Resolution

"For the second consecutive day, Los Angeles is experiencing high winds and unseasonably warm temperatures.  The Santa Ana Winds, with gusts sometimes reaching 60 miles per hour, also have the mercury soaring to --”

Dr. Kelly Brackett leaned forward and turned off the television.  He did not need a TV weatherman to remind him that it was dry, dusty and hot.  The New Year had been rung in with the legendary winds that gathered over the mountains then rushed through their canyons to the coastal areas.  Although usually not at their peak in January, the Santa Anas were blowing with atypical strength. 

The doctor shrugged off his thoughts about the weather and picked up the medical journal he had brought with him to the break room of Rampart General Hospital.  Sipping from a lukewarm cup of coffee that sat nearby, he began to read of a new technique in the evaluation of patients’ suffering from closed head trauma, an injury that was sometimes missed in a routine examination.  As the ranking physician of the emergency department, he always welcomed any light that may be shed on his area of practice.

The squeak of the door opening had him glancing up and he saw the ER’s head nurse enter to pour herself a cup of coffee.  He watched her sniff at it, dump it into the sink, then make a fresh pot before sitting down with him on the sofa.  Dixie McCall was very particular about her coffee.

“Catching up on your reading, Kel?” she asked peering at the magazine that lay open in his lap.

“Yeah, I have to take the time when I can get it,” he chuckled then became somber.  “Dix, about last night…”

“It’s all right,” she told him, her features holding a shadow of the familiar glowing smile he loved so much.  “We lived through it.”

Kel nodded thoughtfully, looking back down at the text he had been studying but he was no longer concentrating on the article.  Several months ago, a woman he had once known and loved had presented him with the task of reevaluating what he truly sought in female companionship. Rosalind Chambers had caused not only the doctor, but also the nurse, to think differently about their existing friendship.  It was the byproduct of a years-ago stormy romance after which there was still an element that kept them spending time together and caring about each other.  In reality, neither of them had truly let go of the other and Rosalind’s unexpected resurfacing had led to a mutual decision for both of them.

They were cautious in their step back toward the intimate.  Both were stubborn and opinionated. When pitted against each other in the finer details of a relationship, she viewed him as a challenge while his own short temper had him growing exasperated with her.  Working and socializing together when they were not truly involved had always been easier.   Close camaraderie had also built a protective fortress of defense against the other to avoid hurt.  Each still held the bitter memories of what had ruined the commitment they had known -- words said in anger that were sometimes walked away from.

And last night was a prime example, Kel thought.

***

It had all begun when he had taken her home from work.  He knew Dixie was tired with a headache, but the heat and constantly blowing wind had contrived against them.

Dixie’s apartment contained only a wall unit air conditioner that she turned off when away from home.  The still air exposed to the western sunlight hit him as they entered the dwelling.  She quickly opened several windows, turned on the fan strategically placed in the hall, and started the A/C.  The breeze created by all of it did not have a cooling effect.  The Santa Ana disturbance had a buffering effect against any manmade efforts.

“Dix,” he said dropping his jacket into a chair and loosening his tie, “why don’t you move someplace with central air?”

“Because for the price, I could never find a place this big that’s close to work,” she answered, going to the kitchen area and taking a bottle of aspirin from a cupboard.  Filling a glass from the sink’s tap, she swallowed some tablets then looked at him.  “I happen to like where I live.”

“Uh huh.  It’s a great dry sauna,” he responded critically, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.  Perspiration had begun to gather against it and he found himself growing irritable. 

“Some of us can’t afford the luxury of living in a nice climate controlled house,” she called over her shoulder, leaving to change from her polyester uniform top and slacks into something cooler.

Kel briefly felt his irritation subside and went to the refrigerator for a cold bottle of beer.  After the death of her husband, Dixie’s mother had raised her children within a frugal household.  Miranda McCall had instilled in her daughter the necessity of hard work without being extravagant with what you earned.  Life could always take a turn for the worst where resources other than distinguishing qualities might have to be drawn on.

Pouring the beer into a glass, Kel knew he admired Dixie for her shrewd spending habits along with so much more that made her what she was.

Dixie emerged from the bedroom wearing a pair of cotton shorts and pink T-shirt.  Going to the desk in the living area where the telephone sat, she pulled open a drawer for the scribbled list holding the numbers of restaurants that delivered.

“It’s too hot to cook,” she said, scanning the scratch pad and looking up at him.  “I’d rather have the Red Coral but since they don’t deliver, how does the Imperial sound to you?”

Kel found himself once again surrounded by the oppressive heat engulfing them.  Take out Chinese shared within the warmth of her apartment was less than appealing.  Putting his hand around the damp film that had developed against his glass, he took a drink of the cool beer then set it aside.

“Dix, it’s too hot eat in here!”

“Fine, you don’t have to eat. But I’m hungry,” she stated matter-of-factly, reaching for the phone.  “I haven’t eaten all day which is why I think I’ve got a headache.”

Kel went to her from where he stood leaning against the bar that divided the kitchen and living room.  Frustration with her demanding schedule, along with his own, had him replying in a sharp tone, “Yeah, so I’ve noticed.  You need to slow down sometimes and look after yourself.”

Dixie’s dark blue eyes held a challenge when they looked up at him.  “You’re not one to talk there.  I’ve seen you work yourself into a headache more than once.”

Kel knew well the path they were beginning to tread and where it might lead. As friends they would have simply decided to leave their surroundings for a cooler environment but when standing together as more than that, neither of them found it easy to relinquish any ground that may have been gained from the other.  The defiant front she could present had, in the past, often led to his walking away from her and he fought against that self-preserving instinct now.  To leave and let time heal the breach that had been opened.  The time that eventually had been his undoing when she had reached a point where she would not let him walk back into her life as anything other than a friend.

Instead, he placed his hands against her shoulders and said, “Order some shrimp in lobster sauce for me and I’ll split it with your sesame chicken.”

When the teenager holding a brown paper bag arrived at the door, they had divided the bill then made cursory small talk over dinner until Kel left.   His concession had avoided the full-blown argument that had could have arisen between them.  While it had left intact the fragile toehold they had clawed into the walls surrounding them, both were aware that had it also created a crevice that they would someday have to breach.

***

“Survival?” Kel asked her within the hospital’s break room.  “Is that what you and I are together?”

Dixie shook her head, reaching for his hand that rested against his knee.  “I’m not sure.  Sometimes Kel, we’re like two creatures trying to devour the other . . . preying mantises, maybe.”

“Dix, if I remember it right, the female consumes the male after they mate.  Is that what you’ve got in store for me?” he teased, clasping her fingers within his own.  “There are probably worse ways to die but…”

With his head still bent, his gray eyes glanced slyly in her direction.  They were rewarded with a slight blush creeping across her cheeks and a tender smile that radiated not only from her lips but spread across her features.  Her shoulder came to rest against his.

“No.  I didn’t eat you alive when we . . . ‘mated’ before  . . . so I don’t think that will happen if we ever get to that point again,” she joked back at him, then slowly lost her smile.  “But there are some of the old issues we had. Sometimes when we’re together it’s like we can’t agree to disagree and leave it at that.  There’s a point where we both seem to  . . .” 

“I know.  We’ve got to --” Kel began but was interrupted by the PA summoning Dixie to a treatment room.

“There goes the fresh pot of coffee I made,” she commented, slowly moving away from him.  Her hand lingered in his as she stood then withdrew itself completely when the door opened and a nurse taking a break entered. 

Kel sighed, knowing that he had spent more than enough time away from his duties and rose from the couch to follow Dixie.  The door had already closed behind her when he noticed the pale figure that stood near the counter.

“Anne,” he nodded to the nurse filling a mug, before he exited the lounge.

“Doctor,” she replied with a slight British accent, cryptically eyeing the sofa both he and Dixie had recently departed from.

***

Fireman/paramedic John Gage spat out the grit that the wind had forced against his teeth, then returned to the boy that lay under an oxygen mask.

Two children, brothers, had tried to light a fire so they could toast forbidden marshmallows over it only to have the brittle growth on the hillside catch the flame.  Their efforts to stop the blaze that erupted had left one scorched while the younger member had suffered burns along his arms and legs.  In all likelihood he would carry a permanent reminder of the innocent campfire he had tried to start on that day.  

Spreading saline solution over the sterile sheets that covered the boy, he heard his partner, Roy DeSoto, reassure an anxious mother that her son was alive.  Hearing the child groan under the coolant, Johnny found himself bracing against the pain his victim felt and listened as Roy began a relay with the hospital receiving their transmission from the field.

“Rampart, Squad 51.” 

“Go ahead 51,” a doctor’s distant voice responded.

“We have a brush fire victim.  Age eight with third degree burns to his hands, forearms, and thighs.  Minor burns to his neck and face.  Sterile bandages are in place.  Pulse is steady at…”

Listening to Roy recite the boy’s vital signs, Johnny felt the empathy that had recently begun to haunt him wash over him.

“Toby!” the mother cried, grasping the shoulder of her weeping son while trying to leave Captain Stanley’s arms for the child who lay unmoving under a sheltering tree.

Is this worth it? Johnny asked himself, hearing her sob.  Shifting his gaze, he watched Marco Lopez and Chet Kelly hose down the fire that would soon be contained.  Sometimes, you can’t help but feel the pain of the victim and who cares about ‘em . . . I might be better off manning a hose and forgetting about the medical difference here.

***

Dr. Joe Early prescribed an additional hydrating IV for the boy then prepared to leave the treatment room.  Reluctantly, Johnny left the patient.  During his transport to Rampart, Toby Haley had regained consciousness, leaning toward the paramedic for comfort against the pain in his extremities while his mother cried in the passenger compartment of the ambulance. 

“How do you do it Doc?” Johnny asked, exiting the room with the doctor.  The burn unit had arrived to begin assessing the inevitable debridement.  The boy’s screams would never reach his ears but he knew they would exist. 

“You build up a thick skin against it,” Joe told him firmly.  “You do what you can then leave it behind you for what may be waiting next.”

“Sure, but what if what comes next is worse?” the paramedic queried as they approached base station desk.

“You take that as your oath to preserve life and deal with it from there.”

Roy stood chatting with Dixie at the desk, but stopped as the glum pair approached.

“How’s the kid?” Roy asked apprehensively.

