Free The Sapphire Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy Book 2) by Katherine Lowry Logan

he get shot?”
    Ken snapped on a pair of gloves and inspected the wound. “Change his oxygen mask to a one hundred percent non-rebreather and start a second IV. Hang LR and run both wide open. What are his vitals?”
    If this had been Charlotte’s hospital, she would be working on McCabe, but it wasn’t, and she had no privileges here. She resigned herself to standing in the back, against the wall. Ken didn’t need her watching over his shoulder.
    The adrenalin that had been her constant companion throughout her ordeal was dissipating, leaving her lightheaded and exhausted. Or, maybe it was the diet of coffee and hardtack combined with little sleep. She considered a shower, a decent meal, and down time, but as long as the major fought for his life, she would stay close by.
    The ER doc stuck her head in. Ken told her he was attending, and he’d call her if he needed help. Nodding, she watched for a minute then left. Technicians hurried in to assist Ken, draw blood and cultures, and take x-rays.
    Charlotte’s eyes strayed from the monitors, to the shredded, bloody clothes someone was shoving into a bag, to the naked man, modestly draped. He had a v-shaped, ripped, lean torso from his broad shoulders down to a distended abdomen covered with dried blood and reddened with cellulitis. Perfect symmetry and proportion till you got to his belly. Nurse this guy back to health and he might be a classic hunk. Great physique, and, based on his friends, he had to be intelligent. For now, she wouldn’t hold the fact that he was a lawyer against him.
    If he survived, how was she going to explain what happened to him when she was completely mystified herself? Maybe none of the adventures of the last few days really happened. Maybe she’d never left the reenactment. Maybe she’d slept through the last few days dreaming of being captured and meeting Abraham Lincoln.
    Really? Then how did she explain the man attached to oxygen, IV’s, and monitors with a Civil War-era Minié ball, of all things, in his gut?
    There would be consequences for bringing him home with her. When Jack heard her story, he would jump into the middle of the mystery wearing combat boots.
    “Are the antibiotics in yet? Call OR and see if they’re ready for us,” Ken told a nurse, before turning to Charlotte and extending a professional courtesy. “Do you want to observe?”
    “Yes.” She pushed off the wall. Until she scrubbed away the grime, she wasn’t going anywhere, especially into the OR. “I’ll join you in ten minutes. Where’s the closest shower? I’ve spent two days in the field and I’m way too dirty for the OR.”
    “Second floor call room,” a nurse said. “You’ll find clean scrubs in the cabinet.”
    Stress, sweat, and dirt melted away under the hot spray. Although she was tempted to linger, she didn’t. Returning to her patient preempted her physical needs, including food. Her empty stomach growled. She hoped Ken still had steak and wine left.
    As soon as Ken finished surgery, she planned to invade his house, eat, drink, and soak in the hot tub. She also had to call Jack to fill him in. If McCabe survived, he would need someone with him who knew his identity and could answer his questions. She had a full day of surgeries and office appointments scheduled for the next day, which meant returning to Richmond in the morning by six. After all she had been though, she needed to return to her normal life, to structure and safety. Jack would be psyched to babysit a nineteenth-century Union cavalry officer who also happened to be a spy. Perfect story material.
    She dressed in scrubs and hurried off to the OR.
    Two hours later, Ken had removed the bullet, repaired the bowel, and copiously irrigated the major’s abdominal cavity. The police would want the bullet for evidence once it was released by pathology. When they questioned McCabe, what would he tell them?
    Two police officers were waiting when she and Ken exited the OR. One man was tall