Page 9 of A Mile of Ocean

Maybe, just maybe, he could help them see the beauty and the hard work that came with this way of life. And perhaps, in doing so, he might rediscover some of that lost enthusiasm within himself.

Deep in his thoughts, he heard Tate’s voice cut through the fog. She was out of breath from running across the yard. “Trent, Trent, why didn’t you answer your cell phone? Come quick. It’s Granddad. He’s fallen off his horse.”

He jumped to his feet and bolted down the steps. “No way he fell off Zorro. Did you call 911?”

“Paramedics are on their way. But he’s not moving, Trent. Duchess is with him. She thinks he’s unconscious. She’s afraid he had a stroke.”

“Where is he?”

“In the south pasture. Turtle Ridge. They went riding to watch the sun go down. Duchess texted me that he just keeled over.”

The two ran toward the barn to saddle the horses.

“You go meet the ambulance at the front gate,” Trent directed. “I’ll head to the south pasture.”

“Let’s hope Linus Canfield is the one who shows up. He’s the best paramedic around,” Tate said as she put her foot in the stirrup and swung her other leg over the saddle. She took off at a gallop.

Trent was right behind her but turned southward and raced toward his grandparents’ favorite ridge, where they often spent time talking or watching the sunset after dinner.

As Trent galloped across the fields, the sinking sun made for a tricky ride. But Phoenix knew the route and somehow realized the urgency.

The ridge soon came into view. In the waning light, his eyes immediately locked onto the small, unsettling shape on the ground. His grandmother knelt beside it, her hands pressing rhythmically on Granddad’s chest. The sight of his grandmother trying to give him CPR sent a rush of panic into his brain.

“Hang on, Granddad, hang on,” Trent murmured to himself, urging Phoenix to run faster. Once he reached the clearing, he slid off the horse in one swift motion, barely waiting for the animal to come to a full stop.

“I’m here, Duchess,” he called out, rushing to kneel beside her. “Let me take over.”

“I think he’s gone,” she sobbed, moving aside to let Trent try. “I can’t get a pulse.”

Trent picked up a limp, pale hand that matched the skin color on his grandfather’s face. “The paramedics are on the way.”

He was still performing CPR fifteen minutes later when the ambulance bumped along the rutted road and stopped near the ridge.

Linus Canfield jumped out of the front seat with his medical kit and rushed over to where Barrett Callum lay motionless. “How long have you been doing CPR?”

“Since he first went down twenty minutes or so ago,” Duchess replied, wringing her hands. “He hasn’t been conscious since.”

“And he fell from his horse?” Linus repeated, glancing over at Tate, who mentioned a fall on the 911 call.

“I thought that’s what happened,” Tate conveyed. “Falling off Zorro isn’t like him, though. Granddad’s been riding that stallion ever since I can remember.”

Duchess let out a long exhale. “He didn’t fall. Well, he did, but more like he fell on his side and rolled to the ground. We were sitting on our horses, staring at the ocean and watching the sunset like we’ve done a thousand times before. One minute, he was sitting in the saddle. The next, he tipped over and hit the ground. I saw him keel over and go down. Half an hour earlier, we were having dinner; everything seemed fine. He was talking like normal. It happened so fast that I might’ve led Tate to believe he’d fallen off his horse. Could it have been a stroke, Linus?”

“Maybe,” Linus muttered while focusing on the patient. Hequickly checked the pupils and then looked for a head injury, feeling around the head. But there was no blood anywhere that he could see. He took his vitals, noting that his blood pressure was dropping rapidly, almost to nothing.Because of the CPR, he picked up a faintheartbeat.

If it was a stroke, Linus kneweach minute a portion of the brain went without blood flow was crucial to surviving. Assessing the severity of his condition, he ticked off the vital signs again, relaying the data to the ER staff back at Charlotte Dowling Medical Center. “Last known well time was approximately thirty-five minutes ago.”

Each bit of information he delivered back to the hospital was essential for a better outcome once the patient arrived for treatment.

“Let’s get moving,” Linus ordered, still communicating with the hospital through his headset. “Possible stroke victim. I’ve started an IV and will administer oxygen en route. We’re stabilizing him now for transport. Run time is ten to fifteen minutes out.”

He turned to Duchess. “Dowling is a Level I trauma center. Gideon Nighthawk is the best there is. He’ll be in good hands.”

“Will he need surgery?”

“Probably. All I know is it’s not his heart. He shows all the signs of a massive stroke. Whatever’s wrong is happening internally.”

“We’ll follow them all the way,” Trent told his grandmother as Barrett Callum was loaded into the back of the ambulance.

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