“He’ll live but he’s got a long painful road to recovery ahead of him,” Joe answered, picking up a chart from the rack that stood on the counter and placing his reading glasses against his nose.  “Dix, that case of acute gastric distress is ready to go home.  Can you see her out and reinforce the fact that her personal physician has told her many times that spicy Italian sausage in spaghetti sauce only aggravates her existing ulcer?  I’ve tried but I don’t think I’m getting through to her.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Dixie said, sliding away from the stool she was perched on.

Johnny had stood quietly observing the exchange, thinking of the contrast between the hospital and the field.  “That’s a big part of the difference, Doc,” he said snapping his fingers then gesturing with his hands beyond the confines of Rampart.  “You’ve got somebody like Dix here to help you with the burden.  Out there, we don’t have that -- it’s just us.”

Joe had picked up another chart and was looking it over.  A patient with multiple fractures to his foot was about to be moved for casting then traction.  “You might be on to something there but I’ve got to get back to work,” the doctor replied before hurrying away.

Johnny shrugged then turned back to the desk.  Another nurse had taken Dixie’s stool and looked up at the firemen inquisitively.

“Anne, we need a few things.  Can you help us out?” Roy asked her, handing her a sheet of paper.

“Sure,” she answered going to a cabinet then returning with an armload of medical supplies.   

“Thanks,” Roy said gratefully, checking the inventory against his requisition form.

“How well do you to know Dr. Brackett and Miss McCall?” Anne casually asked the paramedics.

Johnny shrugged.  “We’ve worked with them a few years.  They’re the best when it comes to evaluating patients in the field.”

“Yes, so I’ve noticed.  But I’ve sometimes wondered if they’re something more than colleagues.  Dr. Varnon has mentioned the fact they’ve worked together a longtime.  But then she’s grateful to Dr. Brackett for getting her friends to this country  . . . there are horrible atrocities behind the Iron Curtain.  Still, you must have heard the gossip that they used to be --”

“Okay, it all checks out,” Roy interrupted, looking up at the nurse and grabbing their replenished drug kit.  “We’ve gotta get back to the station.”  In her time at Rampart, Anne Smith had gained a reputation of exaggerating what she sometimes witnessed and Roy had no desire to be a participant in the rumors she often fed.

Sliding behind the wheel of the squad, he looked over to his partner and asked, “What do you think Anne’s up to?”

“I have no idea,” Johnny answered slumping against the truck’s seat as they drove out of the parking area. 

It was unusual for the younger member of the team not to express an interest in the goings on at the hospital. 

“What’s eating at you Junior?” the older paramedic asked, hearing frustration in the man beside him.

“Roy . . . don’t you sometimes think that we’re still the impotent wonders we started out as?”

“Uh-uh.  We’ve come a long way in gaining respect for what we do when somebody needs us.”

“Sure . . . but sometimes . . . it just seems like a Band-Aide until they get to the hospital.  If you work on an engine or rescue crew . . . you don’t have to be the one trying to keep somebody alive before a doctor takes over.”

Roy shot his partner an admonishing look.  “That bandage can sometimes make all the difference.”

“Yeah, I know” Johnny replied, looking down at his boots that rested against the squad’s floorboard.  “But you’ve gotta live with the pain and suffering that somebody felt while you got them to the hospital.  If you’re on an engine, you don’t go through that.”

Finding nothing that could counter the discouragement he heard, Roy silently drove them back to Los Angeles County Station 51.

***

“Mr. Wolfe, please lie still,” Dixie said, struggling to wrap a BP cuff around the arm of the animated patient Squad 36 had deposited in treatment room two.  A strong gust of wind had thrown him from the ladder he was climbing to investigate the malfunctioning swamp cooler on the roof of his home.

“But it hurts!” he exclaimed trying to reach for the leg that was encased in a splint.  Ligaments had been torn during his fall, along with a large goose egg that was rising against his hairline.  “Can’t you do something for the pain?”

Dixie shook her head and tried to once again establish a set of vitals as she caught a flaying arm.  “I’m afraid not.  You hit your head and until we can be sure there’s nothing wrong there, pain medication is out of the question.”

“Oh come on, I spent some time in Nam and know morphine’s a wonder drug no matter how bad you’re torn up.”

“It can be,” the nurse responded as the arm once again left her grasp and the patient’s fingers sank against her right elbow.  Gordon Wolfe was a large man and she wondered if he realized the amount of pressure that he was exerting against her joint.

“Ouch!” she cried with a wince of pain and tried to pull away from him.  Her movement only caused her arm to twist further within his grasp, leaving not only her elbow hurting but also a radiating ache that ran through her upper arm to her shoulder. 

“Hey, I know you’re just a nurse but you can probably get a doctor to give me something,” the patient pleaded.  “It ain’t too much to ask for now, is it?”

Dixie grimaced and tried to remove her throbbing extremity from Gordon’s clutch on it.  The opening of the door had her looking over her shoulder.  Mike Morton, a resident assigned to the ER, had entered to begin treatment. 

Seeing the nurse held by the patient, his dark brown eyes behind glasses widened in surprise.  “Let go of her,” he said sharply.

Gordon’s hand dropped away from Dixie and he studied the man who had joined them.  “You a doctor?” he questioned Morton as he approached the treatment table. 

“Yes, I am.  And I’m here to find out what’s wrong with you.  Dix, what are the vitals?”

“I’m not sure.  We had a little trouble with those but I know he’s in some distress,” Dixie stated dryly, resuming her duties.

“Doc, my leg’s killing me.  Can you give me a shot of something to stop it?  She couldn’t help me but you can,” Gordon complained, confidant that the doctor would recommend a drug to dull the misery his leg felt.

“Not until we know a little more,” Mike replied, studying the swelling on his forehead.  “Looks like you hit your head.”

“Uh-huh, but that’s not what’s bothering me.  It’s my knee Doc . . . it hurts like hell.”

Morton completed the examination, gave the orders for several x-rays of the victim’s skull, then stood back as Gordon groaned when he was moved away for further scrutiny.  Out of the corner of his eye, Mike caught Dixie flexing her fingers and rubbing her upper arm.

“You okay Dix?” he asked going to where she stood by the room’s medical stores.

“Uh-huh, he just grabbed me a little too hard,” she answered, preparing to leave and assess who may be waiting for treatment.  “I’ve had worse.”

Dr. Morton was well known for his at times abrasive manner when dealing with both patients and staff, but over the years he had developed a fondness for Dixie.  She had a knack for keeping residents’ egos in line.  Her gentle presence was also a constant reminder of the human characteristic that existed within what they often saw.  Gordon Wolfe was no different from so many before him and she took it in stride -- a necessary quality that made her an exceptional head nurse.

“You sure?”

Dixie heard and saw the concern the doctor was expressing.  Flashing him a grin when she pulled the door open, she said, “Yeah, Mike.  I’ll live.”

***

“Roy, take over for Dixie,” Kel said, motioning his head toward the paramedic who stood at the back of the room.  The nurse was growing fatigued from the CPR she had been applying to the patient Squad 51 had come in with.  The simple heat prostration the woman had experienced on a neighborhood street had developed into full cardiac arrest when she was but a few minutes from the hospital.

Dixie stood back, pushing away a stray strand of long dark blond hair that had come lose from the barrette that confined it, and began to count the number of compressions against Kim Chang’s chest. Another nurse handed the doctor a syringe he injected directly into the patient’s heart.  For a moment the room was quiet as they waited for the medication to stimulate the organ.  When it failed, the fight for her life began again.

***

Roy emerged from the treatment room, running a forearm against his sweating brow.

“Damn it,” he muttered.  “She was too young to die of a heart attack.”

Kel stood beside an equally dejected Dixie, and nodded.  “I know . . . but we did everything we could.  Even a kid of twenty can have a heart condition that hasn’t been detected.”

“Yeah,” Roy agreed somberly, searching around the corridor for his partner.  Seeing Johnny at the base station he began to walk toward him, hearing the hospital staff fall in behind him.

The younger man looked at the approaching paramedic and ran a hand through his thick dark hair.  He only needed to see Roy’s face and the dismissal group with him to know that the girl they had found sprawled against a sidewalk had died.  Shaking his head, he looked down the desk with a growl.  “Shit!”

“Johnny, both you and Roy did everything correctly at the scene.  We don’t know why her heart failed when she was overcome with heat.  I know it doesn’t help any right now but an autopsy should help give us an explanation,” Kel tried to reassure the paramedic.

“Yeah. You guys did a great job getting her here,” Dixie added, reaching her right arm out to the man with boyishly attractive dark features that usually held a lopsided smile but were now sour with disappointment.  Her arm caught as it extended toward him and she grimaced slightly, then put a hand against his shoulder.

Johnny looked around him at those who were attempting to offer assurance but it did nothing to lift the mood of discouragement he’d been harboring.  With a shrug, he replied, “Sure, but sometimes the Band-Aide we put on out there isn’t enough.  Come on Roy, with all this wind and heat we’d better make ourselves available.”

“Is he okay?” Dixie asked, reaching out her left hand toward the remaining paramedic and keeping her right arm pulled instinctively against her body.

DeSoto saw the worry filling her dark blue eyes and tried to relieve it with a weak version of his rather toothy smile.  “Yeah, Dix.  He’ll be all right.  He’s just been in a bit of a funk lately,” he told her, then hurried to catch up with his partner.

“I need to call the next of kin,” Kel said, placing a hand lightly against Dixie’s shoulder to steer her away from the desk with him.  “Dix, I’d like you to be there . . . just in case I need your help.”  It was no secret within the hospital that she was often his stabilizing factor when it came to the emotions felt by those close to a patient -- grief, fear, uncertainty, hesitation and so much more.  She had an ability to ease them through it that he lacked.

She nodded; pressing the fingers of her left hand against the painful elbow that had begun to aggravate her more during the application of CPR.

“Is your arm bothering you?” he questioned her, a note of concern in his voice as they paused on their way to his office.  He had noticed her favoring it while they were talking with the firemen and he touched her forearm.

“A little, but I’m fine.  I just had a patient who wanted me to share some of his pain while he waited for a doctor to tell him that he couldn’t have any morphine.”

“We’ve all had those,” Kel smiled down at her before his lips formed into a grim line and they resumed their walk toward the unpleasant task ahead of them.

