Raquel Byrnes Read Online Free PDF Page A

lid up, I ran my finger along the labels on the small glass bottles nestled together. Finding what I needed, I grabbed it, unscrewing the top as I took the stairs two at a time. Back in the room, Davenport’s flailing was more frantic, and his wheezing ragged. I pushed past Mrs. Tuttle and shoved the bottle into Simon’s hand.
    “Hold this.” I climbed next to Davenport on the bed and rubbed the drops between my palms. “You should call 9-1-1.”
    Simon looked at the bottle and then back at me with a furrowed brow. “The phones are down. The storm...”
    “Mr. Davenport,” I said in a voice I hoped was soothing and not laced with panic. “I have something that might help, but I need you to stop flailing.”
    Davenport’s wide eyes found mine. He blinked and tried to say something.
    “Shhh,” I held my hands up in front of him. “I need you to calm down, OK?”
    I held his face, my palms on either of his jowly cheeks. Whispering softly, I tried to hold his gaze with mine. “Stop gasping, Mr. Hale.” I patted his cheeks, put some solution on his chest. “This is eucalyptus oil in tincture. It’s what is in that salve you rub on when you have a cold. It’s what’s in cough drops. You know what I’m talking about?”
    He nodded slightly, his hands going to my arms, wrapping around my wrists.
    “He wants you to stop,” Mrs. Tuttle blurted.
    Simon put his hand up. “Don’t, Tuttle.”
    Davenport’s grip loosened. I held my hands up and passed them across his nose, letting the tincture’s scent waft over him.
    “This is ancient medicine,” I intoned, watching his face, seeing his panic abate. “But it’s medicine, nonetheless. The more you calm down, the deeper you’ll breathe. Take a breath slowly with me, Mr. Hale. In through your nose.” I pulled my lips in, letting my nostrils flare as I took in a slow deliberate breath.
    Davenport’s eyes never left mine. His hands tightened, but he inhaled slowly, the tension releasing the lines under his eyes as the oxygen filled his lungs.
    “That’s good.” I nodded and smiled. “Let’s do another one, OK?”
    He nodded, and we breathed in together.
    Davenport’s face lost its strained pull, his body relaxed, and his gaze went to Simon, relief pulling a slight smile across his lips. “I…” He gasped, like he’d just run a marathon. “I think it’s…”
    “Don’t talk too much.”
    His arms fell. He looked exhausted. “Where is your inhaler, Mr. Hale?”
    He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around. “I think…I dropped it behind the bed.”
    Simon bent down, searched the rug under the headboard, and came up with the yellow plastic inhaler. Handing it to me, he gave me a nervous smile. “That was close.”
    I nodded, handed the inhaler to Davenport, and helped him take a couple of puffs from it before setting it on his nightstand.
    “That little tincture trick only works so much,” I said to Davenport. “Just helps to stave off panic during an attack. What you really need is more than one of these around. Do you have others?”
    The reaction to the inhaler medicine was almost immediate. Davenport took in a deeper breath, and his color faded from frantic red to pink.
    “No. Just the one,” he managed.
    “Well, you should have…whoever…order more.” I moved to get off the bed, but he reached out for me, his hand rough on my skin.
    “Who are you?” Davenport breathed. He ran his gaze over my face. “What…”
    “Rosetta Ryan,” I said and smiled. I patted his hand. “I nearly killed your son last night with my car. Ran over some bushes—”
    “Oh, yes,” Davenport said and looked at Mrs. Tuttle. “The one who isn’t Carl.”
    “I’ve called the agency, Mr. Hale,” Mrs. Tuttle said tersely. “Carl isn’t available any longer, but we’ll find someone”—she looked at me and then back at Hale—“someone suitable soon.”
    My face flared hot. “I seem to have thrown a monkey wrench into things around here.