A Montana Man. Jackie MerrittЧитать онлайн книгу.
IV tube attached to her wrist. What was happening to her?
She swallowed, or tried to. Her throat and mouth were dry; her heart was pounding fearfully. Nurse Cummings rushed into the room and to the bedside, followed by another nurse.
“You’re awake. Janie, call Dr. North,” she said to the second nurse, who immediately hurried out. Then she smiled at Sierra. “How are you feeling, dear?”
“Could...could I have some water?” Sierra croaked.
“Certainly. There’s some right here on your stand.” The nurse produced a plastic glass of water with a straw. “Don’t raise your head. I’ll hold the glass for you. And take just a little this first time. Dr. North will be along in a moment.”
Sierra sucked some water through the straw, then lay back weakly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Where am I?”
“You’re in a hospital, dear.”
“Why?”
“Because of your injuries, of course. Oh, here’s Dr. North.” Nurse Cummings moved aside for the doctor, saying for his ears alone, “She seems a bit disoriented.”
“Hello,” Dr. North said, bending over her with an ophthalmoscope. “Look at the far corner of the room, please.”
Sierra recoiled. “What are you doing?”
“This is an instrument that permits me to see the inside of your eyes.”
“Why do you want to see the inside of my eyes?”
“Miss, uh, Sierra, you received a mild concussion in the accident. Examining your eyes is merely—”
“What accident?” Sierra cried, panicking again. “And why are you calling me Sierra?”
“Because you told another doctor that Sierra is your name.” Dr. North’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Suppose you tell me your name.”
Sierra’s eyes darted wildly from doctor to nurse and then around the room. Her name...her name. Her head throbbed as she struggled to locate memories that weren’t there. The void in her mind frightened her so much that she tried to get up again, driven by a need to escape this place, these people.
Dr. North pushed her down again and said to the nurse, “Whatever sedative Dr. Pierce prescribed for this patient, get it now!”
“Yes, Doctor.” Nurse Cummings ran from the room and collided with Clint. “Excuse me, Mr. Barrow,” she said, and rushed away.
“Excuse me, ma’am. What’s going on?” he called after her. She didn’t slow down, nor did she attempt to give him an answer. Frowning, Clint stepped into the room. Dr. North was attempting to stop the woman in the bed from thrashing around. She was emitting a low, keening sound and fighting to elude his restraint.
He strode to the opposite side of the bed. “What’s wrong with her?” he anxiously asked.
The doctor glanced at him. “Who’re you, and what are you doing here at three in the morning?”
“I’m Clint Barrow. My son Tommy was the driver of the other vehicle. Why is she so upset?”
“I think because I asked her her name.”
“It’s Sierra.” Clint reached out and gently took her hand. “Sierra?” he said quietly. “Rest easy, Sierra, no one’s is going to hurt you.”
To Dr. North’s amazement, she stopped fighting him. Her eyes went to Clint in a blank but much calmer stare. Taking a breath, Dr. North released his hold on her shoulders.
“You don’t know me, Sierra,” Clint said in that same even, quiet voice. “But I’m here to help you.”
Sierra tried to focus her blurred vision on the man’s face, but his features really didn’t matter, his voice did. It was so kind and soothing, and she wanted to hear more of it.
Nurse Cummings returned with a syringe. “Here you are, Doctor.”
“We may not need that, after all,” he said in an undertone. He backed away from the bed and beckoned the nurse to a corner of the room. “She’s responding to this man’s voice,” he said in a near whisper. “I want to see where it leads. You may go, I’m going to sit in here for a while.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Clint was aware of Dr. North sitting out of Sierra’s line of vision, but only vaguely, as he was focused on her and what he should say next.
Then instinct told him that she wouldn’t care what he said as long as he kept talking. “I’m staying in the Bixby Motel. It’s down the street a block or so. I awoke about an hour ago and decided I needed to see you again. I stopped in an all-night diner for something to eat, then came on over.”
“Where am I?” she asked in a thin, wispy voice.
“In a hospital in Missoula, Montana. It’s a very good hospital, Sierra. You are receiving the best care possible. Have you been hospitalized before?”
She lay silent and staring, and in the corner of the room Dr. North held his breath awaiting her answer.
It finally came, a very weak, very frightened, “I...don’t know.” Dr. North noiselessly breathed again. He now knew what the patient’s problem was.
Clint, however, was at a loss and could only rely on that instinct to keep talking to her. “I was hospitalized once, Sierra, about ten years ago. A horse threw me and I landed wrong. Broke three ribs and—”
She interrupted. “Who are you?”
“Name’s Clint Barrow. Sierra—”
“Is Sierra my name? What’s my last name? Do I live in Missoula?” It was all said in a whispery, shaky voice.
Clint was finally catching on. He darted a glance at Dr. North, who responded with a nod. Sierra had amnesia. She remembered nothing, not even her name.
Clint’s stomach sank, and he licked his suddenly dry lips. He was in over his head here. How much should he tell her? Should he mention the accident, explain what had happened to her, tell her that her van had been totally destroyed and that no one, not one single person in this hospital, maybe even in Missoula, knew who she was?
He mustered an unsteady smile. “Now, that’s information you’re going to have to tell me. You see, I’m merely a concerned friend.”
“You’re a friend. I see,” she whispered, and Clint knew that her cloudy mind was placing him as an old friend, even though it was an illogical conclusion when he had just told her he had no answer to her questions.
Dr. North rose and approached the bed. “Perhaps we should let Sierra get some rest now, Mr. Barrow.”
Her eyes became wild again and she clung to Clint’s hand. “Don’t leave,” she begged him. “Please don’t leave me alone.”
“May I leave you alone for five minutes?” he asked gently. “I promise I’ll be right back.” He had to speak to the doctor alone.
“I...do you promise?” she whispered.
“You have my word.” Gently he disengaged his hand and strolled from the room, knowing Dr. North would follow. They walked down the corridor and stopped in a quiet nook. Clint’s eyes bored into the doctor’s. “She can’t remember anything, can she?”
“That appears to be the case. Mr. Barrow, her injuries were not sufficient to permanently destroy her memory. I will, naturally, order more extensive testing in the morning, but I honestly do not feel her loss of memory is physically caused. Trauma such as she went through in the accident can result in any number of emotional side effects. I strongly believe her amnesia is temporary.”
“How temporary? Are we talking a few days, a week, a month?”
“I’m