Anne Smith watched them curiously from beneath her thick eyelashes as she pretended to study a form that lay on the counter.  She had been present during the battle to save Kim Chang and had joined them at the base station when it was lost.  All that she had seen and heard seemed to confirm a growing suspicion she held.  Seeing Dr. Early approach the counter and slide on his reading glasses when he picked up a chart, she turned to him with a pleasant smile.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Early,” she told him, her usual clipped British tones almost chipper.

“Anne,” he acknowledged, glancing at her over the dark rim of his spectacles then returning to the documentation that was necessary to release the victim of a tree branch the wind had sent hurtling.

“You know . . . sometimes I think Dr. Brackett and Miss McCall are  . . .” she slowly commented to him, “well, you know . . . almost a little too chummy for people in their position.”

“Huh?”  Joe’s gray eyebrow’s shot up and he removed his glasses.  Her remark had gotten his full attention and he stared at her, perplexed.  “What are you getting at?”

“Well, there’s always been talk that they were once . . . oh . . . let’s just say involved beyond a working relationship.  And today, he had a paramedic take over for her on CPR when she was getting tired. ”

“Any doctor worth his salt knows when it’s time to let somebody else take over.  Continuous CPR can have anybody’s arms turning to noodles and a fresh set of hands are needed.  You should understand that.”

“Of course, but there’s also the way they brush against each other . . . sometimes touch.  You’ve worked with them a long time, surely you’ve noticed.  It all makes me wonder how professional they can be when --”

“Anne, you’re barking up the wrong tree here,” Joe sternly interrupted her.  “I’ve worked with Dr. Brackett and Dixie a lot of years and they’re the best ER team I’ve had the pleasure of being associated with.  I’ve never found their conduct here something that should be questioned.  As for their personal lives, what they do outside this hospital is not any of your or my business.  Whatever talk may exist about a past ‘involvement’ is something that I’m not aware of.”

Joe found it easy to lie to her.  The fact that he was well aware of both the past and present between the ranking members of Rampart’s Emergency Room was something only the three of them truly knew.  Kel was his best friend but he also shared a bond with Dixie.  The rumor of a relationship had never escaped him but he had always been able to swat it away.  There had never been the meddlesome quality Anne could bring to it.

“Naturally, Doctor,” she replied, lowering her eyes under his steady gaze.  “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked.  You’re right.  Sometimes my inquisitive side gets the best of me.”

“Well . . . you’ve got a track record Anne, so I suggest you be careful about spreading around anymore of your thoughts.  You’ll be stepping on some pretty big toes if you blow something you’ve been thinking about out of proportion,” Joe lectured her.  Picking up the chart, he began to walk toward the lounge.  “I’m going to have a cup of coffee before I release Mr. Lawrence.  You know where to find me if anything comes up.”

An affirmative tilt of her head met his retreating back.  Looking down at the ticking hands of her watch, she saw that twenty minutes remained before her planned lunch with another ER nurse, Lucinda.  There was a great deal she needed to inform her friend of when it came to Rampart’s inner sanctum.

***

“So what’re you gonna do . . . quit and go to medical school?” Roy prodded Johnny as they entered the day room after stopping off for a bite to eat on their way back from the hospital.  His partner’s doubts regarding the position they held had led to a heated discussion that had followed them back to the station.

“Nah.  I’m too old to be sitting with a bunch of kids taking freshman English  . . . and I don’t want the responsibility of being a doctor either,” Gage angrily retorted.  “But I rode on an engine for a while before I became a paramedic and I can still handle a hose with best of them.  Maybe that’s where I belong.”

“A few bad runs and you’re willing to flush everything we trained for -- the experience you gained -- right down the toilet,” Roy shot back at him, taking a cup that sat drying in the dish rack and reaching for the coffeepot.

Johnny’s hand found the percolator first and he possessively brought it to his own mug.  His dark brown eyes flared with ire as he contemplated the older man with his thinning dishwater blond hair, perceptive light blue eyes and sturdy frame.  Wryly, he shook his head.  “You just don’t get it Roy.  You always had more confidence with the program than I did.  You’re more disciplined and can come around to seeing it for the greater good.  I can’t do that right now.”

“Uh-uh, I’ve had plenty of my own problems!  Remember that guy who aspirated and I stopped the ambulance to insert an airway then he died.  I got chewed out royally by a doctor and was going to leave for a brush fire unit.  But then I thought about --”

The clearing of a throat had him stopping and turning around.  Chet Kelly, a member of A-Shift’s engine crew who was well known for his chiding nature and practical jokes sat on the couch with the day’s paper.  Neither of the paramedics had noticed him when they had entered.

“Excuse me gentlemen, but I couldn’t help but overhear,” Chet told them rising from his seat.  He found it strange for the usually agreeable partners to be locked in such a volatile argument.  Both were glaring at the other when he stepped between them.  “You guys seem to be having what I would consider a quarrel . . . so maybe I can give it a neutral observer’s position.”

“Stay out of it Kelly,” Johnny said, venom lacing his already enraged tone.

“No, let’s hear what he’s got to say,” Roy queried, seeing that the prankster was serious when he looked toward his favorite target for getting under someone’s skin, Johnny.  However, Chet also held a deep respect for the man’s abilities.

Aware of the dark brooding that had hung over the paramedic the last few days, Chet turned from one hostile face to the other then watched the younger man exhale heavily before he began to study the grainy imitation wood that covered the kitchen cabinets.

Taking a deep breath, Chet said, “John, you’re one of the best paramedics LA County ever produced.  You and Roy have been in the thick and thin of it since the beginning.  You can’t throw all that away because you’re going through a bad time . . . you know as well as I do riding on an engine ain’t all that easy either.  Sometimes eating smoke all day, then you come back tired just wanting a shower and sleep but --”

Johnny turned toward the fireman, glowering.  “Chet, you’re about the last person I need a pep talk from.”  With that he spun on his heel and left for the dormitory where he hoped he could be alone with his nagging thoughts.

Watching him leave, Chet nudged an elbow against Roy.  “You don’t think he’s serious, do you?” he asked, worried that the Johnny may actually be considering leaving what he had helped to create.

“I hope not,” Roy responded then turned the conversation away from his partner.  “You got the weather page over there?  I’m thinking about getting Joanne and the kids away from the house when I’m off and I need to know the forecast.”

“Yeah, it’s under the sports.  I looked at it and there might be a break in the wind.”

Together they walked toward the couch to pick up the paper that was spread across it.

***

When he finished at Rampart, Kel drove toward the fringe of an older residential area that bordered a strip mall, a handful of bars and the hospital.  He braked when he reached a sign reading: “Starwood Apartments: Specializing in Luxurious Living” with smaller print proclaiming the virtues of “a year-round pool, paid heat and air conditioners available in every unit.”  Finding a place in the building’s parking lot, he got out of the car and began to climb the stairs to the second floor, not for the first time wondering what incentive free heat offered when it came to choosing an abode in Southern California.  During his residency in Minnesota it had been something he placed importance on, but not here.

Rapping against the door of the apartment bearing the number 116, he smiled when it opened and cool air swirled around the hallway’s stuffy confines.  Dixie stood just inside wearing a red blouse and gray slacks.

“You left the air conditioning on today,” he observed, greeting her with a kiss against her cheek.  Pulling away his paisley tie, he dropped it into a chair along with his jacket.

“Uh-huh,” Dixie grinned.  “You said you’d be coming by so I thought I’d take a hit on the utility bill and have the place habitable for you.”

Kel’s smile widened in appreciation as she took the bottle of wine he’d brought and went to the kitchen.  Taking a seat at the dining area table, he watched her short figure stretch to reach the top shelf of a cabinet.  While he knew he should help her, he found a subtle pleasure in watching her.  Her bare-feet standing on tiptoe; her lips settling into a dogmatic crease; the loose blond hair falling around her shoulders then a flip of her hand knocking it back when she had secured the stems of two glasses and withdrew her hand, holding them within her grasp.  Uninhibited moments such as this had always held their own special attraction for him -- whether they were only friends or standing on the edge of something more.

While she rummaged around an all-purpose drawer for the corkscrew, the telephone began to ring.

“Can you get that?” she asked, returning to her search.

“Sure,” he replied, leaving his chair for the demanding peel that reverberated throughout the apartment, the phone in the bedroom adding a delayed echo to the one that sat on the desk.  “Hello,” he answered.  When there was no response he impatiently repeated himself, “Hello?”

“Hello?” he heard a voice holding a similar timber to Dixie’s respond then hesitantly ask, “Is . . . Dixie there?”

“Miranda?”

“Kel!  It’s been a while since . . . it took me a second too figure out that deep voice was yours,” she nervously laughed.

“Hang on, I’ll get Dix,” he answered, knowing that neither of them were overly comfortable with the other. 

Miranda lived in the small town of Rawlins, Wyoming and rarely visited Los Angeles.  On the few occasions they had met, he was acutely aware of her wariness when it came to his involvement with her daughter.  As Dixie put it, she considered them both “two stubborn mules attached to opposite ends of the cart” and thought it was a doomed relationship, no matter what its form.

“It’s your mother,” he said, placing a hand against the receiver.

“Oh,” Dixie responded from where she stood struggling to open the bottle of wine. Massaging her aching right arm, she went down the hall toward the bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Easily removing the bottle’s cork, Kel poured them each a glass then went to the bathroom.  Opening the medicine cabinet, he removed the expected jar of “Icy Hot” from within the vials holding foundation, powder, lipstick and mascara.  Setting it on the breakfast bar, he took a sip of his wine and waited for Dixie’s return.

He didn’t have to bide his time long, she soon emerged from behind the closed door. 

“Mom says ‘hi.’ . . . she was a little confused when you answered,” she told him picking up her own glass, demurely looking up at him over its edge while she took a swallow of the contents.  “Thanks for getting the bottle open.”

“I couldn’t leave it half done,” he kidded her.  “How’s Miranda doing?”

“Same as always.  She still works at the elementary school cafeteria but she’s down to once a week when it comes to cleaning the truck stop.  Guess, she got a little tired of truck drivers telling her ‘crap’ . . . and she claims the wind in Rawlins has to be worse than here.”

Kel nodded and left it at that.  Dixie’s close relationship with her mother often excluded him and even if she would tell him, he currently had no desire to know more of Miranda’s reaction when he had picked up the phone.

