Page 44 of The Seal's Promise

“I doubt that woman wanted to play tennis with you,” Nora said.

His eyes shot to Brooke, but she just laughed and looked him up and down.

“I’m one hundred percent sure she doesn’t intend on playing tennis with you if she can lure you to the beach club,” Brooke said.

Then she and Nora burst out laughing before Brooke walked back to her office, leaving him to wonder what Brooke wanted to do with him. He was counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds until tomorrow night.

Wednesday. His night with Brooke.

He wasn’t sure if he should cook for her or if they would both be too busy exploring each other to worry about food. But he didn’t want her to think that all he wanted was a physical relationship, but she had been pretty clear on what she wanted from him.

“Dr. Dalton, the paramedics just phoned in, they’re on the scene of a bad car accident and bringing in at least three victims,” Nora said.

He immediately snapped out of it. “I’ll prep the stations. Can you let Brooke and Dr. Jones know?”

“Dr. Jones won’t be in all week. Now that you’re here, I doubt we’ll see him much at all before he retires in the fall.”

“No problem, we can handle three, and they must not be critical if they’re coming here first.”

“Actually, protocol has been to bring all cases here whenever possible for us to triage, and then we can send severe cases into Savannah once we stabilize them. The medics use the bay flight only in the extreme trauma cases.”

Dalton nodded. He’d better review what constituted extreme in Sandy Point, because he had a feeling that he’d be seeing some serious injuries.

“Did they say where the accident happened?”

Nora had a monitor dedicated to messages from the local dispatch on incoming cases. There was no audio, but each update popped up on the screen like an incoming text message with any details dispatch thought the hospital would need.

“They were on Bluff Road and collided with an oncoming service truck.”

Dalton’s stomach twisted in a knot. That was the same road his parents died on, a picturesque and winding road along the coast of Georgia. It connected the beach roads from several small towns and was a favorite of locals to cruise. It was also too narrow for service trucks, so they weren’t supposed to use it.

“Two adults, and one child approximately twelve years old,” Nora said. Then she picked up her phone to let Brooke know they’d need her help.

The next half hour was chaotic as the medics brought in three adults: the parents of the twelve-year-old, and the driver of the service truck. The child was the least injured in the car, which was a blessing, but she was also likely the most traumatized, having had to go through the crash and then call for help. She had some minor scratches from a side airbag and some glass breaking. Her father had been driving, and had taken the brunt of the accident. He’d been stuck in the vehicle as it teetered on the edge of the bluff, but Wes and the volunteer fire department were on the scene in time to pry him out and pull the car onto a tow truck. The man suffered a broken leg, broken arm, head wound, and abrasions. The mother had cuts on her face, abrasions from her seat belt, and a deep gash in her leg from impact into the side of the door. The driver of the truck was shaken up and complained of chest pain along where his seat belt had cinched during the accident.

“If a patient needs to stay for observation, who stays with them?” Dalton asked.

“Typically, the doctor on shift stays. We send any critical cases to the hospital in Savannah, either by ambulance or helicopter depending on your assessment.”

Dalton rested his hands on his hips and thought. It would be nice to get a CT scan of the dad’s head to determine whether there was swelling on his brain.

Brooke and Nora continued to wait for a decision.

“It’s your call, Dr. Hart. You have the most experience with this kind of trauma, and your background in the field is really ideal for helping triage these kinds of cases. We just don’t have the funding or staff to have the type of equipment to offer those tests,” Brooke said.

“Alright. We send the father to Savannah—via ambulance is fine—and I’ll keep the service driver for observation. I’ll stay tonight.”

Brooke and Nora nodded, then went about making the arrangements.

“Thank you,” a small, tired voice said from the third bay. He turned to find the twelve-year-old lying on the gurney under a blanket, looking at him with splotchy eyes. She was obviously still feeling the effects of the crash.

“You don’t have to thank us, we’re just making sure you’re all going to recover so you can get back to your trip.”

She smiled. “My mom was so excited for us to spend the week at the beach, she’s been talking about it for a year. Our first week-long family vacation.”

He nodded. “Well, if the tests I want to run all come back clear, you should still get a few days in the sand with your folks.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, and a few tears rolled down her cheeks. It was the kids who always gutted him. “I don’t care about the beach, I just want my dad to be okay.”

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