper in check.  Silently cursing the methocarbamol-induced depression that made her feel weepy and discomfited, she was making a monumental effort at maintaining some remnants of her composure. 

 

She didn’t make it.

 

“I fell . . . . . . . . plain and simple . . . . . . . . fell.”  Tears slid down her cheeks as she retorted, “Anything more you need to know, Doctor?”

 

“Hey . . . . . . . . hey, Love, hush,” Kell soothed quietly as he gathered her into his arms.  He knew her depression was partly induced by the drug, partly from the hellishness of the previous hours.  She’d definitely earned the right to cry; nevertheless, he soothed,  “Ssshhhh, don’t cry . . . . . . . . it’s all right.”

 

She worked at gaining some measure of control.  Her tears abated as he held her, his gentle murmuring the only sound in the room.

 

After a couple of minutes, Dixie, comfortable in his embrace and feeling somewhat mollified, sighed.  “Is there anything else, or can we get out of here now?”

 

“If I thought it was just that you didn’t like our hospital, I’d have hurt feelings!” Rick laughed.  “You know, I’ve never met a nurse that hates hospitals as much as you, Dixie!  But you can still come and work here, any time you want!”

 

In spite of herself, Dixie chuckled, and the tension was broken.  “I don’t hate hospitals,” she protested diffidently, “I just hate having to be in them!”  She sniffed indignantly.  “And working is different.” 

 

Kell knew all this from personal experience; somehow, in her mind, there was some sort of delineation between her being a professional working in a hospital and her being treated herself in a hospital.  She was the best nurse he’d ever known, but she was never going to be comfortable on the receiving end of any hospital care.  He just shook his head as he put his arm around her and gently pulled her into another hug.  He brushed at the lone tear still glistening on her cheek. 

 

He’d found out what he needed to know; it was time for them to go.  “Thanks, Rick,” he said, offering his hand; then he guided her toward the door. 

 

Kell paused there, turning to face the two doctors once again.  “Thank you for taking care of my wife,” he said softly.  “In spite of everything, if I had to choose, I’d rather have you overreact than to not care about what might have happened to her.”

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Kell?” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

 

He looked up in surprise as she came across the room to stand beside him.  “Sorry for what?”

 

“Everything.”  Intent on examining some spot on the floor in front of her, she was unwilling to meet his gaze.  “I know it’s all my fault . . . . . . . .”

 

“Nonsense; none of it is your fault, Sweetheart,” he protested as he reached out to grab hold of her hand and pulled her down beside him on the sofa.  “You can’t blame yourself for any of it.”

 

Her eyes swam in tears; her gaze directed somewhere in the vicinity of her lap.  He reached to put his hand under her chin, to move her head up so she would look at him, but she resisted the effort, unwilling to look up.  Her voice was quiet, echoing with sadness; “Sure it is . . . . . . . . if only I’d gone to Rampart in the first place, then none of this would have happened . . . . . . . .”

 

Abandoning his effort to get her to look at him, he instead pulled her into a hug.  “And if you hadn’t gone over to the playground, you wouldn’t have been there to help Stephanie.  She’d have fallen and been seriously hurt.”  Brushing his hand through her hair as he worked at teasing her out of her blue funk, he added, “You can play ‘if only’ as long as you want, Sweetheart, but it doesn’t change a thing . . . . . . . . and when it’s all said and done, it still won’t be your fault.”

 

“I would never do anything to hurt you,” she whispered.

 

“I know,” he murmured with a smile, planting a kiss on the top of her head as she fell silent.  Mindful of her injuries, he carefully hugged her, rocking her gently, satisfied just to be sitting beside her, just to have her in his arms.

 

“I am sorry.”

 

“It’s all done and over with, Dix, and we’re here . . . . . . . . together.  That’s the only thing that matters.”  They sat, holding onto each other, content simply with being together.

 

After a while, he advised, “You ought to try to get some sleep.” 

 

Nodding her concurrence, she let him walk her down the hall to the bedroom.  Covering her with the quilt, he kissed her and left her to her dreams.

 

 

* * * * * * * *

 

He looked up in surprise as she quietly came into the study.  He’d looked in on her a while ago; she’d been sleeping.  “I thought you were resting,” he said as he walked around the desk to her side and wrapped her in a hug.  “Feeling better?”

 

Eyes sparkling, she smiled at him.  “I feel just fine, Doctor,” she teased.  “I’ve been in the kitchen fixing some supper . . . . . . . .”

 

He chuckled softly.  “You weren’t kidding, were you?”

 

“About what?” she enticed softly.

 

“The late supper.”

 

Her answer was a suggestive smile as she slipped her arm around his waist.  Snapping off the light switch as they passed by, she took hold of his hand and led him out of the room.