“Come here,” he told her, taking his glass along with the jar of Icy Hot and going to the sofa.  When she was seated next to him, he set the wine aside and removed the jar’s lid.  “Roll up your sleeve,” he instructed, “I want to have a look at your arm.”

Somewhat bemused at his concern for the minor injury, she complied.  When the red sleeve of the blouse was pushed past her elbow, it revealed a triple row of purple bruises left by Gordon Wolfe’s fingers.  There was a slight swelling and Kel gently prodded it, feeling her flinch, before examining her biceps.

“Doesn’t feel like anything’s torn,” he commented, pressing lightly against the muscle.

“Yeah.  I think it’s probably a pull or strain.  It’s a little painful though.”

Kel nodded then scooped out a small amount of the pain reliever, carefully avoiding contact with her shirt as he kneaded the paste into her sore arm.  “This should help.”

“Mmmm,” Dixie sighed when he finished.  Her left-hand rose to run itself through his dark wavy hair and her features were warm.  “Thank you, Doctor.  It feels better already . . . I guess I just needed your special touch.”

Kel looked down at her, seeing a rare innocence in her eyes.  Cupping her chin, he pulled her mouth to his. 

“I love you Rae,” he murmured, the middle name that had always been his intimate endearment for her rolling easily off his tongue.

“I love you too D,” she whispered, before her lips began to caress his, “D” her affectionate reminder of a guessing game they had once played in regard to the true identity behind Dr. Kelly D. Brackett.  Even upon learning it stood for David, she used D in those quiet moments alone with him.

The menthol aroma of Icy Hot surrounding them, he felt her breasts graze his chest as he took her into his arms.  It was moments like this, the sweet and tender, that made him believe that they could make it all work again.

***

Part Two

Dixie looked at her tired reflection in the mirror of the nurses’ locker room. 

The Santa Ana winds had subsided then resumed their gusts through Los Angeles with renewed strength.  Their howling against her windows had disturbed the sleep she had not easily claimed to begin with.  The early morning hours had her pacing her apartment as she tried to evaluate where her life stood, the increasing pitch of the wind outside adding to the doubt she felt.

Can you really go back and start over? she had wondered.  Or will the mistakes you made in the past always be there?

She had spent the afternoon at Kel’s house where he had hosted a gathering of fellow football fanatics to watch the final round of NFL championship games.  When the guests departed, some disappointed while a few were cheering the Super Bowl match up, he had embraced her.

Kissing the top of her head, he asked, “So what do you think’s going to happen in two weeks?”

Dixie gave a noncommittal shrug.  “Should be an interesting game.  But I’d rather have seen the --”

She broke off when she felt him begin to nuzzle the side of her neck and she tilted her head to allow his mouth easier access to her throat.  With a purr of pleasure, her arms went around his waist while her lips sought out his.  It was only when she felt his hands work their way beneath her shirt then travel against the naked flesh of her back to where his fingers fumbled with the hooks of her bra that she drew away from him.

Her eyes were wide with uncertainty before she lowered them and straightened her polo shirt.  “No.  Not yet.”

“I love you Dix,” he replied trying to take her back within his grasp. 

“I know you do . . . but if we complicate things more now . . . we’ve been friends for too long . . . without the pressure that --”

Kel shook his head, his gray eyes enraged.  “So do we wait for our next argument then kiss and makeup again?  The cycle repeating itself until we’re both worn down.  Then it’s back to the friendly routine of dinner . . . maybe a movie . . . a football game . . . and knowing too much about each other for it simply to be friends but without anything deeper.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dixie replied, firing a challenging salvo back at him.  With the resumption of their relationship had also come the effect of sexual tension and she was wary of where it could lead them.  “I just don’t think the time is right.  Surely you can wait a little longer.”

“You said we might be preying mantises.  How much longer do we wait before consummation then the death blow?”

“I don’t know . . . we’ve both built a web against the other that can’t be torn down that easily.  You might be able to forget what the years of sharing a bed then fighting afterward were like but I can’t,” she stated, her features a mixture of regret and confrontation.

Kel gave her a wry smile.  “Maybe you’re more like an elephant . . . with a long memory that’s unable to forgive or forget.”

Seeing angry tears fill her eyes, he succumbed to the desire he felt to walk away from her.  Since it was his house, he could not simply leave but instead strode down the hall to the bathroom that stood off the master bedroom.  Adjusting the sink’s flow, he splashed tepid water against his face and took several deep breaths.  After drying away the rivulets of water that clung to his sideburns and jaw, he went back to the den he had left.  She was preparing to leave.

“I’d better go,” she said picking up her purse, her eyes now dry but red from the tears that stained her cheeks.

He grasped her shoulders.  “Don’t go Rae.  I’m sorry . . . for everything.”  

“That makes two of us.” Her hands folded around the back of his head to lower it for a quick kiss against his mouth.  “I love you Kel.”

Turning on her heal, she left him to go back to her apartment.  The final events of the afternoon would torment her when she tried to find release in the calming balm of sleep.  When the wind woke her from a fitful dream at 1:00 a.m., it seemed to whisper a question: What do you do now?

***

“Miss McCall, is anything wrong?”

“Huh?” Dixie asked, an English accent breaking through the wanderings of her mind.  Anne Smith stood close by applying lipstick.

“I asked if you were all right.  You seem a little distracted and look tired,” Anne answered.

Dixie pulled back her long hair and clasped it within a black barrette.  “I’m fine Anne.  The wind just kept me awake last night.”

“I know.  It woke me up several times . . . But if there’s something more bothering you,” the nurse gave the reflection beside her a knowing look, “I’d be happy to see if I could help.”

“Not a thing, Anne,” Dixie responded, pinning on her nursing cap.  Giving her watch a glance, she prepared to leave.  “We’re both running a little late today.  We’d better get a move on if we’re going to make the shift change.”

“Yes, we probably should.  But my offer stands if you want to talk.  Sometimes it helps to have someone outside take a look at things.  Men can often be difficult . . . especially if they might be a colleague or friend. ”

Dixie closed the door she had been opening and pressed a hand against it.  “Anne, I’ll tell you up front: my personal life is my own.  It has nothing to do with being a nurse or Rampart. And I’m very selective about who I share it with.  Forget whatever you’re thinking there.”

Anne smiled slightly.  “Of course, in your position you should be guarded.  I didn’t mean to pry. . . I was only a little worried when I saw you.”

Dixie rolled her eyes then opened the door -- hearing a string of gossip follow her onto the ER floor.

“I was waiting for X-rays yesterday when I heard a technician wanting to know more about a nurse, they’d gone out on a few dates and she seems to be sick.  Now, I’m not implying anything but --”

Without pausing on her way to the base station, Dixie said tersely, “Stop it right now Anne.  You know I don’t tolerate this kind of thing.”

The sharp tone reminding of her of a past lecture when it came to her perception of Dr. Morton’s financial status, Anne broke away from the senior nurse.  Miss McCall was someone who did not share an interest in the subtler goings on at the hospital.

As well she should, given her own relationship with Dr. Brackett.  I wonder what they really see in each other . . . she’s got ice water in her veins and he’s good looking but hardly a prince charming . . . so demanding, Anne speculated as she entered a treatment room to begin a shift change inventory.  But something is bothering her and it’s probably Dr. Brackett.

***

Dixie saw Kel sitting on the stool behind the desk, reviewing the patients he would take over.  Approaching the desk, she mustered a slight smile and said, “Good morning.  You got here early.”

“Morning Dix,” he replied with a brief glance in her direction before returning to the patient roster.  “How are you today?”

Dixie felt an involuntarily sigh escape her lips before the smile she wore dissolved into a downward curve.  “I’ve been better.  How ‘bout you?”

Kel finished with the list.  With two superficial injuries ready to be discharged and nothing waiting, he had time to talk but was reluctant to do so. His features settling into a grim mirror of her own, his deep voice was short when he responded, “About the same.”

Dixie rubbed her brow beneath the blond bangs than hung against it.  Softly, she asked, “So, do you want to talk about it?  We both walked away this time.  That’s probably a first for us.”

His fingers brushed against her hand that had come to rest against the desk.  His reaction yesterday when she pulled away from him then the words that followed it had left him with a gut feeling that they were now doomed as a couple.  “We probably should . . . Let’s have dinner tonight.  I’ll pick you up around 7:00 . . . if that’s all right.”

Dixie heard his hesitation then nodded before looking up.  A steady whine was emanating from the ceiling until it wound itself down to a sluggish silence. 

The hum of the heating and air conditioning system was rarely noticed unless it became a persistent quiet filling the hall.  Dixie’s questioning eyes returned to Kel’s.

“Sounds like the A/C may be overloaded,” he told her.  “Get a call in to maintenance to see what happened.”

Flipping through the cards in her Rolladex, she picked up the phone on the desk.  “I’ll see what I can do.  I hope it doesn’t take them too long to fix it.”

“Me too.  Otherwise it’s going be a long and suffocating day here.”

***

“Feel any better after some time off?” Roy asked his partner from where he stood changing into his uniform.

Johnny shrugged, taking his blue work shirt off its hanger.  Sliding his arms into the short sleeves, he said, “I don’t know.  The wind kept me up last night and it was hot in my apartment . . . gave me some time to think.”

“The redhead who moved in across the hall last month?” Roy kidded him hopefully.  Although wary of delving into the younger man’s unsuccessful forays with the opposite sex, it would be a welcome relief to learn that was the source of his preoccupation.

Sitting down to tie on his boots, Johnny looked up at the other paramedic.  “Fiona?”

“Yeah, that’s her name,” Roy responded, snapping his fingers together.  “Any progress there?”

“No.  I haven’t talked to her in a while . . . I’ve got other things on my mind.”

Roy closed his locker and took a seat on the bench.  “Work?”

Johnny considered the question then answered, “Uh uh,” before resuming the lacing of his shoes.

“You can’t let it get you down.  It has its ups and downs . . . like everything else.  We’ve had a bad time of it but --”

“I think that’s up to me decide,” Johnny curtly replied, rising from where they sat and leaving the room.

Roy watched the door swing shut behind him then finished changing.  Joining the others for roll call, he tried to remove the slight uncertainty he felt about the man he worked so closely with.

***

“Okay, what’d she take and how much?” Kel asked, approaching the man who stood at the back of a treatment room as Dixie relayed the hyper elevated vital signs. 

