Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
His mother, Claire, sat beside the exam table, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion. Her black hair was pulled into a loose knot and wisps escaped around her face, and the shadows under her eyes spoke loudly.
Noah’s relentless cries pierced the small room.
Claire bounced him gently, her movements automatic but strained. “He just won’t settle. I feed him, I burp him, I change him. Freddy is great with him and walked around with him all last night, but the poor kid keeps crying. I’m afraid something is wrong.” She looked at the door and blinked rapidly.
“Let’s check him out. I’m glad Freddy is fully involved.” The guy seemed pretty decent to May.
Claire snorted. “He’s so sweet, but this morning, when he left for school, he walked right into the wall.” She placed a hand over her mouth, her bloodshot eyes glimmering with amusement. “I think he considered canceling class today, but he was giving a test, so…”
May smiled. “I bet the kids would’ve loved to miss the test.” She’d heard that Freddy was a pretty tough grader with his math classes at the school. She glanced at the chart. “Noah is gaining weight appropriately, and you say there hasn’t been a fever or vomiting.”
“Nope, and his diapers are normal, from what I can tell.”
May stepped closer to examine the baby.
Noah flailed immediately, his tiny fists jerking as his protests escalated. May loved babies. Always had. His skin was warm and his heartbeat strong. Those lungs worked well, and his abdomen was soft beneath her fingers, exhibiting no distention, no guarding, and nothing suggesting acute pain.
May straightened. “Okay,” she said gently. “This is classic colic.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “So nothing’s wrong?”
“Nothing harmful,” May reassured her. “Colic is tough. For babies and parents. But he’s healthy.”
Claire exhaled, relief mixing with lingering doubt. “He sounds miserable.”
“He is, but it passes.” May outlined the plan. “I’ll prescribe simethicone drops. They can help with gas discomfort. Smaller, more frequent feedings sometimes make a difference. Burp him thoroughly.”
Claire watched her baby.
“You can also try gentle leg movements. Slow bending and extending,” May added.
“And the crying?”
“It usually peaks around this age,” May said. “Then improves.”
Claire shifted Noah against her shoulder. “I hope so.”
“I usually don’t lie about these things.”
That pulled a faint, tired smile from the young mother.
May handed over the prescription and printed instructions. “Watch for fever, vomiting, or any change that worries you. If you need to talk, call me any time. You have my cell phone number.” The entire town had it, and that was fine with her.
“I will. Thank you, May.” Claire left with Noah bundled tightly in her arms, his cries fading gradually down the hallway.
The clinic door closed. May took a deep breath and let herself dream about babies for a moment. Of course, the one in her brain had light green eyes and unruly black hair. One good kiss from Ace Osprey didn’t lead to babies. The guy had issues. Too many of them.
“We’ve got another patient,” Ivy said from the doorway.
May resisted the urge to sigh. Ivy’s tone warned her this would be interesting. “Of course we do.”
Ivy’s mouth twitched. “Exam Room Two.”
May grabbed fresh gloves and headed down the hall, already bracing herself. The clinic smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee. Outside, the morning light was bright and relentless. Alaska didn’t ease into the day.
She stepped into the room and stopped short.
A man in his early thirties sat stiffly on the exam table, shoulders locked, head hanging at an awkward angle. He wore a white T-shirt and had folded his blue flannel next to him.
“Hi,” May said automatically.
“Hi.” He turned.
May winced.
A treble fishing lure was embedded in the side of his neck, one barb buried deep just below the sternocleidomastoid. The remaining hooks dangled uselessly, metal glinting under the overhead light.
“That has to hurt,” she said.
He kept perfectly still. “Caught a little fish this morning.”
Ivy snorted behind her, quickly disguising it as a cough.
May stepped closer, shifting into calm clinical mode. “Name?”
“Mick Thompson. Up from California.” He gave her a crooked grin despite the situation. “Saw you at the bar the other night.”
“You probably saw everyone at the tavern,” May said, already assessing the wound. No active bleeding. Good. No expanding hematoma. Even better. “Want to tell me how this happened?”
“My brother’s a moron.”
May’s lips twitched. “That’s usually the mechanism of injury in cases like this.” She examined the entry point carefully. The barb was seated firmly, and removal wouldn’t be pleasant. “All right. It’s lodged pretty well. I’m going to numb the area and remove it. Do you have any known allergies?”
He shook his head carefully. “None.”
May glanced at the chart Ivy had handed her. Mick had done a good job filling out the questionnaire. No allergies. No significant medical history. Thirty-five years old. Healthy. “Have you been drinking alcohol, Mr. Thompson?”