2. Prescription For Love

Presley stopped quickly, ten yards from a pickup truck leaning precariously on its side, its rear wheels barely on the shoulder and its front pointed down a long slope that ended in a ravine filled with pine trees. Abby lifted her door handle. “I’ll have to go check and see about the driver.”

Flann gripped her shoulder from behind. “Wait a minute. You’re not equipped for field intervention, and it’s dangerous trying to work around a vehicle like that. It could shift, slide down that incline, and take you with it.”

“I can’t take the chance someone might be trapped.”

“Dammit, Abby—” Flann sounded more worried than angry. “At least try 9-1-1 first. If they can be here soon, they’re the best hope for anyone trapped in the car.”

“I know that.” Abby ought to be annoyed by Flann’s objections and offended by the restraining hand on her shoulder, but she wasn’t. Flann made sense, but that wasn’t the reason she accepted Flann’s protests either. Flann didn’t want her to get hurt, and being cared for rather than caring for someone else was so unusual she’d forgotten what it felt like. Oh, her mother and Blake cared about her, but they didn’t take care of her. She hadn’t thought she needed or wanted it, but it was nice. “I’ll call them just as soon as I see about the driver. I’ve got to at least see if he’s in there and alive.”

Flann opened her back door. “I’ll come with you.”

“You won’t. There’s no way you can manage that slope on your leg.” Before Flann could argue more, Abby jumped out.

“Abby!” Flann called.

A car door slammed and Presley yelled, “Wait for me. I’m coming too.”

“Don’t try to get inside,” Flann called again as Abby and Presley slogged away through the puddles and tangled branches.

When they reached the spot where the pickup had gone over, Abby started down the steep, slick slope first, testing each step carefully as her foot sank into wet soil and loose gravel. The humid air smelled of ozone and the thick, cloying odor of drenched earth.

“Oh!” Abby’s foot slipped, her legs flew out from under her, and she barely caught herself on an outstretched hand. Sharp stones gouged her palm, and she bit back another gasp of pain.

“Are you all right?” Presley asked.

“Yes. The footing’s treacherous. Be careful.” Turning, Abby held out a hand and they helped each other down the last few yards to the truck cab. The truck canted toward them on its running board, the passenger-side wheels elevated into the air. Abby felt the hood of the red pickup truck. It was cold. The engine had either shut off or run out of gas. She pulled aside branches of a shrub caught in the wheel well and peered through the driver’s window. A dark form leaned against the door, a seat belt strap angled across the window.

“He’s belted in place.” Abby rapped on the window. “Hello! Hello, can you hear me?” No response.

“Is there anyone else in there?” Presley asked.

“I don’t know. I can’t see past him. I need to open the door if I can.”

“Be careful,” Presley said. “If the truck slides while you’re trying to open the door, you can get caught underneath.”

“You should stand back out of the way.”

“You just be ready to jump too.” Presley scrambled back up the slope. “Clear.”

Abby grasped the handle, hoping the door wasn’t locked. She squeezed and the door gave a little.

Holding her breath, she carefully pried it open. The lower edge hit the ground and stuck, but she had enough space to wedge herself into the opening. If the truck shifted now, she’d be carried down the rest of the way with it. Flann would never let her hear the end of it. Grinning at the absurdity of the thought, she shouldered into the narrow crevice.

A man in his sixties sagged against the steering wheel, the seat belt holding him upright. The windshield was shattered and his forehead was bloodied in a starburst pattern from the impact.

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me? I’m a doctor.” He didn’t move as she pressed her fingertips over his carotid artery. Strong and steady.

A light shone in over her shoulder. Presley with a flashlight. “How is he?”

“Alive.” The light helped and Abby quickly ran a hand over his chest and abdomen. She couldn’t find any signs of external bleeding. “He’s not shocky yet, but he could have internal injuries. Definitely has a closed head injury. He’s alone.” “What do we do?” Presley asked.

“We can’t get him out of the cab without proper equipment. We could make a spine or back injury worse. Shine the light into the backseat.” “Good right there?”

“Yes. Just give me a minute.” Abby stretched an arm behind the seat and snagged an old wool blanket from the floor. “Okay—you start back up. I’ll be right behind you.”

She covered him, carefully backed out of the cramped opening, and edged her way up the slope to Presley. Going up was a lot harder than going down and she slipped a few more times. She’d need a shower before she’d be able to see patients. She concentrated on getting back to the top, trying to keep as much dirt and contamination out of her lacerated palm as she could.