The young man dressed in faded blue jeans, whose bell-bottoms were ripped up the seam, and a tie-dye T-shirt with an elongated cartoon character that told everyone to “Keep on Truckin,’” eyed him suspiciously.  

“Hey ease up, man.  It was a party . . . she probably smoked some hash but other than that…”  He stopped, giving the doctor an “I know nothing” shrug.

“What else?  A young girl doesn’t end up in her condition just smoking pot.”  When there was no response Kel’s voice rose.  “What else was there?  Speed?”

The man shrugged again and favored the white clad duo closing in on him with a nonchalant smile.  “Your guess is as good as mine Doc.”

Kel found himself losing the minimal grip he currently held on his short fuse.  The urgency of the situation had him wanting to shake the information from the punk that confronted him and he felt Dixie step around him.

“Guess what?  She looks about sixteen and you’re looking a lot older . . . maybe twenty two or three,” the nurse informed the figure slouching against the wall.  “I think that’s called contributing to the delinquency of a minor.  So if you know anything you’d better spill it now.  It might help when the police get here.”

The modish clad man considered it, looking at the intense blue eyes that rested beneath the stark white of a nursing cap and the dark blond hair that surrounded it.  The doctor behind her meant business but the woman that stood between them had a presence that left little room for him to maneuver within.  Her thumbs hooked determinedly in the pockets of her uniform while the doctor patiently crossed his arms against his chest.  There was no escape from them.

“All right,” he said in defeat.  “There was coke and speed there too -- Black Beauties.  But I don’t how much she took . . . I wasn’t baby-sitting Abby until a buddy of mine found her passed out in the bathroom.”

“God damn it,” Kel muttered under his breath.  “Okay Dix, let’s go…”

***

The regaining of the awareness had the young woman retching into a bowl that Dixie held. 

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” she said, holding the patient’s golden hair away from her face.

“Where . . . where . . . am I?” the girl rasped out, her eyes painfully searching the sterile confines of the room.  “The last thing I remember . . . it was a party . . . at Ralph’s house.”

“You’re in the hospital.  You had a mild overdose but you’re going to be all right,” Dixie informed her, setting the bowl aside then gently stroking the girl’s temple. 

“What?” the victim weakly exclaimed, trying to rise up against the arm that lifted to stop her movement.  Sinking painfully back to the examining table, she shook her throbbing head. Gasping, she said, “No . . . this doesn’t happen . . . not to me . . . I know Ralph . . .”

 “I’m afraid it does happen,” Kel told her, stepping into her field of vision.  “You were lucky this time because Ralph had the sense to bring you to the hospital.  Next time it might be different.”  With an overwhelming air of disapproval, he looked down at the girl.  “Your parents are waiting to see you before you’re moved.  They’re worried Abby.  I’ll be back to talk to you more later.”

She gave a frail shudder as tears began to leak from her eyes that were pressed against Dixie’s shoulder.  The still air of the room held her sobs when her frantic parents entered to weep with her.  Their “good” girl had shocked them and herself. 

Allowing them some privacy, Dixie stepped through the door the doctor held open for her and leaned against the wall.  Folding the hair that rested heavily against her neck to the back of her head, she said, “You were little hard on her.  The kid OD’d because she trusted somebody.  Maybe you should have waited before --”

“Save it Dix,” Kel interrupted.  The hall’s air was stale with heat, even more so than the treatment room had been.   “Abby needed to know what the consequences of her playing around with drugs were . . . you know that.  And now is the perfect time -- while she still feels sick enough to remember her own pain and how hard it was on those who love her.”

Dixie gave a nod of concession.  He was right no matter how abrupt and callous she had found his delivery to be. 

“What’s the status on the air conditioning?” he asked, a hand against the door as he prepared to re-enter the treatment room.

“It’s only going to get hotter,” she answered with an ironic smile.  “Word is the entire system blew itself out during a power surge.  Twenty-four hours minimum to repair it.”

Kel emitted an exasperated groan before returning to check on his patient.

***

“You know, the blue funk of discouragement can get to all of us,” Chet commented to the men who sat grouped around the table with him.

“Yeah, but I can’t remember seeing anybody as bad as Gage,” Marco Lopez responded, swirling around the dregs of coffee that remained in his cup.  “At least most people will talk about it but . . .”

The Station’s crew had returned to their quarters after putting out a minor fire that had been caused by street people trying to cook over a flame they had started in a trash can.  A gust of wind had caught the embers then spread them through the alley the homeless had taken shelter in. With no injuries, the paramedics had manned a hose then helped pull away the debris that littered the narrow space between buildings to check for hot spots.  Pouring a cup of coffee, the usually quiet engineer, Mike Stoker, had kidded Johnny that he might be a “smoke eater after all” since his face was covered with it.

Instead of entering into some good-natured banter, Johnny had left the day room with a growled, “Yeah.  Maybe that’s what I should be all the time.”

The other firemen were stunned by this, then settled down around the table where they began to discuss it.

“Maybe you should talk to him Cap.  I mean he’s getting pretty hard to work with,” Chet said, looking at Captain Stanley.  “Always grouchy . . . walks off when you try to cheer him up . . . that sort of thing.”

“John knows my door’s open if he wants to talk,” the lanky Captain responded.  “But that’s up to him.  Right now he wants to be alone and you guys have try to work with that.”

“Roy, did he say anything to you about what’s bothering him?  I know some of it’s the job but we’ve all had problems there,” Marco said.

The paramedic shook his head.  “Not much except that he thinks our job is just a Band-Aide and thinks he might be better off working in another area.”  Roy looked at the worried faces that had turned toward him.  Forcing a smile, he said, “But I’m sure he’ll snap out of it.  It’s just been a little rough lately.”

“I hope so, he’s hardly a barrel of laughs right now and I’d hate to see it get worse,” Chet replied, considering what his role of the Phantom would be if he were to lose his pigeon. 

“Well, for now I think we give him all the encouragement we can but don’t beat him over the head with it.  I don’t want to lose Gage as a paramedic but if he feels --” Stanley began but was cut off by the alarm.

“Squad 51.  Possible drowning.  311 Dexter Street.  Three one one Dexter Street.  Cross street Macon Drive.  Time out 13:24.”

Roy shoved himself away from the table and went to the garage where his partner was hurrying out of the dormitory toward the squad.

Acknowledging the call, Mike watched them drive away then turned to where Chet stood nearby.  “You think Gage might really quit being a hose jockey all the time?  That seems kind of stupid to me since he worked so hard to be a paramedic.”

Kelly steered them back toward the kitchen.  “Nah Mike, it’s a just a phase he’s going through.  The grass is always greener . . . that sort of thing.  Have I told you about the idea I have that might revolutionize hose inspection duty?

***

Leaving a treatment room, Johnny saw Roy standing near the base station talking with Dixie.  The man, who had been knocked unconscious while trying to body surf on the waves the wind was stirring in his pool, would recover.  The water he ingested and the concussion he suffered when his head met the cement edge were severe but not life threatening.  His wife, however, had taken more convincing that death was not imminent as she stood dripping water on the paramedics and cursing her husband’s childish behavior.  When she calmed down, Johnny heard her utter a threat against the patient if he balked at replacing the dress that had been ruined when she pulled him out of the pool.  Her tirade mingled with tears had continued en route to the hospital.

“Is he going to be okay?” Roy asked.

“Yeah, he’ll live unless his wife does him in,” Johnny said, setting down the medical kit and biophone.  “The bandage worked this time.”

Dixie heard the bitter tone in his voice and offered an encouraging smile.  “Uh huh, and that got him here alive.  That’s why we love you guys.  It makes our job easier when there’s somebody out there who knows what they’re doing.”

“Sure,” the paramedic answered with a skeptical version of his usual lop-sided smile then glanced at his partner.  “I’ll meet you in the squad.”

Dixie watched him leave then looked up at Roy.  “Boy, he’s still down.”

“Yeah,” Roy said with a shake of his head.  “And you know what’s the most irritating part of it?  If you try to talk to him about it . . . try to reason it all out . . . he walks away.”

Dixie considered it then lowered her eyes.  Walking away from confrontation was something she was all too familiar with.  Her voice was soft when she said, “Sometimes it’s a defense mechanism people put up when they don’t think they want to hear what you have to say.  You’ve just got to wait until you’re both ready to hear the other out.”

“But how long do you wait, Dix?  This has been going on for days.  The guys at the station are starting to complain about it and I’m a little frustrated myself.  Johnny’s usually a chatterbox . . . and this…”  Roy shook his head.

Dixie looked up at him, an understanding of his dilemma evident her face.  “Sometimes it’s a day, others a week.  But sooner or later Johnny’s going to want to talk to someone.  Then you get to listen.”

Roy managed a half-hearted smile and nodded.  “I suppose you’re right.  I probably won’t be able to shut him up then.  I’d better get back to work.”  Walking away from the desk, he ran a hand against the sweat that had begun to gather around his shirt collar.  Looking back at the nurse, he asked, “Dix, it’s a little warm in here, don’t you think?”

She laughed, brushing away the damp bangs that had begun to cling to her forehead.  “The air conditioning’s out and it’s not warm, it’s hot.”

“That explains why you’re a little flushed,” Roy grinned back at her before leaving.

“What is he talking about?” Dixie asked herself then looked at her watch.  She was long overdue for a break and now seemed to be to be a good time for it.

***

Dixie entered the lounge, grabbed a mug and began to pour coffee into it.  As the cup began to grow warm within her fingers and the steaming aroma of its fresh contents met her nostrils, she decided against it.  A fresh cup of hot coffee, that had not grown stale from sitting in the pot, did not hold its usual appeal when she considered how sticky she already felt from the hospital’s rising temperatures.

Dumping the half-filled cup into the sink, she rinsed it out then filled it with water before taking a seat at the table.  Joe was already occupying a chair there, belatedly looking over the morning’s newspaper with a can of soda standing beside it.  Evidently, she was not the only feeling the heat -- Joe’s white protective coat lay draped over the back his chair.

“Hi Dix,” he said looking up at her over his reading glasses.  “You look tired.”

“Thanks.  I’m glad you noticed.”  Dixie reached for an old issue of “TIME Magazine” that had been left on the table over the last few days.  The occasional snatched paragraph of an article regarding a deeper examination into the assignation of President Kennedy had caught her attention.  Flipping to the dog-eared crease she had left against a page, she began to read more of where the author felt the Warren Commission had failed in its investigation.

