Sheltering Dunes Read Online Free PDF

hand, to say something to soothe her. She put both hands in her pockets and smiled what she hoped was a confident smile. “How are you doing?”
    “Just great,” Mica muttered.
    Tory straightened and gently removed the cervical collar. “Don’t move your head. I’m just going to feel the back of your neck. Tell me if anything hurts.”
    “It doesn’t,” Mica said quickly.
    “Good,” Tory said mildly and continued her examination. “Any numbness or tingling in your arms or legs?”
    “No.”
    “Vision problems?”
    “No.”
    “Head hurt? And don’t tell me no.”
    Mica sighed. “Some.”
    Tory smiled. “I’ll bet. You’ve got a goose egg on your forehead, and you’ll probably have a shiner by this afternoon.”
    “Yeah. Feels that way,” Mica said, and Flynn had a feeling it wasn’t the first black eye Mica had ever had. Her stomach tightened. She hated to see anyone in pain, psychic or physical, but Mica’s pain and her obvious refusal to admit to it got to her more than usual. Maybe it was just Mica’s stubborn insistence she was fine and could handle anything when she was so obviously hurt that touched her. Or maybe it was the way Mica had reached for her in an unguarded moment.
    “Your shoulder is swollen,” Tory said, “but I don’t see any evidence of fracture. However, to be sure, I should x-ray you.”
    “No,” Mica said quickly. “It’s not broken. I know.”
    “You’ve had a fracture before?”
    Mica averted her gaze. “A couple.”
    Flynn gritted her teeth. Mica was too familiar with trauma. The thought of someone hurting her made her insides burn. She stepped closer to the stretcher and gently clasped Mica’s hand. “Maybe you should let the doctor check.”
    “Maybe you should lose your superhero cape too.”
    “And give up looking so cool?” Flynn smiled. “I don’t think so.”
    “It’s okay,” Mica said, her face softening. “Really. I can tell.”
    Flynn rubbed her thumb over the top of Mica’s hand. “Okay. You know best.”
    “I want to check your vital signs a few more times,” Tory said. “If everything stays the same, you should be—”
    “Tory!” Nita Burgoyne pushed open the door and called, “I need you. He’s crashing.”
    “Damn,” Tory murmured, and spun away.
    Through the open door, Tory’s and Nita’s raised voices carried clearly. Blood pressure’s falling. Open the IV. Push the lidocaine…Is his wife here?…No. Charge the defibrillator…God, Tory, he asked me to call his minister. No time. Clear! No pulse.
    Flynn would’ve known what was happening in the other room even if she hadn’t been a paramedic. But she was. That, and more. She crossed the hall and pushed open the door.
    Tory glanced over at her, a question in her eyes.
    “I’m a priest,” Flynn said.
    “Then come in,” Tory said, starting chest compression. “We need you.”

Chapter Four
     
    “Still no pulse.” Nita Burgoyne, her eyes fixed on the EKG monitor, had her fingers over the femoral artery in the patient’s groin. Her smooth mocha skin tightened at the corners of her mouth, drawing her lips into a narrow line, the only sign of strain in her elegant, composed features.
    Flynn leaned over the head of the treatment table and looked down onto the face of the dying man. He might have been forty or eighty. Slight stubble darkened his slack jaw. Weather lines cratered his sunken cheeks. His skin was cool and gray, his eyelids closed and unmoving.
    “Almighty God, look on this your servant, lying in great weakness…”
    Tory pressed the heel of her hand to his sternum, delivering rapid compressions. “One, two, three, four…”
    “…and comfort him with the promise of life everlasting…”
    “Time?” Tory called.
    “Four minutes,” Nita replied. “You’ve got good perfusion here.”
    Though Flynn had no holy oil, the sacrament of Extreme Unction needed only her touch. She made the sign of the cross on the patient’s forehead with her