Finishing with the latest summation of the United States’ losing strategy in Vietnam, Joe folded the paper and pushed it aside.  “The wind keep you up last night?  It did me.”

“Uh-huh,” Dixie commented absently, understanding the reasoning behind a theory that Lee Harvey Oswald could not have acted alone on November 22, 1963 when shots rang out in Dallas.  It was also a welcome distraction from the current worries she had about her personal life.

“You hear Anne’s latest?” Joe asked, attempting to draw her into conversation.

Dixie lifted her eyes to him, then folded the page back to where she had begun.  The mystery that had existed for over a decade could wait a little longer.

“About Carol and Luther?  She started to tell me about it this morning and I didn’t want to hear it.  But I heard Lucinda talking with Michelle a little while ago.  Anne just can’t leave well enough alone without trying to stir up some trouble. I’m going to have another talk with her when I’m done here . . . and Lucinda while I’m at it.”

Joe watched her cheeks begin to glow with a crimson that was caused from something other than the heat, anger was evident in her eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve heard some of the rumors she’s spreading about Carol but Dix --”

“Carol’s being sick in the ladies’ room and Luther wondering about her . . . because he cares . . . isn’t something that needs to be spread around the hospital,” Dixie continued heatedly.  “Anybody can have a reaction to antibiotics.  It can make you sick and you don’t need someone adding more to it.”

Joe nodded, knowing what Carol had suffered after seeking treatment for a mild infection.  Her allergy to the medication had been unknown, and the nurse was a gray shadow herself when she pulled him aside to ask for a second opinion.

“Yes, I’ve heard all about Carol getting sick . . . and what Anne turned it into.  But Dix, she’s got bigger fish to fry.  She tried to talk to me about it a couple days ago and I heard her talking with DeSoto a few minutes ago.  You and --”

“Doctor Early,” a nurse said, poking her head around the door, “we need you in three.  A special request from a Mr. Lawrence.  You treated him before, when a limb hit him, and now he’d like you to see what you can do about the shingle that blew off his roof and got him in the nose.”

“I’ll be right there.  I’m going to be glad when the winds stops blowing,” Joe chuckled, dropping his glasses into the pocket of his shirt.  Picking up his coat, he looked down at Dixie. “Dix, when it comes to Anne --”

“Joe, she’s a good nurse but . . .,” Dixie shook her head, picking up the cup of water that sat beside her.

Joe smiled down at her.  There was no time for him to explain more of what he knew Anne was spreading around the hospital.  Instead, he patted her shoulder and said, “Just remember, it’s hot in here today and you’ve got a subdued Irish temper.”

Now what did he mean by that? she wondered to herself as he left.  Lingering over a magazine with a cup of water rather than coffee wasn’t appealing and she decided to cut her break short to find the nurse who was the source of unneeded gossip.

***

“Roy?” Johnny asked from where he slouched in the squad’s seat. “Do you mind pulling over for a minute?”

“Sure.”  Complying with the request, Roy steered the truck toward the curb then waited for enlightenment as to why they had stopped.

The young paramedic briefly contemplated the dusty haze that hung over the city then turned to his partner.  “I’m sorry about the last few shifts,” he finally said.  “I know I’ve been hard to work with, but . . .”

Roy waited and when it became evident that nothing more was forthcoming, he said, “We were just worried about you.  It’s not like you to walk away rather than talk about things”

Johnny managed a shadow of a smile.  “Yeah . . . but I couldn’t this time . . . suddenly the whole idea of being a paramedic seems wrong to me.”

“It shouldn’t.   Johnny, you’re one of the best.”

Johnny considered it and shook his head.  “I remember how easy it was when I was a rescue man.  You’d get somebody out of a burning house, off a cliff . . . but you after that you didn’t keep them alive until they got a hospital.”  He paused, remembering how different his job with the Los Angeles County Fire Department had once been.  “Until the day I pulled that lineman off a wire and he died.  Then it all changed.”

“And now you might keep someone like that alive,” Roy encouraged him.  When the paramedic opposite him remained quiet, he seized the window of opportunity he felt was opening.  “Working an engine, you can take somebody away from the accident but there’s not a damn thing you can do to keep them alive until they get to a hospital.  That’s where our job can make a difference.”

“Yeah,” Johnny nodded in agreement, his lips twitching upward before he slipped back into the morose countenance he had worn the last few days.  “But people die no matter what you do . . . and then there’s always the pain they feel, sometimes you can’t help but feel it yourself . . . and there’s nobody like Dixie standing between us and somebody who knows them.”

“You want to go back to riding around with nurse?  Be my guest.  But I’d rather be where I’m at now than having Dix sit between us and administering treatment.”

For the first time in days, Roy heard Johnny emit genuine laughter along with his trademark lopsided grin.

“Uh uh, there’s more job satisfaction without the hospital’s authorized angel of mercy doing all the work,” he commented, his dark brown eyes alight with amusement before they once again filled with doubt.  “But that doesn’t change what’s really out there waiting.  I don’t know if I --”

The radio discharged three trilling beeps.  “Squad 51 stand by for response with Engine 51.”

The men listened to the alarm that sounded within the station then the instructions that followed. 

“Engine 51, Squad 51.  Motor vehicle accident on the San Diego Expressway in the northbound lanes.  Near the Hawthorne Boulevard exit.  San Diego Expressway, northbound lanes.  Time out 14:16.”

Johnny committed the location to paper while Roy turned on the lights and siren then accelerated them away from the curb they had been parked against.

“Hang a left at the next light,” Johnny advised, his knowledge of the area leaving him certain without consulting the map they carried.  “There’s an exit ramp off Mulholland.”

Roy nodded, maneuvering them through traffic then crossing against it toward the freeway. 

“What do you wanna bet it’s a semi?” he asked his partner above the wail of the siren.  “There was a high wind warning this morning and it’s probably worse now.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Johnny agreed. Truck drivers were notorious for disregarding the recommendations issued against their high profile vehicles, instead wishing to proceed on with the load they carried and the money it made them.  He felt himself grimace at what could be awaiting them on the freeway.

***

“Can I borrow your office?” Dixie asked, her determination apparent as she approached where Kel stood at the base station.

He looked up from the memo he was reading that outlined the bureaucracy’s latest attempt to run the emergency room more efficiently.  With its call for a further reduction in staffing, all it meant were longer hours for those who would be spared from the budget-cutting ax that was wielding its way through Rampart. 

That combined with the oppressive heat that weighed against him, caused him to be flippant when he answered, “Fine with me.  But are you summoning me there too?  You look mad and right now I hate the thought of your interrogation.”

Dixie wiped her fingers against the dewdrops of sweat collecting against the bridge of her nose.  “This has nothing to do with you.  It’s a nurse I need to have a talk with and I need someplace where I can do it privately.”

Kel studied the fuming figure before him, his attention momentarily caught by the moisture that was gathering in the hollow at the base of her throat.  Had they not been where they were, he would have reached out to it in an effort to relieve how uncomfortable they both were from the conditions their work environment was presenting today. 

Instead, running a white sleeve against his forehead, he said gruffly, “In that case, my office is yours.  You and I can talk later . . . in the privacy of your sweltering apartment.”

The moment the words left his lips, he regretted them.  He was easily irritated today.  The memo, the stuffy confines of the hospital and what may lie ahead later had made her a coincidental victim of his mounting dissatisfaction with the day.   

Dixie’s already pink cheeks took on a deeper hue, her dark blue eyes flashing with a hostility that belonged only to him.  “Yes, I suppose we’ll talk later.  Whether it’s tonight or a couple days from now.  That’s what we usually do.”

Before he could speak the apology forming on his tongue, he heard her mutter a “thanks” then spin away from him to go search for the nurse she wanted to have a word with.

He felt his jaws grind in frustration when he once again picked up the memo he would need to respond to.  Turning to the second page of it, he found the words becoming a blur and he straightened to fold his arms against his chest.

Damn it Rae!  Why do I always say the wrong thing when we try to get together . . . or you say it . . . then we go from there . . .

“Dr. Brackett? Can I help you with anything?” a voiced asked him.

Kel dropped his arms to pick up the papers that held the possible dictate from the administrative floor.  Stuffing them in a pocket of his coat, he moved toward the lounge to finish it.  With Dixie possibly inhabiting his office, he could not retreat to it for a few minutes of escape from both the personal and the professional.

“No Lucinda, I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” he roughly told the nurse who had come to stand behind the desk.

So I hear, she thought, having heard from Anne that Dixie had looked upset earlier in the morning and the possible cause of it.  But it’s awfully hot in here.  That might have something to do with why they’re both a little grouchy.

***

The Freightliner’s empty trailer proved to be a blessing.  When it overturned with the rig hauling it, there was nothing it contained that could spill its contents upon the car that hit it. It was also a Monday afternoon so the traffic was light.

The driver of the truck had crawled from it uninjured, his regret at pushing against the Santa Ana Winds evident.  Chet and Marco held his arms in effort to restrain him from going to the two-door sedan that had jackknifed against the overturned trailer.

“Hang on, man,” Chet said, pulling him back.  “We’ll get them out of there.”

“To hell with that!” the truck driver exclaimed, shaking his head.  “They could be dying!  I only wanted to get to the west-side dock to pick up my load for Salt Lake, a banana run until now . . . and I walk away from it!”

Johnny grasped the large man’s shoulder as he lunged against the firemen trying to hold him back.

“It’s okay, man” the paramedic told him.  “I’m going to see what I can do.  We’ll get ‘em out of there.  You’d only be in the way.”

The truck driver hesitated, then relaxed slightly within the firemen’s grasp.  He trusted the young fireman with his air of resolve.  “Okay.”

“Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll make sure you’re all right.”  Captain Stanley took his arm leading him toward the engine.  “You guys start checking everybody out.”

Other than the Ford Thunderbird that rested against the trailer, there were three other vehicles involved in the accident.  One had hit the retaining wall in an effort to avoid colliding with the truck while the others displayed evidence that one had rear-ended the other.  Behind them a police cruiser was parked across the lanes and traffic was backed up for miles.

Johnny could hear the honking of angry motorists and he felt the wind tear at his turnout coat as he approached the black automobile.  Its windows were spider webs of cracks that revealed nothing of who was inside but as he got closer he heard a child’s scream.

Oh God, he thought, tightening his grip on the crowbar he carried.  At least one kid in there and who knows what else.

***

“Have a seat,” Dixie instructed Anne as they entered Dr. Brackett’s office.  When she was settled in one of the chairs, the older woman sighed and leaned against the edge of the desk, her thumbs hooking into the pockets of her uniform. 

If Anne had any doubt as to the reason Miss McCall had called her aside to “talk,” the head nurse’s angry face left little uncertainty when it came to why they were there.

“Anne, you and I have been over this before and I thought I made myself perfectly clear then.”

The nurse nervously wrung her hands together against her lap, saying slowly, “Miss McCall . . . if this has anything to do with the rumor that’s going around about you . . . about you and Dr. Brackett, I can assure you --”

 “I haven’t heard anything about Dr. Brackett and me.  Maybe you could enlighten me there,” Dixie interrupted, arching an eyebrow, thinking about what Joe had tried to tell her.

Anne quickly shook her head.  “No, it’s nothing.  Just the old story that I think sometimes must rear its ugly head here . . . That you and he used to be --”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Dixie said, definitively.  “Now if I were to find out that something new has been added to it -- something that is purely speculation . . .”

Anne smiled weakly up at her and rose from the chair.  “No.  Nothing.  I probably should be getting back to work.”

“I’m not finished Anne.”

Dixie’s icy tone cut through the stifling office.  Gulping, Anne quickly sat back down.

“You heard about Carol getting sick when she was at work and Luther asking about her.  Then you decided to add your own theories to it.”

“I only wondered if she was all right.”

“Uh-uh.  When you talked about it to others it wasn’t out of concern but something to gossip about and you added insinuation.  To my knowledge, you haven’t shared any of this with a patient but if I find out that you did…”  Dixie stopped when she heard her voice rise, knowing that she was losing control of her slow to ignite temper.  She was miserable from the heat, her recent conversation with Kel only adding to it.  The day had started off badly then gotten worse and now might deteriorate even further if she did not handle this situation carefully.

Anne was fidgeting, waiting for her to finish.  Taking a deep breath, Dixie said calmly, “I know a grapevine exists within the hospital.  It’s a fact of life no matter where you work.  But Anne, what you feed into it causes a great deal of harm.”

“I don’t see where I’m any different than anyone else.  We all talk about things when we have a break.”

Dixie shook her head.  “You are different because you twist things more severally than anyone I’ve ever known.  You’re a good nurse if only you would concentrate on that rather than spreading rumors.”

Anne had begun to sulk and tried one last time to defend herself.  “Lucinda is the worst gossip in the ER and she doesn’t have my experience.  I don’t see her sitting here and I have to think you’re unfairly singling me out.”

“Oh, I’ll be talking to Lucinda very soon.  But since this is the second time you and I’ve had this little heart-to-heart chat, I thought I’d give you another warning.  If it happens again, I’ll ask the nursing supervisor that you be removed from emergency.  I won’t tolerate it any more.  Got it?”

Anne nodded, her head lowering to hide the thin veil of anger that hung over her features.

“All right, let’s get back to work,” Dixie said straightening from the desk.  “And Anne, I will keep in mind what you said in regard to that old rumor about Dr. Brackett and I resurfacing, but I suggest you forget about anything you’ve ever heard there.”

Following her out, Anne thought, Maybe I’ll call the nursing supervisor myself.  I don’t really want to work for Miss McCall anymore . . . she’s too controlling.  And it’s interesting whose office we talk in.  Always Dr. Brackett’s, never Dr. Early’s or one of the others.  But I suppose there’s some rationale behind that . . . I’ve heard there’s an opening in orthopedics . . . I’m qualified to work there and I know the head nurse of the department.  Dolly seems like she would be easier to work with . . . Yes, I might like a change.

Emerging from the office, she glared at Dixie’s back and avoided Lucinda’s questioning gaze when the head nurse approached her.  In a matter of seconds, she had made her decision about being a nurse in Rampart’s ER.  The time had come to make some telephone calls that could possibly get her away from it.

***

With the driver’s side of the car resting against the semi trailer, Johnny tried the passenger’s door.  When it refused to open at his pulling against the handle, he inserted the crowbar within the seam of the door and the body of the car, straining against it.  Inside, the child’s cries had dropped off to a whimper that carried through the slit that had been left open in the window; probably to provide a breeze as they had traveled down the expressway.

“Want me to try?” Marco asked, moving to take the pry bar from him.

Grunting against the door’s heavy frame and the locking mechanism that held it tightly in place, the paramedic shook his head.  Putting the full force of his weight behind him, he tugged again at the crowbar.  He felt himself stagger backward when the door yielded and he heard its lock snap.  Marco’s hands steadied him and kept him from falling to the pavement.

“Okay, let’s see what we’ve got,” Johnny said, straightening to pull the door open and peer inside.

The child’s scream had resumed with the grinding of metal against metal and Johnny turned his head toward it.  Behind the passenger’s bucket seat a strawberry blond toddler, strapped securely in a car seat, revealed a scattering of baby teeth within the O his mouth hung open in.  His tiny hands reached imploring toward the stranger who could release him from the terror he found himself trapped within.  A man rested heavily against the driver’s seat, the door that had made contact with the metal of the semi’s trailer pressed against him, and blood was oozing around a shard of glass that had impaled itself against his chest.

“It’s okay Buddy,” Johnny said soothingly, removing his gloves and reaching across the seat to run a hand against the boy’s legs and arms. 

The screams became a sniffle under his touch and small fingers clasped around his thumb.  Careful not to disturb them, he pressed gently against the child’s abdomen and chest.  Finding no evidence of injury, Johnny slowly moved away from the hand that held him. 

“I think you’re okay.  I’m gonna look at your daddy” he gently told him, turning his attention to the driver.  In the background he heard the child hiccup in agreement.

The glass had torn across the upper left quadrant of the driver’s chest then imbedded itself in the muscle.  Feeling around the stem, the paramedic found that while it was not deep it had made contact with a blood vessel.  Easing his fingers carefully around it so as not to disturb its position, he applied pressure and looked for other injuries.  The man’s left side had taken the brunt of the impact in the collision.  His arm was caught between the door and the seat, while the shorts he was wearing revealed bruises and the shattered bones of the tibia breaking through the skin.  Blood was staining his leg and dripping against the floorboard.

“Marco,” he said over his shoulder to the fireman who knelt beside the passenger door, “see if you can get the kid out of here then get in the back seat and take a look at the door.  I need to keep pressure against his chest, so I don’t want to get out unless I have to.”

Johnny slid his torso against the console and emergency brake, as Marco pushed the passenger seat forward.  Seeing the fireman unbuckle the restraining belt that held the child’s car seat in place, he said, “Take him out in the car seat if you can just in case he’s got a trauma injury I didn’t catch.”

“I’ll need to move the seat forward more then, it’s probably gonna catch your legs so brace yourself,” Marco told him.  Seeing a nod, he coasted the bucket seat to the end of its tracks.

Johnny winced when he felt his right knee pinch between the edge of seat and the dash but kept his hand steady against the wound he held it to.  The boy began to scream as Marco awkwardly maneuvered him out of the car, his arms opening wide and his green eyes pleading with Johnny’s. 

“It’s okay Buddy, you’re going to be fine,” the paramedic called to him, gritting his teeth against the tighter squeeze his knee felt when Marco’s weight leaned against the seat.  The pain eased with the toddler’s shriek becoming a muted sob.  He was free from the car.

“Mat . . . hew?” the man gasped, blinking and turning his head toward where the child sat outside.  “He’s . . . crying.”

Johnny was surprised by his return to awareness but attributed it in part to concern for the boy touching some part of his consciousness. 

“He’s all right and we’ll have you out of here in a minute,” he told the victim.  Marco had climbed into the back seat and was fingering the seat and door that held the pinned arm in a vice like grip.  Johnny’s brown eyes shifted briefly to the fireman. “Can we get him out of here without waiting to move the car and get out the jaws?  He’s losing a lot of blood and I don’t wanna wait if we can help it.”

“I think so.  I’ll grab the crowbar and I see if I can get him loose.”

“Matthew . . . he’s okay?” the man asked again, his eyes struggling to focus on Johnny. 

The flow of blood that had begun to diminish under Johnny’s application of pressure began to once again pump steadily against the fingers held against it.  His respiration was becoming rapid and he was diaphoretic.

“He’s fine” Johnny said, emphasizing each word.

“Good,” the man nodded weakly, tears beginning to seep from his eyes.  “God . . . it hurts.”

“I know, just try to take it easy.  Who can we call to take care of Matthew?”

The man rallied, his drooping eyelids lifting to meet the brown eyes that looked into his own.  “My wife . . . Gwen . . . she’s at work . . . 505-762-2100.”

“You got that Marco?” Johnny asked the fireman who had climbed back into the car and was applying a pry bar to curve of the door.

“505-762-2100,” Marco groaned, as he eased the confining metal away from the man’s arm.

“Okay, between Marco and me, we’ve got that.  We’ll have the police call her.  What’s your name?”

“Keith,” the man moaned, feeling his arm drop from where it had been held and the tingling of the flow of blood returning to his fingertips.  Marco examined it, finding that it was scratched and bruised but unbroken.

“Marco, get a backboard, the biophone and kit,” Johnny instructed. 

“What now?” Keith asked.

“We’re going to get you out of here but you’re leg’s probably going to hurt like hell when we move you.  But if you can, stay with me.  The more you can tell me when I call the hospital the better we’ll all know how to treat you.”

Keith swallowed hard, then glanced down at the glass poking from his chest.  “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Johnny smiled down at him.  Removing his hand from the wound, he found the red flow had once again began to taper off.  “You know, you’re not bleeding here as bad as you were.  That’s a good sign.”

“It is?” Keith asked weakly but his eyes reflected an understanding.  He needed to remain calm and this man was trying to talk him through it. 

“Uh huh.  And Matthew’s waiting outside.  We’ll take him in with us.”

The patient smiled faintly and nodded.

Marco had rejoined them, holding a backboard, and Mike Stoker’s long shadow fell across them as he leaned against the frame of the car, waiting to see what he could do to help.

“Okay, we’ve got the equipment,” Marco said.  “We’ve got the biophone set up outside and Mike or I’ll get on the horn to Rampart when he’s clear.  Roy’s tied up with another victim right now.”

“You ready?” Johnny asked Keith.  Seeing a slight affirmative gesture, he motioned for the other men to start the process of extrication.

***

Johnny walked down the hall of Rampart General Hospital’s emergency room wearing a smile.  Matthew rested against his shoulder, having fallen asleep after being examined by Dr. Morton.  The boy was fine, escaping the accident without a scratch.  When the ambulance attendants had wheeled his father to the waiting transportation, Johnny had personally carried onboard the child within his car seat.  The small arms that had continually reached out to him had touched an emotional cord in the paramedic.

“Hey Johnny, who’s your sleepy friend?” Dixie asked the pair who approached the base station where Roy stood talking with her and Dr. Early.

Matthew was looking groggily around.  Not liking what he saw, he sank his head against Johnny’s chest and began to drift back to sleep.

Johnny grinned.  “Dix, this Matthew McCormick.  He was in that MVA we had.  But he’s okay.  His mom is talking with Dr. Brackett and since Matt and I have reached an understanding, I told her I’d watch him for a minute.”

“How’s his dad doing?” Roy asked.

“He lost some blood and Brackett thinks he’ll need surgery on the tibia but he’ll pull through.”

“I heard a little about this one.  You did one hell of a job getting him out of there alive and here,” Dr. Early commented.

“Yeah, well . . .” Johnny said, smiling shyly and his cheeks holding a red tint.

A woman came up to the desk. 

“There you are,” she said, easing the sleeping boy out of Johnny’s arms.  “They’re going to take Keith to surgery soon and my mother’s coming to take Matthew home.  But I wanted to thank you for keeping my baby and my husband alive.

She was smiling but blinking back tears when she reached up to kiss the paramedic’s cheek.  Turning away, she quickly hurried down the hall.

“Come on Roy,” Johnny said, leaving the base station but wearing a jaunty expression.  “Let’s get back to work.”

Picking up the drug kit, Roy began to follow him out.

Wiping against his sweating forehead, Johnny turned back and looked at Dixie, “You know, it’s a little hot in here.”

Dixie smiled back at him.  “Climate control is a problem today.”

“So that’s why your cheeks are kinda red,” Johnny said with a wink, waving the HT at her and leaving.

Dixie looked up at Joe standing beside her.  “I’ll be glad when the air conditioning is working again.”

“It could be worse, Dix,” Joe replied with a knowing smile.  “Johnny’s feeling better about things and thinking about that.  Just imagine what it might be like if he wanted to know more about the inoperable air conditioning situation and what he’s probably heard in the hallways.”

With an admonishing look, she picked up some paperwork that was waiting for her.  “You of all people should know, that’s not funny.”

***

Roy noticed his partner was wearing one of his patent lopsided grins as they climbed into the squad to return to the station.  It seemed like a longtime since he’d witnessed the genuine article and he remarked, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you looking this happy.  Something change this afternoon?”

Johnny lost his grin and looked out the window.  The wind was still blowing, raising clouds of dust and debris around him.  And before it was finished it would probably cause more problems for the fire department, but today it had helped to serve him with a reminder of what his job could mean to people.

Turning back to Roy, he once again wore a smile.  “Yeah Roy, it did,” he said with resolve.  “I like being a Band-Aide in emergency medicine.  I guess I just forgot for a while the difference it can make.  It beats riding on an engine.”

Seeing a career defining resolution in his features, Roy grinned back at him.  The walking way from it was over.  The Johnny he was accustomed to working with was returning.

“You know,” Johnny said speculatively, “I think on my next day off, if the wind quits blowing, I may try to ask Fiona out again and take her to the beach….I mean, she was kinda happy the other day when I helped her carry her groceries and that tells me…”

Yep, he’s back, Roy thought.  Now he probably won’t shut up for days but that’s all right.  I guess I like him better this way.

***

Pulling into the parking lot of Dixie’s apartment building, Kel turned over his wrist to look at his watch.  In the soft glow of his car’s instrument panel, he could see that he was a half-hour late.  Turning off the engine, he felt himself sigh heavily before climbing out of the car.  He knew it was partially dread of what might happen tonight that had kept him at the hospital when he was called in on a consult then stayed to treat the patient when he hadn’t really been needed.  He was also tired from work and oppressive heat.  His tread was heavy when he climbed the stairs to her apartment. 

Dixie opened the door at his knock.  She was wearing a long green skirt, whose gauzy material held a scattering of floral designs, and a crisp white cotton blouse.  It was a simple outfit but one that he always thought she looked beautiful in.  He resisted the urge he felt to pull her to him and kiss her.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he said instead, leaning an arm against the door’s frame and looking down at her.  “I got hung up at the hospital.”

“That’s all right, I know how it is.  Come in,” she said, stepping away from the door to allow him inside. 

He caught the note of sadness in her voice as he entered her apartment and it was then that he noticed she was perspiring.  If anything the air inside was ten degrees hotter than outside. The fan and air conditioning unit barely made a dent against the heat that the day had filled the dwelling with.  Loosening his tie, he suppressed a groan. 

His ears picked up the music playing softly in the background -- Patsy Cline.  Although not partial to country music, Dixie was very fond of the late artist, one day explaining to him that she liked the singer because in her voice one could hear tears.  Kel could understand that but heard Patsy Cline as part of Dixie’s mood music.  It was never a good mood he associated with songs such as “Crazy,” “Sweet Dreams of You, or “Strange.”  They held a hollow ring of despair with a man.

Dixie watched him drop his jacket into a chair before they stood uncomfortably facing each other.  His eyes browsed over her face until they finally met and held her own.  In them she saw the questions that loomed between them:  “What happens next?  Can we go on trying to make this work?”

She tore herself away from the gray orbs that saw so much of her, more than any other man she had ever known.  He had been her friend, sometimes lover, for so long and she was afraid of what the answers to the questions might be.

“Sorry I didn’t leave the air conditioning on but I didn’t expect us to spend a hot day at the hospital,” she said going to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator.  “Would you like something to drink?  Looks like I’ve got iced tea, a couple bottles of beer and I picked up a bottle of wine on my way home.”

“I’ll take a beer and don’t be sorry.  Nobody expected the system at the hospital to burnout,” he told her, coming up behind her.

Dixie handed him a bottle then reached for the bottle of red wine sitting on counter.  Taking the corkscrew from its drawer she made ready to open it.

“Here, I’ll get it,” he said, reaching to take the instrument from her.  There were fading patches of bruises on her arm that were a reminder of a painful elbow and a different bottle of wine.

Instead of giving him the corkscrew, he saw her set it aside then take his hand in hers.

“No.  We have to talk, here and now,” she said abruptly, coming to a decision that she must face the facts of who and what they were together.  Her husky voice was filled with an aching sorrow when she told him, “When we’re at the hospital we’re a team even if we disagree.  When we’re just best friends, we can handle each other…we have fun even then even if we don’t see everything the same.... there aren’t the lover’s quarrels.  Maybe we’ve got to think about what that does to us.”

Kel hung his head, removing his fingers from those that had become entwined within them and pivoted himself toward the kitchen’s entrance in a realization of where they may be heading.  Rather than the challenging partner he had known and was trying to find again, she sounded like the nurse or comrade he was all too familiar with.

“Kel, don’t walk away from me now . . . I don’t know if I can ever let you walk back if you do,” she pleaded behind his back, her hand touching his shoulder.

Although he felt no desire to leave, her words left him with no doubt that even if he were to take a single step toward the door, there would never be any going back -- even to the friendship which he considered so precious.  She had learned to walk away too; perhaps he had taught her that.  He bit his lip, and then turned around.

It wasn’t Patsy Cline he heard crying but rather Dixie’s tears that he saw when he faced her.

“Dix, it’s hotter than hell in here but you’re still the warmest thing I’ve ever found.” He gathered her into an embrace saying slowly,  “I don’t want to lose you . . . I’m a stubborn, difficult man who’s probably a workaholic . . . and sometimes, I want to take the easy way out in my personal life . . . to wait for later.  What on earth do you see in me?”

“Maybe you are all those things but you can also be the most tender, gentle, compassionate man I’ve ever met,” she replied in a choked voice, leaning back in his arms to look up at him, tears flowing heavily down her face.  “And I’m not the easiest woman in the world to get along with . . . I can be pretty stubborn and opinionated myself sometimes.  But we can’t keep fighting then picking up the pieces.”

Kel came to a resolution and kissed the top of her head that had now buried itself against his chest, knowing that she hated for him to see her cry.  Lifting her face to his own, he sank his lips against hers and felt her arms fold themselves around his shoulders.

“I love you Rae, for what you are, and I’ll never walk away from an argument with you again,” he said, his words holding a promise to her when he released her from his tight grip.  “If we can exist as colleagues and friends, we can work through the rest of it together because we both want something more.”

Dixie blinked against the tears that were still welling in her eyes, but there was also a loving smile as her hands reached out to cup his face.  “Then maybe you can help me to prove my mother wrong.  She thinks I’m just being a stubborn jackass because I never let go of you before because I love you D.  I never stopped and don’t think I ever will.”

It was a challenge but one he was ready to accept.  “No, we’re not just two stubborn mules hooked up to opposite ends of the cart.  Miranda’s wrong there about both of us.”

Dixie wiped a hand against her face then rose up on the balls of her feet, opening her mouth to his.  His arms linked around her, lifting her toward him.

When he sat her feet back down against the linoleum, he heard Dixie’s laughter and said, “Come on, what do say we get out of here?  Go some place cooler and get a bite to eat.”

Dixie nodded and began to walk down the hall toward the bathroom.  “Give me a minute.  Do you feel like Mexican?  I know it’s hot but I’m feeling like one of Jose Mandragon’s steak burritos.”

“Perfect,” Kel told her retreating form.

The Santa Ana Winds rattled the furniture on the balcony, contributing to the room’s heat, but they were of little consequence while Kel waited for Dixie and flipped over the album that had been playing.

Leaving, neither of them bothered to turn off the stereo and he took Patsy Cline singing “Back in Baby’s Arms” to be a good omen when he closed the door.  It wasn’t sorrow about misjudging someone that he heard her singing about but a new beginning.